The Volunteer (The Bone World Trilogy)

by Peadar O'Guilin

  Whistlenose watched the men watching each other: one rubbing his neck, but smug and sure; the other more tense, calculating.

  "But you will save us," said the Chief eventually. "You, Aagam the... the Conqueror. You will lead us to join with the Tribe my brother found."

  "Exactly. I will warn you of what lies ahead every step of the way. And more than that. I studied the Diggers when I knew I would have to come here. I learned their weaknesses and committed them to memory, my real memory." Whistlenose had no idea what Aagam had meant by "real" memory, but nor did he care. He could only watch the Chief fall deeper under the spell of a man who wanted him dead.

  "And this will help us beat the Diggers, Aagam?"

  "Oh, nobody can beat the Diggers. Not with the primitive weapons available to you here. But I can help you identify weak spots to keep us all alive long enough to get where we're going."

  "And you can guarantee all of this?"

  The man laughed, his voice still hoarse from Whistlenose's attack. "Not at all. It is highly unlikely any of us will be alive a hundred days from now. The only thing I can offer you is your best chance. I, Aagam, I am all you've got. So, you'd best treat me like a king. Like a god! So, first things first. You will trade this murderer here for flesh. Then, you will offer me my pick of the women."

  "The unmarried women."

  Aagam grinned. "Of course." He looked at Whistlenose as he spoke, however. The hunter remembered how the man had stared at his wife. "Or those women soon to be widowed."

  Whistlenose opened his mouth to plead, to promise—he wasn't sure what—but Wallbreaker got there first.

  "This man, you have ordered me to sacrifice, is the best hunter in the Tribe." A blatant lie. Even at his very peak, Whistlenose had never risen higher than a second spear. "I will not waste this great hunter on a whim."

  The stranger's eyes narrowed. "Don't bargain with a master, Chief. I can count tattoos as well as anybody else." Whistlenose only had three, not including the new one he'd been promised.

  Wallbreaker shrugged. "I can have you served to me as soup within the hour, stranger. I can trade you to the Clawfolk or even the Longtongues now that I have a Talker. Yes, it might be worth giving them a sign of goodwill."

  "Oh, I don't think so. You'll want to know what happened to Indrani, won't you? That runaway wife of yours."

  "Kidnapped wife."

  "Whatever you like. You'll want to learn her whereabouts. She's still alive, you know. She made it all the way to that new tribe I was talking about. The one only I can lead you to."

  Whistlenose held his breath. He could feel his life, his family's future, hanging by a thread.

  "I could make you talk, stranger. I could cut bits off you until I had learned your secrets."

  "Yes, and you would never know which things I told you were true and which invented."

  "It's not as if I know that now, is it?" The Chief paused, his eyes like slits. "So, this then is my decision. You, stranger—"

  "Aagam."

  "You will tell me something useful now. Something I can see the truth of immediately. Prove your value first. Then, we will see about your demands for a wife and," he glanced at Whistlenose, "other things."

  Aagam nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Wallbreaker stopped him with a gesture. "You will tell only me. Whistlenose? You may return home. We will need a fuller account of everything you have learned this day. Go. I promised you rations. Collect them from Mossheart on the way out."

  Whistlenose cleared his throat. "I... I just wanted to say... to ask..."

  "I will do what's best for the Tribe."

  "Of... of course."

  CHAPTER 3: Excused From Work

  Whistlenose had seen his wife by now and the Chief too, so everybody was free to ask him for news. First among these were some of the relatives of the men in his hunting party. "Highstepper died bravely," he lied, "spear in hand until the end. It came for him quickly." And so on, until, utterly exhausted he came down the steps into the cellar that was now his family's only home. They'd had a full house all to themselves before the Armourbacks had wiped out half the Tribe, but he loved the coziness he shared with his little family and never missed the extra rooms.

  "I have flesh," he said to Ashsweeper. It was food from the communal stores now run by Wallbreaker's sad wife, Mossheart. Ashsweeper hugged him, her hair soft around his face. Another pair of smaller arms came from nowhere to wrap themselves about his knees.

