by Oisin McGann
Something came whipping out of the mist and wrapped itself around his legs. He lost his balance and fell over, sitting up quickly to see what had knocked him down. It was a belasto, a Bartokhrian hunting weapon. In fright, he struggled to untangle it from his legs, but a figure came running at him from behind. He grabbed the mallet that lay by one of the pins and swung at his attacker, who dodged aside and kicked it out of his hand. He lunged at the nimble figure, but his legs were still tied up and he fell again. The Bartokhrian jumped on his back, knocking the wind out of him, and pressed a blade against his throat.
‘Don’t move,’ a voice hissed in his ear.
The Fringelander’s other hand pulled his arms up and held them in place with their knees. Chamus felt cord being tied around his wrists and he flinched, but the knife pressed harder against his throat. After his wrists, the belasto was taken from his calves and replaced with another length of cord. In a matter of seconds, he was helpless. The Bartokhrian rolled him onto his back and stood up. Pulling and twisting at his bonds, Chamus gritted his teeth, glared in pure hate at his captor. He wanted to look aggressive, but his mind was back in the hangar, watching the last moments of a suicidal Fringelander.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ he asked in a defiant tone.
‘You’re on my land,’ the Bartokhrian replied, and he noted with surprise that it was a girl. ‘I’ll ask the questions.’
She was dressed in the cotton and rawhide riding clothes of a boy, but had a headscarf and wig, and the strange make-up in keeping with the Shanneyan law that forbade the bare skin of a woman’s face to be seen by any man other than her husband. The dark paint around her eyes heightened her hostile glare.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘Are you spying on my family? Are you going to bomb us?’
‘I don’t know who your family is,’ he grunted. ‘And I don’t care. I’m not even sure where I am, but you have no right to hold me. If anything happens to me, my father will bring the air force down on this place like a ton of bricks.’
It was a hollow threat, but it got a reaction. She stepped back and was silent for a minute. He followed it up.
‘All I want is some fuel for my plane and I’ll leave. Let me go and get me some fuel, and I’ll let you be. I don’t want to hurt you, or anything.’
She sneered at him, kicking his bound feet.
‘Like that was worrying me. My father told me that your men were more like women, and I thought he was joking. But he was right. Get you out of your machines and you’re like shelled snails.’
Chamus tried to rise, but she shoved him down with her foot.
‘What’s your problem?’ he snarled with rage. ‘I just want some fuel, some plain old bloody petrol will do. I’ll pay you for it. You lot are always happy to take our money, aren’t you? Get me some fuel and I’ll give you enough to buy yourself a new battleaxe, or something.’
Riadni looked at him contemptuously. She could not help being disappointed with her first encounter with an Altiman. Somehow, she had expected more, not this whining boy who talked down to her, but could not fight his way out of a wet paper bag. But she was fascinated by the aircraft. Turning her back on him, she walked around the plane, touching its varnished canvas fuselage and massive circular engine. She climbed up to peer into the cockpit. There were no signs of any weapons anywhere, but it was hard to tell with their strange science. Seen from the ground, the Altiman flying machines appeared graceful and powerful, but what she saw before her was ugly and strange and looked as if it could fall apart at any moment.
‘It’s all just held together with wire and wood,’ she said to herself.
Chamus craned his neck to follow her movement, anxious that she might damage something.
‘That’s because it has to be light. It’s an old design,’ he growled, sensitive about his beloved ragwing. ‘It’s how planes used to be made. These take more skill to fly.’
Riadni ignored him. She thought the workmanship of the wood and metal was excellent, but the seat looked uncomfortable, the engine stank of oil and smoke and judging by how easily the craft shook under her weight, Rumbler could probably kick the whole thing to pieces if he wanted. She jumped down and gazed at her captive.
‘What do you want?’ Chamus asked. ‘Money? Are you going to hold me hostage? Who are you?’
‘My name’s Riadni Mocranen. You’re on my father’s land.’
‘I ran out of fuel. I was going to crash. I had to land here. Believe me, I’ll be leaving this bloody wasteland as soon as I can get my plane off the ground.’
