A Rustle in the Grass Page 4

  Dreamer went straight up to his commander, with whom, in his brief life, he had previously had but little direct communication. He withdrew his antennae in the customary salute as Black Sting stared at him with quizzical curiosity.

  'I'm sorry to intrude upon the Council meeting, sir. I was out on a scouting mission and I met this worker from the riverside mound. His colony was overrun by alien ants yesterday. He says all except himself have been killed. I thought the Council should be informed.'

  Black Sting gazed at him steadily. Then he looked towards the bemused little ant at Dreamer's side. Dreamer could sense him assessing the implications of the statement.

  'Follow me,' said Black Sting in a calm voice, and led the way across the floor to where Great Head stood with One Feeler at his side. All eyes were upon them, and even Mutterer finally became aware that something was happening and faltered to a stop in mid-sentence.

  'I apologize for interrupting the debate, Great Head,' said Black Sting, 'but one of my soldiers has brought in a messenger with news that I think the whole Council should hear. May I ask him to relate it to you?'

  Great Head inclined his huge cranium in consent. Black Sting turned to the little ant.

  'Tell the elders your story,' he said in gentle tones.

  The poor creature stared at him, as if struck dumb at the immensity of the request. Black Sting waved him forward with his antennae towards Great Head. 'Come, don't be nervous.'

  The worker-ant stumbled a few steps forward and began to mumble incoherently. Great Head stopped him and said, 'Speak up. There's nothing to be afraid of. We all want to hear.'

  The other looked around, petrified at being the object of so many inquisitive stares. Finally he began to speak in a breathless gabble, telling the story he had related to Dreamer. There was not a sound in the chamber as all strained to catch his tumbling, confused words. And, when finally he had finished and his voice had tailed away, the hush continued as imagination recreated the details of the events he had described.

  Black Sting was the first to make a move. With characteristic decisiveness he turned to Great Head and requested his permission to ask some questions. The old ant nodded his consent. Black Sting turned to Dreamer.

  'Dreamer, isn't it?' he enquired in a low voice, and then asked about the circumstances of Dreamer's meeting with the other ant. Then he turned to the worker himself and questioned him closely about the attack; requesting specific details concerning the red ants, their approach, physical characteristics and numbers. All this was done in low, gentle tones, so that only Dreamer and the immediate elders were able to hear the conversation. Then Black Sting turned once more to Great Head, held a brief, whispered discussion with him and finally wheeled around, signalled to Dreamer to follow him, and, beckoning to Dew-Lover and Snake's Tongue, crossed the chamber towards one of the entrances.

  The four ants entered the darkness of the tunnel as a babble of discussion broke out in the chamber behind them. They travelled only a few paces, enough to be out of the hearing of the Royal Guards at the entrance, when Black Sting stopped and waited for the other three to catch up. He addressed Dreamer first.

  'Well done, Dreamer, 'he said. 'You were right to come straight to the Council.' Then he turned abruptly to his two lieutenants.

  'Let us speak here, for I don't wish to leave the Council chamber for long,' he said in a low voice. 'I don't have to tell you that this is a serious matter. If the red ants have reached the riverside mound, it must mean that their own base cannot be too far beyond it. And if they are openly attacking other colonies, it means that they are intent on extending their domain. Which in turn means that eventually they will come to us.'

  He paused to let the full significance sink in. Dreamer had the impression that he had been forgotten. He waited awkwardly, not knowing whether he had been dismissed or was expected to stay, but he was caught between the Council chamber to his rear and the three officers in front and so had little alternative but to stand and listen. Black Sting continued.

  'No member of this colony has ever explored far beyond the riverside mound and, although ants from that base itself have gone further, none has yet come across the red ants' own base. It is presumably, therefore, somewhat further than a night's march beyond, and its members either travel very fast or are prepared to camp out on their expeditions. It's essential that we discover how far off, and how large their colony is. Also something about their habits. The fact that they carried off the larvae from the other colony may either mean that they want them for food, or that they intend to use them for slave-breeding purposes. Neither possibility bodes well for us here.' He turned to Snake's Tongue.

