by Robin Hawdon
A few paces behind him the dead trunk of a stem of last year's meadowsweet leaned out at a dangerous angle over the water. By some freak of Nature it had survived the gusts and floods of winter and was still clinging grimly to its precarious hold on the edge of the bank amidst the new young shoots of this year's growth. Dreamer sensed that if he could somehow get to the top of its tall, skeletal frame he would be out of reach of the monster's terrible tongue. The question was, could he get there faster than the toad could leap the intervening distance?
He had no time to ponder the matter. Instinctively he sensed a tautening of the muscles beneath the beast's gnarled skin as it prepared to leap. Panic unleashed Dreamer's own limbs from their paralysis and he sprinted for the stem, having first made a feint towards the forest side.
It was that feint which probably saved him. Instantly the toad responded to his movement, rising from its resting place and looming up, up into the air in a seemingly interminable uncoiling of its vast body. But, such was the speed of its reaction, that it was committed to its leap in the direction of Dreamer's feint before it realized that he was off the other way, running for his life back towards the river. The toad landed behind him with a thud that shook the ground beneath his feet. Then, furious at its mistake, it gathered itself for another leap.
Dreamer had reached the gaunt trunk of the meadowsweet and was scrambling frantically up its rough, brown surface, away from the ground and out over the swirling waters of the stream. Desperation lent strength to his limbs as he heard the crash of the toad's second landing right at the base of the stem and he felt the entire fragile structure shudder beneath him, threatening to fling him off into the water. He waited in suspense for that lethal tongue to strike and heard quite clearly the swish in the air as it whipped past his back, missing him by the merest fraction. Then he was up amongst the slender limbs of the meadowsweet's crown, which spread their thin, bare tracery of dead wood in a forlorn memorial against the empty air.
He clung there and turned to look back. The toad's colossal bulk crouched at the base of the plant's trunk, staring after him with malevolent fury. Then it stretched out one of its forelegs and grasped the stem as if wondering whether it could climb after him. The whole flimsy structure trembled and bent towards the water, Dreamer holding desperately on. The toad sensed the fragility of the dead plant and gripped it harder, attempting to pull it towards itself. For a moment Dreamer thought that his end had come as his refuge reared up into the air again and threatened to topple over towards the bank; but then came a splintering crash as the dead wood at the base of the stem gave way, the entire plant shook in a final death spasm and plunged down towards the water.
Again he was almost shaken from his precarious perch as the meadowsweet hit the surface with a heavy splash. Then the sky was spinning about his head, the water roaring beneath his feet and the river bank, with its huge predator crouched upon it in frustrated fury, drifting away behind – like a nightmare that fades into the distance, only to be replaced by another, still more frightening one.
19
All the winds, tempests and torrents of the world were roaring about his head. He was spinning amongst the clouds in the grip of forces more powerful than any creature on earth could compete with. And in his exhaustion, and his terror, and his confusion, he gave himself up to those forces, saying, 'Take me then where you will. I have had enough of searching, and fleeing and fighting. I no longer care what my purpose is. I no longer care what the world is about. I am too weary and too afraid. Let the Lord of the Stars take my body and swallow it up with the rest of the earth's refuse. I am happy to die.'
But the Voice came out of the roar and murmured: 'Who then will save your kin? Who will warn them of their danger? Because you wish to perish, must they perish also?'
And he replied: 'Let others warn them. Let others be the heroes. I know now that I am not made to be a hero – as Black Sting and Snake's Tongue are. Let Snake's Tongue be the one to warn them.'
And the Voice answered: 'It is not always those built like heroes who must fulfil the deeds. The choice is not always ours to make.'
He replied again: 'I have no more strength. I have no more courage. Snake's Tongue is the one with the power and the speed. Let him be the one to warn them.'
And the Voice said, 'Look down. You shall see more of the ways of the world.'
He looked down and saw through the raging whirlpools and the swirling clouds to the green canopy of the trees' foliage; and then still further, down through the dense mass of the undergrowth; and there he saw an ant running, running for his life amongst the fecundity of the forest floor. And he recognized the ant as Snake's Tongue. And close behind, pounding in Snake's Tongue's wake, ran several of the enemy spread out in a line on either side. And the first one, ahead of the line, running with swift, graceful strides, was the ant called Fleet.
Then he saw Snake's Tongue reach an open space and run out into it, looking around him for a way to escape as the enemy drew nearer. And at that moment, out from the greenery on the other side stepped a large, squat, bedraggledfigure, whom he recognized instantly as Dew-Lover. And the two ants ran to each other and embraced antennae in welcome recognition. And then the enemy broke out into the open space and they turned to meet them. And they looked at each other and the look said, 'Now I am not afraid to die. Now I have a friend beside me and together we shall make them buy our deaths so dearly that never again will they face any of our kind with contempt.'
And back to back the two ants faced the encircling enemy. And they met them, fighting a battle such as he had never seen nor could ever imagine. They fought through the day, amongst the dust and the blood and the poison and the tumbled grasses, like two creatures with the strength of a whole army behind them. And when at last they finally lay still amongst the dead and wounded bodies of the enemy about them, the forest was hushed in reverence at their departure. And the ant called Fleet stood for a long while, staring at the corpses, utterly still, utterly silent – until finally he turned and made his way slowly back into the trees.
