by Angus Watson
“Don’t you touch that neck plate, all right?” Sitsi waggled a finger in what she hoped was a menacing way.
Bodil nodded, looking afraid.
Sitsi ran back to tell Yoki Choppa to use his alchemy immediately to tell whose spiders were asleep.
She couldn’t wait to tell the others when they got back.
If any of them got back.
The squatch, the giant beast that Sofi Tornado had last seen on the Plains Strider, loped into the arena, arms swinging. Its gait could have been that of a human: it was the same shape as a well built adult, but it was covered entirely in reddish-black hair and towered nearly twice the height of Erik the Angry.
Like them, it had a spider box strapped to its neck.
“The squatch!” shouted Chapa Wangwa. “You will like this. It is the third time we’ve had the squatch on show. It has ripped off fifteen legs and twenty-three arms! I have been counting! That one does not like to see a limb attached to a human body. But it hasn’t met anyone as large as Chogolisa before. On the other hand, it’s never fought fewer than seven people at a time, and all of them armed, so who knows what will happen! Erik, put your club down. Go with your friend Chogolisa to the other side of the arena and stand next to the squatch. Start fighting when I tell you.”
Erik dropped his club and headed off with Chogolisa.
“Now, Thyri Treelegs and Keef the Berserker, can you see that man in the audience wearing buffalo horns?”
“I can,” said Thyri.
“He looks like an idiot,” said Keef. The Wootah man had healed enough to lose his bandage, but was now wearing a leather cap to cover his missing eye and ear. The tight cap made his small, round skull seem even smaller. It looked, Sofi thought, like a warlock had attached an ugly baby’s head onto a headless man’s thick neck.
“You two take Ottar and stand in front of buffalo hat. Keep your weapons. You’re going to need them! The rest of you, stand here. If you move, your spiders bite. Got it?”
Sofi Tornado, Paloma Pronghorn and Wulf the Fat, left in the centre of the ring, looked at each other.
As Ottar, Thyri and Keef neared the buffalo-hatted man, a monstrous snake slipped swiftly up out of a hole on the arena floor, tongue flicking, head darting from side to side. Sofi shuddered. She’d seen snakes as large as this one when she was a child, but this was different. It was much zippier than such a large animal should be; as freaky as an adult buffalo leaping about like a skittish chipmunk.
The snake slithered onto the rock, lifted its disgusting segmented tail and rattled it. Sofi shuddered again. Not a nice noise. The beast slithered towards the three Wootah.
Another rattleconda emerged from the hole, then another, and another.
Four snakes, three Wootah, one of them a boy who was more likely to try to hug a snake than fight it.
Keef and Thyri turned to face the serpents, sax and axe held high.
Sofi listened carefully for a moment to her own, Paloma’s and Wulf’s spiders. Hers were asleep. So were Wulf’s. Paloma’s were awake. The Empty Children were watching.
“You two,” she muttered. “Come in close. Ready your spider plates. Put them in when I say. Erik, yours are asleep. Yours are not, Paloma.”
“Great,” said Paloma.
“Do it faster than you’ve ever done anything before and you might be all right.”
“I might. Or the second dose of the poison might kill me. I can’t wait to find out.”
“Hold for now. We’ll do it only if we have to.”
“Squatch, attack!” shouted Chapa Wangwa from the other side of the arena. “Snakes attack, too!”
“Why do you have to wait for Sofi to come back? I don’t understand!”
Yoki Choppa shrugged.
Sitsi Kestrel actually stamped her foot. It was so frustrating! No matter how much she explained, the stupid warlock was refusing to find out which spiders were asleep, and he was giving her no good reason why. Right then she hated Yoki Choppa.
“What if Sofi doesn’t come back?”
The warlock looked at her and shrugged so minutely that you needed alchemically enhanced eyesight to spot it.
“Oh for the love of Innowak!”
She stormed off. It was bad enough that the Badlanders were against them. She really did not need to battle Yoki Choppa’s senseless stubbornness as well.