  'I have a mission for you, Snake's Tongue. I select you because, of all my soldiers, you stand the best chance of succeeding. But it involves great danger, and is one from which you may perhaps never return.' He paused. Snake's Tongue showed no sign, merely stood waiting. 'I want you to select two soldiers to accompany you. Choose them with care, because your safety will depend on their skill and courage as much as on your own. I want the three of you to fill your food crops to capacity – since you can't be certain of finding easy food where the red ants have been – and then I want you to set off with all speed to the riverside mound, and from there to follow the red ants' trail, day and night for as long as you have to, until you find their base. I want you to discover how large the base is, how numerous its population, how strong its force of soldiers and how much territory it already controls. I want you to study their foraging habits, their fighting methods, their system of command–any thing you think it may be useful for us to know. And then I want you to return here as fast as you can with your information.'

  Black Sting paused again. 'It may be that you have to sacrifice one or more of your number in order that the last member may get back, in which case you must do so without hesitation. Nothing is more important than that the knowledge you acquire reaches us and enables us to prepare for whatever danger is threatening. Do you understand?'

  'Yes,' said Snake's Tongue simply.

  'Good,' said Black Sting. 'Do you know who you wish to take with you? You may choose whoever you wish.'

  There was a brief pause as Snake's Tongue pondered the matter, and in that moment Dreamer made the rashest move he had ever made in his life. He did not know what prompted him, except that somewhere deep in his innermost being he knew that his impulse was right; that his heart approved of the challenge responded to. He stepped forward and spoke in a firm voice.

  'I would like to go with Snake's Tongue, sir.'

  A silence greeted his words. He could sense the three powerful ants considering their startled reactions to his impetuous statement. Dew-Lover was the first to break the silence with a snort of amusement.

  'Like to go too, would he? That'll put the wind up the red ants all right!'

  Black Sting spoke quietly. 'I'd forgotten you were there, Dreamer. Why do you wish to go?'

  'I feel I could be of use,' said Dreamer simply.

  Again Dew-Lover roared his amusement. 'You can't dream your way there, you know,' he guffawed. 'It's going to mean real soldier's work.'

  'I know,' replied Dreamer in a low voice.

  Again a pause. Dreamer could almost feel both Black Sting and Snake's Tongue summing him up through the darkness.

  'I am told you are a good soldier,' said Black Sting.

  Dreamer was surprised that the most respected fighting ant in the whole community should have even heard of his merits. Black Sting was continuing: 'They say you have unusually keen senses.'

  'I was lucky to have been born with long feelers,' answered Dreamer humbly.

  'Long feelers can't help you in a fight,' growled Dew-Lover.

  'I hope that fighting will be the least of the expedition's activities,' replied Black Sting. 'Otherwise I would have put you in charge, Dew-Lover.' He turned to Snake's Tongue. 'Well, Snake's Tongue? The decision must be yours.'

  Snake's Tongue had not uttered a word
throughout the entire conversation and still there was no sign from him. Only his scent betrayed that he was there at all in the darkness. Then Dreamer sensed a tiny movement in the black. He did not know what it was – a delicate air-tremor, the faintest of sounds – but his instinct warned him of something approaching and he automatically crouched down into the angle between the wall and the floor. Something flashed by almost touching his head, and suddenly Snake's Tongue's scent was much closer. The latter's voice came from just above his head, and feelers gently touched his own. 'Yes, his senses are very quick. I would have taken most ants by surprise then.' Snake's Tongue stepped back. 'And your dreams,' he said in his low voice. 'What of them?'

  'I don't understand,' said Dreamer, puzzled.

  'Dreams can be either a scent trail or a mist on the path. Which are yours?'

  Dreamer spoke hesitantly. 'I don't really understand my dreams,' he said. 'But they are no mist. I know that.'

  Another moment's pause, then: 'Very well. You shall come.'

  Dreamer felt a surge of excitement, a long-awaited sense of anticipation. He realized for the first time how unconsciously frustrated he had been by the calm and ordered nature of his life up till now; how passionate had been his desire to stretch his faculties, test his courage, expose himself to the winds.

