The Land You Never Leave

by Angus Watson

  She could run. Paloma’s best form of defence wasn’t attack. It was to piss off as fast as possible.

  But if she ran, Beaver Man would kill Erik and Wulf. Erik was rolling and groaning and not much use to anyone. Wulf was recovering, on his knees now but shaking his head, far from ready to join the battle.

  She sighed, and attacked.

  She landed several hits. Each one would have ended the fight with a normal person, but they didn’t even dent Beaver Man’s smile. However, she was faster than him and he didn’t come close to landing a blow on her.

  She twisted and danced with her killing stick, jabbing him in the kidneys, cracking him in the head and whacking him in the bollocks. But it was as if he were made of stone.

  She hit him harder and harder, and then too hard, because she left her guard open for a moment too long and his fingers were round her neck, squeezing.

  Wulf the Fat, still half dazed, charged.

  Beaver Man slapped Wulf back into senselessness, then grabbed him too around the throat.

  The crowd cheered. Paloma and Wulf struggled at the end of Beaver Man’s arms, but they were like leaves trying to pull their tree down by wiggling about. Beaver Man gripped their necks all the harder, looking into their eyes like a wanton child studying the effects of torture on two trapped rabbits.

  The crowd cheered all the more to see their chief besting two warriors so stylishly. Paloma had lapped up similar cheers from the Calnian crowd often and actually wondered a few times what it was like to be on the wrong end of an entertaining kill. She was not enjoying finding out.

  At the far end of the arena, Sofi, Chogolisa, Thyri and Keef had beaten the snakes but were now fighting a squad of Badlander warriors. As her vision blurred and the clouds of unconsciousness bloomed in her mind, she realised she could not see the boy Ottar.

  Gunnhild Kristlover smiled. “Well done, Sitsi Kestrel.”

  “You could take your boxes off now,” said Finnbogi, looking at the unharmed Gunnhild and Sassa Lipchewer with a degree of envy, as his own spiders shifted nastily against his skin.

  “Best leave them on,” said Sitsi, “we don’t want them to know we’ve … hang on. I think Freydis’s spiders are asleep now. Bodil’s, too.”

  “And mine?” asked Finnbogi, even though he knew they were awake.

  “Yours are dancing about like squirrels in autumn.”

  Great, he thought.

  Beaver Man looked perhaps the most surprised of all of them when the sword tip appeared out of his neck.

  His grip loosened. Paloma fell onto her arse, next to Wulf, both retching for breath.

  Erik the Angry climbed to his feet and staggered over.

  Beaver Man flailed weakly at the sword tip. He managed to turn and Paloma saw that Bjarni Chickenhead was holding the sword’s hilt. The dying man had thrust his blade into the small of Beaver Man’s back, all the way through his torso and out of his neck. What an amazing blade, she thought, and what amazing strength to stick it through the supposedly impervious man.

  Bjarni pushed Beaver Man and the Badlander chief fell, limbs flailing, mouth coughing out weird choking barks.

  Behind him, Empress Ayanna walked up, holding a sleeping baby. Some children could sleep through anything.

  “Congratulations,” said Paloma, nodding at the kid.

  “Thank you,” replied her queen.

  Bjarni distracted them both by thumping down into a kneeling position in front of Wulf.

  Neither man looked at their peak, but Bjarni looked particularly shit. The putrefaction from his amputated arm had spread. One side of his face was red and shiny with welling pus. An eye had collapsed and leaked out of the socket. But the other eye looked clear and sincere.

  “I always loved you, Wulf,” said Bjarni. “And I don’t mean like a brother. I’ve always wanted you like a lover.”

  Well well, thought Paloma.

  On the ground nearby, Beaver Man stopped his flailing and watched.

  Wulf put his arm on Bjarni’s shoulder. “I know.”

  “It’s been my secret, my burden, I—”

  “Shush.” Wulf pivoted forward, gripped the back of Bjarni’s head with one hand, leaned forward and kissed him open-mouthed on the lips and … was that tongues?

  The kiss lasted a long time.

  Finally, Wulf broke off and leaned back, still holding Bjarni’s shoulders.

  “I know,” said Wulf. “I knew. And I loved you as well. But I never wanted to act on it. My parents, the tribe … you know what it was like.”

  Bjarni nodded.