Then the Voice came again and murmured: 'Now you have seen. Now you must decide. You are the only one left. Are they and Joker and yourself all to die in vain, or is there still a step to be taken, still a lesson to be learnt somewhere in all this that will even yet give it meaning?'
And the Voice was gone, and the roaring filled his head again, and the sky and the earth were spinning once more endlessly about him.
20
Consciousness gradually returned to him as the warmth of the afternoon sun bathed his aching body, eased his tired limbs, soothed his tormented brain. He realized that, although the roar was still sounding about and beneath him, the movement had ceased, only a gentle rocking motion now affecting his perch. He remembered dimly an interminable nightmare of deafening sound and plunging motion, of drenching spray and jarring shocks, of limbs aching with the strain of holding on and of a stomach heaving with the constant stirring of the movement. He remembered his desire only for it to end.
And now it seemed that, partially at any rate, it had. He looked about him, fearful of what new terror might confront his eyes. But there was only a gently waving blur of green, flecked with dancing spots of gold where the sun reflected off the water on to the flora of the river bank. There was only the great golden star of a celandine flower nodding smilingly above his head and a steady slithering sound as an earthworm disappeared with stately langour into a hole in the earthy slope beyond. There was only quiet sound and easy motion and friendly warmth.
He looked behind him and realized that he was still on the meadowsweet, wedged in a fork amongst the branches of its battered crown. Behind, the thick brown trunk sloped away into the water, which still rocked it up and down with each passing ripple, but up at this end the head was resting on a little beach of earth and pebbles, lodged against an exposed root of willow which had adventured away from the main tree some way off along the bank.
He stretched his
limbs stiffly, explored the air with his antennae and, still wary, still not quite able to accept that his ordeal was for the moment ended, climbed gingerly down from his perch to solid ground. He stood looking up at the bank above him, half expecting to see the evil shape of the toad looming there, but there was only a waving fringe of grasses and the blue of the sky flecked with innocently hurrying young clouds.
He became aware of a raging thirst and drank deeply at a pool by the stream's edge, unafraid now of the nearby water's flow. Then he realized that he was also ravenously hungry and wondered what these parts might have to offer in the way of food. He began the stiff climb up the bank, looking out for suitable seeds, or even – miracle of miracles – a nest of larvae hidden in some recess on the way.
He reached the top of the bank and peered cautiously between the grass stems. The looming shadow of the forest edge was still there, filling the immediate eyeline. His antennae scanned back and forth, seeking some clue as to his whereabouts. There seemed something strangely familiar about the place. He could not define it, but something about the tree-line above him, something about the scent of the air and the lie of the vegetation around, brought a quickening to his heart and an eagerness to his eye. He ran forward through the grass away from the stream, his heart thumping expectantly. A little way on he broke out of the tangle of grassy undergrowth on to the clear, curving path of a trail: a trail he knew, he was sure of it! The trail that led along the bank from the riverside mound to his home.
He turned on to it in the downstream direction and with quickening pace and increasing certainty headed along it. He was not sure how far off he was but every pace brought renewed recognition and joyful anticipation. Tiredness and hunger were forgotten and the terror and the grief subsided to a distant ache in the excitement of seeing home again. As the trees to one side became more and more familiar, as the open sky of the clearing spread ahead of him, and as the river's sound gradually changed to that exact melodious harmony which had filled the background all his life, he was aware of how dear that beautiful place was to him and of how much he had missed it during the long days of his ordeal.
A scouting party met him on the trail before he reached the clearing itself. They stared in wonder, scarcely recognizing the gaunt, scarred, dishevelled figure before them. Then they surrounded him with cries of welcome, much embracing of feelers, questions and exclamations. They escorted him back towards the mound through the clearing, where the work parties stopped and stared, waved and cheered. They stood while he halted, staring in amazement at the change in the mound's shape and at the frantic rebuilding activity upon it, where workers and soldiers toiled side by side. They told him of the Tawny Killer-Bird's attack and of Black Sting's stupendous feat, which had saved the colony from almost certain destruction; of the workerants' revolt and the torture of Five Legs and Still One; of the banishment of Dew-Lover and of Black Sting's recanting; and of the new agreement granted to the workers. They told him of the stories that had filtered through of the tremendous happenings out in the forest and of the growing fear in the colony that none of his little party would ever be seen again. And then they took him into the mound and down to the Council chamber, with runners going before to tell Black Sting, Great Head, Five Legs and the other elders that he had come.
As the company was gathering in the Council chamber, Dreamer was given food, mixed with a little fresh honey-dew to revive his exhausted body. Then he went before the assembly and told them his story. He told them everything, from the details of the expedition's journey outwards, their capture and their imprisonment in the huge mound; to their escape and pursuit, the death of Joker and his own miraculous, floating return. He told them all he knew about the red ants and their awesome leader, their living habits and their fighting methods. He told them about their extraordinary transient lifecycle, their ruthless philosophy and their innate need to expand their territories. And finally, hesitatingly – for he was not sure how they would react – he told them of his strange dream while adrift on the water of Snake's Tongue's pursuit and the meeting with Dew-Lover and their final mighty battle out in the forest.