  The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, looking back up the cellar steps with Ashsweeper and the boy wide-eyed with fear above him. He had collapsed. Not from an injury, although his leg still tormented him.

  "I'm all right," he told them, voice slurring. "Just need to sleep. How's my strong boy?" He never heard the answer, or gave his wife news of the stranger who wanted him dead. His eyes closed and that was all.

  ***

  Whistlenose woke to the delicious smells of roasting meat. He wasn't sure what creature it had come from—Mossheart had failed to mention it. Instead, she had stared at his sore leg before picking out the food for him. But there was no need to think about that now. The aroma filled his senses and Ashsweeper laughed at the sight of him.

  "Is it me or the food that has maddened you, husband?"

  He grinned, remembering her on the day they'd jumped the fire together. How shy she had been back then! She was his third wife. Laughlouder had disappeared one day while out making rope. Nobody knew how. But Sleepyeyes had still been alive at the time and a little jealous when Ashsweeper had joined the family. She'd been proud too, though, to be senior wife, and hopeful the newcomer might finally bring them all a child.

  Sleepyeyes had lived to see the boy born, but then the Flyers and their allies had come and the Senior Wife had died, knife in hand, while mother and child escaped out the back door. She wasn't really an Ancestor, but Whistlenose had heard Ashsweeper praying sometimes to the older woman and it filled him with love and pride every time.

  "Where's our son?" asked Whistlenose, mouth full, hands wrapped around a hot skull bowl.

  That's when he heard the slap of little feet on the stone cellar steps and he had to fend the child off until he could hand the food back to his wife. "Who's this?" he asked in mock surprise. "This hunter is far too big to be my child!"

  "Men, papa,” said the giggling boy. "There're men waiting for you!"

  A voice called down to them from the outside. "You awake yet?" it was Whistlenose's friend Frownbrow.

  "Not really," he called back, hoping Frownbrow would take the hint and leave him more time to play with his son. He wanted to speak to Ashsweeper too. She hadn't asked him a thing since he'd come home, but she would need to hear it all. Collapsing as he had done, had cost him a whole day and a night when he should have been planning on what to do about Aagam. At the very least, he could have spoken to Ashsweeper's brothers about finding her a new husband before it was too late.

  "Sorry to disturb you, my friend," Frownbrow said. "Really. But the Chief wants to see you."

  "Oh," he said, his heart freezing in his chest. Already?

  "What's wrong?" his wife asked him.

  He called back up the steps. "I haven't swallowed a bite since I got back. Can you give me a few heartbeats to finish up?"

  He tensed, waiting for the reply. He heard Frownbrow saying to somebody else, "What's the harm? We'll tell the Chief he wasn't at home and we had to go looking..."

  Ashsweeper stood patiently before him as the footsteps of the men above retreated. He looked into her eyes. No fear lay there yet, just puzzlement. An urge took him to lie to her, but time mattered in these things, so he said, "I don't think I'm coming back. I love you."

  She nodded and scooped the boy up from the floor. "Give your father a kiss," she whispered. Another wife might have demanded to know what was happening. Ashsweeper never thought like that; she already had the important information and she would bind it up behind her serene face until she could
be alone. He'd often caught her crying in the past and scolded her for not letting him help. But he was grateful now. Whistlenose hugged the boy. Then, as he was heading up the steps, Ashsweeper called him back. "Husband?"

  He turned.

  "Won't you flick a drop of blood at me?" It was something hunters did. A promise to come home. He shook his head. "I think... I think the Tribe needs my blood. All of it."

  What could she say to that? All she could do now was prevent the giggling boy from chasing his father up the stairs, her face a mask.

  Whistlenose staggered into the blue Rooflight of midday. Had he really slept so long when every moment should have been so precious to him? People smiled at him, around their communal fires.

