by Robin Hawdon
'But they soon discovered why there was no life on the topmost branch. During the night there came a high wind off the hill behind the spruce tree, and it caught the topmost branch in its full force and hurled all the aphid-bugs upon it to their deaths far below, where lay the bodies of all the rest of their kind.'
He stopped speaking and stood, looking at Noble. The soldier was quiet and thoughtful. Then he nodded imperceptibly and stepped silently back to his place.
Dreamer was fascinated by the way Still One's story crystallized the general opinion in a way that all the discussion, argument and persuasion had not managed to do. There were still a few voices of dissent, but from now on it was clear that the main body of feeling was for staying and facing the danger, however terrible the outcome might be. The moral imperatives had been illustrated in a way that no one could challenge and it was with a feeling of relief and determination that the colony now got on with the task of repairing the mound and preparing the defences.
Black Sting, his own deepest inclinations now confirmed, first consulted with the Queen of Queens, who agreed wholeheartedly with the decision. He then put body and soul into the business of organizing and inspiring every section of the community, and all his ingenuity into devising the best way of protecting the hillock and in particular the Royal Quarters and the brood chambers below ground. Most of the tunnels were blocked off at some distance within the mound, thus forming fake entrances into which the enemy might be decoyed and then trapped. The few that were left open were deliberately chosen for their devious and complex routes, which would, he hoped, confuse and scatter any intruders, and in these piles of earth were made ready at strategic spots with which to close them off at the last moment. All paths of communication between the upper mound and the Royal Quarters were severed completely except for one obscure passage and a generous store of food was collected in those regions so that their inhabitants could survive for a long time without contact with the outside world.
Outside in the clearing barriers of grass and twigs were made ready by the sides of all the main trails leading from the forest, and any bare space was filled with obstacles and debris to prevent the red ants from using their extra size and speed to advantage. The line along the forest edge to the river bank was barricaded and manned day and night by picked soldiers as the first line of defence. Every ant in the colony, from the lowly workers such as Bug-Rump to the elder Council members such as Great Head, was instructed in the best ways of getting in close and fighting the red ants, and spent his spare time sharpening claws and mandibles and practising sting-thrusts.
And throughout all this activity, a constant watch was maintained far out in secret places in the forest for the first indications that the red ants were approaching.
There was, however, no sign of them for the moment. The days passed and lengthened and the foliage thickened on all sides, turning the clearing into a secret, enclosed island of light amidst the shadowed vaults of the woodland. It did not grow quite as fast as usual at that time of year, however, for there was passing an unusually long hot, dry spell, which temporarily held back the hectic rush to fill up all available space with greenery and brought a dry, brittle feel to the grass and undergrowth which normally only came some months later at the height of summer.
Now that Black Sting was temporarily leader of the Council as well as of the soldiers, he reorganized his chain of command. New officers were appointed to positions of prominence and the system was modified to accommodate both the soldiers' participation in the physical work being carried out and the marshalling of the worker-ants in their new role as reserve soldiers.
Snake's Tongue and Dew-Lover having both departed the scene, Black Sting also appointed a new select contingent of personal aides – not this time chosen purely for their fighting capabilities – and, much to his surprise, Dreamer found himself enrolled in this capacity. It was not really so strange, for his achievement on the expedition had proved his worth. Moreover, he was no longer the somewhat naïve, eager creature who had embarked on that adventure. The aura of awareness, of alert curiosity, was still there, but now there was also a self-confidence that had been missing before, as well as a tougher, more cynical realism in his approach to life. Physically too he was maturing. He would never be an intimidating physical specimen as soldiers go, but he had filled out, and his limbs had strengthened, giving his agile stride a weight and authority that it had not possessed before. His antennae were still his most distinctive feature and had continued to lengthen their sensitive curves. This, coupled with the fact that the outward signs of his dreams were becoming less and less nervously evident, brought about the frequent use of a new name for him, as is often the way with ants.
It was Old Five Legs, who had himself been rechristened after his injury long ago, who initiated the new name, although Dreamer was unaware of it as the old worker-ant had first used it out of his hearing. Conversing with some other workers he had referred to Dreamer in the third person as 'our friend with the quick feelers,' and from then on the name had stuck. Dreamer heard himself referred to as 'Quick Feelers' with greater and greater frequency and, truth to tell, was secretly not displeased with his new title.
Many continued to use his old name, however, and although it was not so evident to observers, his dreams still visited him; not perhaps with the same urgency and vividness as before, but taking more complex, obscure forms and with his Voice still invariably present, challenging him with yet further unanswerable questions, presenting still more unfathomable enigmas. In fact this was merely a reflection of his conscious state, for he was finding as he grew more worldly, more experienced, that the mysteries of life, far from resolving themselves, simply multiplied and became more involved in proportion. Such is the eternal paradox of existence and Dreamer was now beginning to appreciate it.
