by Oisin McGann
They came out the other end of the lane, back onto the main street, and there were others out now to watch the chase. Riadni spared a glance around to see if anyone else was going to try and get in their way, but for the moment it seemed to be just the two hunters. The rest just watched, keen to see an Altiman get what was coming to him, or simply unwilling to interfere. She turned Rumbler to the right and headed for the road that led up into the stand of tall pines ahead, weaving him from one side to the other to avoid the belastoes. A man in an apron ran out from a store and made as if to grab them, but Chamus swung the machete, cutting a gash in the man’s forearm.
Rumbler whinnied with excitement and adrenaline, and Riadni shouted encouragement to him, relishing the chase. He was twice the age of the horses behind him, but was better fed and trained and even with the two teenagers and loaded saddlebags, he was outrunning their pursuers. Riadni looked back and saw the trappers falling behind. But they were not giving up and she knew that they could simply track Rumbler and bide their time if they lost sight of their quarry. When they were far enough into the trees, she slowed Rumbler to a fast trot to conserve his energy. She didn’t know what to do. Those men would be skilled trackers, and they would know that she and Chamus would have to stop somewhere.
Behind her, she heard Chamus grunt in pain and remembered his fall.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
‘I’ll live,’ he wheezed. ‘Just bruises, I think. But my bum’s killing me. How are we going to lose these two? They’re not Hadram Cassal, are they?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Probably just thought they could hold you for ransom.’
She thought about the land ahead of them.
‘There’s a river ahead. If we can ford it a few times, it might throw them off long enough to put some distance between us.’
‘To the river, then. And step on it.’
‘Step on what?’
‘It’s a saying, you know … step on the accelerator … never mind. Just do whatever makes the horse go.’
‘The horse is “going” already,’ she said, sternly. ‘And take your hands off me. This isn’t Altima. You can’t go around just … touching girls like that.’
‘It’s not that easy in Altima either,’ Chamus mumbled, carefully taking his hands from her waist and hanging on to the back of the saddle instead. It felt a lot more precarious, but was probably less hazardous.
They did not speak for a while, catching their breaths after the madness of the chase.
‘How much do you know about Altima anyway?’ Chamus said at last, drawing a sigh from Riadni as she rolled her eyes. ‘Fringelanders … I mean, Bartokhrians and that … always seem to be criticising us, but enough of you come looking for work in our cities every year. You talk about us as if we’re all evil and immoral, like we’re demons, or something, but then most of you seem to want to be like us. We don’t know what to think about you. I mean, take the Hadram Cassal. What do they actually want … what do any of you want?’
Riadni was silent for a while. There were so many things that they wanted. It wasn’t as simple as getting the Altimans off land that didn’t belong to them, or stopping their businesses from acting like gods, although these were the kind of things that tended to aggravate people. And there was some truth to what he said about her people wanting to live like Altimans, but not the way he thought of it. She wished she had Rumbler’s speed and strength, but she didn’t want to be a horse.
‘I live on a farm,’ she said. ‘We have cattle and sheep. The only time I see Altimans is when they fly overhead. You’re the first one I’ve met. Normally, you’re thousands of feet in the air. When I was young, I loved seeing your aeroplanes. I still do, really. I think they’re amazing. Your people are very clever and they’re incredibly rich, and that’s how they became so powerful. And because you have all this power, you affect everyone around you. Which would be fine … if you were as wise as you are powerful. When I was a child, I thought that clever was the same as being wise. But it’s not, is it?’
She struggled to say what she wanted to say, but there was so much to it and some of it she didn’t even understand herself.
‘You’re smart enough to control something as complicated as an aeroplane,’ she said, finally, ‘but you don’t know to wash your feet downstream from where you drink.’
Chamus didn’t reply immediately, and when she checked the road behind them for the trappers, she could see he was thinking.
‘And the only way you have to make your point is killing people?’ he asked at last.
