by Angus Watson
It was cooler than she’d expected inside the monster. She remembered holding her father’s hand on a winter morning, watching the hunters gut a humped bear. It had steamed for an age and her father had told her that all big animals were on fire inside. This one was not.
You believe everything that adults tell you when you’re a young child. Who would tell Calnian about the world? Ayanna hoped that whoever brought Calnian up would be bright, interested and informative. Sitsi Kestrel would be good. She should have stipulated that Sitsi be involved in his upbringing. Too late. But Sofi would see him right; she was a good woman, that Sofi Tornado.
She lifted Luby’s moon blade and sliced into the inside of the lizard’s neck, or wherever she was now. The sharp obsidian weapon slid in easily. So the skin here was soft. Ayanna pumped her fist, slicing and slicing. It was satisfying work. Would it be so bad to be reincarnated as a manual labourer? She’d heard that a day’s physical work could be pleasing.
Her cutting met resistance. She put all her strength into it, and whatever had resisted gave way springily, with a gush of liquid.
The movement of the thunder lizard changed. Had it stopped? Had she done it? Had she saved them all? Or were the spiders still needed? Was she far enough down to let them go?
Her face was hot now. Was that the heat of the beast or its acid? Probably the latter. It was very hot. Not far off agonising. Suddenly she realised how much she wanted to breathe. She dropped the blade, opened the neck of the bag and pushed it inside out.
The spiders crawled out over her hands as the heat became unbearable. It felt like the skin was melting off her body, limbs and skull. She screamed. Acid rushed into her throat.
Finnbogi flew on, weary but happy in the flock, and near-euphoric about joining the much larger flock in the west.
But you made that flock up yourself. It doesn’t exist. You’re not really a pigeon, said some nonsense voice in his head.
He cooed chucklingly at the voice and pigeoned on.
His fellows flapped above, below, in front, behind, to the left and right. Something moved in his gut and he squeezed out guano. The birds below shifted, directed by the group mind to avoid his tumbling effluent.
The group mind noted a flock of cranes flapping towards them from the west, on collision course. It was, for cranes, a large flock, but it saw the crowd pigeons’ dramatically larger group and adjusted its course southwards. Several hundred birds above Finnbogi crapped with happiness at being in so much more numerous a throng. He flicked his wingtips, jinked his head and the deluge of guano tumbled harmlessly past.
The mountains are ahead, the way is clear, but where is the other flock? asked the group mind, mildly panicked.
It’s probably on the ground, feeding. We’ll join it in the feast soon, said Finnbogi.
That makes sense, the million birds said to themselves.
The lizard shook its head, slowed for a moment, then kept coming. Had Ayanna died for nothing? Sitsi Kestrel’s bowels churned with horror at the notion.
Erik, Chogolisa, Sofi and Wulf stood at the stern, wide-legged and ready with the poles that had been so effective at keeping the moose cavalry at bay. Sitsi reckoned they’d be about as effective against the lizard king as a few mean words, but it was all they had.
The monster closed the gap. It was not happy. It was shaking its head and was clearly in some degree of discomfort. But it hadn’t slowed. By the time it reached them again, it seemed to have resolved the empress-stuck-in-the-throat complaint and got right back into killing rage mood.
It swung its head at the four at the rear of the deck and they backed away. Wulf the Fat ran straight back in and rammed his pole at the beast’s eye. The pole splintered on the animal’s cheek. Wulf fell forwards onto the boards. The lizard king darted its head down like a wading bird going for a fish.
Chogolisa Earthquake grabbed Wulf’s foot and pulled him clear. The lizard king’s mouth hit the deck where the Wootah man’s head had been a tenth of a heartbeat before. Wood splintered.
Beaver Man, perched on its neck, grinned at them.
Sitsi saw Sofi Tornado run in, leap and ram her dagger-tooth knife into the monster’s eye. The knife stuck, the beast seemed unharmed. It turned to Sofi, managing a “you shouldn’t have done that” look despite the knife. Beaver Man kept his seat, calm and happy as an emperor waiting for his breakfast. The beast lunged at Sofi. She leapt backwards, heels over her head, and landed hard. The beast leant for her.
