‘After,’ she said to Crunchfist. ‘After you win, you can do what you want.’ Then she turned to Wallbreaker. ‘You were the first to put yourself forward. Choose your direction.’
‘Flim,’ said Lingerhouse. ‘Has to be Flim!’
But Wallbreaker pointed to his rival. ‘I think the loser should choose.’
Crunchfist’s face had turned purple, but he wasn’t as stupid as Wallbreaker had implied. The big man forced a smile through the tattoos on his face. ‘That was your last mistake, fool. I choose Flim.’
‘Very well,’ said Housear. ‘Go and prepare yourselves.’
Each of the hunters nicked themselves and flicked a drop of blood in her direction.
‘Your blood has come back to me,’ she intoned, ‘and so will you. May Heroes possess you all. May the flesh of your bodies return to the Tribe.
‘The hunt begins at first dark.’
7.
THE WETLANE
‘You’re mad,’ said Lingerhouse to Wallbreaker. He looked like a volunteer who’d only now discovered that his leg wasn’t broken after all.
‘Oh, we’re mad, all right,’ Rockface told him. ‘The strangeness never ends with these two brothers, hey, Stopmouth? But don’t you worry, Lingerhouse, Wallbreaker will get us flesh. It’ll be boring, though, as boring as moss.’
‘I hope it is,’ said Wallbreaker. ‘And Rockface? Please don’t do anything to make it interesting this time. I’m asking you this as a special favour.’
They went to Wallbreaker’s house, where Mossheart joined them. She didn’t look directly at her husband as she served them dried Armourback flesh. Rockface complained at its bitter taste, but Lingerhouse tore into it with satisfaction, thinking no doubt of his lost family.
‘This won’t be a standard hunt,’ said Wallbreaker. From under the hides where he and Mossheart slept he pulled a large rope net that Mossheart must have worked on for tens of days. Humans rarely used such tools for hunting. Most forays took place in nearby streets controlled by Treaty species such as the Hairbeasts or Clawfolk, where nets were more likely to trap an ally than a meal. Besides, women had better things than weaving to do with their time, such as smoking flesh or pounding skins for clothing.
Wallbreaker spread out the net and demonstrated how each of its corners was fastened to a rope. The four ropes came together to form a single, thicker rope. He showed them another cord too, slender this time, tied to a wicked hook of jagged Armourback shell.
‘You look worried, brother.’
‘I rem-m-member you t-t-talking—’
‘It’s a good plan, Stopmouth!’ Wallbreaker said firmly. ‘It is. All we need is plenty of rope. And here we have it, all right?’
Stopmouth’s heart sank. He’d heard all Wallbreaker’s hunting schemes during his life. Some were dangerous, some suicidal. This plan, however, was just plain silly, and its failure would see all of them condemned by the new chief at the next flesh meeting. But he was committed to it now unless he ran away. He fantasized such an escape for himself until the stupidity of it made him laugh out loud, and the others regarded him with worried expressions on their faces. He wondered what they’d say if he told them what he’d been thinking.
Only the legendary Traveller had ever left home. He’d returned after a journey of fifty days, during which he’d seen many wonders and lost the nine best hunters in the Tribe. After telling his story, he was promptly volunteered–nobody wanted to perpetuate such madness. But the tale lived on, and later generations of young men prayed for his spirit above all others to possess them in times of need.
No, there’d be no more running away for anybody. All they could do was stick with Wallbreaker’s plan and hope for the aid of a Hero.
When night fell, Wallbreaker gathered up his small party and headed out of the gate towards Bloodskin until they reached the bridge. Under his instructions, they chopped up a fresh Flim corpse and forced a bloody gobbet of it onto the shell hook.
‘What now?’ asked Rockface, licking his fingers.
‘Now comes the easy part,’ said Wallbreaker with a wink. ‘You see how I’ve weighted the ends of the net with stones? Well, we’ll throw it into the Wetlane so that it spreads out as it falls.’
‘Won’t that alert the Wetlane beasts?’ said Lingerhouse nervously.
‘We want to alert them,’ Wallbreaker told them. ‘When a hunter falls into the Wetlane, he makes a splash, doesn’t he? And he makes more splashes as he struggles to get out.’