The only ant who seemed never confounded by the illogicality of events, who always appeared able to put them into perspective and see the horizon beyond the tangle of the undergrowth, was the Story Teller, now accepted without question as a regular member of the Council. He still continued his solitary occupation as an aphid-bug tender but always came when summoned to a Council meeting. With his quiet, self-effacing presence and his uncanny knack of summing up and resolving a dispute with a simple, inoffensive parable, he became a highly potent influence on the assembly. Black Sting himself came to value his presence so highly that at times, when the strain of command became too onerous, he took to quietly visiting the gentle worker-ant on his birch sapling and snatching a few stolen moments of reflection and relaxation in his company. On several such occasions Dreamer was privileged to accompany his leader and he too came to value these visits as oases of calm sanity in the hectic routine of daily life.
It was on one such occasion, when the three ants were together amongst the quietly browsing aphid-bugs – high above the ground in the shimmering midday heat that was quite unseasonable in its intensity – that Black Sting voiced the main concern now troubling him. His powerful figure reclined uncharacteristically at ease on the bark surface with Dreamer nearby and Still One working unhurriedly at his morning collection of honeydew.
'What worries me now, Story Teller, is how to communicate with this formidable-sounding Spider.'
'Communicate?' queried Still One, looking up from his task.
'Yes,' said Black Sting. 'You see, we have now done all we can with regard to the defences of the mound. We've organized everyone; we've planned our tactics; we're proceeding as fast as possible with the rebuilding and the fortifying. But all this is providing for the last eventuality, the final confrontation in battle, when all else has failed. What we are hoping is that we won't get that far; that reason will prevail first; that we can find some point of contact with these creatures and persuade them that such drastic action is not necessary. However, I am a soldier not a diplomat. I'm trained in the ways of battle not of psychology. And from what Quick Feelers here says, it sounds as if The Spider is not the most a
menable personality with whom to negotiate. How do you suppose we should approach him?'
Still One left his work and came to join the two soldiers. He contemplated Dreamer with his impassive eyes. 'Tell me about this enormous Spider,' he said. 'Did you detect no pliancy in him at all; no hint of vulnerability anywhere?'
Dreamer thought back over his one brief meeting with the enemy leader, which had culminated in that appalling act of cruelty to Snake's Tongue.
'No,' he replied. 'Doubtless there must be some softness in him somewhere – there must be something that would touch him – but I saw no sign of it.'
Still One nodded. 'And his soldiers, what of them?'
Dreamer replied, 'Well, the one called Fleet, as I have told you, showed signs of compassion, and indeed of wanting to communicate with us. Presumably there must be others like him. But if my dream was true – and it was he who led the hunting-down of Snake's Tongue, after having allowed us to escape – then it shows that his conditioning is still the most powerful factor in his make-up.'
'Tell us more of your conversations with him,' said Still One.
Dreamer told them as much as he could remember of those strange stolen discussions with Fleet; of his curiosity about their own lifestyle; of his surprise at the concept of a self-perpetuating, self-sufficient and non-aggressive colony; and of his emphatic rejection of that concept for his own species.
When he had finished, Still One was silent for a long moment. Finally he said quietly, 'It sounds as if a reform of their philosophy might be possible, but that it would be a long and difficult process, which could probably only be undertaken from within.'
'Within?' queried Black Sting.
'By living with them, integrating with their system, communicating one's own ideas slowly, by example.' Still One turned his eyes to Black Sting. 'Are we prepared to surrender everything and go into captivity to achieve that?'
'That would mean the certain death of all our Queens and probably of all the most prominent soldiers and elders,' said Black Sting. 'The Spider would never risk keeping them all alive within his mound. Therefore the answer must of course be no, as it was for the aphid-bugs in your story.'
Still One nodded and gazed silently at the blue sky far beyond the gently nodding fronds of his birch tree.
'I shall tell you another story with a different moral,' he said. 'Two ants were a little drunk on honey-dew and were debating the ways of life. And one said, "I see an ugly world, where misery and pain and squalor exist, and only selfishness can survive."
'And the other said, "I see a beautiful world, where the seasons come, and contrast lives, and anticipation lightens the heart."
'And the first said, "I see a cruel world, where strength rules, where viciousness is rife and uncertainty fills the days."
'And the second said, "I see a brave world, where truth wins in the end, where justice prevails and knowledge grows with every deed."
'And the first said, "I feel only anger and the strength of evil."
'And the second said, "I feel only love and the power of beauty."
'And the first ant was so angry at the optimism of the second ant that he flung himself upon him, crying, "Very well, let us see how your beauty and love can save itself from my anger and hatred!"
'And they fought a fierce battle.
'But, because the second ant was content in his heart, he was not afraid of death, for he had found the meaning of life. Therefore he fought fearlessly and coolly. And because the first ant was unhappy in his soul, he was afraid to die, for he still desired to see the light. Therefore he fought fearfully and frantically. And so the second ant defeated the first ant.
'But he did not kill him as the first ant would have done in his place. He left him to creep away, and nurse his wounds, and ponder again about the eternal problem.'
Black Sting was quiet for a long time after that. Still One did not speak again but left him to contemplate his thoughts.
