by Angus Watson
The Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of… thought Finn. The name didn’t exactly fill one with hope.
On the fifth evening, which they also spent ashore, Keef finished the birch bark canoe he’d been working on since the Shining Mountains. It was big enough for two.
“Can I paddle it with you?” asked Finn.
“No, man, it’s going to be a lot more awesome with just one of me.”
“Oh, okay.”
Finn walked up the riverbank a little and found a fish skeleton lying on flattened grass. Back in Hardwork, his Uncle Poppo had taught him how to make fishing hooks from fish bones. He smiled and squatted to pick out the best bits.
The following day, while Keef showed off by paddling his canoe backwards, sideways and fast, Finn and his raft mates Yoki Choppa, Freydis and Ottar filled their bobbing-along time competing to catch the largest fish. Finn forgot the constant danger of giant flying insects and enjoyed himself. They caught plenty of fish, predominantly a silver-green creature with swollen lips which they called a fatlips.
Shortly after dawn on their sixth day on the rafts, Finn and Ottar were fishing while Yoki Choppa taught alchemical mixtures to Freydis. Watching his line fizz along through the calm water, Finn was thinking that it had all been a crock of bollocks. The Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of was meant to be… well, it was meant to live up to its name. Sure, there’d been some ominous signs–the dead monster, the broken villages and the skeleton, but there was no denying that every day this side of the Shining Mountains had been easier than any of the other days since they’d left Hardwork a couple of moons before.
But, of course, because the gods didn’t like Finn to get complacent, they rounded a bend and Finn’s mouth opened in wonder, with a dash of terror.
Hewn from headlands on either side of the river were two impossibly huge carvings of men. Each must have been a hundred paces high. One was muscular, brandishing a thick spear. The other, dressed in a bobbly stone jerkin, held his hands out towards them in a mystical “I’m going to do a spell now” pose.
They stared, awestruck. Finn marvelled at the collective ability of humans. How had they made something so huge? The planning, the hours of work, the skill involved in simply ensuring such large structures remained standing. Was there anything, he wondered, that humans couldn’t achieve when they worked together?
Keef paddled back up the river towards them. He hoiked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the colossusi behind him.
“Who are these cunts then?” he asked.
“I suspect that we are entering the territory of the Warriors and Warlocks,” chimed in Sitsi Kestrel, one admonishing eyebrow raised at the profane Wootah man. “They are the dominant tribes in the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of. They started as two tribes, but around a thousand years ago there was a great war. The Warlock Queen…”
Finn stopped listening, too busy staring at the colossi. The size of them! It must have taken thousands of people thousands of hours–moons. No, years! And how had they known that it would work? What if they’d been going for ten years and one of the arms had fallen off? Finn’s philosophy thus far had been that if a project was difficult and time-consuming and might go wrong, then there was no point in even starting it. These Warriors and Warlocks were clearly different people. The statues were a wonderful, inspirational combination of effort, organisation, intelligence and collaboration.
They drifted nearer, silent and tiny before the two massive figures.
Finn became convinced that the carvings were going to come alive and smash their craft. It wouldn’t be that weird, given what they’d seen. He held his breath as they passed under the shadow of the Warlock’s arms, expecting an unimaginable, life-ending weight of stone to fall.
And then they were through, drifting along as before, silenced by the majesty.
“As I suspected!” shouted Keef, following behind and peering upwards. “No cocks!”
There were no more statues, but soon it was hotter than Finn had ever known. He was very glad that they weren’t walking. It was sweltering enough sitting on a raft, feet dangling in the cool river.
“Welcome to the desert!” said Sitsi, floating along next to them.
“And and!” shouted Ottar, pointing at the bank.
“What does he want?” asked Sofi.
Ottar pulled at Freydis’s shirt and pointed to the bank.
“He says we need to get off the rafts in a while. We have to head south across the land to find Ayla’s sister.”
“In a while?” asked Sofi.
Freydis consulted Ottar, then said: “Soon we’ll see high red cliffs a way off to the south. That’s where Ayla’s sister lives.”
