Cloud Warrior

by Patrick Tilley

  They are all mad, thought Steve. Or they are all so brain damaged they feel no pain. But then he cast his mind back to the river battle: to Trail Boss Buck McDonnell standing up behind Barber, the engineering exec, on the bulldozer with crossbow bolts zipping round his ears: to Caulfield in his Skyhawk on the flight-deck, a crossbow bolt through his temples and his eyeballs hanging down by his nostrils, yelling as they hauled him out of his cockpit, ‘Leave me alone! I’m okay, I’m okay. Let’s go! Let’s get at these bastards!’ The M’Calls had summarily executed Good-Year for failing the test of a warrior – but Grand Central put guys up against a wall and shot them in front of the video cameras for crapping out on operations. It could even be happening to Hartmann, commander of The Lady, right now. The smell of roasting human flesh assailed his nostrils. It was a salutary reminder that he himself had committed the same act in reverse. He had dropped bonfires on people; made of napalm and aimed at the children of the people he was sitting with. We are all, thought Steve, as mad as each other.

  Good-Year’s body, blackened and charred, merged with the blazing embers as more wood was heaped on the fire and slowly crumbled into oblivion. The ceremony continued far into the night, with the clan roaring its approval as each Mute presenting himself for reinstatement as a warrior, broke the blood-stained arrow held between his clenched teeth and spat the third piece contemptuously into the flames. The other two pieces, Cadillac explained, would be attached to a necklace; a badge of courage to be worn with pride.

  Steve lost track of time. He was becoming tired. The incessant drumming and chanting had become, to his ear, monotonous, overwhelming. He longed to get up and stretch, to creep into the fur-skin bed he had been given and go to sleep but he felt constrained to stay where he was. With the whole clan in a hyped-up state there was no knowing what might happen. Steve had an odd sense of foreboding. All it needed was for some of those Bears who’d been giving him mean-eyed looks to decide to have a little fun and…

  He decided it would be safer to stick close to Cadillac and Mr Snow.

  Cadillac leaned into him and pressed something in his hand. Take this,’ he muttered. ‘Just in case…’

  Steve glanced at his neighbours but nobody appeared to have noticed the transaction. He brought his right hand casually up to his face, rubbed his nose with his thumb and forefinger and glanced down at what Cadillac had put into his palm. It was shredded Dream Cap. Steve slowly rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin, scooped the drug up with his tongue and chewed it discreetly. Something about the way Cadillac had passed over the Dream Cap suggested it was the best thing to do. But what did he mean by ‘Just in case’?

  Another roar of approval. Another M’Call knelt to have his cheeks pierced. The line of waiting warriors seemed endless. Steve let his eyes roam over the closely-packed rows of lumpheads on either side of him. Male and female warriors, den-mothers, young Mutes. What, Steve wondered, did they make of all this? On the far side of the huge fire, partly masked by the rows in front, Steve unexpectedly caught sight of the most beautifully formed face he had ever seen. It came as a shock to realise that it belonged to a female Mute. It was hard to be sure in the flickering light but she looked smooth skinned – like Cadillac. Her face was patterned with light and dark pigments but otherwise – even at this distance – Steve could see it was flawless.

  And her eyes! Like two points of blue fire…

  When they connected with Steve’s he felt an inexplicable surge of excitement. A shiver ran down his spine. He felt an insane urge to get up and make his way round to where she sat but did not dare move from his allotted place. As he had to look past Cadillac to see her, he averted his gaze so as not to reveal the true focus of his attentions. He watched the next warrior break and wrench the arrow out of his cheeks then slowly let his gaze drift round to where she sat. Her face was turned towards him; her eyes waiting to meet his.

  This is crazy! thought Steve. Come on, get a grip on yourself ! She’s a lumphead. She’s probably got a body like a sack of rocks. And even if she hasn’t what you are thinking is unthinkable. He tore his eyes away and silently berated himself. You’re imagining things, Brickman. It’s the Dream Cap. You’ve been a prisoner of these lumps so long, you’re beginning to think of them as real people. Just keep cool. Hang loose.

  Impossible. His body was tingling. He was in the grip of a sensation he had never experienced before and lacked the words to describe. He stole another look past Cadillac. Several Mutes blocked his view as they got up to take their place in the queue. When they had passed, Steve’s heart sank. She had gone. Motor-Head, Cadillac’s fearsome clan-brother, had taken her place. He glared at Steve with undisguised belligerence. Steve avoided his gaze and searched the rows of firelit faces in front and behind but the Mute girl was nowhere to be seen.

