Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [54]
Ehomba shut and latched both the upper and lower halves of the door against the wind and rain before walking over to sit down on the hearth opposite the sheepdog. “I have seen dogs work cattle, and I have seen them work antelope. I have even seen them work camels. But never before have I seen one work lightning.”
Roileé wiped at her left eye with one paw before replying. “Lamidy has always been a good man, kind and caring. But he is getting old faster than I, and he cannot play as easily or as often as he used to. When I get bored, I have to find ways to entertain myself.” She nodded in the direction of the door. “Herding the lightning keeps my reflexes sharp.”
“I would think that any dog that can herd lightning could handle even a large flock of sheep on one leg.”
“Tut! Lightning is fast; sheep are tricky and, when they want to be, deliberately deceptive. As a herdsman yourself, you should know that.”
“I spend most of my time with cattle. Cattle are not tricky.”
“No, you are right. Cattle are quite predictable.”
“And while we are talking,” Ehomba suggested, “I would be very interested to know how it is that you came to be able to talk.”
Roileé shook her head and began licking the damp backs of her paws. “Many animals can talk. They just choose not to do so in the presence of humans, who think it a unique faculty of their own. Your striking feline companion talks. He does not want to, though. It is a curse to him.”
“A curse?”
“Yes. All he wants to do is kill, and eat, and sleep, and make love, and lie in the sun in a quiet place. That is why he keeps his talking brief. It is not because he is rude; only impatient with an ability he would just as soon not have.”
“You assume much in a very short time.”
“I assume nothing, Etjole Ehomba. I know.”
“Even a dog that can speak does not know everything.”
“That is true.” The long muzzle bobbed in a canine nod. “But I know a great deal. More than most dogs. You see, I am a witch.”
“Ah, now I understand.” Ehomba nodded solemnly. “You are a woman who was, through some hex or misfortune, been turned into a dog.”
“No, you do not understand. It is nothing like that. I was born a dog, I have always been a dog, and I will die a dog. I have never been, nor would I ever want to be, human. Some dogs do nothing all their lives but proffer companionship. Others work. I am a sheepdog. But I am also a witch, taught by witches when I was a puppy.” She nodded in the direction of the bedroom door. “For many years I have kept company with Lamidy. I could have done worse. He is a kind and understanding man who knows what I am and is untroubled by the knowledge. It is good for a dog to have a human around. Good for the soul, and to have someone to change a water dish.”
“Well, witch Roileé, it is good to know you.”
“And I you.” Limpid, intelligent dog eyes met his. “You are an unusual man, Etjole Ehomba.”
The tall southerner shrugged. “Just a simple herdsman.”
“Herdsman perhaps. Simple, I am not so sure. Where are you bound?”
He told her, as he had told people before her, and when he was through she was whimpering querulously.
“It all sounds very noble and self-sacrificing.”
“Not at all,” he argued. “It is what any virtuous man would do.”
“You impute to your fellow humans a greater dignity than they deserve. I like you, Etjole Ehomba. I would help you if I could, but I am bound by the oath that binds together dog and man to remain here with my Lamidy.”
“Maybe you can help anyway.” Ehomba considered whether he wanted to make the request. And, more significantly, whether he wanted it fulfilled. In the end, he decided that knowledge of a woeful kind was an improvement over no knowledge at all. All enlightenment was good. Or at least, so claimed Asab and the other people of importance. “Can you tell me what lies ahead for my friends and me? We know little of the lands that await us.”
The dog exhaled sharply.