“There are high red cliffs everywhere.”
“These are higher.”
Sassa Lipchewer was probably more pleased than she ought to have been when, not long after Ottar had predicted them, high red cliffs appeared to the south, two or three miles from the Red River.
The Calnians might be their allies, but Wootah and Calnians were still different teams and it was satisfying to show the beautiful, powerful Owsla and the intellectually superior warlock Yoki Choppa that the Wootah had their uses; not least a route-finding little boy who was the key to their mission.
Sassa was also bored with being on a raft all the fuck-a-duck day. Sure, it was hotter than she thought possible, and she probably shouldn’t be walking in heat like that with a baby growing inside her but, to her surprise, she’d discovered she didn’t enjoy indolence. Maybe she’d changed. Perhaps it was becoming a mother, but she simply wanted to get on with things. Sitting ineffectively on a raft all day made her itchy.
“Here, Ottar?” shouted Sofi.
There was a pause, a bit of jibber-jabber from Ottar, then Freydis yelled back, “A bit further, I’ll shout when we’re there.”
Sassa kept her eyes on the cliffs. They were high and they were red, as Ottar had predicted, stretching in a wall from east to west. Here and there in front of the cliffs were pillars of red rock, higher than any pillar of rock should ever have been.
Why had the Hardworkers never travelled? Sassa wondered. Surely all of the people who’d lived and died in Hardwork would have given their right tit to see such a landscape? The splendour of it filled her with joy and hope. Surely any dream could be realised in a world that threw up such wonders? Surely the gods who’d made this magnificent land wanted to see good deeds done, worthy quests to succeed against the odds, and lovely, healthy babies be born to the sort of selfless women who went on these worthy quests?
The sun was low and the air cooling when Ottar indicated it was time to land the rafts and head across the land. They poled the crafts over to the reed-lined southern bank and stepped ashore.
“Anything to report?” Sofi asked Paloma, who chose that moment to reappear from her scouting.
“Few lions near the cliffs–which are spectacular, even better up close–but no people. There are human footprints everywhere, but all at least a moon old.”
“We’ll camp the night here then, and head for the cliff in the morning.”
“I’ll just double-check for enemies or any animals that might want to eat us.” Paloma spun round.
“No, you won’t,” said Sofi. Paloma turned back, an eyebrow raised. “The Owsla will make the camp. Wulf, would you mind getting the Wootah to scout the immediate area?”
“Sure,” said Wulf.
“Can I fish?” asked Freydis.
“Do you mind taking her, Finn?” Wulf asked.
Finn looked at Thyri then back to Wulf. “Freydis could fish from the bank.”
“But the fish are bigger in the middle of the river,” Freydis implored. “Please can I go on the raft? We can anchor it right in the flow, that’s the best place.”
“What do you mean they’re bigger in the middle?” Finn said suspiciously. “The biggest one we caught–which I caught–was right by the bank.”
“Please can I go on the raft?”
&n
bsp; Thyri was already heading off into the reeds. Finn watched her go, then sighed. “Okay, fine, let’s take the raft out again.”
Sassa smiled, then followed Wulf through the reeds and into the darkening shade of a stand of trees.
Erik, Bodil, Keef, Ottar and Thyri were waiting on the other side, by a narrow lake.
“Funny place for a lake,” said Wulf.
“That’s beavers for you,” said Keef, nodding at its dammed end.
They set off around the beaver-made body of water. Sassa fell in next to Bodil.
“I love beavers,” Bodil began. “Did you see the baby ones next to that stream that we walked along coming down from the mountains? I loved that stream, too. I wish we’d never left it. When I have my baby I’m going to make sure I live somewhere nice. Not as hot as it is here and not boring like the plains and not weird like the Badlands. Oh why did we leave that stream?”
“We didn’t leave the stream,” said Sassa. “It became the river that we’ve been rafting along.”