  Without warning, Cadillac got up and walked over to where Mr Snow sat in the semi-circle of clan elders. Steve saw him squat crosslegged behind the old wordsmith’s right shoulder. He laid his hands on his kneecaps, closed his eyes and appeared to compose himself.

  Once again, Steve was not prepared for what happened next. When the last disgraced Mute had bitten the arrow and regained his standing as a warrior, Rolling-Stone spread his arms wide and addressed the gathering. ‘The blood of our warriors flows hot and strong! They have proved themselves worthy to bear sharp iron in battle. The M’Calls are once again the greatest of the Plainfolk!’

  ‘Heyy-YAHH!!’ roared the seated clan.

  Mr Snow and Cadillac stood up and moved to stand on either side of Rolling-Stone. The clan elder spread his hands again. ‘Now let us bite the arrow to show we are worthy to lead the bravest of the brave!’

  ‘YAHH! YAHH! YAHH!’ chanted the clan. The musical accompaniment which had faded during the clan elder’s speech, picked up its former pace and volume.

  I was right the first time, thought Steve. They are all fruitcakes. He understood why Cadillac had closed his eyes. He had been preparing himself mentally for the ordeal ahead. Interesting. Did that mean the Mutes had some way to switch off pain? That could be a trick that might be worth learning. No wonder they kept coming in spite of everything that the crew of The Lady threw at them. Too dumb to be frightened, and too numb to know they’d been hit.

  Fort-Knox, a warrior whose own cheeks were streaked with blood, took the arrow proffered by Rolling-Stone and flexed it above his head for all to see. The old Mute knelt before him, his outstretched hands resting on the raised palms of two warriors. Just behind Fort-Knox, Steve could see Motor-Head curling his thick fingers round the shaft of the heavy stone hammer. Not that he needed it. He looked the kind of guy who could stave your head in with his bare fist.

  ‘Hey-YAH!’ cried Rolling-Stone.

  Fort-Knox punched the arrow through the old lump-head’s face. Rolling-Stone’s hands never moved. Now one step removed from reality through the Dream Cap, Steve didn’t even wince inwardly. The clan elder rose, turned, displayed his transfixed jaws to the assembled clan then broke the arrow.

  ‘Hey-YAHH!’ roared the M’Calls.

  Well done, old man, thought Steve. I’m glad it’s you and not me. It was no joke being head-man if you had to go through the same performance every time the clan crapped out.

  Mr Snow and Cadillac both passed the test with flying colours. Their participation surprised Steve. They were too intelligent to get mixed up in such a primitive display of machismo. With a little thought they should have been smart enough to figure a way out – or to have invented some new rules.

  Cadillac broke the arrow out of his face and spat the last piece into the fire. The clan roared its approval. Great, thought Steve, stifling a yawn. Now we can all go home. He began to get up then saw that everyone else was sitting tight. He sat back and crossed his legs and felt a chill ripple of fear run down his spine as Motor-Head fixed his glittering black eyes upon him. Grasping the stone hammer under its head, the square, heavily-muscled Mute strode across the wavering circle of firelight and
planted himself in front of where Steve sat in the fourth row.

  Motor-Head flung out his right arm, pointing the hammer at Steve. ‘Now brothers, what shall be done with this carrion crow?!’

  Steve could feel everyone’s eyes upon him. Black-Top and Steel-Eye moved through the crowd and stood behind him. Oh boy, thought Steve dreamily. This looks like big trouble. Keep cool. Let Mr Snow handle it…

  Motor-Head appealed to the assembled clan. ‘Did not this crow, before its wings were broken, destroy our cropfields and kill our cubs? Why is this carrion allowed to live in our midst? He takes the food from our mouths yet is allowed to fill his own. This wingless worm has no standing. I say he should taste the fire he let fall on others –’

  ‘Heyy-yahh…!’ The response came as an angry growl. Not everybody answered but it was clear a sizeable number agreed with Motor-Head’s proposition.

  Black-Top and Steel-Eye grabbed Steve by the arms and hauled him to his feet. His head woozy from the Dream Cap, Steve struggled drunkenly in their grip. ‘Hey, come on, you guys, what is this?!’