‘Ha!’ said Rockface. ‘And then they come for him. But this time it is we who’ll be waiting for them!’ He slapped Wallbreaker on the back. ‘Another slimy trick, but this one I like! I’ve always hated those Wetlane beasts and never seen one caught.’
And so the hunters stepped to the edge of the murky water. They saw nothing there except reflections of the pale tracklights and the tiny impacts made by falling Roofsweat. The splash of the net seemed enormous in the night, although Stopmouth felt sure a man falling in would have made more noise. He shrugged; it was up to Wallbreaker now.
He joined his brother and Rockface. The three of them moved away from the Wetlane, paying out the rope attached to the net behind them while Lingerhouse stayed on his belly near the bank. The older man controlled the more slender rope with the hook on it. He twined a good length around his wrist for fear of losing it and lowered the rest into the water above the spot where they all hoped the net would be lying on the Wetlane bed.
‘Now we wait,’ Wallbreaker said. ‘It could be a while–I don’t even know if any of the Wetlane beasts are night hunters.’
The men settled down. Nothing moved but for clouds of little mossbeasts–harmless as long as you didn’t swallow them–and the only noise was the regular buzz of Rockface’s snoring. The men hadn’t slept since the previous evening and Stopmouth found the tracklights blurring in his vision, as they had on the night of his brother’s wedding to Mossheart. So much had happened since then, and yet whenever he walked the streets, his eyes still sought her out. It was hard to believe that Wallbreaker now cared only for the strange Indrani.
‘I got one!’ shouted Lingerhouse.
The other three sat up, Rockface rubbing furiously at his eyes.
The rope in Lingerhouse’s hands sprang taut. ‘Pull!’ shouted Wallbreaker to the others. ‘Pull in the net!’
Suddenly Lingerhouse was jerked off his feet and disappeared into the Wetlane. His three companions stared as the water churned. Then Rockface grabbed up a spear and started running towards the bank.
‘No, Rockface!’ shouted Wallbreaker. ‘It’s too late! The rope! Pull the rope!’
He and Stopmouth started pulling together while Rockface hopped about helplessly on the Wetlane bank, staring into the water. Finally the net caught on something. The brothers began dragging it in, but it fought back. Their feet slipped on the ground, bare soles dragged painfully against roots.
‘Rockface!’
The big hunter snapped the shaft of his spear over his knee in impotent rage and came back to them. He gripped the rope in front of Stopmouth, anchored his feet against a half-buried rock and heaved like ten men, his eyes bulging, his face a vision of fury. A Hero has possessed him, thought Stopmouth in awe.
Sure enough, the edge of the net appeared above the bank of the Wetlane. Something black and glistening struggled within, but Rockface wouldn’t be denied and dragged it over the edge almost by himself.
The three approached it with spears at the ready. They didn’t need to use them. The creature in the net thrashed a few more times before joining its ancestors. It was half as big again as a man and had black, oily skin. Its mouth was full of teeth clamped around a chewed-up arm. When they turned the monster over, they found the rest of Lingerhouse underneath, his face the very image of terror.
‘Great plan!’ said Rockface angrily. ‘Brilliant!’
Wallbreaker had turned white; he was shaking. Nevertheless, he ordered the other two to grab hold of the rope wi
th him to draw the shell hook back out of the water.
Then they hauled the unfortunate Lingerhouse and the Wetlane beast back to Centre Square, where Housear and other pregnant women (though not Mossheart) waited to judge the contest. Housear tried not to look impressed, but the others oohed and aahed, touching the monster and wondering what its flavour might be and how it should be cooked.
Meanwhile a runner was sent to try and find out who had the rights to Lingerhouse’s flesh.
‘Let’s do the bridge near Flim now,’ said Wallbreaker.
‘How?’ said Rockface, still angry. ‘When there were four of us, we could barely keep the thing from dragging us all into the water. What can we do with three? Shall we ask that only small beasts take the bait?’
‘I have an idea for that,’ said Wallbreaker. ‘I should have thought of it before, but all new plans need a bit of testing before they work out.’
‘Oh yes, testing! I’m sure Lingerhouse was grateful to be your test!’
