A Rustle in the Grass Read online

  And he cried out, 'That is my purpose! To preach my convictions, to spread my beliefs, to communicate my faith. Surely that is my purpose?'

  And the Voice came, as he knew it would, and said: 'Yes, that could well be your purpose. But remember that your faith may not be the faith of the speaker who follows you. He will preach different convictions, advocate other ideas, champion a different cause. And it could be that they will cheer him too and will turn from you and follow him until they are persuaded by yet another speaker, and so on, until there are no more words to be spoken. And who will be the one to speak to the speakers, can you tell that?'

  And he could not. And he was alone again, wondering where it was that he had heard this Voice before.

  9

  The bright afternoon of the following day saw the diminutive figures of three ants far up the bank of the stream alongside the shadowed vastness of the forest. They had slept long and deeply the previous night, a sleep induced by a heavy intake of fresh food to replenish their starved bodies and by an ambrosial ration of thick, wintered honey-dew, which had brought an added intensity to Dreamer's dreams. Strengthened and invigorated, and with the storage cavities behind their jaws crammed to capacity with extra food, they had set out with the sun at its height and the earnest good wishes and exhortations of the elders and councillors speeding them on their way.

  Snake's Tongue was leading, his long, easy stride forcing the other two to run almost flat out in order to keep up. Over the period of preparation, Dreamer's admiration for the big ant had increased enormously. His quiet sense of purpose and careful attention to detail had been a source of great confidence and encouragement, and his phenomenal strength and agility were always evident, lurking beneath the taciturn surface, giving Dreamer the impression that he must be almost invincible in battle. It was a false impression he knew, for Black Sting was faster still and Dew-Lover of yet more implacable muscle power; and there were creatures out there in the forest's labyrinthine vastness who could destroy either of them with one blow, but it was a reassuring feeling all the same.

  'Pouf! How do we keep up when he's really in a hurry?' gasped Joker, who was pounding along behind Dreamer. The latter was getting used to his quips and quietly enjoyed the relief of tension that they brought. He was surprised by the sense of affection that the amiable soldier awoke in him and quite uncertain as to how to express it, but he recognized what a wise choice Snake's Tongue had made by adding Joker's morale-boosting presence to the party.

  They were now well past the spot where Dreamer had met the little refugee ant from the riverside colony and were travelling on the fairly familiar route which connected the two settlements. Snake's Tongue was setting a fast pace because they had already been held up on several occasions by unexpected obstacles which winter had tossed carelessly across the trail: a torn tree branch here, a new rain gully there; and once they had been forced to make a considerable detour where an entire portion of the stream bank had collapsed into the swollen waters, carrying part of the trail with it. On two occasions also they had taken hasty refuge off the trail, away from the clumsy approach of larger beasts. The first had been the towering shape of a young buck rabbit, who was hopping thunderously about, indulging in an orgy of gluttony on the sweet, young grasses; the second had been the much smaller, but infinitely more dangerous figure of a large rove beetle, which came ambling leisurely along the trail towards them, sending them scurrying off it in the downwind direction.

  However, thanks to Snake's Tongue's rapid pace-setting and the vigour in their bodies imparted by their feast of fresh food and honey-dew the night before, they were now well up to schedule, and as the afternoon wore on and they approached their dusk-time objective, the riverside colony, Dreamer's sense of apprehension grew at the thought of coming to that scene of carnage described by the little ant. Perhaps it was this sense of ominous expectancy, or perhaps simply the particular alertness of his senses occasioned by the drama of their mission, that caused him to become aware, long before they reached that first destination, of the faintest hint of an alien scent on the air – a minute whiff of an ant smell, foreign to their own – heavy, sweet, strange. He waited a few moments to be sure that he was not mistaken and then communicated his discovery to Snake's Tongue. The latter stopped and explored the air with his antennae. He looked at Dreamer uncertainly.

  'Are you sure? I can smell nothing.'

  'Fairly certain, sir,' answered Dreamer.