Sofi scrabbled back but her hands slipped on wolf blood. The monster opened its mouth. Sitsi ran for it, Sassa’s knife aloft, but Keef and Thyri were there first, Keef stabbing it in the good eye with Arse Splitter and Thyri jabbing her sax into its nostril.
The beast pulled its head back and screamed.
Thyri’s blade fell from its nostril and she caught it.
“When the arse is too big to split, the eye will have to do!” yelled Keef, shaking Arse Splitter above his head.
The Plains Sprinter pulled away but the beast rallied and lowered its head to carry on the chase. Closer and closer it came, if anything faster than before. The Wootah and Calnian warriors waited. Sitsi stood with them now, Sassa’s knife in her hand. It was a little late to worry about the trim of the craft.
She looked at Paloma. The speedy woman lifted her killing stick and gave it a look that said what am I meant to do with this? Sitsi smiled despite herself.
The lizard king came level, but it was holding back now, wary of the sharp weapons. Beaver Man climbed onto the top of its head and walked along its muzzle with impressive balance.
The chief of the Badlanders was about to leap down on them when the lizard king itself leapt and flew heels over head in a full backwards summersault.
Beaver Man jumped clear and rolled away. The beast landed with a great crumpling thud. It shivered and convulsed. Both its legs stiffened, then snapped.
The Plains Sprinter rocked on. Sitsi expected Beaver Man to sprint after them, but he stood and watched them go, looking rather forlorn next to the huge body of his spider-paralysed mount.
“WOOOOO-TAAAAH!” shouted Wulf and Keef, “Woooo- tah!”
The rest of them joined in, Wootah and Calnians. Paloma, Chogolisa, Sitsi, Keef, Wulf, Thyri and Erik joined hands and jumped up and down, the Wootah chanting, “Owsla! Owsla!” and the Owsla shouting, “Wootah! Wootah!”
“Owwwwwwslaaa!” called Sassa from her spot next to flapping Finnbogi in the prow.
Yoki Choppa didn’t say anything, but he did look almost cheery. Even Sofi Tornado bent half her mouth into a smile and said, “Wootah.”
Sitsi danced, Paloma’s hand in one hand and Keef’s in the other. She was grinning. It was the first time since they’d been picked up by the Badlanders some seven hundred miles to the east that they hadn’t been in direct danger.
Bodil, Gunnhild and the children came to join the celebration. Gunnhild was holding the baby Calnian. They might not be in direct danger for the moment, but their problems were far from over. And they should remember who’d sacrificed herself to save them.
“Ayanna!” Sitsi shouted, “Ayanna!” and the rest of them, Calnians and Wootah alike, took up the chant.
“Quiet, quiet,” shouted Erik after a short while. “Sorry to poop the party, but their dagger-cat cavalry is still after us. All of you please stop jumping about and spread yourselves around the edge of the Sprinter.”
Sitsi went to stand next to Sassa Lipchewer and Finnbogi the Boggy at the prow.
“Will we be safe in the Black Mountains?” Sassa asked her.
Sitsi looked at the dark line of high land to the west.
“I learned from … reasonable sources that there was something in the Black Mountains that the Badlanders were terrified of, so they never went into them.”
“What kind of something?”
“The sources did not know.”
“So maybe we should be terrified of it as well?”
Sitsi sighed. “Poss
ibly. I hope not.”
Chapter 5
So This Is Uphill
Erik the Angry tried not to goggle. Some of Hardwork’s old-world tales were set in mountains so he understood the concept, and some of the Lakchans had seen mountains and told him about them, but Erik had never imagined that land could tower quite so high.
The buffalo road led up a broad valley populated by a multitude of prairie dogs. They chittered and chirred as the Plains Sprinter creaked by, some poking halfway from holes, others standing on the edge of their mounds with forelegs rested on their chests and many more diving into their holes and reappearing. These prairie dogs had white tails, whereas further east prairie dog tails had been black. Erik opened his mouth to report the observation to Chogolisa Earthquake, but decided it probably wasn’t that fascinating.
“They stand a little like thunder lizards, don’t you think?” he said instead.
