Half naked, beaten and bloody, but momentarily forgotten, Ria rolled to her feet, ignoring savage jolts of pain, and retrieved her knife from Grigo’s belt. Then she darted into the melee to stab one of Driff’s attackers in the back, thrusting the long blade deep between his ribs, withdrawing it and slicing open a second man’s throat. As a howling scrum of close combat surrounded her she weaved and dived and killed again. She’d been lucky so far but she knew she only had moments left to live – Driff too: what madness had inspired him to try to rescue her? – when out of the corner of her eye she saw another long line of charging braves bearing down on them.
She cackled – why did the Illimani need reinforcements? – and shook her head to clear the blood from her eyes. Only then did she register that the new attackers were not more of the outlanders but Uglies, led by Grondin. His mission had been to bring the populations of the outlying camps into Secret Place and he must have worked fast, or encountered them already on the way, because he now commanded a powerful force of braves – perhaps as many as a hundred. Less than thirty of the Illimani scouting party still stood after the furious fighting of the past moments and they were soon killed.
‘Brindle, speak to me.’ Ria sent out her thought-voice as she ran towards the little group of her companions. But she saw that her friend was unconscious, his eyes rolled up in his head, blood dripping from a huge gash in his skull. She tried again: ‘Speak to me, Brindle,’ and again there was no reply. ‘He gone very deep, Ria’, Oplimar told her. ‘Maybe don’t come back.’
‘You can bring him back,’ Ria said. ‘You can heal him …’
Suddenly Grondin was amongst them, his massive figure towering over all, his thought-voice full of authority: ‘No time for healing now.’ He gestured towards the southern sector of the camp where the mass of the Illimani force were still gathered. Faint screams carried on the breeze and the menacing chant went up again – ‘SULPA! SULPA! SULPA!’ – followed by great howls and roars of approval.
‘It is worse than we feared,’ Grondin said now. ‘There are more than seven thousand of these devils. They are here in our valleys to kill us all. Driff told us their plans.’
‘But what’s in it for Driff? I don’t understand why he’s helping us’ – Ria glanced over at the young Illimani. She could see he was racked with pain but that he refused to cry out, or to acknowledge her attention, as two of the Uglies pulled the spear from his side.
‘Brindle made rope with him, changed his heart, helped him start to thought-talk. After Clan captured you he found us, told us what happened, brought us here to rescue you.’
‘Can you thought-talk with him?’
‘A little. Enough to understand. Takes time.’
‘Can I trust him?’
Grondin turned his huge head towards Ria and his eyes were intelligent and quizzical: ‘He saved you. Why would you not trust?’ Then he strode away to see to his own injured braves. ‘Prepare your people. We must go from this place.’
‘But go where? Go how?’ Ria sent her thought-voice after the big Ugly warrior. ‘We’re boxed in by the Illimani. The river’s at our back. There’s nowhere to escape to.’
‘We will use river,’ Grondin said. ‘How you think we got here?’
Chapter Fifty-Six
If Don Emmanuel’s avatar in this world was killed, if his heart was cut out, what would happen to his body and his consciousness back on Earth? Leoni felt sure it must be bad and knew what was required of her; if she had this ‘force’, whatever it was, then she had to use it to help him.
Don Apolinar was still stooping over the little shaman’s battered body, but now he swivelled and glared at her, reading her mind. ‘Be still!’ his voice cracked out. ‘I imprison you!’ The effect was instantaneous. This time Leoni stayed on her feet but she found that she was again paralysed, as though set in plaster. Don Apolinar sneered and walked over to her, waving his knife: ‘I will take the treasure from your head,’ he promised. ‘I will cause you very much pain. Your body in this world will die. Your spirit will be driven into the Between and you will never get out.’
Leoni couldn’t speak – her mouth was frozen shut – as he turned his back again, stalked across the floor to where Don Emmanuel lay broken and crouched beside him, positioning himself so she had a clear view. ‘First I kill your stupid little healer,’ he said. He raised the knife for her to see. ‘Take his heart; take his magic.’