‘Some of that is revenge,’ she answered. ‘Shanna says that crimes on her people must be paid back in kind. That used to make sense to me, but I don’t know anymore. You take revenge on someone and they’ve got to take revenge right back. It could go on forever. But some of it is because you’re just not listening and the Hadram Cassal think they can make you. And a lot of people believe they can too.’
‘You were going to join them, weren’t you?’
Turning that decision over in her head, Riadni was suddenly reminded of Benyan. She had hardly thought about him since this had all started. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, he had been part of the reason for wanting to join. That, and wanting to belong to something more important and more exciting than farming, or marrying into the right family. She wondered where he was now.
A panoramic view of Bartokhrin and the Victovian footlands could be seen from high on the slope of the ramp that took the truck up towards the city’s plateau, but Benyan Akhna could not see it from the dark confines of the cargo compartment. He was muttering incessantly to himself and the expression on his face changed like the rippling of water. Daruth, the man who had sealed Benyan into the bottom of a box and now sat with him in the back of the container truck, watched the haunted sixteen-year-old uneasily out of the corner of his eye. Transporting these martyrs was always a risk, but especially so when they were this unaware. The ones who had lost the capacity to even act normally were the worst. Not so much human beings as ticking time bombs. These were often the most destructive when they reached their target, but the most difficult to get there. It called for great cunning on the part of the men chosen to escort them. They must someday find a way to bestow the Blessing in the cities themselves and do away with this risk. Despite the honour he achieved in his work, Daruth would be glad to be rid of this one. In the dim light of a torch, he stared at the boxes of tomatoes that filled most of the space between himself and the doors of the container.
‘Checkpoint,’ the driver called back through the small hole in the rear of the cab.
As he turned off the torch, Daruth felt himself break into a light sweat. He had to stop Benyan’s muttering, or he might be heard by the policemen. Crouching down, he clasped the boy’s hands in his and started to softly chant a prayer. It was one used by parents across Bartokhrin to lull children to sleep, and Daruth knew from experience that it also quietened spirits. It would give Benyan’s own mind peace and he would stop struggling with the ghosts. The muttering died down and Daruth let his chanting go quiet, but kept the boy’s hands pressed into his. Outside, he heard the driver being asked for his papers, but he knew that the papers were fine; the driver’s cover was genuine. As long as they did not search the truck … The engine switched off and the handbrake went on. He heard the driver’s door open. They were coming around the back. Taking one hand from Benyan’s he drew the grenade from his jacket pocket. He would take them all with him if he was found.
The doors opened and light filtered through over the tightly packed stacks of boxes. The suspension settled a fraction as someone stood on the tailgate to look in. Then the truck lifted ever so slightly again and the light disappeared as the doors closed.
Daruth breathed out slowly and replaced the grenade. The truck started off and as he let go of Benyan’s hand, the muttered argument gained strength again. Daruth gazed down in the pitch-black darkness. He would be glad to be rid of this on
e.
Riadni brought Rumbler to a halt. Over the horse’s panting, she could hear the sounds of hooves again. But they were not behind her; they were off to her left. She cast her mind back over the course the road had taken. Had it curved around to the left? There could be a short cut from the village that came out further up the road. If there were, the trappers would surely know about it. She hesitated, unsure of what to do next.
‘We can’t go back,’ Chamus said softly, reading her thoughts. ‘We could cut into the woods …’
‘That would slow us down,’ she shook her head. ‘They know this area, if we try to hide we’ll lose our lead and they’ll find our trail and catch us for sure. No, we’ve got to go for the river.’
Chamus didn’t argue, satisfied that she was making the right decision. Shifting around on the saddle, he tried to ease the flat pain in his buttocks. He had never been saddle-sore before and he considered it a bit much, given everything else he was going through. He switched the machete from his right to his left hand, wishing he had a scabbard to carry it in.