  'Can you smell anything, Joker?' asked Snake's Tongue.

  Joker also scoured the air with his feelers. 'Fresh clover and old rabbit droppings,' he said cheerfully.

  'Hm,' grunted Snake's Tongue. 'Well, let's go carefully just in case. You go first, Dreamer, and tell us if it gets stronger.'

  There was no need for Dreamer to do that, however. They had not gone much further before a stronger gust of air brought the scent clearly to the notice of all three.

  'You were right, Dreamer,' said Snake's Tongue. 'Very useful, those senses of yours.'

  Joker's comment was: 'If that's what they smell like, I'd rather they kept it to themselves.'

  Again Snake's Tongue took the lead, but this time they progressed more warily. The strange scent came and went, but each time in stronger wafts. It was not new – they could tell it was at least a day old – but its powers of endurance were impressive.

  The afternoon sun was sinking behind them as they neared their objective and a thin moon was rising through the skeleton tracery of branches over their heads – the Lord of the Stars' own personal beacon, sent at crucial times to illuminate the dark hours. Already its pale, mystical light was beginning to oust the crimson glow of the sunset and weird black tentacles of shadow were stretching across the grass, as if to seize the hurrying figures and bear them off into the trees.

  At last the tiny party rounded a curve in the trail and there in front of them, bathed in the last dying glow of the falling sun, was the low shape of the riverside mound. Snake's Tongue stopped, his antennae outstretched to pick up any sign of life.

  'Is there anything there?' he asked Dreamer, who stood just behind him, equally alert. But everything was remarkably silent. Unnaturally so, for, apart from the sound of the running water off to one side and the faintest rustle of a breeze amongst the grasses, there were none of the usual busy twilight sounds: the scuttle of insect feet through the undergrowth; the distant chomp of caterpillar jaws on a leaf; not even the sudden swish of feathered wings, as the rulers of the sky sought a last meal before retiring for the night. It was as if the message of fear had pervaded the whole region and banished its inhabitants to other, happier parts.

  Snake's Tongue led the way cautiously forward towards the mound. The strange ant smell was all-embracing now, but there was no element of freshness in it and it seemed unlikely that any of the red ants were near at that moment. However the very strangeness of the circumstances inspired wariness. A little way further on Snake's Tongue stopped again, his antennae quivering with distaste at the hint of a new scent that had reached them – the scent of death. Sure enough, there to one side of the trail lay the forlorn, empty husk of a dead ant, one of their own species, its corpse stripped quite clean of flesh. Snake's Tongue, with his trained soldier's instinct, immediately passed by, refusing to allow the sight to distract him in his vigilance for danger. Dreamer followed his example, forcing the distressing image out of his mind with a deliberate act of willpower. He knew his dreams would probably recreate it for him with unpleasant vividness later, but now was not the time to dwell on that.

  He had to repeat the process several times before they reached the mound, for they passed a number of such victims of the massacre. It was obvious that none of the ants caught out in the open when the attack came had stood a chance against their assailants. It soon seemed, however, that perhaps these had endured the more fortunate fate, for as the three living ants climbed the lower slope of the mound and approached one of the entrances, the stench of death grew with e
very step. On reaching the tunnel mouth Snake's Tongue stopped, unwilling to enter, so powerful was the evidence of the fearful carnage inside. He turned to the other two.

  'Wait here,' he commanded briefly and vanished into the blackness.

  Dreamer shuddered and turned to keep watch, thankful that he had been spared the ordeal of entering that terrible place. Joker stood beside him, staring out towards the forest.

  'Greedy beggars, aren't they,' he muttered irreverently. His lack of sentiment was deliberate. It was as if he had realized what effect the occasion was having on Dreamer's inexperienced soul, and sought to relieve it. However, nothing could now heal that wound to the younger ant's sensibilities which had been inflicted when he first heard the story from the refugee ant the day before, and which was deepening with every new experience. It was the inescapable scar that Life inflicts on all but the most cosseted of creatures. Dreamer was coming of age.