  "You really jumped a Wetlane?" asked young Fearsflyers. The boy—no, he was a full hunter now and one of the best—clapped Whistlenose on the shoulder hard enough to sting. He grinned around twisted teeth where half of his most recent meal rotted unhappily. "Why didn't the canal beasts get you? They weren't hungry?" He was tagging along and his presence gave everybody else permission to join in too. People always wanted to know the details of a hunt.

  "I haven't spoken yet," Whistlenose said. "I haven't spoken to all the wives and children of the others."

  "Oh, sorry! It's been more than a day!" said Fearsflyers. As quickly as it had gathered, the crowd was gone and Whistlenose was left to make the frightening walk to the Chief's house by himself. Still, though, it was true that he hadn't spoken to Spearcatcher's widow yet. He'd have to be allowed that first, wouldn't he?

  His mind was racing. He couldn't stop it. He realized his fear of death wasn't just about Ashsweeper and the boy. He wanted to live for himself too. He wanted to be there when his son finally got a name. He wanted to teach him to make a spear; to butcher a carcass. To play the ambush game together; to sling at old skulls up on the wall.

  But it was the Tracking game the boy enjoyed most of all: the carefully hidden clues to find the scrap of meat. They had such fun, the two of them!

  Whistlenose found himself in Centre Square all too soon, the houses blackened by a hundred lifetimes of soot. He looked up at the Chief's home and found his eyes fixed on the empty sockets of a Bloodskin skull embedded into the wall. Gone now. All the Bloodskins were gone. Other extinct species watched him too: Hoppers; Armourbacks; Flim. As well as many others whose names the people had long since forgotten, but whose flesh had fed the Blessed Ancestors.

  Would his own skull be decorating some beast's dwelling tomorrow? He wanted to turn back. Instead, he reached for the heavy hides concealing the entrance to the Chief's house. The curtains twitched back before he could touch them.

  A woman stood there clutching the hand of a toddling girl. She was startlingly beautiful with her tossed blonde hair and her pale, pale skin. Her mouth, though, had a sad look about it, creasing towards the ground. People heard her shouting at her husband in the night and wondered if he would put her aside, or even trade her away. Outside of the home, however, she said little to anyone.

  "Hello, Mossheart," he said.

  "Goodbye, Whistlenose," she replied. "I think." She led her girl off down the street and even now, his head turned to follow after her lithe figure. But the sick feeling in his stomach brought the hunter back to himself. Go forward, he told himself. Volunteer willingly and Ashsweeper might be given another husband.

  He stepped inside and turned right towards the main room. He had expected hunters to be waiting on guard, but the Chief had sent them away, maybe even to look for Whistlenose. He heard men's voices raised in argument. One wasn't speaking human, but Whistlenose understood every word.

  "Half of us will die," the Chief was saying, "if we move from here."

  "At least half," Aagam agreed.

  In the dark of the hallway, Whistlenose imagined the man to be grinning. That's just how the voice sounded to him.

  "We know the streets here, every building. We can defend ourselves."

  "No doubt about it." Still grinning.

  Neither man spoke for a dozen heartbeats more. Whistlenose squared his shoulders and was about to step inside when he heard the Chief's voice, little more than a whisper. "You think I want her back so badly, that I would risk... everything?"

  "Perhaps you want to kill her. Or to kick your brother's corpse. Or kiss it. What do I care? I, I Aagam want to live longer. That's what matters to me. Maybe I'll find a way back to the Roof when all the fighting up there is over. But not if we stay here, with the Bloodskins gone already and the Longtongues soon to follow. I need to be in that other place where the hard rock goes deep into the ground. I want it around me until the Diggers exhaust their food supply and die off."

  "So, why didn't you land amongst Stopmouth's tribe instead of us? No—don't bother answering. You would have nothing to offer them, would you? Except your flesh."

  Aagam laughed. "Exciting, isn't it? Look, I won't say I'm not wetting myself with terror at the thought of it. Aagam is no fool. Or maybe I am a fool. But look, the Roof gave me the odds before I left. I ran enough simulations. No chance of survival at all if we stay here, compared to one in eight if we leave. I'm taking the one in eight and your dirty savages will be running that risk with me."