Leoni could feel her anger charging up, like a weapon inside her. Don Apolinar’s sadistic murderous conceit made her want to destroy him and now, as he gripped the knife in both hands, the tip pointing down, and held it poised over Don Emmanuel’s skinny chest, her temper exploded and her body seemed to expand, smashing loose from the paralysis that had gripped her. Don Apolinar had no time to react as she raised her right hand, pointed her index finger at him and wished him dead.
She hadn’t believed it would work a second time, so she was astounded when something jagged and fiery, like a bolt of lightning, flew out from her and struck Don Apolinar in the chest. It knocked him away from Don Emmanuel’s side and sent him tumbling, with a gasp of surprise, to the floor. She could see no visible wound but to her satisfaction Apolinar looked dazed and had let go of the knife.
Fast as thought, Leoni raised her left hand and pointed her finger at the dropped weapon, summoning it. As though she held a powerful magnet it began to slide towards her across the floor, and as it neared her it rose into the air. She gripped the hilt.
That was when she knew she would kill Apolinar, if she could.
But he was already back on his feet. He flicked his hand in Leoni’s direction and a menacing cloud of little black objects flew at her, buzzing. She dodged to her left and they shot past, but immediately swung round and homed in on her again. She was desperate to evade them, zigzagging around the room, slapping them away with her hands, but they were all over her within seconds like a hundred bees.
Only they weren’t bees. Close up she saw they were tiny machines with moving metal jaws. As they settled on her they burrowed into her flesh and she fell to her knees, screaming in agony.
Don Apolinar stood over her. ‘I am very powerful,’ he boasted, ‘very clever. My magic is very strong, yes?’ He beckoned: ‘Come to me, beauties,’ and the little black machines took flight out of Leoni’s skin, drawing another scream from her and leaving her covered in oozing spots of blood. Apolinar flicked his hand again, this time towards Don Emmanuel, and the swarm boiled out towards the unconscious shaman, pouring in streams through his nose and open mouth until his whole body writhed and convulsed as though he were being devoured from within.
Don Apolinar flexed his fingers. ‘I think I take your treasure now,’ he told her.
‘No!’ Leoni yelled. His ego was so big he’d obviously forgotten she still had his knife. As he crouched to plunge his fingers into her brain she stabbed upwards at the crotch of his white suit. The point slid deep into his groin and stopped with a jolt.
If she’d done that to someone on Earth he would have died, but Don Apolinar didn’t die. Leoni twisted the blade, wanting to inflict as much damage as possible, but he just kept coming, his fingers scrabbling at her head. ‘The treasure,’ he was muttering ‘I must have it! I must have it!’ He sounded like a drug addict, hot for his next fix.
Still on her knees, Leoni shoved the knife up into his body again, trying to force him away from her. Yet there was no blood and he seemed unhurt: ‘Stupid!’ he spat as he got a firm grip on her neck with his left hand and brought the finger and thumb of his right hand down like pincers towards her temple. ‘I am maestro. You cannot kill me in this world.’
‘That is true,’ said another voice. ‘But I can.’
Apolinar froze and Leoni saw him look up. She followed his gaze. Rearing over them was a giant anaconda with amethyst scales, its massive head swaying from side to side and its eyes, vertical dark slits in amber, glowing with an inner fire.
‘My Lady of the Forest!�
� gasped Apolinar. He wasn’t swaggering now. ‘On my life, I did not know!’
The huge serpent swayed again, a rapid series of oscillations, and began a beautiful and spectacular metamorphosis into human form. It took only seconds for her to become recognisable as the Blue Angel.
She strode forward and struck the cowering Apolinar twice about the face, knocking him onto his back. Then she clapped her hands and he was lifted, struggling and blustering, into the air. Finally she drew back her arms and thrust them out in front of her. His body was thrown hard and fast across the echoing chamber. It smashed into the massive granite wall with a solid crunch and thudded to the floor.
Leoni’s first thoughts were for Don Emmanuel. She ran to his side but his body was limp and still, his eyes open and vacant. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked the Blue Angel.
‘He lives no more in this realm. His spirit has entered the Between. His Earth body lies in a deep sleep.’
‘Can he come back … from this Between?’
‘If he is skilful he can navigate the Between and reawaken in his Earth body.’