Riadni set Rumbler off at a faster pace. They rode down into a dell, where lush grass, sheltered from the full heat of the sun by the tall trees, lay in a thick, green carpet. A rocky bluff stood off to their left and just as Chamus looked up at it, he heard a spinning whirr and Riadni reflexively raised one arm. The centre of the belasto struck him on the neck, nearly pulling him from the horse as the long cords twisted around him and caught Riadni too, slamming their heads against each other and binding their necks together at lightning speed. Only Riadni’s raised hand, caught now against her neck, stopped the cords from strangling them. She goaded Rumbler into a gallop and it was all she could do to hold on with her back painfully arched and one hand trapped. Her breath was getting shorter quickly as the cord constricted her throat.
Chamus did not bother trying to use the machete; it would be too unwieldy. He slid it onto his lap and reached around Riadni’s waist instead, pulling her knife from its scabbard and sliding it up behind the cord between the back of her head and his cheek. With the rocking motion of the horse he risked slashing his face, but in seconds he had the cords cut. He caught one of the cords, letting the rest of the belasto fall away and Riadni heaved in a breath of air as she got her other hand on the reins. Chamus got her knife back into its sheath and drew out the machete just moments before one of the trappers charged his horse down the grassy bank at the far end of the bluff. The hunter pulled a machete of his own, but Chamus swung the single steel weight of the belasto on its length of cord, keeping the man at bay with its greater reach. With no free hand to hold on, he felt himself losing his balance and tipping sideways. He heaved himself forward to correct himself.
The trapper saw him drop his guard and swung in, but Chamus managed to wrap the makeshift grappling line around the man’s weapon. In a desperate lunge, he struck out with his machete with his right hand and scored a cut across the back of the trapper’s hand. This time he did lose his balance and would have fallen back over Rumbler’s flank if Riadni had not grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him back on. The hunter cried out and let go of his own blade, his horse’s speed dropping away behind them. Chamus lost his hold on the weighted cord as the man dropped his weapon, but was happy just to have managed to stay up on the horse.
He glanced back and his blood turned cold. There were four more men on horseback following them. He nudged Riadni and she stole a look behind them. They came to where the road crossed the river … and Rumbler came to a stuttering halt. They had run out of road. The river was crossed by a ferry and the long raft was on the other side. Two ropes ran the width of the river, obviously for pulling the ferry across, but they would never have enough time.
‘Cut the ropes,’ Riadni told him, looking downstream.
‘What?’
‘Cut the ropes. It’s no good to us. Make sure they can’t use it either.’
He swung the machete against the post that anchored the ropes, cutting first one, then the other. The ends of the ropes drifted out and down into the current. Riadni turned Rumbler to the right and they galloped down the bank, following the flow of the water. Ahead of them, the banks on either side rose and the river narrowed and became faster. Riadni angled away from the rise, putting some distance between them and the bank. Then she stopped and turned the horse towards the river. Behind them the drumming of hooves drew closer.
‘That is too far,’ Chamus shook his head, looking at the far bank. ‘We won’t make it.’
‘I don’t know what else to do,’ she said, and heeled Rumbler’s flanks. The horse sensed her urgency and threw himself into the run. They hurtled towards the rise, Chamus’s eyes darted to the left to see their pursuers closing on them, led by the second trapper, but they were still not close enough. Rumbler launched himself out over the river, but just as he did there was a whipping sound and as his back legs pushed off the ground, he stumbled. All three plunged into the water and the fast current carried them away.
Chamus fought to get his head above the churning surface and saw the horsemen gallop up to the high bank and stop. Two of them fired off shots with old flintlock muskets, but succeeded in doing nothing but hitting water. Riadni surfaced, her make-up running down her face in long streaks. She immediately made a grab for Rumbler’s reins, lifting her legs up in front of her to fend off rocks as she was carried downstream. Around them the banks became high and rocky and Chamus knew it would make it difficult for their hunters to follow.
