Warrior Bronze

by Michelle Paver

  Then she saw Hylas. He was on the other side of camp, crouching behind a juniper bush. He felt her gaze, and for an instant that burnt into her memory, their eyes locked. She knew what he was telling her: Don’t move. Stay hidden. Then with terrifying purposefulness, he stepped into the open and yelled at the Crows: ‘Over here!’

  Seven ash-grey faces turned towards him. In horror, Issi saw arrows nocked to bows, swords and spears brandished as the warriors went thundering after him.

  The last she’d ever seen of her brother, he’d been racing down the slope with the Crows in pursuit, their long black cloaks flying like wings …

  Havoc grunted in her sleep and rolled on to her back, with all four paws flopping outwards. Issi snuggled closer against her furry flank.

  Hylas had been an infuriating older brother and they’d squabbled all the time, but she’d always known that he would look after her. If you ever get lost, he used to say, stay where you are and wait. I will find you. And he always had.

  But not this time.

  Issi didn’t remember much of what had happened right after the attack. She’d waited for ages, then left a message for Hylas at the rock at the top of the pass. She’d caught sight of the Sea far below, and the vast green marshes.

  There’ll be frogs down there, she’d thought numbly. And no dogs. After what had happened to Scram, she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near dogs.

  As she’d made her way down, she’d seen terrible things. The Crows were hunting Outsiders. That was why they were after her and Hylas. When she’d reached the marshes, she’d smeared herself in mud and stolen some fishskin to hide her fair hair, she’d tied a brown band round her forehead: there. Now she was no longer Issi the Outsider, she was a Marsh Dweller boy.

  The Marsh Dwellers had given her food and shelter, but she hadn’t trusted them. Since the Crows had attacked, she hadn’t spoken to anyone, and now she found that she couldn’t, her voice no longer worked. She didn’t care. It was better that way.

  The only times she’d felt safe were when she was by herself, listening to the frogs, or watching the fishes sliding through the green water. And the one thing she’d never doubted was that Hylas was still alive and still looking for her. All through two winters, and that terrible spring when the Sun was blotted out, she’d told herself: He will come back. He will find me. Until he does, I must stay alive and do what I can to fight the Crows.

  And she had. When the wisewoman came to the marshes, Issi had liked her, because she lived only to destroy the Crows. Issi hadn’t let down her guard, not even with her, yet when the wisewoman left the marshes, she’d followed, and helped her steal things for the curse. But when the wisewoman had caked herself in clay, and couldn’t get the curse to work, Issi had left her and returned to the coast.

  Then a few days ago, everything had changed. At the edge of the marshes, she’d encountered a stranger, a girl with a scar on her cheek, a falcon on her wrist and a lioness at her side.

  Issi wasn’t afraid of any wild creature, but even she had been surprised at how easily she’d made friends with the lioness. They’d been drawn to each other, maybe because the lioness was miserable, and Issi knew what that was like.

  The day after they’d met, Issi had hidden among the reeds and watched the girl kneel beside the lioness. ‘I know, Havoc,’ the girl had said sadly. ‘You miss Hylas, and so do I.’

  Issi had been stunned. It was the first time in two summers that she’d heard her brother’s name. The joy was so sharp she felt as if her chest had split open. Hylas is alive and this girl knows him …

  Issi had wanted to burst from her hiding place and race over to her: ‘Where is he? Where is he?’ But long habits of caution had kept her hidden. And to her consternation, she’d gathered that Hylas had been here, in the marshes – and had only just left. Issi had been in despair. She had missed her brother by a whisker.

  But she hadn’t waited for him all this time to give up now. Follow this girl, she’d told herself. Follow this girl and you will find him.

  Again, Havoc rolled over and flung one heavy forepaw across Issi’s body. Issi stroked the huge rough pad, and felt the lioness’ hot, sawing breath on her face. She knew she could trust Havoc as surely as she trusted her brother, but she wasn’t so certain about Pirra. And trusting no one had saved her life.

  In that first awful time after the Crows attacked the camp, she’d gone in search of Telamon. Telamon was their friend, he would know what to do.