Bodil looked at her as if she’d said that buffalo could fly, blinked, then continued. “Maybe I’ll live in the hills with my baby? I liked those hills on the way down from the mountain. I like it when the land’s a bit uppy and downy but not too uppy and downy and you can see where things are and it’s not such hard work to go everywhere because…”
They walked on and Bodil talked, startling ducks and muskrats from their lakeside perches. They were nearer the cliffs here and Sassa could see that they were stratified into red and yellow bands of rock, their layers curved as if the very land had buckled. Towers stood at the end of most of the red promontories like horns on the nose of a dragon. Some were stubby, some slender, but all were jaw-droppingly bizarre and beautiful. To a woman who’d spent almost all her life confined in a ten-mile circle of flat land next to a lake, the place was jab-it-in-a-rabbit amazing.
They rounded the lake and headed up a small hill, following Wulf, Keef, Erik, Thyri and Ottar.
“Shush, Bodil.” Sassa had heard a far-off cry as they picked their way between green bushes.
“Why?”
“Just stop talking for a moment, please.”
Bodil shut her mouth and looked about like a mildly surprised deer.
“Get back! Off the river!” came a distant shout. “Finn! Get back now!”
“Sounds like Sofi,” said Bodil. “I’m good at telling people’s voices and—”
“Shush, Bodil.” Sassa strained her ears to hear Sofi’s shout.
“Fast as you can, Finn!” Sofi yelled.
Wulf and the rest turned and ran back down the hill.
Chapter 7
Taken
“Why are we doing this?” Paloma Pronghorn asked Sofi Tornado. She was gripping a tree, as ordered.
“I can hear a flash flood.”
Finn was poling the raft back to shore. Freydis was lying on her front, kicking up a small fountain in an attempt to speed up the craft. There was a distant roar, now that Paloma listened for it.
“Then what are we doing here? I’ll put on my water shoes,” said Paloma.
Sofi put a hand on her arm. “No time.”
“Will they make it?”
Sofi shouted, “Faster, Finn! There’s a flash flood coming!”
“A what?” the young Wootah man yelled, pausing his poling so he could hear the answer.
“A great wave coming down the river! Get to shore fast as you can!”
Finn doubled his efforts. Freydis kicked all the harder.
“Fast enough now?” asked Paloma.
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ve got to go to them.”
“We have to!” said Sitsi, clinging to a nearby tree.
A boiling wall of water raged into sight around an upstream meander. Half a heartbeat later the roaring was much louder.
“I’m going,” Chogolisa took a pace down the bank.
“No,” said Sofi. Her voice was quiet, but it stopped Chogolisa. “They’re both better swimmers than any of us.”
“We can’t just watch it happen!” Sitsi was near to tears.
“You won’t help,” said Yoki Choppa, all the misery in the world in his voice.
“Where are the Wootah?” asked Sitsi.
“They’re running back, but they’re not going to get here in time,” said Sofi.
Paloma stared at the wave. It stretched the width of the channel, foaming white, tinged pink by the setting sun. Tree branches jabbed from its foaming snout like the spears of charging moose riders.
“Mountain snowmelt,” Yoki Choppa informed them miserably.
Finn saw the wave, dropped the pole, snatched up the raft’s mooring rope and dived towards the bank. He surfaced with the rope clamped between his teeth and struck towards them overarm, legs kicking up plumes of foam. He was a strong swimmer. The raft jerked after him, faster than before. Still lying on it, Freydis kicked like a toddler in a tantrum.
“They’re going to make it,” said Sitsi.
“They might,” Sofi agreed. “Come on.”
The Wootah women leapt down the bank.
Finn and Freydis came closer and closer, but the wall of water was fast. Finn raised his head to take a breath.
“Faster!” Paloma shouted.
He looked at her, wasting precious moments, then wasted even more time by turning to see the raging doom. Finally, he thrust his face back under the surface and wheeled his arms with surprising strength.
He reached the shore. The flash flood was twenty paces away, roaring like a stampede monsters.
Chogolisa plucked Finn out of the water one-handed and tossed him up the bank.
Freydis knelt up on the back of the raft. She looked at the wave, then back at the women. She was like a rabbit frozen in terror, waiting for the coyote to snatch her up and break her neck.
