“They’re getting their own back.”
“Their own back?”
“That’s obviously how it catches its prey. It lies there looking like a heap of dead bones. A vulture sees it and flies down to see if there’s any flesh left on the bones. Then — snap. One vulture less.”
“But how does it do it?”
Again, Niall’s intuition supplied the answer.
“My guess is that it somehow affects the mind. It wills you not to see it. If a spider can will a fly into its web, why shouldn’t a lizard will a bird not to see its flesh?”
Now they were approaching the edge of the forest, they could see that its richness of colouring was due to a profusion of flowers. From a distance, it looked like one of the cultivated gardens in the city of the beetles, with its colours arranged for effect: yellow, purple, red, orange, and every shade of green. This impression vanished as they came closer; it was obviously a tangled wilderness; yet it still gave the impression of being an overgrown garden.
They were approaching cautiously, their weapons raised; but there seemed to be no obvious cause for vigilance. The nearest bush was covered with large, yellow trumpet-shaped flowers, with a distinctive odour not unlike roses. A furry bee, the size of a clenched fist, crawled out of one of the trumpets and buzzed away into the forest; it evidently had no cause for alarm. As soon as they came close to the trees, the character of the grass changed; it became rich and green, and when Niall bent down and plucked a stalk, it broke without resistance.
They surveyed the ground, looking for the tell-tale signs of the black squids, and studied each tree, watching particularly for that slight trembling motion that would betray awareness of their presence. Everything looked completely normal. The trees and bushes were sufficiently far apart for them to be able to see between them. There were many bees, and some other insects, but nothing that seemed to pose a threat.
Doggins said: “I don’t trust that smell. It could be a drug.”
Niall shrugged. “Let’s wait here and see what effect it has. I need a drink anyway.”
After the encounter with the lizard, his throat felt harsh and dry. They sat down on the grass, a dozen feet from the nearest bush. Niall had filled his water bottle from the stream before they set out; now the water was warm, but at least it quenched his thirst. He was tempted to drink some of the golden wine — the flask was still half full — but decided that it might not be wise in the mid-morning heat. He chewed a biscuit and ate an apple — Doggins also ate sparingly — and when he had finished eating, sat cross-legged and deliberately induced the sense of inner calm. In these surroundings, it was not difficult. The scent of the flowers and the richness of their colours made the woodland seem like an enchanted garden. In this state, the bush with the yellow flowers made him feel oddly light-hearted, as though its trumpets were sounding clarions of joy.
Doggins had been watching him. He said: “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t sense any danger. I think perhaps we should. . . What was that?”
They both listened. Niall asked: “Did you hear something?”
“I thought I heard a shout.”
A moment later it came again. This time there could be no doubt.
“Niall!”
Niall’s flesh crawled with apprehension and foreboding. The voice was that of his brother Veig, and it seemed to be coming from the other side of the woodland. He stood up and cupped his hands to his mouth; but before he could speak, Doggins jumped to his feet and clapped his hand to Niall’s lips.
“Don’t! It could be a trap.”
“But it’s my brother.”
“That makes no difference. Don’t shout.”
“Niall!” The voice was unmistakably Veig’s.
Doggins said urgently: “The spiders must have brought him here.”
“But we have our Reapers.”
Doggins gripped his arm. “If they’re holding your brother hostage, we can’t use the Reapers. That’s what they’re relying on.” Niall shook his head helplessly. “Listen to me. What would you do it they threatened to kill your brother unless you gave yourself up? You’d do it, wouldn’t you? That’s why you mustn’t answer.”
“But perhaps he’s alone.”
“Niall!” There was a note of urgency in the shout. It seemed unnatural not to reply, but Niall restrained himself with an effort of will that was like a sharp pain.
Doggins said: “How can he be alone? Think it out. He didn’t know where you were, and even if he did know, he couldn’t find his way to the Delta alone. Somebody must have brought him.”
Niall’s cheeks were burning with a dry heat; he felt confused and vulnerable.
“Perhaps we ought to go back.”
“What would be the point? We’ve got to go on.”
“Yes.” But he said it without conviction. His heart felt as if it had turned to lead. The voice of his brother had filled him with longing, and it had drained away all his inner certainty.
They pulled on their packs, and advanced warily into the trees. It was cooler there, and the air was heavy with the scent of flowers. The colours that surrounded them were so vivid that it was as if some of the flowers glowed by their own inner light. But the rich scents only induced in Niall a feeling of nausea. His cheeks were burning feverishly, and his legs felt as if they had no strength. His mind was clouded with doubts and fears. What if they had his mother there, too? And perhaps even the children? The thought made him want to cry out in despair.
He reached inside his tunic and turned the thought mirror. There was an excruciating flash of pain in the back of his skull, and he had to restrain the impulse to turn it back again. But as he concentrated, clenching his teeth, the pain disappeared, and he became aware of how far his strength had been depleted by fear and anxiety. Then, like a fist clenching inside him, resolution began to return, and this in itself brought relief. Suddenly, he could see that, no matter how great the problems, it was sheer stupidity to allow them to drain away all his strength. That would be as if a man dying of thirst should deliberately empty his last drops of water into the sand.
The feeling of nausea vanished like a bad dream. Now, at least, he could look at the problem objectively; and as he did so, his courage returned. If Veig was now being held captive by the spiders — and it seemed a reasonable assumption — then the spiders had probably seen them as they came over the brow of the hill. In that case, they were probably lying in wait. But when Niall remembered how swiftly he had been taken captive by the wolf spider in the desert, he realised how easy it would be for the spiders to leap out from behind a bush or rock, and overwhelm them before they had time to resist. Then why had they allowed Veig to give away their presence by shouting? It seemed completely senseless. Now they were forewarned, they were unlikely to be taken by surprise.
There could be only one answer. The spiders were terrified of the Reapers, and were unwilling to do anything that might provoke them to fire. And if that was true, then there was still hope. It meant that the spiders were willing to negotiate. . .
These reflections revived his optimism, and he was appalled at the thought of how close he had been to total surrender. He was also intrigued to observe how quickly the renewal of hope replenished his vital energies. Now, suddenly, he noticed the beauty of the flowers, with their incredible array of colours. There were the yellow, trumpet-like flowers, with their smell that reminded him of roses. There were orange blossoms that had the pleasant tang of citrus fruit. There were bushes covered with a purple flower whose shape reminded him of an open mouth, and whose rich, sweet smell was somehow cloying and disagreeable. There were even green flowers that looked like dog roses, although each petal had a broad band of white; these had a smell that reminded him of coconut or honey. In the grass there were pink and white daisies whose clean, sweet scent filled him with a feeling of innocence. He also observed that where flowers were hidden in the shade of trees, the flowers seemed to glow as if they were phosphorescent.
His sharpened senses soon became aware that each flower seemed to affect him in its own individual way. He had already noticed the curious sense of joy induced by the yellow, trumpet-like flower, but had assumed that this was due simply to its bright colour. Now he could see that the whole bush was emitting some vibration that produced this feeling of light-heartedness, and that it was as distinct as a musical note. The deep red flowers produced a thrill of excitement that somehow aroused a flash of cruelty, like a desire to hit someone in the face. The orange flowers brought a sharp feeling of delight that reminded him somehow of Merlew and Dona and Odina; it seemed to contain the essence of femininity. And some great white blossoms, shading into lilac at the tip, filled him with a peculiar sensation of nostalgia that seemed connected with an unknown country whose winds were cold and bracing, and whose streams were covered with ice from autumn until the spring. It was strange to walk among them, and to experience all these sensations, and many others that were indescribable, as if swimming through water whose temperature changed from moment to moment.