‘You swear a lot.’
‘Sod off.’
They glared at each other for a full minute.
‘I thought girls weren’t allowed to do anything on their own in the Fringelands,’ he said suspiciously. ‘Why are you alone? There should be other women with you, or a man. Why are you dressed like that? Are you trying to act like a man, is that it? Does anybody even know you’re out here?’
‘I have you tied up, I have a knife,’ Riadni snapped. ‘Are you really trying to annoy me? I do what I like, on my own or not. And what do you mean “the Fringelands”?’
‘The Fringelands,’ he repeated, motioning around him with his head. ‘This, all this country around us.’
‘This is Kemsemet, in Bartokhrin,’ she frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of the Fringelands. What are they on the fringe of?’
‘Altima … I think,’ Chamus muttered. He had never thought of it that way.
‘Bartokhrin’s twice the size of Altima,’ Riadni laughed. ‘How can we be on your edge?’
Chamus stayed silent. Actually, Bartokhrin was five times the size of Altima. And it was only one of four Fringeland countries. Now that he thought about it, the name was a bit silly.
‘Look,’ he said, with the tone of a patient parent dealing with a difficult child, ‘you go and get your father, tell him I’ll pay him well for some fuel and that I’ll leave as soon as the fog clears. And get these ropes off me … now, please.’
Riadni faced him, her hands on her hips. She had heard that women in Altima were allowed do anything the men could, but this boy was the same as all the others she had met. It seemed she could never get any respect. The thought brought Benyan to mind. She wondered how impressed he would be that she had captured an Altiman spy all on her own. She decided to find out. Rumbler was already tired and would not take kindly to another body weighing him down for the rest of the ride to the Hadram Cassal camp. Walking behind Chamus, she grabbed his collar with one hand and a handful of hair with the other and dragged him towards the plane.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted fiercely, but there was fear in his voice. ‘Get your bloody hands off me!’
She got some satisfaction in knowing he was scared of her, but she was slightly ashamed too. Altiman or not, the boy had done nothing to hurt her. She had attacked him before she even knew anything about him. But then, she knew he was from Altima and he had been flying over their land, and he said his father was in the air force, the same air force that had killed people in Yered and half a dozen other towns. Yanking his brown hair hard enough to make him cry out, she pulled her captive over to the front of the aeroplane. She would leave him wrapped up here, ready for collection. Lakrem Elbeth and Benyan would know what to do with him. They might even get the Altimans to stop their attacks, and then maybe she would get some respect! Sitting him up against the landing gear, she used more cord to tie him securely to the main leg of the gear.
‘You want me to go and get someone for you to talk to?’ she said primly. ‘How about the Hadram Cassal? You know them? Will they do?’
The sudden fear on his face struck doubt into her and for a moment, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. But Elbeth and his men would not hurt an unarmed, helpless boy; they were honourable fighting men. Checking his bonds were secured, she walked back out into the fog to where Rumbler was waiting, his reins wrapped around a fencep
ost. She undid them and swung up into the saddle. It was still another hour to the Hadram Cassal camp, but the fog was finally burning off around her and it was an easy ride the rest of the way. Riadni cast her eyes back once more at the grey silhouette of the aeroplane in the mist and then set her horse off towards Sleeping Hill.
Left alone in the enclosed darkness, Benyan lost track of time. It had seemed an age since he had felt the crate being lifted up from the concrete and carried bumping and swaying, to be set down on a different sounding floor; the wooden boards of the train. Then the train had moved off and he could hear the rumble of its engine and the clack-clack of the steel wheels on their tracks. The birds twitched and rustled above him, increasing his sense of isolation. And in the crushing, lonely darkness, the spirits made themselves felt.
All the history his father and uncle had taught him came to life in that tiny, black space. Visions of families burnt alive in their homes for not paying rent to absentee landlords, Shanneyans being branded as criminals and hanged for practising their religion, and of cannon smashing rebel armies armed with swords and knives. There were the markets where men, women and children were bought and sold like cattle for the slave trade and transported to other countries in slave ships, kept in brutal conditions where nearly half of them would die before they reached their destination. With the spirits threading through his consciousness, he relived these events as if he had been there.