His listeners did not scoff at his dream or dismiss it. One and all listened with the same solemn attention with which they had heard the rest of his story. It seemed so much a part of the almost surreal circumstances of his return that they accepted it without question. And when he had ceased speaking there was a grave silence and a heavy feeling of sadness over the company, as if, although they did not quite understand how his vision had come about, they sensed that it fitted the facts so obviously that it could not be discounted as mere fantasy.
Then Black Sting praised Dreamer for his bravery and resourcefulness. He congratulated him on his extraordinary deliverance – for never before had an ant been known to use water as a means of transport – and on behalf of all the colony's members he thanked him for the great service he had done them. And Dreamer bowed his head to hide his awkwardness and the depth of his feelings.
Then finally Black Sting said, 'I have one more thing to tell you. Our Great Mother, the Queen of Queens, imparts her happiness at your safe return and wishes me to conduct you to her presence that she may convey her gratitude in person.'
There was a murmur in the Council and a general nodding of approval. Dreamer was struck dumb. Only on the rarest of occasions was a humble inhabitant such as himself granted the privilege of meeting the great personage to whose service his entire life was dedicated. He was overcome with humility and emotion and not a little apprehension at the prospect.
Black Sting murmured for a moment with Great Head and Noble and others of the senior councillors and then he turned again to Dreamer. 'Come,' he said, 'Our Great Mother awaits us.' And he led the way from the chamber.
With two of the Royal Guard as escort behind them, they descended to the very deepest areas of the earth beneath the mound. Here was a region which Dreamer had only visited in his imagination before: a region of wide, straight corridors and huge, silent brood chambers; of quietly scurrying household staff and motionless, rigid Royal Guards; of whisperings and secret movements in the dark; and of warm, heavy, scented air that spoke of birth and fecundity and the eternal heartbeat of growing life.
Finally they came to the deepest, innermost chamber of all, and, as the guards fell back behind them and they crossed the threshold with heads bowed and feelers curled respectfully, Dreamer was aware of a gigantic, serene, feminine presence, whose quality, simply by being there, seemed to confirm an instinct that had long lain dormant in his subconscious knowledge, and which seemed finally to complete all the disparate findings of his confused and searching mind into one revelatory, illuminating picture.
He stood there in wonder and veneration as Black Sting spoke.
'Great Mother, this is the soldier called Dreamer. He has survived great hardship and braved many dangers and has returned alone to bring us the much-needed knowledge for which we waited. I have brought him to you as you requested.'
There was a moment's silence; then came her voice – gentle, low, calm with the knowledge of incalculable age and wisdom – 'Why do they call you Dreamer?'
He replied hesitantly, shyly, 'I have dreams which I cannot always explain, Great Mother.'
'Dreams of what?'
'Dreams of happenings, and searchings, and discoveries – and of a voice that answers my questions with strange answers.'
'Ah yes, I know that voice. And have your dreams been of use to you?'
'I . . . I think so, Great Mother. But I'm never sure quite what they mean.'
Here Black Sting broke in. 'He has dreamed that Snake's Tongue and Dew-Lover together fought a band of the red ants and that both are dead. It seems possible that this may be true.'
The Queen of Queens was silent for a moment. Then she went on, 'That is a great gift that you have, brave Dreamer. Listen to your dreams and do not be afraid to trust them.'
Then Dreamer said uncertainly, 'You said you know the voice, Gre
at Mother. Whose is it?'
'Ah, that you must discover for yourself,' she replied. 'Listen hard and one day it may reveal itself. Now, tell me how you are after your long ordeal and what you have learned.'
He hesitated. 'What I have learned?'
'Not your information,' she went on. 'Black Sting will use that to the best advantage in our danger, I know that. I want to know what you have learned of yourself and of life. That is the real knowledge that will help us in the end.'
Again he hesitated, flustered. The Queen of Queens waited with patient calm for him to collect his thoughts. Finally he said diffidently, haltingly, 'I have learned that there is always something more to learn. I have learned that nothing is what it seems. I have learned that hope is never lost, even in death. I have learned . . .' He broke off, emotion suddenly halting his voice. 'I have learned that there is something missing from our lives, without which we will never be safe.'
'What is that?'
He searched for a way to explain. 'It was something I found on our expedition that I felt I must have always been seeking. It was a closeness, a trust, a . . . an intimacy with the others with me that I had never felt before. It was a friendship with the soldier called Joker that, now he is dead, I cannot think I will find again.'
Her voice was soft as the air. 'Why do you think that?'
'I don't know, I. . . .' Again he searched his mind. 'Great Mother, why is it that the giant beasts have mates? Why do the birds and the animals in the forest and even the fish swimming in the stream, mate one with another and live together in twos or in families with their mates, and that we do not? Why do only a few of us, the winged ones, mate, and then are banished from the colony, never to return on pain of death? And why are you and the young Queens the only female ones amongst us?'