Bush

Brushwagg, Creature
Illus. Ian Miller

Cloak of Invisibility, Enchant Creature
Illus. John Coulthart

What a rare gift is the btumu tree, my grandfathers say. Its roots grow deep and wide, spreading out across the plain. Each root holds enough sweet water for a family, and another family besides. Such a tree may provide shade for ten generations. Its oily hide is so tough and flexible, one tree can provide ten bows or a hundred arrows. The trunk, though thick as a child's fist, never breaks in the wind, instead bending so far that its leaves may touch the ground, then springing back when the wind's anger quiets. So generous, and yet so hostile, because a btumu tree refuses to grow within three days' walk of another. As the btumu, so the family, my grandfathers say.

Wise words, but today, I hate the btumu. A nanny and a cursed buck stand on the treetop, alone and frightened, and I cannot reach them. I grab at the tree, but my hands just slip off from the oil. My feet cannot get a purchase on the bark, and I cannot reach the lowest branches even when I leap like a jungle cat. All right, not the most agile of jungle cats, but I try nonetheless.

Seven of--oh, what is it--One, Two, Three, um . . . Nine, he stares down at me. "Maaaa," he says.

"What do you want from me, sorcerous goat!" I shout back. "I burn at you! I curse your caprine ancestors! I--what are you doing?"

The goat locks his rear legs around the thicker branches of the tree, and lowers his head at me. My goat, he hangs from a tree. Goats do not do that. They also do not often breathe fire, I remind myself.

"Maaaa," he insists, and I catch his meaning. His horns are now less than a man's height from my head. I leap up and grab the horns by the swirly parts. The nanny falls against the gymnastic goat, increasing the weight on one side of the tree. The btumu starts to bend, lowering me to the earth. I dig in my heels and pull with the strength of my forefathers. This tree shall bend to my will. This day, one thing at least will do so.

"Hark! Hark!"

"What, Chouri?" I bark, craning my neck to see a line of large bushes a few paces from me. As I pull the tree to the ground, one of the bushes moves. And then I realize, this is no bush at all.

A rhinoceros-sized creature, all of spiky twigs and sharp rocks, marches on my goatdog. Chouri would rush this beast, but a goatdog learns early to avoid the pointy end, and this creature is all points. The monster stops, lowers its head, and paws one hoof in the dirt. My grandfathers taught me, when you see a rhinoceros drop its head below its shoulders, it is not praying.

I have but one weapon. I have a goat in my hands. My muscles snap as I swing at the beast. What could possibly go wrong?

I learn fast. As I swing Seven of Nine at the monster, Seven of Nine phases out of existence. Empty air passes over the beast, and I hear a sound behind me.

Sproing! "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Thud.

The btumu is upright and goatless now. I have a monster in front of me. Seven of Nine is back and agitated. So am I.

That is it. My goats and I, we are out of this place. The beast curls into an attack posture, ready to spring and crush my goats in a fury of brambles. I rip out the leading pole, drag my goats into a stampede, and feel Chouri and the demon goat on my heels.

Before that monster catches us, we will find the wise woman under the monkeytree. While I still have goats to herd, I will not rest until I find her.

[Does Jojo learn anything from this encounter?]
[Did Jojo perhaps misinterpret the creature's intentions?]
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