At one point, a cramp in his calf brought him back to his own situation and he twisted and contorted to try and stretch the leg out to ease the pain. He managed to quell it slightly by forcing himself into one corner and pushing his foot into the opposite corner, massaging the muscle until the ache died away. In the minutes that followed, he reflected on what he was going to do in Victovia and a part of him wondered about the people he was to kill. Was the death of one person really a reason for causing the deaths of others? And if that were so, where did it stop? People had died throughout history. If someone else had to die for every death caused, how would that make things better for the people who were left? The books of Shanna allowed for revenge, but they also taught forgiveness and respect for others. He closed his eyes to pray for guidance, but as if this opened the door, the spirits came back and plunged him once more into the crimes of the past. And with each vision, he felt a piece of himself being torn away and lost to the pain.
Riadni was careful to observe the camp from a distance before riding in, in case her father, or one of her older brothers, might be there, waiting for her. When she was sure that the coast was clear, she rode up past the herd of cattle and the boy who watched them and approached the caves where she had met Lakrem Elbeth. Suspicious eyes watched her and she knew word had spread long before she reached the foot of the hill. She dismounted near the water trough, loosening the bridle and taking the bit out of Rumbler’s mouth. She draped the reins around the railing by the trough, so that he could drink.
Elbeth himself came out to greet her. She swept her eyes around the camp in search of Benyan, but didn’t see him.
‘Here’s our young runaway,’ Elbeth said to her as he approached. ‘Your father has been looking for you. He is very worried.’
She bowed and then looked straight at him.
‘I’ve left my father’s home, Master Elbeth. I want to join the Hadram Cassal and drive the Altimans from our lives.’
He smiled slightly, as if pleased but not surprised.
‘This is a hard life that you choose for yourself. Your father would not wish it.’
‘My father has made it clear that he does not want me for a daughter,’ Riadni replied. ‘So if I can’t bring him happiness, perhaps I can bring him honour.’
‘I think you would be a worthy addition to the cause,’ he bowed his head, his eyes giving her a piercing look.
Riadni was surprised that he had accepted her so readily. Tradition did not allow for women to train and fight with men. Nor did he seem surprised with her decision; it was almost as if he had expected her. She cast her gaze around again for Benyan and Elbeth saw the movement.
‘Benyan has left us,’ he told her, as if reading her thoughts. ‘He has moved on to another camp, where he is to complete his training and join our group near the border.’
Riadni could barely contain her disappointment.
‘Will he be coming back?’ she asked, hating herself for being so obvious.
‘No,’ Elbeth said solemnly. ‘All of our recruits move on from here to other places when they are ready to join the struggle. But I can see a place for a female warrior in his group. The strength of our organisation, Miss Mocranen, is based on family and friendship. We try to keep friends together, for they fight better and are utterly loyal to each other and that is why the Altiman spies fail to infiltrate us. Benyan is your friend, and if you wish, and if you complete your training in time, perhaps we could send you to join him.’
Riadni considered this. She had not expected to go so far from home; the border with Victovia was over a hundred miles away. But then, she reasoned, she had left home and she would not be going back. What did any distance matter?
‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘I’d like that.’
‘Then I will leave you with Master Quelnas,’ Elbeth gestured to a hatchet-faced man with thinning hair and two revolvers in holsters on his belt, who was walking towards them. ‘He will take you through your initiation and begin your training.’
Riadni recognised him. It was the man who had upstaged Brother Fazekiel at the churchground. He looked at her with amused interest, the kind of expression that men reserved for uppity women. It was always the same.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I almost forgot! Master Elbeth, I caught an Altiman. A pilot, just a boy, really. He’s tied up back at his aeroplane. He had to land when he ran out of fuel and I captured him.’
Elbeth turned towards her and for a moment the friendliness in his eyes was gone, replaced only by a hungry, empty stare. Then he beamed and clapped his hands.