  Black Sting was speaking. 'Good. Make your other choice, Snake's Tongue, then I suggest that you feed and rest well before you leave. You must replenish yourselves after the Long Sleep. Leave at high-sun tomorrow, then you can aim to be at the riverside mound by sundown. From there you can travel in the new regions in darkness. I wish you luck and when I inform our Great Mother and the Council of your mission, I know they will do the same.'

  'Thank you,' replied Snake's Tongue.

  'There are only two pieces of advice I have to give you,' went on Black Sting. 'The worker-ant from the riverside mound told me that the red ants do not carry stings as we do. They attack by spraying their poison from the base of the abdomen, which blinds and paralyses opponents. You must obviously avoid any encounter if you possibly can, but if you are forced to fight your best chance will be to attack from the side and get in close as quickly as possible. The other point is that you will have to leave as light a scent trail as possible for fear of being detected. So be sure to take note of obvious landmarks once you are into strange territory, so that you can find your way back again.'

  'Yes,' answered Snake's Tongue.

  'That is all. The Lord of the Stars protect you.' And without further formality Black Sting turned back down the passage towards the Council chamber, leaving Dew-Lover to follow.

  The huge ant did not do so immediately, however. He first stepped closer to Dreamer and growled, 'You'd better not do any dreaming on this trip, soldier. Keep your wits about you – for your own sake.'

  'And for yours,' interposed Snake's Tongue. 'Let him be, Dew-Lover.'

  The other hesitated a moment, then wheeled abruptly and lumbered after Black Sting.

  'Come,' said Snake's Tongue. And, with Dreamer hurrying to keep up, he sped with his long, loping stride up the tunnel towards the sunlight.

  7

  It was late afternoon in the clearing. The shadows were lengthening across the grass, but the weather had shown no sign of deteriorating, of producing a sudden late-night frost, which can prove so dangerous to both plant and animal life alike at that time of year. The sun continued to bathe the area in its life-enhancing glow, and all of Nature was responding, slowly, cautiously, but positively – filling the world once more with life, with hope . . . with danger.

  At the feet of a small birch sapling on the edge of the forest, not far from the base mound, Old Five Legs and several of the other older worker-ants were resting after the day's exertions. They had been engaged in the very delicate task of transferring aphid-bug eggs from their winter storage place deep inside the mound, to a suitable position up on the branches of the birch sapling, where they would soon hatch out and form a new aphid-bug herd. Ants attach so much importance to the honey-dew secreted by aphid-bugs for its magical feeding, healing and narcotic qualities that many colonies maintain their own herds of these tiny, gentle little creatures, keeping the eggs safe and warm during the winter, guarding and nurturing them during the incubation period, and then tending and protecting the herds through the summer, in return for a continuous supply of the elixir. The task of fostering and transferring the eggs is usually reserved for older worker-ants, for it requires care and attention but not too much physical exertion. The lonely job of tending the herds of active, foliage-eating bugs, however, is carried out by younger, more hardy ants and also requires the constant presence of soldiers, for aphid-bugs are considered an appetizing source of food by many other insects and predators.

  Five Legs, Never-Rest, Wind-Blow and two or three other workers were relaxing just out of earshot of two soldiers, who were standing guard at the foot of the young tree, whilst nearby a group of half a dozen or so younger worker-ants were also taking their ease, casually nibbling at some gorse seeds after having spent the day clearing a new run to the chosen herd pasture. The older ants were discussing the consequences of the day's events. The story of the red ants' attack on the riverside mound had spread like wildfire, and caused intense apprehension and speculation throughout the settlement. In his usual excitable fashion Wind-Blow was holding forth on the subject.

  'Red ants or no red ants, it's going to make little difference to us what happens, unless we get some influence in the Council. Black Sting is bound to use this as a further argument for having still more soldiers, so whether we end up as slaves of them or slaves of the red ants hardly matters, does it? I mean that's virtually what we are now after all, isn't it? Just slaves. Well, aren't we?' He appealed round the circle.

  Five Legs answered mildly, 'I think you'd find your existence as a slave of the red ants very different from the one here,' and his old eyes twinkled with amusement. He was at an age when he could face whatever fate had in store for him with equanimity.

