and myopic adversary."
In truth, if they were anticipating the appearance of some
ferocious carnivore, Jon-Tom couldn't understand why the
Mimpa continued to remain close by. They appeared relaxed
and expectant, roughly as fearful as children on a Sunday
School picnic.
What kind of devouring "god" were they expecting?
"Don't you hear something?" At Talea's uncertain query
everyone went quiet. The attitude of expectancy simultaneously
rose among the assembled Mimpa.
This was it, then. Jon-Tom tensed and cocked his legs. He
would kick until he couldn't kick any more, and if one of
those predators got its jaws on him he'd follow Flor's sugges-
tion and shove his legs down its throat until it choked to
death. They wouldn't go out without a fight, and with six of
them functioning in tandem they might stand an outside
chance of driving off whatever creature or creatures were
coming close.
Unfortunately, it was not simply a matter of throats.
By straining against the supportive pole Jon-Tom could just
see over the weaving crest of the Sward. All he saw beyond
riffling tufts of greenery was a stand of exquisite blue- and
rose-hued flowers. It was several minutes before he realized
that the flowers were moving.
"Which way is it?" asked Talea.
"Where you hear the noise." He nodded northward. "Over
there someplace."
"Can you see it yet?"
"I don't think so." The blossoms continued to grow larger.
"All I can see so far are flowers that appear to be coming
toward us. Camouflage, or protective coloration maybe."
"I'm afraid it's likely to be rather more substantial than
56
Alan Dean Foster
that." Caz's nose was twitching rapidly now. Clothahump
produced a muffled, urgent noise.
"I fear the kicking will do us no good," the rabbit
continued dispiritedly. "They apparently have set us in the
path of a Marching Porprut."
"A what?" Flor gaped at him. "Sounds like broken
plumbing."
"An analogy closer to the mark than I think you suspect,
night-maned." He grinned ruefully beneath his whiskers. "As
you shall see all too soon, I fear."
They resumed fighting their restraints while the Mimpa
jabbering rose to an anticipatory crescendo. The assembled
aborigines were jumping up and down, pounding the ground
with their spears and clubs, and pointing gleefully from
captives to flowers.
Flor slumped, worn out from trying to free herself. "Why
are they doing this to us? We never did anything to them."
"The minds of primitives do not function on the same
cause-and-effect principles that rule our lives." Caz sniffed,
his ears drooping, nose in constant motion. "Yes, it must be a
Porprut. We should soon be able to see it."
Another sound was growing audible above the yells and
howls of the hysterical Mimpa. It was a low pattering noise,
like small twigs breaking underfoot or rain falling hard on a
wooden roof or a hundred mice consuming plaster. Most of
all it reminded Jon-Tom of people in a theater, watching
quietly and eating popcorn. Eating noises, they were.
The row of solid Sward grass to the north began to rustle.
Fascinated and horrified, the captives fought to see beyond
the greenery.
Suddenly darker vegetation appeared, emerging above the
thin, familiar blades of me Sward. At first sight it seemed
only another type of weed, but each writhing, snakelike
olive-colored stalk held a tiny circular mouth lined with fine
56
THE HOUR OF Tm GATE
fuzzy teeth. These teeth gnawed at the Sward grass. They ate
slowly, but there were dozens of them. Blades went down as
methodically as if before a green combine.
These tangled, horribly animate stems vanished into a
brownish-green labyrinth of intertwined stems and stalks and
nodules. Above them rose beautiful pseudo-orchids of rose
and blue petals.
At the base of the mass of slowly moving vegetation was
an army of feathery white worm shapes. These dug deeply
into the soil. New ones were appearing continuously out of
the bulk, pressing down to the earth like the legs of a
millipede. Presumably others were pulled free behind as the
creature advanced across the plain.
"'Tis like no animal I have ever heard of or seen," said
Talea in disgust.
"It's not an animal. At least, I don't think it is," Jon-Tom
murmured. "I think it's a plant. A communal plant, a
mobile, self-contained vegetative ecosystem."
"More magic words." Talea fought at her bonds, with no
more success than before. "They will not free us now."
"See," he urged them, intrigued as he was horrified,
"how it constantly puts down new roots in front. That's how
it moves."
"It does more than move," Caz observed. "It will scour
me earth clean, cutting as neat and even a path across the
Swordsward as any reaper."
"But we're not plants. We're not part of the Sward," Hor
pointed out, keeping a dull stare on the advancing plant.
"I do not think the Porprut is much concerned with
citizenship," said Caz tiredly. "It appears to be a most
indiscriminate consumer. I believe it will devour anything
unable or too stupid to get out of its path."
Much of the Porprut had emerged into the clearing. The
Mimpa had moved back but continued to watch its advance
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Alan Dean Foster
and the effect it produced in its eventual prey. It was much
larger than Jon-Tom had first assumed. The front was a good
twenty feet across. If the earth behind it was as bare as Caz
suggested, then when the creature had finished with them
they would not even leave behind their bones.
It was particularly horrible to watch because its advance
was so slow. The Porprut traveled no more than an inch 01
two every few minutes at a steady, unvarying pace. At that
rate it would take quite a while before they were all con-
sumed. Those on the south side of the pole would be forced
to watch, and listen, as their companions closer to the
advancing plant were slowly devoured.
It promised a particularly gruesome death. That prospect
induced quite a lot of pleasure among the watchful Mimpa.
Jon-Tom dug his feet into the soft, cleared earth and kicked
violently outward. A spray of earth and gravel showered
down on the forefront of the approaching creature. The
writhing tendrils and the mechanically chewing mouths the^
supported took no notice of it. Even if-the prisoners had their
weapons and freedom, it still would have been more sensible
to run than to stand and fight.
It was loathesome to think you were about to be killed by
something neither hostile nor sentient, he mused. There was
nothing to react to them. There was no head, no indication of
a central nervous system, no sign of external organs of
perception. No ears, no eyes. It ate and moved; it was
supremely and unspectaculariy efficient. A basic mass-energy
converter that differed only in the gift of locomotion from a
blade of grass, a tree, a blueberry bush.
In a certain perverse way he was able to admire the manner
in which those dozens of insatiable mouths sucked and
snapped up even the least hint of growth or the tiniest
crawling bug from the ground.
"Fire, maybe," he muttered. "If I could get at my sparker,
58
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
or make a spell with the duar. Or if Clothahump could
speak." But the wizard's struggles had been as ineffective as
his magic was powerful. Unable to loosen his bonds or his
gag, he could only stare, helpless as the rest, as the thousand-