‘Off to a flying start, young Riadni!’ he laughed. ‘Where is this boy-Altiman? We must secure him at once. Quelnas, did you hear that? The girl has barely joined the order and already she has claimed her first kill!’
Riadni’s heart froze. They were going to kill the boy. That should not have shocked her, but it did. Everyone knew that this was what the Hadram Cassal did, they did away with Altimans. The idea of killing brutal oppressors was something she could approve of; it was the only language the Altimans could understand. But killing a boy her age, who had made the mistake of landing in the wrong field and who was tied up and helpless, was the act of a coward. She decided that she had misread Elbeth’s intentions. He had just used the word ‘kill’ in the same way that men always used it in conversation – to be aggressive and threatening, not meaning it in its real sense. Just as she had threatened the Altiman with her knife, she would not have killed him. She simply needed him to keep still while she tied him up.
‘Mount up, Riadni!’ Elbeth waved to her. ‘Take Quelnas to where you’ve stashed this young pilot. I look forward to meeting him.’
Quelnas was calling to four other men, and horses were being saddled. She walked back over to Rumbler and took her time readjusting his bridle. Doubt clouded her thoughts and she wanted time to think this through. But the men were already up on their mounts and waiting for her. Quelnas raised his eyebrows in a questioning look and she detected a hint of scorn in his expression. She stuck her foot in the stirrup and lifted herself onto Rumbler’s back, avoiding the hard gaze of the fighter. She tapped her heels to Rumbler’s flanks and set him off at a canter, getting ahead of the group of men.
Quelnas caught up and rode beside her.
‘So where exactly is this pilot?’ he asked, in the tolerant tone that men reserved for discussing the trivial matters of women.
‘I can’t tell you exactly,’ she replied. ‘The fog was even heavier then. I know the way back. It’s about an hour out to the north-west.’
&
nbsp; ‘And you’re quite sure this boy you caught was an Altiman?’ one of the other, younger men asked from behind her.
Riadni couldn’t see his face, but she could tell from his voice that he was smiling. She ground her teeth. Even when she did everything possible to prove herself equal to men, they laughed at her; it wasn’t fair.
‘There’s always the chance that he was just some poor cowherd boy that I beat up for not showing me respect,’ she retorted, ‘but then that would mean that he’s tied to someone else’s aeroplane.’
Some of the men chuckled and she knew she had scored a point. They rode on along the trail as it wound past fields of dry earth, struggling crops and yellowing grass. They had been on the road for about twenty minutes, when Elbeth’s words began to trouble her again. She was sure that they would not kill a defenceless boy, but would they even tell her if that was what they intended to do? They would probably think her too innocent yet, to involve in any bloodshed. She looked towards Quelnas, who had not said a word since first asking about the boy.
‘What will you do when you have him?’ she asked. ‘Will you kill him immediately, or will you need to question him first, to see what he’s doing here?’
He turned his narrow face towards her and his expression was unreadable.
‘We’ll do whatever Master Elbeth wants us to do with him,’ he answered.
‘And what do you think that will be? What do you normally do?’
‘Whatever is best for the cause,’ Quelnas faced the road again.
‘We’ll ask him a few questions and then send him home,’ another voice piped up.
‘Well, the important bits of him anyway,’ a third added and the others laughed.
Quelnas glanced round at them and the laughing stopped abruptly. He threw a quick look at Riadni and she knew he was checking her reaction. It told her all she needed to know. She caught her breath. They were going to do it. Was this what it meant to be in the Hadram Cassal? She remembered what her father had said about them – that they did the horrible things that normal people could not. But she had taken that to mean killing the well-armed Altiman soldiers and the businessmen they protected, not torturing and murdering a helpless boy in the name of Bartokhrian freedom. And now she was helping them do it. The horses trotted onwards and Riadni knew she had to make a firm decision whether or not she was willing to do this, otherwise she had to do something to lead them away. Every minute that passed took them nearer to the aeroplane. They were already close enough to find it on their own with a bit of searching. She had to do something soon, or be a part of the young pilot’s death. She shook her head. What had she been thinking?