Luby Zephyr climbed the soft rock promontory that comprised half of the southern bank of arena seating, vaulted the top and sat on the uppermost stone-carved bench in an I’ve been sitting here for ages pose. She was just one of the hundreds of Badlanders come to watch the action below. That’s what she looked like, if anybody cared to observe.
A woman with badly dyed purple and gold hair spun round angrily, opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and turned back to the action. Nobody else paid Luby any attention.
They were focused on the impending death below.
Her Owsla comrades and their pale-skinned friends were in trouble.
The hairy monster swiped at Chogolisa and she was saved only by the surprisingly timely and skilled intervention of the big-bearded Wootah man.
The one-eyed man and thick-thighed Wootah girl were defending reasonably well against the serpents—very well for normal people—but the snakes were pushing them back, and one was flanking them to get at the boy who, according to Sofi Tornado, had to be kept alive.
On the far side of the ring, at the arena’s edge, Ayanna was cradling Calnian, sitting next to Beaver Man and the terminally ill Wootah man.
Luby could see by the way she was bouncing on her toes that Sofi Tornado was about to try something. What she was going to try, given that she had two spiders that could kill her in an instant strapped to her neck, Luby could not begin to guess. But she might need help.
Luby stood up, which drew some attention to her, then climbed down the seats, which attracted a lot more. I can see her, but she’s not interesting, she made the watchers think by the way she moved. Sure, she’s there. But I don’t care.
The squatch backhanded Erik and he staggered. Chogolisa jumped onto its back, wrapped her legs round its torso and throttled it. The beast didn’t seem more than mildly put out by a grip that would have crushed a short-faced bear.
Erik gathered himself, prepared to charge again and suddenly Click!
There was someone in his mind.
Hello …? he thought.
You want to save the boy? said an erudite voice that sounded disconcertingly similar to Astrid, Finnbogi’s mother.
I do … he thought, hesitatingly.
Then come in close and I’ll grab you to make it look like we’re still fighting.
Okay … Erik saw no reason to disagree.
And please ask your friend if she wouldn’t mind awfully releasing the pressure on my neck. She’s very strong.
Erik charged. The squatch grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in, so his mouth was near Chogolisa’s ear.
“The squatch is on our side,” he whispered. “Pretend we’re still fighting it, but loosen the grip on its neck.”
Ah, that’s better. Thank you. But I’m a she, not an it. My name’s Ayla.
Sorry, Ayla.
Forgiven. Now, in a couple of heartbeats, I’m going to pinch both your spider boxes. In theory, I’ll kill all four of your spiders and you’ll be freed. In practice, who knows? Apologies in advance if it doesn’t work and I kill you both.
What about your spiders?
I should think the Empty Children will feel your spiders die, work out what I’ve done, and make mine bite me. I may die. I may not. I’m quite tough.
You’ll do this for us?
Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not for you. It’s for the boy. Make sure you save him. Now, tell your friend what is about to happen and let us get on with it.
Got it.
One more thing.
What’s that, Ayla?
The tall woman is in love with you and you feel th
e same way about her. You should do something about that, if you live.
Sofi Tornado saw that Thyri and Keef’s battle with the snakes was all but lost. If they didn’t act immediately Ottar the Moaner, the boy that Yoki Choppa claimed was saviour of the world, would die.
“Wulf, Paloma, plates ready?” she said.
They both nodded.
“Now.”
All three tucked their wooden disks in between their neck boxes and flesh.
Sofi heard Paloma’s beeba spiders sink their hard, sharp jaws into flesh. She heard her and Wulf’s spiders wake as their plates slotted into place, then bite wood.
Paloma screamed, slapped her hand to her neck and fell to her knees.
“Not … this … bollocks … again …” she grunted through clenched teeth.
On the other side of the arena, Thyri fell as a snake whipped her feet out from under her with its tail. The animal was on her in an instant, wrapping her in muscular coils. Keef was brandishing his long axe at the other three giant reptiles, but landing no blows and being forced back to where Ottar was sitting on the arena floor, observing the action with all the emotion of someone watching the tide come in.
Sofi heard thudding footsteps and turned.
