He walked home in deep thought, shaken by his experience yet also fascinated by it. This insight into the power of the will was a revelation. Because the world around him seemed full of terror and danger, his mind remained alert for any suggestion of a hostile will. And as he passed within twenty yards of the lair of a yellow scorpion, he became aware of its gaze as it watched him from the darkness. It was tired after hunting all night, and therefore disinclined to make a daylight foray. Niall sensed its indecision and deliberately reinforced it by sending out a suggestion that he was armed and dangerous. The scorpion decided that it was not, after all, worth the effort and the risk to attack him.
When he entered the relative coolness of the burrow, he flung himself down on his grass couch feeling utterly drained. But the tiredness was in his head, not his body. It was his attempt to use an unaccustomed will-muscle that had exhausted him so much.
Niall was fifteen when Siris gave birth to another daughter. The child was premature, and for the first two weeks it was uncertain whether she would live. They called her Mara, meaning “small dark one”, because her tiny shrivelled face had a curious brown pigmentation. It was undoubtedly the sweet ant-food that saved her life. And as soon as she was out of danger, she began to cry — a piercing, wavering little cry that irritated everyone but her mother. When she was not hungry, she was suffering from colic or heat rash or a runny nose. For the first six months of her life she cried for several hours every night. Ingeld, who had never been fond of children, became very bad tempered and began urging Thorg and Hrolf to look for another home. In fact, they found a roomy lair about a mile away, not far from the twisted red rocks, and the men soon drove out the dung beetles that lived there. But Ingeld spent only one night in her new home, decided she felt nervous, and — to Niall’s disgust — moved back again the following day.
Mara’s health began to improve when she was six months old; but it was clear that she had a nervous disposition. Any sudden movement made her jump and burst into tears. Loud noises sent her into paroxysms of sobbing. She screamed with fear every time an ant came near her. One early morning, when Thorg and Ingeld thought they were alone in the burrow, Niall overheard them talking about Mara. What would happen when she was older and knew about spiders? “She’ll be the death of all of us!” Ingeld said dramatically. Niall felt a mixture of anger and contempt, yet he knew she was right. Mara’s terror could betray them all. Yet what could be done? They could hardly murder the child.
It was Jomar who suggested a solution: the juice of the ortis plant. When he had been a child, a dozen brave hunters had ventured into the great delta and returned with gourds full of the juice. The plant was carnivorous and lured its prey with a marvellously sweet smell — a smell so heavenly that it made men dream. When a flying insect settled on the blossom of the ortis plant, it exuded a single drop of a clear liquid. The insect would drink this greedily and then become drowsy. Like tender fingers, the tendrils of the plant would delicately propel it into the mouth of the great, bell-like flower, like a beautiful girl popping a delicious morsel of food into her mouth, and the petals would close round it and digest it.
And how did the hunters avoid this fate? By deliberately choosing small ortis plants that were too weak to kill a full-grown man. One of the hunters would lightly touch the blossom with his finger, causing the juice to be exuded into a tiny cup. If the smell of the plant overcame him, others would rush forward and drag him clear. The problem, apparently, was that the perfume was so intoxicating that some men made no effort to fight it; they allowed themselves to be overcome and woke up later wearing a strange, dreamy smile. One man had allowed himself to collapse into a small plant, and a dozen of the bell-like suckers had instantly fastened on his face, his arms and legs. As the others tried to drag him clear, the tendrils resisted, trying to pull him back; they had to be hacked off with flint knives, and meanwhile, clouds of the sweet perfume had stunned two more of the men. When they pulled the suckers off his face and arms, drops of blood lay on the bright red blotches like dew; the tremendous suction of the plant had drawn it through his skin. The man remained unconscious for two days, and when he woke up, moved like a sleepwalker. He returned with the others, but had become sluggish, lazy and shifty; after he had been caught on several occasions trying to steal the ortis juice he was executed by order of the elders.
As Jomar spoke, Ulf was looking thoughtfully at Mara, who was feeding at her mother’s breast. He turned to Thorg. “Would you come with me?”
“Of course.”
“Very well. We set out at the time of the full moon.”
Niall said: “Can I come?”
Ulf placed his hand on his head. “No, boy. Someone has to stay and look after the women.”
So, ten days later, Ulf and Thorg, Veig and Hrolf, set out for the delta. By that time, they had another reason for wanting the juice of the ortis plant: Ingeld was having bouts of morning sickness that convinced her she was pregnant.
It was a well-equipped expedition. The men wore clothes of millipede skin to protect them from the heat, with hoods to draw over their heads. They had strong sandals, with multiple soles, and also carried lightweight shoulder bags of woven grass which could be suspended from a yoke. There was no need for a great deal of food or water, since these would be available along the way; they carried only a quantity of meat dried in the sun and gourds of water. They were armed with spears, slings and knives and also carried ropes.
They left at dusk on the night of the full moon and travelled north to the stony wilderness. Four armed men ran little risk of attack from scorpions, tiger beetles or other night predators. Niall wanted to accompany them to the edge of the wilderness, but his father refused; returning home alone, a fifteen year-old boy would be an easy prey.
Siris and Ingeld were nervous. The men had often spent days away from home on hunting expeditions, but the women knew this was different. Hunters were accustomed to the ways of giant insects and had a sixth sense for avoiding them. But the delta was full of unknown perils. Even Jomar had never been there, although he had flown over it in a spider balloon.
The next day, at dusk, Siris sat alone in the depths of the burrow while they all remained silent. Mara had been well fed two hours before, and now she slept quietly. After half an hour or so, they heard Siris breathe very deeply and knew that she had established contact. Niall lit the oil lamp as she rejoined them. “They are safe,” she said. “Hrolf has been attacked by a mosquito, but they killed it before it could drink his blood.” The men were carrying medicinal roots in case of malaria or other fevers.
Ingeld asked: “Is Thorg well?”
“He twisted his ankle, but it is not serious.”
Ingeld could have made contact with Thorg if she had been willing to make the effort. But she was impatient and found it difficult to relax and clear her mind. She was also lazy, and preferred to leave it to Siris, who was too conscientious to avoid anything that was expected of her.
On the following day, the women went out looking for fresh cactus fruit; Niall accompanied them to guard them, carrying the pepsis wasp. It was now old, and had lost much of its skill. Somehow, the wasp seemed to know that its master, Veig, was far away, and that it was expected to guard the family from trapdoor spiders and other predators. As Niall relaxed and allowed his mind to blend with the mind of the insect, he experienced a stronger sense of kinship and affection than he had ever known before. When they were returning, exhausted by the heat, Niall saw a distant speck in the sky — not a spider balloon but a large bird. As he stared at it, he realised that it was flying direct towards them; he tried to project his mind into the mind of the bird, urging it not to change direction. The wasp, sensing his excitement, also became alert. Suddenly the bird was only a few hundred yards away, flying at the height of a tall tree, and Niall ordered the wasp to attack. It soared up from his wrist, rising straight into the air with a speed and power they had not witnessed for a long time. Like a missile it flashed past the bustard, straight up for another hundred feet or so; then, changing direction, it dived. The bird was totally unprepared; it obviously felt it had nothing to fear from wasps. It fluttered with distress at the impact, and Niall experienced its agony as the sting drove home. A few seconds later, it lay on the ground a few hundred yards away. When Niall arrived, the wasp was sitting quietly on the crooked wing, and the bird’s eye was already covered with the film of death. It was enormous, and that night the burrow was full of the smell of roasted bird flesh. Even Ingeld was good tempered and cheerful.