‘What about him?’ Leoni pointed to the slumped form of Don Apolinar. ‘Can he come back too?’
‘He has the skill. He will come back.’ ‘What is he?’
‘He is human, a nasty little Amazonian sorcerer who has embraced evil and walks the dark path. He was powerful enough to detect the transit device I placed in your head. Quite a treasure for one such as him. You know the rest. He lay in wait for you, seized your spirit and carried you to his torture chamber on this world.’ She looked around: ‘You would have died here – and you do not have the skills yet to navigate the Between – if I hadn’t reached you in time.’
‘He disguised himself as you. That’s why I let him get close to me.’
‘He has never seen me in this form. If he had he would not have risked my wrath. He plucked the image from your mind and used it to win your confidence.’
‘So he knew you only as the serpent?’
‘Yes. As Sachamama. The Lady of the Forest. The spirit of the Ayahuasca vine. But I have many forms and names …’ She sighed and took Leoni’s hand. Her grip was firm and dry. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘I have much to tell you.’
Chapter Fifty-Seven
When Ria told Ligar what Grondin had said the injured bowman responded with a bitter laugh: ‘Use the Snake? They must be mad.’ Lying on his left side, wincing at the pain of the deep stab wound in his right buttock, he was simply stating the obvious. Of course the Snake could be crossed – less than half a day’s march to the east there was a stretch where it ran shallow over huge beds of stones and the far bank was easy to attain. In order to prevent surprise attacks from the north, however, the Clan’s summer camp had been situated where the Snake ran so fast and wide and deep it was almost impossible to swim. As the drowning of Ria’s parents seven years before had proved, the river here was deadly.
But no deadlier than the Illimani. Ria had decided to go for Grondin’s plan, whatever it involved. Better to take any chance in those wild glacial waters than face an evil death at the hands of seven thousand savages.
Who might be upon them at any moment.
Ria’s rib still ached from the beating she’d taken, she had a pounding head, a shallow spear wound to her right thigh and a gashed shoulder. But all fear had left her and she was energised by her hatred of the Illimani. If they came on now she would fight them to the death. If she escaped she would return to take bloody revenge for what they had done to the Clan today.
She considered her friends. How much fight did they have in them?
Jergat was able-bodied. He’d gone to search the battlefield for Ria’s throwing stones. Vulp had climbed the lookout tower to keep watch on the main Illimani force as Grondin and his braves prepared the wounded for travel. Bont sat slumped in misery, eaten up with fear for the fate of his children. He’d accepted they couldn’t be rescued, but Ria wasn’t sure what he’d do next. A suicidal attack on the Illimani horde was by no means out of the question.
Ria touched Bont’s shoulder: ‘If you let them kill you, my friend, your children will be lost for sure. There will be no one to fight for them.’ He pushed her hand aside. ‘So you must live to fight these Illimani another day.’ She was surprised by the tremor in her own voice. ‘We must all do that.’
Ria turned her attention back to Ligar. He wasn’t going to able to walk unaided but would heal if they escaped. She moved on to Brindle. He’d been struck with an axe and a wide strip of flesh had torn loose from his scalp, exposing his skull. He was still unconscious but the thick white bone did not seem to have been penetrated. She helped Oplimar to bandage his head and bind him to an improvised stretcher.
Bahat lay groaning, paralysed, covered in his own blood, his body almost cut in half by a cruel wound that had severed his spine. There was no way he was going to survive this and Ria had delayed coming to him while she decided what to do. Could she give her father’s old friend the same mercy Brindle had shown to Porto?
She wasn’t so sure but Rotas settled the matter for her. Cupping a hand under Bahat’s grizzled head, the elder looked into his eyes, seeming to await some signal or affirmation, and then very gently slit his throat.
As Ria watched Bahat’s lifeblood soaking into the earth and heard his last choking gasps, something changed in the distant shouting of the Illimani. The roars of approval had stopped. Now they were baying like wolves.
‘THEY’RE COMING!’ Vulp yelled as he hurtled down the steps of the lookout tower, his white hair flying. ‘THOUSANDS OF THEM.’
Before she ran, Ria remembered Grigo.