  It had been sheer chance that she’d seen him before he’d seen her. She’d been plodding along a goat trail, footsore, hungry and frightened, when she’d caught the stink of ash on the wind, and flung herself behind a thorn bush.

  She remembered hearing the creak of leather as the pounding feet came nearer, then a nightmare of black armour and weapons had swept into view. Their leader was a monster of darkness. His armour wasn’t rawhide, but some metal that gleamed like copper – only darker and angrier. Bronze, she’d thought. That must be bronze.

  He’d been level with her hiding place when he’d called a halt. She hadn’t been able to see his face, just an eye-slit between his bronze throat-guard that masked nose and mouth and his boar’s-tusk helmet, crested with black horsetail. Only his hair, in a warrior’s snake-like braids, had shown that he was human.

  ‘Clear the mountains,’ he’d said in a hollow voice which had made her think of cold places that never saw the Sun. ‘No Outsider must remain alive.’ Then he’d turned to someone behind him. ‘I can count on you. Yes?’

  ‘… Yes, uncle,’ a voice had replied. Then Telamon – Telamon – had moved into view.

  Issi had felt sick. Telamon is one of them. Telamon is a Crow …

  Havoc yawned cavernously and heaved herself to her feet, and nose-nudged Issi’s belly. Issi pushed the great muzzle away. She felt shaky inside. The memories were bitter in her mouth.

  Havoc snuffed the air, threw Issi a friendly glance, then ambled off through the trees.

  She’s going to find Pirra, thought Issi.

  Slowly, she retrieved her waterskin and axe, and checked that she still had her knife, strike-fire and slingshot. Then she headed after the lioness.

  On that day two summers ago when she’d seen Telamon, she’d learnt something that had kept her alive ever since: People lie. You can’t trust them.

  She would follow Pirra, because Pirra might lead her to Hylas. But it was not yet time to reveal herself to her.

  Pirra and the wisewoman had camped beside a stream that splashed noisily over rocks. The wisewoman was waking a fire, and Pirra was feeding the falcon scraps of meat. Creeping nearer, Issi caught snatches of talk above the chatter of the stream.

  ‘… if you feel like that,’ said the wisewoman wryly, ‘why did you leave him?’

  Issi’s heart quickened. Were they talking about Hylas?

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Pirra. ‘He wanted us to split up because …’ She turned her head, and her words were drowned by the stream. ‘… not only that,’ she said, turning back. ‘Ever since Thalakrea, he’s been having visions.’

  The wisewoman stopped what she was doing. ‘What kind of visions?’ she said sharply.

  ‘Ghosts, spirits. It first happened last spring, when we were on Keftiu, then in Egypt they got stronger, now he even sees gods.’ She frowned. ‘Hylas is convinced that he’s become dangerous to be with. I think that’s why he sent me away, to keep the three of us safe.’

  ‘Are you a mated pair?’ said the wisewoman.

  Pirra flushed. ‘That’s nothing to do with you!’

  The wisewoman snorted. ‘But you’d like to be.’

  Pirra’s flush deepened. ‘Of course I would. I think he feels the same way … No, I don’t think, I know. In Egypt he would have given his life to save me. But he’s never said anything!’ she burst out, ‘and now I don’t know where he is, and I might never see him again!’

  There was a booming in Issi’s head. This girl had been with Hylas for ages �
�� in places called Keftiu, and Thalakrea, and Egypt – where he would have given his life for her …

  Until now, Issi had never felt truly alone: she’d always had the thought of Hylas to keep her company, and the belief that one day they would be together again, the two of them against the world, just as it was before. Now, with brutal suddenness, that was gone. Even if she found him, this girl, Pirra, would be in the way. She would come between them. Nothing would be as it was before.

  ‘Havoc!’ called the girl. ‘Havoc, where are you?’

  The lioness pushed past Issi and bounded towards the camp. Numbly, Issi watched her go. The pain in her chest was so bad she could hardly breathe. The three of us, Pirra had said: girl, falcon and lion. Hylas had a new family now. How could Issi fit into that?

  The lioness paused and glanced back at her: Aren’t you coming too?

  Slowly, Issi shook her head. She backed away. Then she turned and ran.