They let the current carry them more than a mile downstream to quieter water and then Chamus helped Riadni guide Rumbler out on the opposite bank of the river at a clearing among some dark firs. The horse was having trouble standing and staggered twice as he waded into shallow water. When he lunged up and out, he was holding his left front foot up. Chamus winced, and Riadni cried out. The cannon bone was broken just below the knee. Bare bone protruded from an open wound. Rumbler flopped down on the grass by the riverside, exhausted, his breath coming in shudders. The remains of a belasto were still looped loosely around his hind legs, one of the cords and a weight missing. Riadni was cradling her horse’s head and Chamus went to unwind the cord. That had been what made the horse stumble in mid-jump. He stopped as he realised it was Riadni’s. He recognised the wooden weights that had caught him when she first attacked him. She had thrown it at the trapper and he had obviously kept it and used it. He glanced up at Riadni’s heartbroken face; she had not noticed the belasto was hers. Unravelling the weapon, he threw it far out into the river.
They needed to leave quickly, but he didn’t have the heart to rush her. He pulled the saddlebags and other bits and pieces from Rumbler’s back and laid them out, ready to be picked up. He went over and kneeled down beside her. She cast a glare at him and he was taken aback by the hostility in her eyes. Caressing the horse’s forehead, she kissed his muzzle.
‘Bring me the saddlebags,’ she rasped.
Not knowing what to say, Chamus did as she asked. Riadni reached deep into one and pulled out a pistol wrapped in an oilskin, along with a pouch and a sealed horn. Pulling off her wig, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and then opened the horn. The powder inside was still dry, as was the pistol itself. Holding the weapon upright, she tipped in some powder, tamped it down with the ramrod and then dropped in a round lead bullet. She tamped that down, keeping the barrel pointed upwards. She handed the loaded pistol to Chamus, making sure he held it so that the load did not become loose, then she wrapped her arms around Rumbler’s neck and wept into his wet coat.
When her sobs had died down, she took back the pistol, cocked it and held it level against the horse’s forehead.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and pulled the trigger.
The gun went off so loudly that they both jumped. Riadni broke down into sobs again, but now Chamus was picking up their stuff. She said a short prayer over Rumbler’s body, then stood up shakily and Chamus went to put a comforting arm around her, but she
flinched and he drew back. She kissed her hand and pressed it against the horse’s face, before wiping her eyes again and self-consciously washing her face in the water. She replaced her wig and then they hurried off into the trees.
They walked for some time, skirting the far edge of the copse of fir trees and following the rim of a vast quarry, whose granite walls bore the scars of explosives and heavy machinery. Riadni did not speak, and Chamus let her be, walking behind her so that she could grieve in peace. Instead, he used the time to take in the country around him, admiring the dramatic forests and steep, spilling slopes and noting the damage that had been done by mining and timber operations. The wild landscape was marred in every direction by swathes of cleared forest and deep quarries and open strips cut into the hills. He knew heavy rain would widen those scars and wash away precious soil and he wondered how much of this had been done by Altiman companies who had left without cleaning up their messes.
They walked a trail of dry mud that had been baked hard in the summer sun and left little or no sign that they had passed that way. Every now and then, Chamus turned to study the land behind them, but could see nobody. Riadni’s decision to cut the ropes on the ferry had been smart, it must have slowed them down, having to find another place to cross, but they would have heard the pistol shot, and sooner or later they would find Rumbler’s body and know that their prey was now on foot.
A few times during the day he saw aircraft – two airships, probably carrying tourists out to see the wilds of Bartokhrin from a safe height, and a flight of five fighters, making a patrol. None of them was close enough to try getting their attention. It was frustrating, seeing his countrymen so close and yet so out of reach. He shifted the saddlebags over to the other shoulder, wishing he had a proper backpack and wondering if they could pick one up somewhere. But he did not relish the idea of stopping at another village.