  “And then I fell for Sassa. What I have for her is real, I do love her, and it was acceptable so I … But please know that I didn’t stop loving you.”

  Bjarni smiled. A huge tear formed in his good eye and rolled down his cheek. Then he fell.

  Wulf fell onto him, hugged him, then knelt up. He put his fingers on his friend’s neck.

  His face was stone. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  He stood and took his hammer from the writhing Beaver Man.

  Paloma looked over to the others as Sofi felled the last of the Badland warriors. The spectators, seeing that the entertainment had defeated the entertainers, were making themselves scarce. Chapa Wangwa was nowhere to be seen.

  Wulf nodded to Paloma and Erik and they followed him to join the others.

  “Would you two mind awfully,” he asked as they walked, “never telling anybody about what just happened? I don’t care what people know about me, but I don’t want Sassa undermined.”

  About a dozen jokes sprung to Paloma’s mind immediately, and, given a little time, she probably could have come up with a dozen more.

  Instead she sighed. “Bjarni saved my life, and yours and Erik’s. He died a hero and he’ll be in your Valhalla now, looking out a good spot for the rest of you. That’s all there is to tell.”

  “That’s how I see it too,” said Erik.

  “Thanks.”

  Sofi chopped the throat out of the final Badland attacker and jumped round to help Paloma and the rest against Beaver Man, but the three of them were already coming towards her. She looked towards where Rappa Hoga and the cat cavalry had been sitting, but they’d gone. Why? she wondered briefly.

  She turned her attention to the spider-bit boy.

  Ottar the Moaner was lying on the ground, on his back, eyes closed. Thyri Treelegs knelt next to him, shakily.

  “He’s fine,” said Sofi.

  “What?” said Thyri, looking up with snot on her face.

  “I said he’s fine.”

  “How dare you? Scraylings might look at death differently, but he’s just a little boy with his whole life—”

  “Shush,” said Sofi. “He’s fine, as in he’s totally fine. Ottar, stop playing now. We’re off.”

  Ottar’s eyes opened and he leapt to his feet.

  Sofi had known he was fine by his heartbeat and his breathing. She’d known for a while that Ottar’s spiders were a different type to everyone else’s, but not that they weren’t venomous. She guessed that Beaver Man knew he was special and didn’t want him killed. Although that wouldn’t explain why he’d risked the boy in the arena. Maybe someone else had swapped his spiders?

  “What the—?” said Thyri. “How did you …?”

  “Don’t worry about it now. Let’s get back to the others.”

  Chapter 12

  Over the Edge

  The wait was hateful. Sassa Lipchewer felt doubly ill with her usual morning sickness and a choking dread for what might be happening to Wulf and the others.

  Black clouds thickened overhead and a probing, icy wind came snaking around the pinnacles. As yet, the deluge had held off, but surely it wouldn’t be long. Might they halt the fighting in the arena if it rained? Or would they pause it, prolonging her agony?

  She’d lost the burden of her spiders but Sitsi Kestrel, Yoki Choppa and Finnbogi the Boggy were still unprotected from the venomous buggers. Sitsi could see that Finnbogi�
�s and Yoki Choppa’s spiders were awake. She was trying to persuade Yoki Choppa to use alchemy to tell her whether hers were awake or not, but so far the warlock had refused, which was driving Sitsi almost to tears of frustration.

  “I don’t get it!” Sitsi was actually jumping on the spot. “Why not? Do you need herbs that you don’t have? Maybe someone could—”

  She was interrupted by Paloma Pronghorn returning to camp at an earth-ripping sprint.

  “Bjarni died,” said Paloma, skidding to stop, no more out of breath than if she’d been sitting on a chair for an hour. Sassa was not upset. It was a relief. But what about Wulf? “Nobody else died. All the Wootah lot are hurt, none too badly. They did well. We pretty much defeated Beaver Man and his animals—his Owsla wasn’t there, thank Innowak—and we rescued Ayanna and her baby. Oh yeah, and Ottar was spider-bitten but he seems to be okay.”

  “Who’s Ayanna?” asked Bodil.

  “No time for that,” said Sitsi, “I’ve discovered that we don’t need to all put our spider plates in at the same time! Wait a minute, where’s your spider box? Have you been bitten again? Your neck looks—”

  “All of us who went to the arena have removed our boxes. No time to explain. What have you discovered?”