  "All except for one," said Wallbreaker.

  Recognizing he'd been caught, Whistlenose stepped into the room. The Chief looked up from the hides he squatted on. "You were well-named, hunter. It took me a while before I realized what the sound was."

  Whistlenose nodded, ashamed to have been spying, even now when it couldn't possibly matter. "You... you are going to give me to this... creature then."

  "Foreigner is the word you're looking for," said Aagam. "Your language doesn't have it, but your Tribe might be needing it soon if they get where they're going."

  "But not me."

  "You should have been more respectful to me," said Aagam. "You laid hands upon me."

  "I could make up for it."

  Aagam grinned. "I have never eaten flesh, did you know that? Can you even imagine it?"

  Whistlenose shook his head.

  "But if I must, it would please me that yours was the first."

  "I rescued you."

  "Nobody rescued me. Aagam came here under his own strength. That will be my story from now on, after yours has come to an end."

  The Chief looked up at Whistlenose. This was his chance to Volunteer, he knew that. A willing victim always earned his family more respect than the one who had to be dragged. In spite of that, Whistlenose suddenly found himself on his knees in front of Aagam and Wallbreaker. "I will tell the Tribe you saved me. From... from Longtongues or Diggers. I will tell them. Anything you want. But let me live."

  Aagam grinned, saying nothing. A bead of sweat ran down Whistlenose's forehead and onto his cheeks, like a coward's tears. He turned his head to find the Chief looking at him too. He expected to see scorn on that handsome, youthful face, but instead... could it be? Understanding? The look disappeared too quickly for him to be sure, however, and he swivelled back to face Aagam again.

  After what seemed like a lifetime, the dark man nodded. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Begging is good. It shows who is the leader and who is the servant. Am I right, Whistlenose?"

  "Yes, Aagam."

  Aagam smiled again and turned towards the Chief. "I want him dead." And Whistlenose's heart turned cold. The stranger continued, "Sooner or later this old hunter will try to kill me. I know how these things work."

  "That is how you work," Wallbreaker agreed.

  "And who knows," continued Aagam, "what he heard while he was listening there?"

  "We can trust this hunter."

  "No, savage, great men can trust no one. Your brother showed you that much."

  "He was so young," said Wallbreaker with a sigh. "I thought I would be glad to hear he had died. After his betrayal."

  "You gave him everything. He owed you his very survival and still he wanted your woman."

  "Yes." Wallbreaker smacked
the ground with his fist. "Yes!" Then, red-faced, he turned to the kneeling hunter. "You will Volunteer for the Tribe so that the rest of us might make it home."

  Aagam laughed. "Do you even know what that means, Chief? That thing you all say, 'So that the rest of us might make it home'? Do you even know where 'home' is? What it is? It's Earth! It's—"

  "Shut up! Or I will kill you myself."

  "No, you won't," but Aagam settled down.

  "I'm sorry, Whistlenose. The Tribe needs your flesh. But I, Wallbreaker, swear to you, I swear that if you can keep your mouth shut and do the right thing, your wife will remarry and your son will have a new father. I'll do everything I can to make sure the boy gets an early name. The pregnant women will confirm it if I ask them to."

  Whistlenose found he was trembling. "When must I go?"

  "We have a choosing tomorrow. We're sending some of our injured to the Clawfolk. We'll need a lot of flesh for... for our journey. You probably heard that much from the door. And it's a good deal for you anyway. You have to know that. You can't hide that bad leg forever."

  Whistlenose nodded. He felt calmer now. He had the Chief's oath. "Can I spend the last night at home?"

  "Yes," Wallbreaker replied, just as Aagam said the opposite.

  "He'll talk!" the stranger said. "To his pretty wife."

  "No he won't. Not if he wants to keep her from the pot."

  "I do." Whistlenose swallowed. "I know this man promises to save our tribe. But he is a monster and he would see us all dead before Volunteering a finger."