  'Nevertheless,' replied Wind-Blow, bobbing his head up and down with agitation, 'it's vital to all of us, now Thunderer's gone, that we get some say in our affairs. The whole system of organization is going to change. We may never get the chance again. Our well-being depends on it!' He turned to Never-Rest, who, for once in his life, was reclining in quiet repose against a couch-grass stem. 'What do you say, Never-Rest?'

  'I think,' said the latter, with careful consideration, 'that it all depends on who takes over the leadership. And,' he added before Wind-Blow could jump in with an instantaneous reaction, 'I don't believe that's nearly as foregone a conclusion as you might think. Black Sting might seem to be the obvious contender, but I'm not sure that the elders will like the idea of having the chief of the soldiers in charge. And you can be sure that Noble will oppose it too. Of course Black Sting could probably take control by force, if he felt it were necessary, but I don't know if it's in his nature to be so ruthless. He would want to have the support of the vast majority before assuming command.'

  'If he did become leader,' said one of the others, 'presumably Dew-Lover would take command of the soldiers. There's a frightening prospect.'

  'It certainly is!' exlaimed Wind-Blow. 'I think I'd rather have the red ants.' He waved his feelers excitedly. 'But the point is – apart from Black Sting, and possibly Noble – who else is there? Thunderer's gang are all too old. Someone has to lead us.'

  'What do you think, old friend?' asked Never-Rest, looking at Five Legs. 'Who do you think would be right?'

  Five Legs gazed into the distance and contemplated the question with care, as he stroked a feeler ruminatively with his foreleg. 'I don't know,' he said eventually, 'but perhaps it may come as a surprise. This is a vital moment for our colony. It requires someone of vision to bring us through. In such circumstances one never knows who will emerge.' He turned his head and looked over in the direction of the birch sapling. 'I wonder what the Story Teller has to say on the subject.
'

  None of the others had been aware that, during the last few moments, a slightly-built ant of indeterminate age had slipped quietly down the stem of the sapling and was reclining a little way off, listening to the conversation. At the last words all with one accord turned their heads in the direction of Five Legs' gaze and a strange hush fell over the group. The newcomer did not respond immediately; merely stayed silent, still. His economy of movement was extraordinary. Not a muscle stirred, not a feeler trembled unnecessarily; only his eyes glimmered with a calm, amused warmth. It gave him an air of totally relaxed alertness that was mesmerizing in its completeness.

  Off to one side some members of the group of younger worker-ants noticed the sudden lull in conversation amongst the other party, and the whisper went round: 'The Story Teller's going to speak. Still One is going to speak,' and the members of the group sidled as unobtrusively as possible to within earshot.

  The object of attention remained unaffected by the sudden attraction of so large an audience. He might have been dead, so utterly still was his body. The two soldiers at the sapling too had by now noticed what was happening and had approached, but also with discretion. And still the silence continued, no one making any move to encourage the newcomer, as if they accepted that this was a necessary and traditional part of the proceedings.

  When finally Still One did speak it was without any preface or introduction, in a low, melodious voice which seemed to carry far further than its volume merited.

  'A gigantic oak tree stood in the forest. Old beyond the memory of the Queen of all Queens, huge beyond the vision of the sharpest-eyed soldier, it filled the sky and shadowed the lives of everything that dwelt beneath it; and it seemed that it would stand there for ever. But then one day there came a great storm, and the wind tore at the mighty oak tree, and its ancient roots gave way under the onslaught, and it fell to earth with a crash that was heard throughout the whole forest.

  'For a while the life that had gone on beneath and within the great tree came to a standstill, for there was no creature and no plant that knew how to exist without its shade. But gradually all the seeds that had lain dormant in the ground beneath its branches began to push up, to grow and to develop into trees themselves. On one side they were dominated by one tree in particular – a cedar – which grew and spread its branches until it too shadowed all that lived beneath it. And it cut off the sun from the other young trees, and its needles fell and smothered their leaves, and eventually they withered and died away until the cedar too had complete domination over the ground on which it stood.