That afternoon the two wanderers encountered a steep field of plate ivy. A plain of glossy, wide-brimmed plants covered the southeastward slope of the ridge like green, overlapping scales on the flank of some great, slumbering beast. Their path to the mountains was blocked.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering how we’ll get across all this to the other side,” Robert asked.
“The slope looks treacherous,” Athaclena ventured. “And it stretches far in both directions. I suppose we’ll have to turn around.”
There was something in the fringes of Robert’s mind, though, that made that seem unlikely. “These are fascinating plants,” he said, squatting next to one of the plates — a shieldlike inverted bowl almost two meters across. He grabbed its edge and yanked backward hard. The plate stretched away from the tightly bound field until Athaclena could see a tough, springy root attached to its center. She moved closer to help him pull, wondering what he had in mind.
“The colony buds a new generation of these caps every few weeks, each layer overlapping the prior one,” Robert explained as he grunted and tugged the fibrous root taut.
“In late autumn the last layers of caps flower and becoijie wafer thin. They break off and catch the strong winter winds, sailing into the sky, millions of ’em. It’s quite a sight, believe me, all those rainbow-colored kites drifting under the clouds, even if it is a hazard to flyers.”
“They are seeds, then?” Athaclena asked.
“Well, spore carriers, actually. And most of the pods that litter the Sind in early winter are sterile. Seems the plate ivy used to rely on some pollinating creature that went extinct during the Bururalli Holocaust. Just one more problem for the ecological recovery teams to deal with.” -Robert shrugged. “Right now, though, in the springtime, these early caps are rigid and strong. It’ll take some doing to cut one free.”
Robert drew his knife and reached under to slice away at the taut fibers holding the cap down. The strips parted suddenly, releasing the tension and throwing Athaclena back with the bulky plate on top of her.
“Oops! I’m sorry, Clennie.” She felt Robert’s effort to suppress laughter as he helped her struggle out from under the heavy cap. Just like a bby… Athaclena thought.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine,” she answered stiffly, and dusted herself off. Tipped over, the plate’s inner, concave side looked like a bowl with a thick, central stem of ragged, sticky strands.
“Good. Then why don’t you help me carry it over to that sandy bank, near the dropoff.”
The field of plate ivy stretched around the prominence of the ridge, surrounding it on three sides. Together they hefted the detached cap over to where the bumpy green slope began, laying it inner face up.
Robert set to work trimming the ragged interior of the plate. After a few minutes he stood back and examined his handiwork. “This should do.” He nudged the plate with his foot. “Your father wanted me to show you everything I could about Garth. In my opinion your education’d be truly lacking if I never taught you to ride plate ivy.”
Athaclena looked from the upended plate to the scree of slick caps. “Do you mean …” But Robert was already loading their gear into the upturned bowl. “You cannot be serious, Robert.”
He shrugged, looking up at her sidelong. “We can backtrack a mile or two and find a way around all this, if you like.”
“You aren’t joking.” Athacleana sighed. It was bad enough that her father and her friends back home thought her too timid. She could not refuse a dare offered by this human. “Very well, Robert, show me how it is done.”
Robert stepped into the plate and checked its balance. Then he motioned for her to join him. She climbed into the rocking thing and sat where Robert indicated, in front of him with her knees on either side of the central stump.
It was then, with her corona waving in nervous agitation, that it happened again. Athaclena sensed something that made her convulsively clutch the rubbery sides of the plate, setting it rocking.
“Hey! Watch it, will you? You almost tipped us over!”
Athaclena grabbed his arm while she scanned the valley below. All around her face a haze of tiny tendrils fluttered. “I kenn it again. It’s down there, Robert. Somewhere in the forest!”
’What? What’s down there?”
“The entity I kenned earlier! The thing that was neither man nor chimpanzee! It was a little like either, and yet different. And it reeks with Potential!”
Robert shaded his eyes. “Where? Can you point to it?”
Athaclena concentrated. She tried localizing the faint brush of emotions.
“It … it is gone,” she sighed at last.
Robert radiated nervousness. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a chim? There are lots of them up in these hills, seisin gatherers and conservation workers.”
Athaclena cast a palang glyph. Then, recalling that Robert wasn’t likely to notice the sparkling essence of frustration. She shrugged to indicate approximately the same nuance.
“No, Robert. I have met many neo-chimpanzees, remember? The being I sensed was different! I’d swear it wasn’t fully sapient, for one thing. And, there was a feeling of sadness, of submerged power. …”
Athaclena turned to Robert, suddenly excited. “Can it have been a ‘Garthling’? Oh, let’s hurry! We might be able to get closer!” She settled in around the center post and looked up at Robert expectantly.
“The famed Tymbrimi adaptability,” Robert sighed. “All of a sudden you’re anxious to go! And here I’d been hoping to impress and arouse you with a white-knuckler ride.”
Boys, she thought again, shaking her head vigorously. How can they think such things, even in jest?
“Stop joking and let’s be off!” she urged.
He settled into the plate behind her. Athaclena held on tightly to his knees. Her tendrils waved about his face, but Robert did not complain. “All right, here we go.”
His musty human aroma was close around her as he pushed off and the plate began to slip forward.
It all came back to Robert as their makeshift sled accelerated, skidding and bouncing over the slick, convex caps of plate ivy. Athaclena gripped his knees tightly, her laughter higher and more bell-like than a human girl’s. Robert, too, laughed and shouted, holding Athaclena as he leaned one way and then the other to steer the madly hopping sled.
Must’ve been eleven years old when I did this last.
Every jounce and leap made his heart pound. Not even an amusement park gravity ride was like this! Athaclena let out a squeak of exhilaration as they sailed free and landed again with a rubbery rebound. Her corona was a storm of silvery threads that seemed to crackle with excitement.
I only hope I remember how to control this thing right.
Maybe it was his rustiness. Or it might have been Athaclena’s presence, distracting him. But Robert was just a little late reacting when the near-oak stump — a remnant of the forest that had once grown on this slope — loomed suddenly in their path.
Athaclena laughed in delight as Robert leaned hard to the left, swerving their crude boat wildly. By the time she sensed his sudden change of mood their spin was already a tumble, out of control. Then their plate caught on something unseen. Impact swerved them savagely, sending the contents of the sled flying.
At that moment luck and Tymbrimi instincts were with Athaclena. Stress hormones surged and reflexes tucked her head down, rolling her into a ball. On impact her body made its own sled, bouncing and skidding atop the plates like a rubbery ball.
It all happened in a blur. Giants’ fists struck her, tossed her about. A great roar filled her ears and her corona blazed as she spun and fell, again and again.