They walked out through the gate towards Flim. The other team was probably out there somewhere searching for unwary creatures. Stopmouth thought it unlikely they’d return with one body at a time as Wallbreaker’s pack had done. They’d stockpile the flesh somewhere and bring it all home together.
At the next Wetlane, before throwing in the net, Wallbreaker made sure they used spare ropes to anchor themselves to roots. Their fear kept them alert, and as soon as they saw some creature had taken the bait, the three of them pulled in time to Wallbreaker’s shouted count, almost like a crowd of women pounding skins.
They worked hard through the night, moving from Wetlane to Wetlane. In this way they caught four of the original oily creatures and a shelled monster twice the size of a man that looked like a cousin of the Clawfolk.
‘This,’ said Rockface in disgust, ‘has got to be the most successful hunt ever since the time of the Traveller. Four of us in one night and only once in danger. It can’t be right.’
A fifth of the night remained for hunting, but nothing else was biting. ‘This will never work again,’ said Wallbreaker. ‘They know about us now.’
Finally, with the Roof brightening, they pulled back the rope. It was incredibly light this time, for something had sheared off the net and looped the ends of the rope through the eye-sockets of a human skull.
‘That’s definitely it,’ said Wallbreaker. Stopmouth nodded. He wondered if what they’d achieved would be enough to save their lives.
Over the course of the morning they dragged the rest of the kills back to Centre Square, where the pregnant women were waiting. The ladies had butchered the Wetlane carcasses into neat bundles that could be fairly measured against Crunchfist’s booty. A clean spot had been marked out for this purpose, but as yet the great hero had failed to show up.
‘He’ll be here,’ said Rockface. He sounded almost glad.
The square filled with curious, excited people as the morning wore on and still Crunchfist’s pack failed to arrive. It was dark again before the assembled humans could bring themselves to admit that their best hope for leader wouldn’t be coming back. On top of the disaster of twenty nights before, it was almost too much to bear.
Housear was lifted onto the shoulders of her guards. She didn’t have to hush the crowd, for they were already silent, many blinking like frightened Hairbeast pups before the slaughter.
She tried to keep her voice steady, but every now and again her eyes would flick towards the edges of the crowd as if expecting somebody.
‘Speareye has chosen his successor,’ she said. ‘He has brought meat to Wallbreaker’s spear.’
A very muted cheer arose. Wallbreaker got to his feet. ‘I have brought you flesh!’ he said. ‘Flesh no one ever hunted before. That only I know how to hunt.’ There was no reaction. Stopmouth could see the sweat on his brother’s lip, see the way he clenched his fists. Wallbreaker’s voice turned hard. ‘But if you don’t want me for a leader, I will accept your decision above that of our ancestors who have chosen me.
‘I admit that I feed you tonight more through trickery than through strength. So shout now, any who believes he knows any better than the spirits, and I will step down. Shout, curse you! Shout!’
Nobody spoke. Feet shuffled; eyes looked away.
Wallbreaker nodded. ‘I am the first to admit that Crunchfist is our strongest hunter. I had planned to let him live, because I needed him at my right hand, the way even Speareye did. Therefore, if you still want me as your chief’–murmurs of assent–‘my first act will be to organize a search party for Crunchfist and his group.’
The hunters applauded this with more enthusiasm.
Wallbreaker turned to Stopmouth and Rockface. ‘Get some sleep, you two. We need to find out what happened to him. I’m sending you out tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ said Rockface, delighted. ‘A proper hunt!’
Stopmouth could only shake his head in disbelief.
8.
INDRANI
Stopmouth came home to find Indrani sleeping in the hall. Perhaps she’d become cold waiting for him, because she’d taken his blanket to throw over herself. More strangeness, he thought. He was too tired to fight her for it and he needed to sit down. So he left her there and passed into the bedroom. His injured legs had healed quickly, yet when he touched them in the darkness, they felt puny under his hands and the muscles trembled with exhaustion.
He found he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing Lingerhouse lying dead in the net; he saw the man’s half-chewed arm in the Wetlane beast’s maw.
Just as these images began to fade and his eyelids started drooping, he was jerked into wakefulness by Indrani calling his name.