  Snake's Tongue was not gone for long. He reemerged silently, his face betraying no sign of his feelings. He uttered no word on his findings but merely looked up at the moon, which was now riding high, complete master of the darkened sky, and said, 'Come, now the real journey begins.'

  The party skirted the side of the mound and descended the slope on the opposite face. They quickly crossed the remaining grassy space, for on that side the stream curved in to meet the line of trees and the grass gave way to thick forest undergrowth. On reaching the gigantic, looming shadow of the forest edge they paused. This was where the adventure truly began, for now they were in quite unfamiliar regions, and woodland regions at that, which no ant from their colony would penetrate far from choice. The darkness and the continuing absence of any sound of life created an eerie, forbidding atmosphere amongst the trees, but the red ant scent clearly indicated the way they must travel, so, with a quick glance at his companions, Snake's Tongue shook his antennae as if to dispel the traces of all previous sensations and slipped into the shadows.

  The going was far harder now. There were no clear trails and the ground beneath the trees was constantly changing: here a thick patch of moss overlaid with dead bracken, speared through by the new, rising spring fern shoots; here a carpet of wild hyacinth leaves amongst a tangled mass of briar; here a damp, sodden wasteland of last autumn's dead leaves, which had to be skirted, for ants hate moist going, and mistrust the cover such terrain provides for larger predatory insects. There did at least seem little to fear from the latter, however, for the uncanny absence of life around them continued. Once or twice Dreamer was aware of the swish of nocturnal wings far above his head and a couple of times they paused as a distant tremor in the ground told them that a member of the vast mammal order was moving about somewhere; but this gave them little cause for alarm for such giants rarely showed interest in their humble insect species. The absence of other insect life, however, was ominous, for it indicated that the red ants had systematically stripped the land of all its new-blossoming springtime population and that scarcely a creature was safe from their aggression. Even the smaller bird and reptile species appeared to have departed to other regions for want of sufficient insects on which to feed. Dreamer felt a grim respect for the extraordinary efficiency of the rapacious creatures they were stalking.

  They travelled in total silence for a long while with no change in the conditions around them. Then, just as Dreamer was beginning to wonder how much longer he could keep going at such a pace, Snake's Tongue called a halt. Indicating a deep fissure on the exposed root of a nearby fir tree, he said, 'Dreamer, scout out that crevice. If it's safe, we'll rest there and feed.'

  With relief Dreamer obeyed and, having ensured that the crevice was uninhabited, he signalled to the others to enter. They relaxed, swallowing some of the food in their crops. It was mixed with a liberal ration of honey-dew and almost immediately Dreamer could feel the substance's magical effect as it soothed his tired limbs and lifted his drooping spirits.

  After some moments, when all three had revived somewhat, Joker broke the silence. 'How far do you think their base might be, leader?' he asked.

  Snake's Tongue thought for a moment and then said, 'Judging from the way they've scoured the countryside, it can't be too far.' He gazed at the shadowy forest. 'What I can't understand is, how they operate – what their system is. We've been travelling in a straight line by the moon and we've joined several of their scent trails, all going in more or less the same direction. Yet we've come across no sign of the ants themselves. They've left no guards behind, established no outposts or satellite colony, even in the mound they overran. They're masters of this entire area and yet we haven't encountered a single one of them.'

  It was the longest speech Dreamer had ever heard him make. Snake's Tongue rarely revealed his thoughts but this was spoken as a natural communication of ideas to two equally ranked companions. It was a measure of the bond that had been established between them through their mutual isolation in this alien land.

  'Perhaps they don't hunt at night,' suggested Joker.

  'But when do they travel?' said Snake's Tongue. 'They've covered such a wide area and scavenged it so thoroughly that they must either camp out or travel through the night. Either way we must surely come across some of them sooner or later.'

  'I think it's sooner,' whispered Dreamer, his antennae against the ground.