Knife in hand, she hastened to where his body lay sprawled, his leggings around his ankles, and kicked him in the ribs with the toe of her moccasin.
As she’d suspected, he was still alive. With each laboured breath little bubbles of blood frothed out of the hatchet wound that split his face from his right eye to his nose.
‘Grigo’, she hissed. ‘Wake up.’ She tugged off his leggings and put them on. They were too big but she belted them tight. Then she kicked him again – ‘Wake up, you piece of shit’ – and his undamaged left eye fluttered open.
Good. He recognised her.
She stooped down, gathered his testicles, and gelded him with a single savage blow. She didn’t take his penis because she didn’t want him to bleed to death.
She hoped he’d live.
Relishing his screams, she threw his balls in his face and sprinted out of the meeting ground, soon catching up with the rearguard of Grondin’s braves as they fled north towards the Snake.
The Illimani had begun their charge on the south-eastern side of the camp, at least a thousand paces south of the lookout tower and the meeting ground, but Ria couldn’t guess how much of a head start she still had after dealing with Grigo. She placed her foot badly and stumbled. A shock of pain jolted through her bruised and battered body, and an Ugly she’d never seen before, one of the newcomers Grondin had brought, reached out a strong hand to steady her as she ran.
Their retreat lay through the camp’s once populous north-western sector, lying between the meeting ground and the river. Rows of close-packed wattle shelters hid their pursuers but Ria knew from their excited shouts that they were closing in. She kept looking back over her shoulder, expecting new volleys of the terrible spears, but none appeared.
Had the Illimani spent all their projectiles on the meeting-ground massacre and not yet gathered them up?
Moments later Ria burst out through the last line of shelters and the river lay two hundred paces ahead.
But she couldn’t make any sense of what she saw there. There were Uglies everywhere and it seemed that a herd of reindeer had crouched down on the riverbank and somehow been persuaded not to flee while wooden platforms, lashed together from clusters of straight branches about the length of a man and the thickness of Ria’s arm, were placed on their backs. Each platform was supported by four reindeer. As she drew closer s
he saw the animals were legless and headless. But it wasn’t until she got her hands on one of them that she discovered it was just an empty skin stitched together into a tightly closed bag and filled with air.
Ten Ugly braves picked up one of the platforms with its inflated reindeer-skins, jumped into the Snake with it and – What magic was this? – the contraption floated on the fast-flowing waters. ‘It is called a jaala’ – Ria heard Grondin’s thought-voice before she sensed him looming up behind her. ‘Uglies have known this magic since the long-ago.’
The braves had already clambered up onto the jaala and now sat suspended on it, a hand’s breadth above the water, carried along by the current at great speed towards the west – the direction of Secret Place. Two of them held long flat blades of wood which they jabbed into the river, not guiding the little vessel across to the other side but keeping it in the midstream instead. Suddenly Ria grasped what Grondin had meant about using the river. The Uglies weren’t trying to cross it with the jaalas, they were going to use it to stage a spectacular escape and let its current carry them back towards their hideout.
She watched another group of braves enter the water, and another and another. ‘We have twelve jaalas,’ said Grondin as more continued to take to the water. ‘Enough for us all.’
Ria glanced at the northern edge of the camp. The Illimani were almost upon them and Grondin was already working fast, lashing Brindle to the platform of the last remaining jaala. Then, in the same instant of shock, she and Grondin both registered that Jergat was nowhere to be seen – had not, in fact, been with them when they’d fled the meeting ground. ‘He went to find my throwing stones,’ Ria remembered. Grondin nodded, his head cocked to one side. ‘Alive,’ he said, his gaze turning inwards. ‘Running. Illimani right behind him. Coming to us.’
Bont, Vulp and Rotas had drawn to one side on the riverbank and were hanging back, muttering to each other. Ria could understand why. None of them, including herself, had seen anything like a jaala in their lives before. Riding on water! The very idea made her head spin. But it was either that, and some hope of escape, or stay here and certainly die, so it was obvious what had to be done. ‘THERE’S NO TIME FOR THIS!’ she yelled at her Clansmen. ‘Get on the fucking jaala now!’
Entangled Page 27