Beaver Man had leapt the arena side and was coming at them.
She looked from kneeling spider-bitten Paloma, to about-to-die Ottar, to charging Beaver Man.
“Go and save the boy, Sofi. I’ll deal with this prick,” said Wulf, nodding at Beaver Man.
Now thought Ayla the squatch.
“Now!” said Erik.
The squatch crushed the spider boxes on his and Chogolisa’s necks as if they were made of snow, then roared as if she was being ripped in two.
Erik wrenched the destroyed box from his neck and hurled it away.
The squatch fell onto her back with a great thump, roaring shrilly, writhing and clutching her neck.
Sofi Tornado was running towards Keef, Thyri, Ottar and the snakes. Wulf was standing next to the kneeling Paloma, his hammer Thunderbolt ready for the charging Beaver Man.
Chogolisa set off to help Sofi. Erik ran towards Wulf.
“Spider plates in! Keef, Thyri, Ottar, now!” shouted Sofi as she ran towards them. “Now!”
Keef sprung back, did as he was told, then re-engaged the snakes.
Thyri, arms trapped by the snake that was crushing the life out of her, couldn’t do a thing.
The boy just looked at her.
Sofi ran for the snake crushing Thyri, saw that Luby Zephyr had appeared out of nowhere and would get there first, and changed direction to aid Keef.
Swinging Finnbogi’s sword Foe Slicer, she beheaded two snakes as she passed, leaving Keef to deal with the other. She could hear Luby mincing Thyri’s serpent with her obsidian moon blades. The creature was twisted and loosened its grip on the Wootah warrior, who fell clear. As she tumbled, Thyri whipped out her disk and slipped it between her neck and the box. Thyri Treelegs might not be Owsla, but she was effective.
Sofi ran for Ottar. She had to neutralise his spiders.
She was a pace away when they bit him.
Erik was ten paces off when Beaver Man reached Wulf.
Wulf swung Thunderbolt. The Badlander chief powered a punch to meet the blow. Hammer and fist met. Both men were knocked back.
“What is that weapon?” asked Beaver Man, looking not exactly interested, but less bored than Erik had seen him look up until now.
“It’s Thunderbolt,” said Wulf. “For ever more, that will be the answer to the question What killed Beaver Man?”
“Nicely put. Although the actual question will be What did Beaver Man take from the brave alien and use to smash his head into a bloody smear on the arena floor?”
Before Erik saw that he was even moving, Beaver Man was holding Wulf’s wrist. Wulf had time to look surprised before Beaver Man drove a head-butt into his face, followed by a slamming punch to his jaw. Wulf staggered, dazed. Beaver Man plucked the hammer’s leather lanyard from Wulf’s thick wrist and snatched the weapon away.
He tossed it from one hand to the other.
“Wonderful,” he said, almost smiling.
Erik picked up his club Turkey Friend from where he’d dropped it earlier.
Beaver Man turned his head and his deep, dark eyes met Erik’s.
“Come on then,” said the Badland chief, lowering Thunderbolt with his arm straight, so that the great iron head pointed at Erik.
Turkey Friend was a fearsome weapon in most combat situations, against most people. Just then, facing possibly the most powerful of all the alchemically charged warriors armed with a legendary magic weapon passed down through the mists of time, Erik’s club felt about as useful as a soggy reed.
Bjarni Chickenhead gathered all the strength he could muster to open and raise his eyes. Great big motherfuckers’ nipple tips, this was the worst trip. He wanted it over. It would be over. It always cleared. It had always cleared before. But, man, this one was dragging on! Had there ever even been a time when the world hadn’t whirled in daggers of light stabbing through the rotting mushroom of his mind? He could see snakes, for the love of Oaden, giant snakes!
The fog lifted a little. More people than he’d ever seen, all around, were shouting. No, they weren’t all around. It was clear in front of him, apart from just a few dancers. He giggled. He liked a dancer. But wait a minute, that was Wulf the Fat! Wulf was dancing for him. Now there was a vision he could be happy with. He willed Wulf to dance closer.