‘What?’ he asked, alarmed by the fear in her voice. ‘What is it?’
She launched into a stream of gibberish and he realized she still slept. He lay down, fully awake again, his heart hammering. He cursed her. He’d need all his energy to search for Crunchfist tomorrow.
At last he slipped into a dream to find his mother waiting for him.
‘Oh, cheer up!’ said Rockface, slapping the wind out of him with a thump on the back.
‘W-w-w-why p-p-p—’
‘You’re doing that thing with your voice again, boy! You know I can’t understand a word you say when you do that.’
‘P-p-p-pick m-m-me? Why m-m-me?’
‘Oh, there’s no reason why Wallbreaker shouldn’t pick you to find Crunchfist. You’re recovered well enough for a little hunt, hey? Wallbreaker knows that. Besides’–Rockface grinned–‘he probably thinks you need to get out a bit after spending so much time on your back in the company of a beautiful woman.’
‘W-what w-woman?’
‘What woman? You’re joking, boy! Everybody looks at her! Indrani, I mean. You must know. Everybody! There’s not a girl in the Tribe has skin like hers, hey? And I don’t just mean as dark as hers either. There’s not a flaw on it. And her teeth are so bright! And that body! By the ancestors, it must be the way she runs all the time, the way she’s always kicking at things—’
‘M-m-married!’ said Stopmouth, who was growing increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation.
‘She doesn’t think she’s married! It’s one of the reasons no one wanted Wallbreaker to win the chieftainship. Oh, he’s always been popular, but you can’t respect a chief who doesn’t even rule his own wives…Now, Watersip–you’ve met my first wife, haven’t you? Well, she says Indrani likes you. She says it happens a lot when a woman cares for a wounded hunter. Besides, Watersip says you’re a handsome lad–good skin, straight teeth and blue eyes. You could’ve had any girl in the Tribe if they didn’t know there was something wrong with you. Could be that’s why Wallbreaker’s sending you out today when you’re still not ready.’
But Stopmouth knew his brother better than Rockface or any of his wives. ‘He t-t-trusts m-m-me. That’s w-w-why I’m p-p-p-picked.’
Rockface laughed. ‘That must be it,’ he said. ‘Who listens to women’s silly ta
lk anyway, hey?’
They set off in search of Crunchfist’s trail. The tower guards told them where the missing party had entered the woods near the Wetlane. The two hunters found a path and followed it to where a tree trunk had been pushed over the water. The tracks were fainter on the other side.
‘This is where they started to get cautious,’ said Rockface.
Stopmouth thought they should get cautious too–Crunchfist was no fool, whatever else. But Rockface just plunged on and Stopmouth had to struggle to keep up. He managed it better than he’d feared. His strength was definitely coming back.
The trail led into Clawfolk territory, which bordered Flim. Chaos awaited them there. Clawfolk skittered in every direction on spindly legs, even bumping into the humans in their haste. Stopmouth tried to ignore the great panic and study the creatures. It was something Wallbreaker had always urged him to do and he’d want a full report when they got back. Each of the beasts had five legs, one of which was hooked at the end and used for hanging from the sides of buildings or for dragging prey back to Claw-Ways. Right across their long flat bodies, patches of yellow shell alternated with a dozen wet openings that sometimes seemed to be mouths, sometimes eyes.
Now, a great many of the creatures had embedded stone spikes into their hook claws, and once or twice the hunters had to jump aside in order to avoid being sliced open. When they came to the far edges of Claw-Ways, the reason Crunchfist hadn’t returned became obvious. Flyers circled high above the streets of Flim-Ways. Armourbacks stood in the towers.
‘The Flim are no more,’ said Rockface. He shrugged. ‘They were no challenge to hunt, anyway.’ Even so, Stopmouth thought the big man looked shaken. They plunged back into Claw-Ways, hardly looking where they were going, so that they almost ran into a group of Bloodskins. Stopmouth didn’t think he could have outrun them in his present condition, but luckily for the careless humans, the beasts failed to spot them and the men ran on.
They reached home, sweating heavily, heads reeling. When people pestered them for news, they ignored them and made straight for the chief’s house.
The Inferior Page 9