  The last time Hylas had been in the secret pass, he’d been with Issi. It had been winter, and they’d fought a mock battle with icicles for swords. He’d let her win, and she’d been furious.

  ‘You’re not trying!’ she’d shrieked. ‘You’ve got to try, or it’s not a proper fight!’ Her sharp little face had been contorted with rage as she’d hopped up and down, but then Scram had butted in, swinging his tail, and she’d shot Hylas a withering glare and play-fought the dog instead …

  Hylas paused at a turn in the trail and waited for the rebels to catch up. At last, he was back on Mount Lykas. The secret pass wound through a confusion of spurs and gullies on its northern flank. Far overhead, its triple fangs were lost in cloud, and around him every crag and tree was steeped in memories. He quickened his pace. Why couldn’t the rebels go any faster?

  It was the second day that he’d been guiding Akastos’ forces through the secret pass, and he was desperate to reach the other side, where the Lykonian rebels were camped. Had the scouts found Pirra and Hekabi on Dentra? For all he knew, they might already be at camp. For all he knew, they might have brought Issi …

  ‘Hey, boy,’ muttered Ekion, behind him. ‘You’re taking us the wrong way! That fork back there, it turned south, that’s what we want!’

  ‘Only if you fancy a sheer drop of a thousand cubits,’ said Hylas without turning his head.

  Ekion snorted. ‘So you say!’

  ‘Well, yes I do. And just so you know, a bit further on there’s another fork that leads south, but we’re not taking that either, as it goes straight round to Lapithos.’

  The men within earshot sniggered, and Ekion flushed as red as his beard.

  There’d been an outcry when Akastos had announced that they’d be following Hylas. A boy not even fifteen, guiding grown men? People had laughed in disbelief, and some had jeered at Hylas, asking where his lion had gone, and what about that girl of his, who could turn herself into a bird?

  Ekion was the worst. ‘That boy’s never even seen a battle,’ he’d sneered, ‘and you’re asking us to follow him?’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ Akastos had replied calmly, ‘I’m telling.’

  At that, Ekion had backed down; but ever since, he’d been on the lookout for Hylas to fail.

  By mid-afternoon, they’d crested the pass and were descending into the foothills, when Akastos called a rest halt.

  Hylas was beside himself. ‘Can’t they rest when we reach the others?’

  ‘They need food now,’ said Akastos. ‘No point getting there if they’re too weak to fight.’

  ‘No point getting there too late, either,’ Hylas retorted.

  ‘Hylas. You know the way, I know how to look after my people. Now shut up and eat.’ Akastos strode off to talk to the scouts who’d been keeping watch for the Crows, and the ragged little army hunkered down among the pines. A woman offered Hylas olives and an acorn cake, but he waved them away and stalked off to find Jinx.

  The stallion was at the rear of the column, with the donkeys. All the beasts were being kept as far as possible from Akastos, as they seemed to sense that he was haunted by the Angry Ones, and shied from him in terror.

  When Jinx saw Hylas, he whickered a welcome. He seemed calmer and more biddable now that he was part of a herd, and he hadn’t even baulked at carrying a load of supplies.

  ‘Why can’t we keep going?’ growled Hylas as he stroked the stallion’s bony nose. He had a sudden wild impulse to scramble on to Jinx’s back and gallop off to find Pirra and Issi.

  Jinx was snorting and flaring his nostrils: he’d spotted something on the crag.

  Craning his neck, Hylas saw grey figures peering down at him. His hand went to his wedjat amulet. ‘It’s all right, Jinx,’ he murmured with more conviction than he felt. ‘They mean us no harm.’

  Since they’d entered the pass, he’d seen several ghosts. He guessed they were victims of skirmishes, who remained unburied and without the proper rites. He hadn’t told anyone about them, that would only cause panic; but it made him feel lonelier than ever. If only Pirra was here. Although if she were, he wouldn’t tell her the worst of it: that the ghosts were no longer indistinct and glimpsed only from the corner of his eye. He now saw them as clearly as he saw Akastos, or Periphas.

  And there was something else that he dreaded even more. It was the thought that, among them, he might see one who would put a brutal end to two summers of hope: the ghost of his own little sister.

  They hadn’t gone far when a commotion in the rear forced another halt. ‘What now?’ muttered Hylas.