“Freydis!” shouted Chogolisa.
Sofi and Sitsi stepped towards the raft. The wave was ten paces away.
Paloma snatched up the rope “Clear the raft! I’ll haul it out.”
Sofi and Sitsi jumped back.
Paloma heaved on the rope.
It snapped.
The raft bobbed serenely from the shore. Freydis looked back at them, wide-eyed. She looked sad rather than scared now.
The wave struck.
All was noise. Something whacked into Paloma’s head. She flailed and sucked in water. She felt herself rising, drawn backwards. Her feet found solid ground. Her head came clear of the surface. She coughed out water then sucked in air.
Chogolisa had her by the jerkin and was dragging her up and out of the flood. The colossal woman’s other hand was clamped around Sofi’s wrist. Sitsi was hanging from her neck.
“Get your hand out of my eye, Sitsi!” ordered Chogolisa, pacing sure-footed out of the water. She dropped her fellow Owsla by the trees, where Finn lay on the ground, panting like a dying buffalo.
Erik ran through the trees and stopped, hands on knees, panting like his son.
“What… what happened?” he gasped.
“Flash flood,” said Sofi. “It took Freydis.”
Paloma looked along the river. It was a raging torrent. The head of the flash flood–and surely Freydis with it–was already some two hundred paces away. It was just possible that Freydis wouldn’t be crushed by tumbling logs or speared by a swirling branch and might be washed ashore before she drowned. It was even possible that she was still on the raft, carried along on the nose of the wave.
It was also possible that Paloma would have rescued both of them had Sofi told her to strap on her water shoes right at the start, instead of telling her to grab a tree. But Sofi had chosen not to risk her. Did she value Paloma’s life more than the two Wootah, especially after losing six of her Owsla? Or had she made the cold but undeniably correct calculation that Paloma was more valuable to the mission than Freydis and Finn? Either way, Paloma wasn’t sure she liked it.
“Permission to go after the girl?” she asked S
ofi.
“You’re bleeding,” said Sitsi, pointing to Paloma’s head.
Paloma touched a temple then looked at her hand. So she was.
“Go,” said Sofi. “Bring the girl back.”
Paloma ran, like only she could run.
They watched Paloma go.
Erik felt sick with exhaustion, sick with grief for Freydis but more sick with relief that Finn had been saved.
He hauled Finn to his feet. The boy hugged his father hard and heaved with great, shivering sobs.
This is my son, thought Erik. I made him and I am responsible for him. I was a fool to miss so much of his life. I mustn’t miss any more. I must protect him.
“Let’s follow Paloma,” said Wulf.
“No,” said Sofi. “If Freydis is alive Paloma will bring her back. We should wait. Ottar says we should head south, and—” she looked about. “Where is Ottar?”
Erik unclamped Finn from his chest and looked around.
No Ottar.
“Ottar!” shouted Erik. “Ottar the Moaner! OTTARRR!”
There was no sign of him.
“Everyone quiet,” said Sofi.
They watched her strain to listen. Her super-hearing had been a secret that only Erik knew at one time, but he reckoned all the Wootah, with the possible exception of Bodil, had worked it out by now. How she could hear above the noise of the rushing river, Erik didn’t know.
“He isn’t nearby,” she said, turning to the Wootah. “Where did you last see him?”
Erik thought for half a moment, and set off at a run through the trees.
“He’s on the hill!” he yelled over his shoulder.
Ottar had been with them when they’d heard Sofi’s shout. Erik could picture him throwing stones at a bush. Then everyone had sprinted back to the river. Without Freydis there, and with Gunnhild dead, nobody had been looking out for Ottar.
Erik felt bad about that, but surely the boy would still be pootling about on the hill, harassing a lizard or chasing a butterfly? He just had to get there before a lion or a wolf or anything else that liked to eat guileless little boys found him.
Ottar was not on the hill. Erik shouted and searched, sweat soaking his back. Where could he be? Surely they hadn’t lost both children in a matter of moments?