  The others froze, their feelers also to the ground. Now they could sense it too: a distant tremor approaching over the forest floor. The vibration grew nearer, accompanied now by sound. The indications were of a large body of insects, but there were other signs too: a slithering, sliding movement, as of heavy objects being dragged along the earth. Then came the scent – the fresh, sickly red ant scent – and mingled with it another scent which all three of the waiting ants recognized: the odour of live crane-fly larvae. The party had evidently raided a crane-fly's hatching place and were taking the larvae back to their base, presumably for food.

  The three ants crouched in their crevice, waiting to see if they would be detected. They seemed safe for the moment because the other group was upwind of them, approaching at an angle, and a party on the move, dragging captives, creates so much scent itself that its own senses are diminished. However, the wind might change at any moment or the red ants might have flanking scouts out, and there was no way of knowing how skilled at detection they were. The fact that they still could not be seen, that they existed merely as an ominous conglomeration of scent and sound moving through the half-darkness, made the anticipation all the more nerve-racking.

  Then suddenly they came into view, a line of dim silhouettes briefly glimpsed as they crossed a patch of moonlight some thirty ant-lengths off between two tree-trunks. Dreamer counted them as they appeared and vanished again into the shadows. There were between thirty and forty, transporting the bulky shapes of perhaps a dozen larvae between them. The night distorted the distance and it was hard to calculate how big the other ants were but he could see that they were considerably larger than themselves and, from the length of their legs in proportion to the rest of their bodies, probably very fast over the ground. He thought morosely that the three of them would stand little chance in an even-numbered fight with such adversaries.

  The enemy continued on their way, oblivious of the presence of the intruders, and now moving away from them further into the forest. Snake's Tongue waited several minutes to let the party get well ahead, then whispered to the other two, 'Let's go. We'll follow their trail and hope that it leads directly to their base. I'll go last. Dreamer, you lead the way. There may be others around, so remember, our only hope is to be aware of them before they are aware of us.'

  'Like a midge-fly is before it's trodden on by a Giant Two-Legs,' muttered Joker to Dreamer as they slipped down from the tree root and set off in line.

  With a fresh scent trail to follow the going was easier now. The red ants, despite the fact that they were carrying heavy burdens, were making fast progress, which said even more about their size and strength. In silen
ce the threesome kept up a steady, regular pace along the well-trampled path that the party in front was following. They travelled this way for a long time until fatigue and the even monotony of their progress lulled Dreamer's senses to the point where he almost led them into catastrophe.

  The ground had altered somewhat and was now rising gradually, which increased the strain on the travellers. Dreamer was so intent on keeping an even pace to conserve his breath and energy that he only gradually became aware of a subtle change in the fresh scent trail they were following. The vague difference gently permeated his consciousness, until suddenly he became fully cognizant of it and stopped in his tracks, antennae quivering. There were now two sources of the scent, the familiar one on the trail he was following and a steady breath coming from the windward side. They were so similar that he had not taken immediate note of the second source. But now his antennae could also detect a distinct vibration coming from that direction, which was rapidly converging with their own route. He veered sharply off the trail, Snake's Tongue and Joker following without question, and all three plunged into a patch of coarse rye-grass and froze there, only the panting of their bodies and the slight tremor of their antennae indicating their presence.

  The approaching vibration pattern was very close now and Dreamer realized that it was in fact another group of the enemy, marching on a separate route which was about to converge with their own, only a few ant-lengths from the point they had reached. Had he not noticed them in time, the two parties would have virtually collided! Dreamer was appalled at his lapse of alertness and he waited in an agony of suspense to see whether they had been detected.

  However, the red ants' own state of awareness was evidently worse than their own, for the party – a rather smaller one than the group in front – continued past them and on up the main trail without hesitation. It seemed that their faculties were not as sensitive as those of his own species, or else that those faculties were dulled by their owners' arrogant confidence in their sovereignty over these regions. Either alternative provided at least some advantage to the intruders.