Other than Finnbogi flapping away at the front, the rest of the Wootah and Calnians were spread around the Plains Sprinter, resting. Erik and Chogolisa were sitting facing outwards, their legs under the rail and dangling over the edge. Erik was working on some leather and bone to create a drinking skin with a fake nipple for the baby Calnian. Very tired, he was resting against Chogolisa’s arm. She didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s a good thing they’re not the size of thunder lizards,” she nodded. “Passing through thousands of them like this would be a very different experience. I often thank Innowak that the smaller animals are the size they are.”
A black, orange, yellow and red-striped wasp alighted briefly on the rail before buzzing off.
“Imagine if wasps were the size of buffalo,” Erik mused.
“They’d take over in days.”
“They’d need a leader.”
“I’d do it. I’d be Chogolisa Wasp Queen.”
“I like it. How about Erik Wasp King?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think Erik the Wasp Shit-Shoveller sounds better?”
“Not really. I’m a terrible shoveller.”
“You’d better be king then. Kings don’t have to be good at anything.” She put an arm around him and squeezed.
Erik’s heart lurched and his cheeks reddened.
The Sprinter rolled on up the increasingly high-sided valley, much slower now that Finnbogi’s flap rate had decreased to an exhausted fluttering of the hands. Erik and the Owsla woman sat at the rail and pointed out more animals to each other—a brazenly russet chipmunk, lavender butterflies, a black and white woodpecker with a red head.
Chogolisa’s arm stayed around his shoulder. As he congratulated her for spotting a pair of badgers rooting about on the edge of the treeline, it seemed more than normal to put his arm some of the way around her waist.
“And have you noticed that the prairie dogs have white tails here?” she asked.
The valley narrowed and the Plains Sprinter could go no further. Sassa told Finnbogi to stop. The pigeons flapped down and the Plains Sprinter settled.
Erik looked behind, expecting to see the dagger-tooth cavalry tearing up the valley towards them. However, the valley was empty, bar half a million or so prairie dogs staring after them.
Then a figure did appear. It was Paloma Pronghorn. One moment she was a dot in the distance, then next she was right with them.
“No sign of the baddies,” she said, “not for twenty miles anyway. Looks like the cat cavalry stuck to their word.”
The chase, it seemed, was over. At least for now.
“Well done, lad.” Erik put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You saved us all.”
Finnbogi blinked, bobbed his head back and forth, said: “Coo-c-cool. Glad that’s over. I’m very hungry,” then passed out in his father’s arms.
They left the pigeons to bite through their spider silk tethers. The wolves were harnessed so that they’d need to release only one cord to let the whole lot go. Sofi told Paloma to stay back and wait until the rest of them were well clear before freeing them. First, though, they had to build a pyre for Luby Zephyr.
“You know that letting the wolves out among all these prairie dogs is a bit like freeing fifty thunder lizards in a big village?” Erik asked Sofi.
“Would you like to leave the wolves that saved us all tethered to starve? Or would you rather kill them all before we go?”
“Well, neither.”
“Then shut the fuck up.” She stalked away.
Erik blinked after her.
“Don’t take it personally,” said Chogolisa. “She’s had better days.”
It took moments for the Wootah and Calnians to build a pyre. Despite Paloma’s assurances, many of them had half an eye down the valley for the dagger-tooth cavalry or any other horrors appearing. The only two who didn’t contribute to the pyre were Yoki Choppa, who was off in the woods gathering ingredients for an alternative to breast milk, and Finnbogi, who’d come round and was sitting against the Sprinter eating berries, moving his head about in small jerks and blinking a lot.
Sofi Tornado laid Luby on the wooden bed, kissed her forehead, stood back, picked up a burning torch and jammed it into the guts of the pyre.
Lambent flame danced up with a crackling roar and consumed the young Owsla woman. Sofi watched, stone-faced, then handed Luby’s remaining obsidian moon blade to Freydis the Annoying.
The girl looked up at Sofi, wide-eyed. She opened her mouth, but Sofi shook her head and Freydis nodded, seeming to understand. The captain of the Owsla turned and strode away up the valley. The girl looked at the wickedly sharp blade in her hand.