  Something had panicked the donkeys, and Jinx had broken free from the boy who was leading him and taken refuge in a patch of thistles.

  By the time Hylas ran back, the donkeys were just about under control, but Jinx was rearing and lunging inside a ring of men who were only making things worse.

  ‘Let me through,’ panted Hylas. ‘Get back, all of you!’

  Jinx was terrified. His chestnut coat was dark with sweat and he was trembling all over. This isn’t ghosts, thought Hylas, taking hold of the reins and stroking the stallion’s rigid neck.

  ‘Something spooked them,’ said the boy who’d been leading Jinx. With a shaky finger he pointed at a belt of pines high on a crag. ‘I can’t see nothing up there, but I can feel it!’ Like Jinx, he was sweating with fear; so was everyone else.

  Hylas shaded his eyes with his palm. He went still. It wasn’t possible. It was broad daylight – and yet there, perched on the crag like huge shadowy vultures, were the Angry Ones.

  His temples ached and his heart hammered against his ribs as he took in Their long snaky necks, Their raw red eyes churning with the fires of Chaos …

  Jinx snorted and tugged at the reins. Hylas spoke to him soothingly, but inside he fought a panicky urge to run – it didn’t matter where, just get away.

  At that moment, he heard giant wings shaken out with a leathery rustle. He watched the spirits of air and darkness wheel off and vanish into the clouds. The weight of dread lifted. People around him breathed again.

  ‘What was that?’ said Akastos a little later, when Hylas was back at the head of the column.

  ‘Something spooked them,’ Hylas replied.

  ‘I know that,’ said Akastos, ‘but what?’ Glancing over his shoulder, he leant closer. ‘It didn’t feel like ghosts,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘There are ghosts in these mountains,’ said Hylas. ‘I’ve seen them.’

  The sharp light eyes met his. ‘But that’s not what terrified those beasts, and made grown men quake.’

  ‘But how is it possible?’ whispered Hylas. ‘The Angry Ones only come at night, when it’s dark!’

  ‘They’re getting stronger,’ Akastos said grimly. ‘I’ve felt it for some time. These days, They bring their darkness with Them. That’s how it feels to me.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Who can say? Perhaps it has something to do with the sacrifices of the Crows.’

  ‘Then the sooner we reach the others and Hekabi does that c
harm, the better!’

  ‘If it works,’ said Akastos.

  ‘What do you mean, you stopped looking for her?’ shouted Hylas. ‘That’s why you went to Dentra, to find Issi!’

  ‘And I told you,’ retorted Pirra, ‘she wasn’t there. It was a false lead, Hylas! The shadow thief is a boy!’

  ‘How d’you know if you’ve never even seen him?’

  ‘Because Hekabi says so, and she has no reason to lie!’

  Pirra was right, but Hylas refused to accept it. That would mean accepting the fact that Issi hadn’t been heard of in two whole summers. It would mean accepting that Issi, in all likelihood, was dead.

  He and the others had reached the Lykonian rebels’ camp around nightfall. It was on the lowermost roots of Mount Lykas, on a long ridge dotted with olive and tamarisk trees, overlooking the Lykonian plains. A motley array of tents and shelters was strung out across the ridge, and several hundred weary and despairing rebels had fallen on the newcomers with a heartfelt welcome. It was good to exchange food and news around the campfires that no longer had to be hidden from the enemy – whose own fires could now be seen in the distance, across the plain.

  Akastos and Periphas had gone to confer with the leaders, and Hylas had found Pirra sitting by a fire outside a small tent at the far side of camp. She and Hekabi had arrived shortly before, with the scouts who’d found them on Dentra. Echo was roosting in a nearby tree, but there was no sign of Havoc. Hekabi was off gathering herbs for her charm against the Angry Ones, having confirmed that They were indeed getting stronger. She had made no promise that her charm would work as well as it had before.

  When Hylas had found Pirra, she’d been sharpening her knife on her whetstone. Now she sat down again and went back to her work. ‘I tried my best,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But there is no trace of Issi.’

  In the firelight, Hylas saw how exhausted she was, with bluish shadows under her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have blown up like that.’