Dreamer too was thoughtful. Is it true for me? he wondered. Am I happy enough inside to be unafraid of death? Do I love the world enough to be able to forsake it willingly? He looked across at his leader. And what about you? he thought. Are you afraid? Not of the fight or the pain or the wounds; I know you are not afraid of those. But are you afraid of losing life?
Then Black Sting lifted his head and met Dreamer's gaze and Dreamer saw the glint in his eye and knew that he was not. And in fact the big ant confirmed it with his next words.
'Thank you, Story Teller. That has helped me a lot. I have been worrying on behalf of the colony because I saw it as my duty to protect it. But of course I am not on my own. We are all together in this crisis. And I think the colony is like your second ant. We may have to die in the end, but we are not afraid to. For I think that, despite everything, it has been a good life.' He looked at Dreamer. 'What do you say, Quick Feelers?'
Dreamer looked down through the foliage at the sunlit clearing; at the groups of workers busying about their tasks; at the old ones gossiping in a corner, where they thought no one could see them; at the soldiers confidently striding about their missions; he gazed at where the waters of the stream ran sparkling on their endless journey, and where the kingcups and the wood anemones nodded approvingly at all the goings-on from their vantage points upon the banks, and he felt a warmth deep inside.
'Yes, leader. I have not seen enough of it yet, but it has been a good life. I don't think we shall be too afraid to leave it.'
Black Sting nodded approvingly and then raised his antennae briskly. 'However,' he said, 'we are not going to die unless we have to.' He turned again to Still One. 'I have a suggestion to make, Still One. It is not an order, merely an idea put forward for your consideration.'
Still One cocked his antennae questioningly. Black Sting went on: 'When the red ant army arrives, I imagine it will be led by The Spider himself. Now someone is going to have to speak with him directly. Someone is going to have to negotiate, and attempt, at any rate, to come to terms with him. And, as I have said, I am no diplomat. If I meet him, it will merely be a trial of strength between two military leaders, at which he will feel honour-bound to display his superiority. I suspect that would not be the clever way. We need someone who would be no threat to him; who could get beneath his skin; take him by surprise, psychologically.' He gazed at the slim worker-ant steadily. 'You are the only one I can imagine being able to do that.'
Still One was quiet, motionless for a long moment. Then he said softly, 'Yes. I will speak with him.'
Black Sting said, 'I know it is a frightening thing I am asking of you, and perhaps a very dangerous thing.' A twinkle came into his eye. 'But it seems to me that if you can persuade our Council of something, then you have a good chance of persuading The Spider.'
Dreamer envisaged the bizarre picture of the diminutive Story Teller confronting the gigantic Spider – with the hopes of the entire colony resting on his fragile head – but in a strange way it did not seem such an unequal contest. A pure case of mind versus muscle; and he had seen enough of Still One now to know that, however much the muscle might rage and destroy, the mind would leave its mark somewhere.
22
As in a dream the days passed: sunny, benign, full of activity. By all outward observances the colony appeared a happy, thriving place, throbbing with industry and energy. Yet underneath lurked the ever-present shadow of fear; no longer that initial sharp sting of terrified expectancy, but lulled now to a dull ache of grim, patient suspense, like the throb of a deep bruise that will not heal.
Then, inevitably, events began to gather momentum. Yet still with that same unreal, dreamlike quality, for the first indications seemed to come from some other grotesque world, which bore no resemblance to the familiar domestic one. The first reports began to filter in, via the forest's own mysterious warning system which operated far beyond the colony's own lookout posts, of a huge ant army on the move, led by an insect so enormous that it was rumoured he was not an ant at all but a member of
some new order never seen in the forest before. The army was said to be making slow progress, due to the problem of keeping such a great body of insects supplied, but none the less to be advancing inexorably through the woods from the direction of the red ant mound, devouring everything in its path. The ants in the clearing who heard the rumour looked at each other with grim faces and said little, for there was little to say.
Then a further strange report came in, which was even more nightmarish and confusing in its unreality. A party returned from a visit to another of the small satellite mounds – this one a night's journey in the opposite direction to the riverside mound – and reported that they had found its inhabitants buzzing with excitement at a weird tale told by two of their members who had been out on a scavenging expedition. It was said that these two had travelled as far as the bank of the river, which was some way off from that mound and which in that downstream direction broadened out to a wide, slow-running flood. And there they had witnessed a sight which had sent them fleeing back in a state of near hysteria to report to their elders. They claimed to have seen a gigantic beast standing leg-deep in the water, towering above even the bushes on the bankside, and actually walking on the riverbed upstream against the current! If the account could be believed and the garbled description correctly understood, the monster could have been none other than the legendary Giant Two-Legs.
Like all others who heard the tale Black Sting was highly sceptical and put it down to the effects of an overdose of honey-dew, but nevertheless it added to the general mood of nervous unease. Prudently Black Sting took the precaution of posting a lookout on the bank some distance downstream, for if there was a creature of some kind moving upriver, it must eventually, after negotiating the various twists and turns between the two colonies, arrive at their own stretch. That done, however, he turned his attention to the much more credible threat of the approaching red ant army.