  Mr Snow took a step forward. Like Motor-Head, his speech was slurred and wooden because of the fresh wounds in his cheeks. ‘Free him! He has standing. The Sky Voices spoke to me of this cloud warrior. The shadow of Talisman is upon him!’

  Black-Top and Steel-Eye began to release their grip on Steve. Motor-Head stopped them with an imperious gesture. ‘The shadow of Talisman does not fall on the unworthy.’ Motor-Head turned to the clan for support. ‘Does a warrior lay waste to the fruits of the earth? This carrion kills those that have not chewed bone yet when Cadillac brought him tumbling from the sky he begged to be saved from death –’

  ‘Shee-ehhh…’ hissed the clan.

  Motor-Head flung an accusing finger at Cadillac. ‘Is that not so, wordsmith?’

  Cadillac hesitated, looked at Steve, then nodded gravely. ‘My brother speaks the truth.’

  Oh, terrific, thought Steve. Thanks a bunch…

  Black-Top and Steel-Eye dragged Steve out in front of the clan, twisted his arms behind his back and forced him to his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Motor-Head heft the big stone hammer. His brain was fast losing its capacity to react. I don’t believe this, he thought. He let his head hang down limply and slowly realised that it was becoming weightless.

  Mr Snow held up his hands. ‘Stay! His life was spared because Talisman willed it!’

  Motor-Head paused with the hammer resting on his right shoulder. ‘I too have dreamed dreams, Old One.’ He pointed down at Steve. ‘This is the Death-Bringer. If it is Talisman’s will that he treads the earth, let him take the spirit from this crow and put it in a braver body!’ He gripped the gnarled shaft tightly and swung the hammer back over his head. As it arced forwards on the killing stroke the stone head exploded with a terrifying boom. It was as if the hammer had collided head on with an invisible bolt of lightning. The mysterious force that struck the hammer lifted Motor-Head off his feet and hurled him backwards. Mr Snow, Cadillac, Black-Top and Steel-Eye reeled away, trying vainly to shield their faces from the shower of sharp splinters. Steve hit the ground nose first. By some metaphysical quirk, most of the splinters were seen to follow the line of the explosion, going behind Motor-Head and upwards at an angle. Shocked and momentarily deafened but otherwise uninjured, they were helped up by the nearest of the startled spectators.

  Mr Snow walked over to where Motor-Head lay on his back, dazed and winded. ‘Perhaps that will teach you not to speak out of turn. You’re lucky that didn’t blow your head off.’ Motor-Head sat up groggily. Mr Snow turned away to check that Steve was all right, then addressed the gathering. ‘There! You have seen for yourselves how Talisman protects those who walk in his shadow!’

  ‘Heyyy-yahhh,’ murmured the awed clan.

  Motor-Head leapt to his feet, his composure regained, and strode forward. Cadillac tried to hold him back but was brushed aside. ‘Brothers and sisters! Like you, I bow to the will of Talisman, but I still say this crow is unworthy to eat and drink and live as one of us. If he draws his strength from Talisman, let him prove he is a warrior! Let him bite the arrow!’

  ‘HEYY-YAHH!!’ This time the vote was unanimous.

  Steve swayed as the voices thundered in his ears. Mr Snow and Cadillac grabbed him by the arms. ‘Hey! Hey! Come on! Stay awake!’ whispered Mr Snow urgently. ‘If anyone guesses you’re stoked up on Dream Cap they will call a postponement and thread your face when you’re cold turkey.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ mumbled Steve.

  ‘You won’t feel too much,’ said Mr Snow.

  ‘Just switch off,’ muttered Cadillac. ‘Don’t think about it.’

  They marched him over to the clan elders. ‘Okay,’ whispered Mr Snow, ‘Kneel down, stretch out your arms sideways and, whatever happens, keep your fingers straight and your palms flat on ours.’

  Steve nodded dreamily. ‘I know the drill.’

  Mr Snow patted him on the back of the neck and hissed. ‘Head up! Keep your head up. Look sharp!’ Mr Snow and Cadillac knelt facing each other on either side of Steve and offered up a palm for Steve to lay his outstretched hands on. Rolling-Stone stepped up to Steve holding the unbroken arrow made by the luckless Good-Year. It was stained with blood where it had pierced his left cheek. The four-vaned head gleamed dully. To Steve’s dislocated senses it looked huge. Far too big to pass between his jaws. In his mind’s eye he saw it splintering his teeth, ripping across his tongue…

  Rolling-Stone lifted the arrow above his head.