  Sitsi shook her head. “Never mind. All of us here, apart from me, Finnbogi and Yoki Choppa are protected by spider plates. I told everyone to leave their boxes on because I thought they,” she pointed at the three Empty Children watching from their rocky knoll, “would see removed spider boxes and make the rest of the spiders bite. Since they’ve seen yours missing and done nothing, that doesn’t seem to be the case. You must have known that, though, or you wouldn’t have run back in here without your spider box and risked us all.”

  “Uh, yes, I did know that.”

  “Oh, and Yoki Choppa,” Sitsi continued. “Your spiders are asleep now. Shame you won’t tell me about mine.”

  Yoki Choppa slipped his plate in without fuss, and said, “Follow me.” He led her to a bowl of water. “Look in that.”

  Sitsi did, and, Sassa guessed, saw in her reflection that her spiders were asleep, because she slipped in her wooden plate and seemed to deflate with the relief of it.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” she said. “But, good, now we’ve all neutralised our spiders and—”

  “I haven’t!” said Finnbogi. “Please tell me mine are asleep?”

  “No, sorry, they’re not.” Sitsi looked suitably abashed to have forgotten Finnbogi.

  “Do you mind awfully if we stop pissing around?” said Paloma. “The others will be back any moment and we’ve got to head off as soon as they get here. Sofi reckons Rappa Hoga went to get reinforecements and we don’t have long.”

  The rest of the Wootah and Calnians ran into sight a moment later, led by Sofi Tornado and an Owsla-dressed woman whom Sassa had never seen before.

  Sofi saw Sassa looking confused and, to Sassa’s surprise, deigned to explain as they approached. “This is Luby Zephyr. She’s Owsla. Came with the Calnian army and escaped the massacre.”

  “Good to meet you. I’m Sass—”

  “She knows who you all are. You can chat later. We’re leaving now.”

  Then Wulf was on Sassa and she had to tell him not to hug her so hard.

  He put her down, stood back with his blue eyes shining in his bruised face, then reddened and looked at the ground.

  “You die when you die, and Bjarni should have died a while back,” she said.

  “He saved my life. And Paloma’s and Erik’s. Probably all of our lives. And—”

  “Shush. That’s why he held on so long. He did what he stayed alive to do and he’ll be waiting for us in Valhalla.”

  Finnbogi saw that all the returning Wootah and Owsla weren’t wearing their spider boxes any more. So he was the only one left with spiders on his neck. Just my luck, he thought.

  “Your spiders?” Sofi Tornado asked him.

  “Still partying away. I’ve got—”

  “Apart from Finnbogi,” said Sitsi, speaking over him, “we all have one of Erik’s wooden plates between our necks and the beeba spiders.”

  “Good,” said Sofi. “Well done. Paloma, Sitsi, Luby, help everyone take those boxes off, careful as you go. Then we’ll leave.” Sofi looked at Finnbogi and cocked her head as if listening. “Finnbogi, stay here and hide. If they don’t find you, try your spider plate in a while, perhaps at sunset, then track us. We’re headed for the Black Mountains.”

  Finnbogi looked at Sofi. What had she asked him to do?

  “I—” he started, but she was already turning to Freydis to unbuckle her spider box.

  Finnbogi stood and watched, eyes flicking between people flinging spider boxes away and the Empty Children. The weird kids on sheep didn’t seem to be doing anything. Were they asleep? He took out his wooden plate and reached towards his neck.

  Sofi grabbed his wrist. “Hide. Now. With any luck the Empty Children will stay nearby and you’ll be fine.” She turned to walk away then stopped, and turned back. “All right, new plan. There’s something that might work. Paloma?”

  “Yes?” The speedy woman darted over.

  “Hold your hand flat like this, thrust as fast as you can,” Sofi demonstrated the move, “and I think you’ll be able to get your fingers between Finnbogi’s spider box and his neck before his spiders bite him.”

  “But they’ll bite me.”

  “Yup. You’ve been fine so far.”

  Paloma opened her mouth as if she were about to disagree, but then seemed to deflate. “Yeah. Why the Wootah not? Stay still, Boggy.”

  “Owsla! Wootah! Remain where you are!” rang out a voice that made Sassa lurch with fear.