But Wulf wasn’t dancing. He was fighting. He was beaten! Wulf was down. A nasty shiny man had beaten him.
There was something in Bjarni’s hand. He looked down. He was holding his sword Lion Slayer.
Well, it was pretty clear what he needed to do. He used both arms to push himself to his feet.
And fell hard, banging his head on cold stone.
Shitbags. Only one arm! Was this part of the trip?
He was lying on his side. Maybe a bit of a kip was called for, now that he was in the right sort of position for it.
But, no, Wulf was in trouble.
Someone was helping him up. A moment of clarity. It was a strikingly handsome older woman, cradling a baby and using her spare arm to haul Bjarni to his feet.
“Stop that a moment, Finnbogi the Boggy,” ordered Freydis the Annoying. “What’s Sitsi Kestrel doing?”
Finnbogi lowered his hand axe and looked up at the large-eyed archer. He’d been showing Freydis, Gunnhild Kristlover and Sassa Lipchewer his new spin and chop move, trying to take their minds of the unknowable plight of those who’d been taken to the arena.
Sitsi was standing, hands on hips, staring at them—at their necks, to be precise—her eyes flicking from one to the other.
“I think I can see whether your spiders are awake or asleep by the way your boxes are moving,” said Sitsi. “I think yours are asleep, Gunnhild, yours, too, Sassa.”
“Which means?”
Sitsi told them about Bodil, and her theory that the Empty Children wouldn’t know if they put their neck plates in place.
“So you think we’d be safe to put our plates in?” smiled Gunnhild.
“Yes. But—”
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ll go at the same time,” said Sassa.
“I’m not sure, though. Yoki Choppa could tell us, but he says we have to wait for Sofi and—”
“And we don’t know if Sofi’s coming back,” interrupted Gunnhild. “We don’t know what the situation will be when she does, so the sooner we get our plates in and those spiders chomping on wood, the better. The best time to plant a tree is fifty years ago. The second-best time is today.”
“Wouldn’t forty-nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days ago be the second-best time to plant that tree?” asked Sassa.
Gunnhild ignored her, lifted her wooden plate, took a deep breath and said, “Krist, protect me.”
“Hold up.” Sassa lifted her plate. “I’ll g
o with you. On three. One, two …”
Paloma Pronghorn opened one eye. Wulf the Fat looked beaten, on his hands and knees, drooling blood. Erik the Angry was squaring up to Beaver Man with his club. The big bearded man did not look confident.
The spiders’ bite had hurt like … well, it had hurt a similar amount to the previous time the cunty little animals had bitten her: one fuck of a lot. The aftermath, however, had surprised her—it had been a great deal friendlier than before. She’d felt the poison spread through her body, but then the evil venom had dissipated without doing much apart from making her want to cry and vomit, both of which she’d managed not to do; happily, given the number of people watching.
Maybe she’d been injected with a lesser dose, maybe she’d built immunity. Didn’t matter. Point was her plate was in now, she was just about fine and very much ready to go.
She kept kneeling, though, with one eye open about a tenth. Sofi had told her that Beaver Man’s shiny skin was impervious to arrows and stone axes. So it was going to take a cunning plan to beat him.
Erik swung his club. The chief dodged and launched Wulf’s hammer in an uppercut that might have pulverised a mountain. Erik leapt back to avoid it, but Beaver Man pressed, hammer swinging.
Erik slid and jinked and blocked. Annoyingly, they’d swung round so that Beaver Man was facing Paloma and would see if she suddenly revitalised, but any moment one of his blows was going to … There you go. The hammer clunked into Erik’s temple and he went down, dazed if not dead.
Beaver Man stood above the Wootah’s hairiest warrior and raised the weighty iron hammer two-handed above his head, about to bring it down for the skull-crusher.
Pissflaps to plans. Paloma sprang up, sprinted at Beaver Man and put all her weight and speed into cracking her killing stick into the side of his head.
The impact jarred her arms so hard that she lost focus for a moment. When she regained it, Beaver Man was still standing and smiling at her, Erik forgotten behind him.