  Breathe. He had to take a deep breath. Fill his lungs with air to power the primal scream that would initiate his ordeal. Like the warlike cry he had been trained to use when delivering a blow in unarmed combat. How much would he feel? How much would it hurt? Steve had the impression he was both inside and outside himself. His mind was beginning to drift away. Again he could hear voices.

  He heard a far-away echoing cry; dimly recognised it as the defiant Trail-Blazer yell. HO!-Oh-oh-oh-oh. He felt a violent blow against the left side of his face, just ahead of the jaw muscle. A harsh grating noise. Splayed fingers pressing against the right side of his face. Skin tightening, tearing. Something hard and thin pressing down on his tongue. Choking… mouth filling with blood. Rising. Turning, arms outstretched. Hands on his legs, steadying him. Look alert, Brickman. Look sharp. Don’t crap out. This is your big moment. Fold your arms slowly. Take hold of the arrow. Shit… driven the point into my hand! Okay… this is the bit these lumpheads have been waiting for. Bite the arrow. Shit. That hurts! Break you bastard. Oh, sweet Christopher, it’s tearing my fucking face apart! Bite harder. Bite through. Oh, boy… couldn’t have made it without the Dream Cap. Still don’t know whether I can… Hands are sticky. Got blood everywhere. Oh, boy! Think it’s breaking… Going to have to – snap – it – up…wards… uh! UHH!

  Heyyy-YAHHH!

  The roar from the assembled Mutes washed over him like a great wave. His face throbbed. The inside of his mouth felt swollen, shapeless. Willing himself to stay erect, he walked stiff-legged to the fire and spat the piece of shaft into the flames. The rows of misshapen, firelit faces swayed, blurred…

  The next thing Steve was conscious of was waking up inside Cadillac’s hut. He was lying between his sleeping furs. Mr Snow and the young wordsmith sat watching him. Both their faces bore the livid wounds made by the arrow. Steve sat up on his elbows. His face felt as if it was on fire. ‘How did I get here?’

  ‘You walked,’ said Mr Snow.

  Steve touched his cheeks gingerly, measuring the extent of the damage with his fingertips. ‘Thanks for helping me out,’ he mumbled. ‘If it hadn’t been for that Dream Cap…’

  Cadillac pointed to Mr Snow. ‘It was his idea.’

  Mr Snow waved dismissively.

  ‘I don’t know how you guys managed without it.’

  Mr Snow began to smile but it hurt too much. ‘The Mutes have learned to get used to pain.’ He leaned forward and gri
pped Steve’s wrist. ‘Congratulations. You did well. Everybody was very impressed.’

  ‘Aww, come on,’ said Steve. ‘It was a total cop-out. I’m a fraud.’

  ‘True,’ replied Mr Snow lightly. ‘But only the three of us know that.’ He saw Steve’s face fall. ‘Don’t run yourself down too much. Not everyone could have gone through with it – even with the help you had.’

  ‘So welcome to warriorhood.’ Cadillac extended his palm.

  Steve gave Cadillac’s hand the traditional downward slap then offered his palm in return. ‘Laying on the hand of friendship’ was the Mute equivalent of the Tracker handshake – but was not lightly bestowed on strangers.

  ‘That bit with the hammer,’ began Steve. ‘The way it exploded just as Motor-Head was about to knock my brains out. You ran things a mite too close for comfort but it was great timing. How’d you rig that?’

  Mr Snow exchanged a look with Cadillac before replying. ‘We didn’t rig anything. These things happen.’

  ‘You mean –’ Steve laughed woodenly. Like the others, his face was too painfully stiff to open his mouth properly.

  ‘– that stuff about me being in Talisman’s shadows was for real? Does this guy actually exist?’

  ‘Talisman has always existed,’ said Mr Snow quietly.

  ‘You mean he lives somewhere.’

  ‘Talisman lives everywhere.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Steve. ‘Let me get this straight. Are we talking about a real live person?’

  ‘Now and then, yes.’ ‘What does that mean?’

  Mr Snow sighed patiently. ‘When the time comes for him to walk the earth, Talisman will manifest himself as a human being.’

  ‘Okay,’ nodded Steve. ‘Where is he now?’

  The old wordsmith threw up his hands. ‘What a dumb question! What does it matter where he is? He’s around!’ ‘Around?’