“You must play your part in the coming fight, Freydis,” said Gunnhild. “It is time you started bearing your share of the group’s burden. Rear your children as gods and they will become devils.”
“Wouldn’t a devil be better at fighting?” asked Freydis.
Everyone else gathered kit as Gunnhild used Erik’s makeshift breast to feed Yoki Choppa’s concoction to Calnian. The baby drank enthusiastically to begin with, but broke off after a while and cried. He started with a few coughing sobs but soon he was wailing as only a baby human can.
Erik looked about. If there were any enemies or dangerous creatures that hadn’t spotted the smoke from the fire, then Calnian’s screams would bring them in. How did something so small make such a loud noise? And why?
“He’s drunk enough,” said Gunnhild in the lull while Calnian sucked in another lungful of air, “I don’t know—”
“Ottar wants to hold him,” said Freydis.
“I don’t think giving him the boy is going to—” Ottar pulled at her hand and nodded. Hugin and Munin yipped up at her.
Gunnhild sighed and handed the screaming baby down to the boy. Erik couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was shaking her head disapprovingly.
Calnian stopped crying the moment Ottar hugged him. Heartbeats later, he was asleep.
“The young understand the young,” said Gunnhild with a wise nod, as if giving the baby to Ottar had been her plan all along.
The tree-lined sides of the grassy valley closed in and the slope became steeper. Soon they were walking a well-used path uphill into the woods. The path mostly followed a tumbling brook which broadened sporadically into black, shiningly reflective ponds. Appealing birds and mammals sat on almost every branch and rock. The high-pitched, single-note barks of chipmunks, the hammering trill of woodpeckers and myriad other animal noises harmonised into joyous woodland music.
Erik walked next to Chogolisa and Finnbogi. His son insisted he was fine after his fainting—he’d simply needed some food after all the flapping—but Erik was worried. With each step Finnbogi pulsed his chin back and forth as if marching to some silent beat, and he kept cocking his head to one side and blinking in an undeniably pigeon-like manner.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Erik asked.
“Oooo yes. Oooooo,” muttered Finnbogi.
Erik looked at Chogolisa. “I’m sure it will pass,” she said.
Up ahead, Freydis traipsed along next to Ottar and his racoons. Ottar was carrying the slumbering and intermittently snorting Calnian in a scarf that Yoki Choppa had tied into a papoose around his shoulders.
The path led up and up. It was a steady trudge but still wearying for people who hadn’t walked a long way for a few weeks and many of whom had never walked more than a few hundred paces uphill. After a short while, Ottar was stamping and puffing under the burden of the slumbering Calnian.
“Would you like me to carry you?” Chogolisa called.
Ottar stopped and turned, shaking his head and pointing at the baby and the racoons in turn.
“I’ll take you both. Hugin and Munin will follow me just as easily as they follow you.”
“’Kay,” said Ottar.
“And I’ll carry you if you like, Freydis?” asked Erik.
“No thanks, I like walking here. It’s better than the grass, isn’t it? Can I hold your hand, Finnbogi?”
Finnbogi strutted ahead to join the girl, chest proud, bum out and nodding to his own beat.
The vegetation was light under strange pines and stands of silver-barked deciduous trees. Mostly they walked on a carpet of soft pine needles, which went a little way towards making up for the endless uphill. Every now and then the woods opened into a clearing and they could see red rock faces a good deal higher than the Heartberry Canyon and Water Mother cliffs they’d all been so impressed by. The rock here was a deeper red than the powdery sculpted soil that had comprised the Badlands massif. It looked harder; more permanent and godly.
In the broader clearings, they could see the mountains ahead, towering higher than Erik had imagined possible. Several times he had to hastily close his mouth before Chogolisa spotted him gawping at the majesty of it all.
The oldest surviving Wootah walked along with two lovely children, two friendly racoons, his son and a woman he liked a lot. He filled his lungs with the fresh, pine-scented air. Climbing higher and higher into these marvellously fragrant, starkly impressive, animal-thronged hills made his spirits soar. This, he thought, is the sort of place that he was meant to be.