  Rappa Hoga was galloping towards them at the head of a column of dagger-tooth cavalry. More and more riders followed, tearing between two pinnacles of red and yellow rock lit up blazingly by the sun, in stark contrast to the bruised purple storm clouds above.

  “Now, Paloma!” said Sofi.

  Paloma’s hand jabbed up into Finnbogi’s neck box, between skin and spiders.

  “Ah!” cried Finnbogi.

  “Arrrghhhhh!” screamed Paloma, ripping the box from Finnbogi’s neck and flinging it away. She fell onto her side, clutching her bitten hand to her chest.

  “Paloma!” cried Finnbogi, dropping down next to her.

  “I’ll … be … fine … in … a … moment. Run. I’ll catch up,” she managed, clenched up and shaking, like Poppo Whitetooth had been that time he’d eaten too much buffalo meat at a Thing.

  Finnbogi touched her shining hair. “Thank you.”

  She looked up, agonised and surprised, and … was that tenderness in her eyes?

  “Fuck off!” she snarled. “I said I’ll catch up.”

  “She will,” said Sofi. “We need to run, now. Give me my axe back and take this.” She was holding Foe Slicer out to him, hilt first.

  He reached for it suspiciously.

  “Quick. It’s yours. I shouldn’t have taken it. Sorry.”

  He handed her axe back, took his sword and both of them ran from the cat cavalry. The others were already a good way ahead. Finnbogi beamed as he sprinted. Sofi must respect him now! But why? Had she heard about his sacrifice in the arena? Did she simply fancy him?

  She might respect him, but she was a much faster runner and she wasn’t waiting. She caught up with the rest when he was still a good forty paces behind. He turned. The cat cavalry were coming fast, almost on Paloma who was still sitting, clutching her bitten hand.

  Finnbogi ran on, Foe Slicer increasingly heavy in his hand. Of course, the sword was a much heavier weapon that Sofi’s axe. And she’d given it back to him just before they’d had to run for their lives. Because she respected him now.

  Sassa Lipchewer ran. The first chestnut-sized raindrops splatted to earth.

  Up ahead, Freydis the Annoying bounced along on Erik the Angry’s shoulders and Ottar the Moaner clung to Chogolisa Earthquake’s thick neck w
ith his legs, his racoons bundled to his chest. Atop the giant, Ottar looked even smaller than usual, vulnerable and spindly. Next to them ran Ayanna, showing a neat turn of pace for a new mother, especially one holding a baby.

  Sassa held back with Wulf the Fat to accompany the slower Gunnhild Kristlover.

  “Speed up, Wulf and Sassa,” yelled Sofi Tornado, catching up and shouting over the wind and rain, “follow Luby Zephyr. I’ll be backmarker.”

  Luby was already out of sight around the crescent of rock that flanked the southern edge of their camp. Sassa and Wulf did as they were told. They rounded the crescent’s western edge.

  “Blow a crow!” Sassa cried as the gale and the rain slapped into them like a cauldron of water hurled by the thunder god Tor.

  Moments latter Paloma appeared alongside them, apparently untroubled by the squall, grabbed a fistful of arrows from Sassa’s quiver and said, “bow please!”

  Sassa handed it over without a quibble and Paloma streaked on ahead.

  Tansy Burna watched the escapees run through the rain. Rappa Hoga had halted their chase, and was looking back the way they’d come. He was waiting for Beaver Man.

  The prisoners had left the leader for dead in the arena, impaled by the long metal weapon which apparently came from the far side of the Wild Salt Sea. Chapa Wangwa and a couple of warlocks were extracting the man-spitting blade, but it was painstaking work. The chief was only nearly immortal; the warlocks said that further damage to his organs might actually kill him, or at least disable him.

  Beaver Man, not too perturbed by the alien metal running through him from lower back to throat, nor by the indelicate all-fours pose he’d adopted to ease the extraction of the weapon, had told them to go, and to stop their captives leaving.

  But Tansy knew why Rappa Hoga was waiting and slightly disobeying orders. Chasing people through the gullied landscape of the Badlands massif was a far from perfect fighting situation for the dagger-cat cavalry, especially when their quarry included some superbly capable warriors, at least one of whom was an alchemically enhanced archer. Beaver Man was impervious to arrows. Rappa Hoga and the rest of them, cats included, were not. The cat cavalry captain was brave as a wolverine defending its children, but he wasn’t going to risk his people or his cats by being an idiot.