Confused, Awb said, “But I always thought—”
She cut short his words. “The real Jingfired, young’un, are never who you think they are. You have to know.”
And she hurried up a convenient branch to fix another image from the treetops.
Awb found himself wishing they didn’t have to rely on mounts, for it would have been quicker and more pleasurable to swarm along branchways in the ancient fashion instead of padding along on the ground. Away from the water’s edge, and away from these discolored cutinates, the overgrowth mostly smelled normal despite its peculiar tint, so—
His thoughts came to a squeaking halt.
Why weren’t there any people in this valley?
Where else on the entire globe was there such lush terrain without a city, a town, even a hamlet?
This is what the world must have looked like before the Age of Multiplication.
The thought struck him so forcibly that he uttered it aloud. Some of those within hearing responded as though he had chanced on a profound truth.
But not all. Phrallet was close beside Byra; she had moved in to offer comfort after Lesh made mock of her. Now she turned and said loudly, “Ah, that’s my youngest bud making noises again! I wish I’d had another she’un that I could have traded off to benefit Voosla, but who wants a he’un, particularly a useless lazy one like Awb?”
Clack: Awb’s mandibles rattled as he rose in fury to maximum height, heedless of Thilling’s gear which he was carrying. There was no case on record of a budling fighting his budder, but after that—I
Except, amazingly—
(As the pheromones mingled in the taut still air with what the rotting plants exuded, but far fiercer …)
Clackonclackonclackonclack: and abruptly climaxing—
“SHUT UP!”
It was Drotninch, fuming with chemical proof of the reason why she had been chosen to lead the university team.
“I don’t want to hear any more arguments until we get to the lake and have something solid to argue about! In the meantime, save your pressure for moving your pads!”
Phrallet slanted her mantle as though to puff a blast of combat-stink directly at Drotninch, but Lesh, Thilling and even Byra signaled a warning of the consequences. She subsided, still angry, and let the rest of the party go by, falling in right at the end. As Awb sidled past, she glowered with her whole mantle, but said nothing.
He was indescribably relieved.
The sun was just at the zenith when they emerged on a flat bare outcrop of rock overlooking the artificial lake. The water-level was a little below maximum, as could be judged from the mud along the banks, some of which was a curious yellow color. There were automatic spillways to cope with the rise due to a spring thaw: a dense mat of small but coarse-stemmed plants along the top of the dam, designed to float upward and lift their root-masses just enough for the surplus to spill over without letting the dam erode.
At least, there should have been. In fact, the plants were decaying like everything else in the vicinity, and the mud along the banks was actually bare, whereas ordinarily it would have been fledged with shoots sprung from the riverside vegetation.
“Have you noticed,” Byra said after a pause, “that you can tell at a glance which of the trees have taproots long enough to reach the river? They’re dying off. Look!”
In a dull voice Lesh said, “So they must be sucking up the poison, if that’s what it actually is.”
“And the state of these cutinates!” Byra went on as she clambered over the edge of the rock and gingerly descended to the waterside. She prodded the nearest, and its rind yielded, soft as rotting funqus. A swarm of startled wingets took to the air, shrilling their complaint at being disturbed. Awb, with the quick reflexes of youth, snatched one as it shot past, and bent his eye to examine it.
“How long since you sent anyone to check out the cutinates?” Drotninch demanded of Lesh.
“As soon as the snow melted,” was the muttered reply. “I was assured that everything was in order. At any rate the spillways were working properly, and above the water-level the cutinates looked pretty much all right.”