by Angus Watson
A group of muskrats swam sleekly past, heading for their cattail lodge. All their noses were pointed resolutely forward, perhaps convinced that if they didn’t see her, she wouldn’t see them.
“Are you all right?” shouted Erik, wading into the water. “You did brilliantly!”
She coughed, flicked some sort of water slug off her arm, then belched. “Yes. Brilliantly. I have never felt more accomplished or glamorous.”
His face fell. “But I thought you had it for a moment?”
“I did. You’re right. I think they might work. If I run with my legs wider, maybe go faster and focus on keeping my feet tilted upwards a little … I do think they might work. You’re pretty clever, Erik.”
His bearded face cracked into a grin and his eyes lit up. He was actually better looking than his son, or at least a good deal sexier. “Do you need help getting back?” he asked.
The river was not fast flowing, but the current was sucking at her with some force and she was not a good swimmer.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, “just wait there and—”
She lifted a foot and the current caught the watershoe. Her leg pulled away. She pirouetted her arms and tried to lift the other foot, but it snagged under a rock.
She went under again, arse over head. She pulled for the surface, but she was held by an eddy and sucked along, upside down.
I will not die like this, she thought, it’s simply not fitting for the world’s fastest warrior.
Try as she might however, she could not right herself.
She was just beginning to think about panicking when two big hands gripped her under the armpits and pulled her up into the sweet air.
“Thanks!” she spluttered, as Erik jogged backwards, towing her to the bank.
The second attempt was much more successful, possibly because she believed it might work. She splash-padded all the way across to the far bank, gripped a branch and leapt out.
“Hooray!” shouted Erik.
“Well done, Wootah man!” she called back, meaning it. It might be a simple idea, but neither Yoki Choppa nor any of the other warlocks who’d developed and trained the Owsla had thought of it. Of course Erik couldn’t claim all the credit—it had still required her awesome speed and nobody but her could have done it—but she was impressed nevertheless.
Had she had these a moon or so before, they’d have caught the Wootah tribe at the Rock River and what would have happened then, she wondered?
She ran across twice more. On the third attempt, she headed upriver about three hundred paces before the left shoe fell apart and she took another spectacular tumble. This time, she angled for the bank as soon as she knew she was going down and didn’t need to be rescued.
All the way back to the others, Erik talked about possible improvements to his design, and other exciting applications for it.
His excited voice must have carried to the little village, because when they arrived at the huts everyone had stopped what they were doing to see what the fuss was about.
Paloma shouldn’t have found it gratifying that both Thyri Treelegs and Finn the Deep were glowering at her. She really shouldn’t have done.
Sassa Lipchewer and Wulf the Fat spent the morning smiling at each other. Every now and then Wulf laughed and clapped his hands. Despite all that they’d been through and all that might lay ahead, Sassa was about as happy as she could remember being.
Chief Tatinka Buffalo came at lunchtime, as she’d promised, along with Klippsta and a man whose face looked like it had melted. One of his eyes was a ruined mess, the other clear and darting.
Klippsta was in green as before, the chief wore blue with a turquoise hat and the burned man was in a brown and cream tasselled leather smock, with a stone hand axe hanging from his belt.
It was warm but breezy, so the smoke from the cookfire in the centre of the circle of huts was annoying. The chief suggested that they all move to a clearing by the river.
The water sparkled, birds swooped and dipped, the leaves on the trees swished in the wind. Tatinka stood, confident and calm. The melted-face man looked hostile and self-conscious. Sassa tried to smile reassuringly at him. We’re not going to think less of you because you’re burned, she tried to convey. All the dicks who would have judged you by the way you looked died on the far side of the Water Mother.
Once they’d all gathered, the little chief climbed onto a log.
“Good morning, everybody. I hope you are well rested. This” she gestured with a palm to the newcomer, “is Weeko Fang.”
Weeko Fang nodded, his good eye flicking from face to face.
“He has come from The Meadows.”
There were gasps. Weeko nodded all the more.
“Weeko, please can you tell them about their destination?” said Tatinka, as breezily as if she were asking for tips on cake making.
“Sure,” he said, in a voice like a sack of shingle being dragged along a shingle beach. “First, I apologise for my rough intonation,” said Weeko. “I was in a fire.”
“No shi—ack!” said Keef, stopped in his insensitive tracks by a backhanded fist to the groin from Wulf.
“You want to go to The Meadows.”
“Yes,” said Wulf.
“You don’t.” Weeko shook his head. “You really don’t. It’s the worst place in the world. You will be killed before you’re even close to it.”
Gunnhild put her hands on Ottar’s shoulders. For once he didn’t shrug her off. He was staring open-mouthed at Weeko Fang.
“There’s a prophecy,” said Sofi Tornado.
“You can’t help.”
“What’s happening over there?” asked Gunnhild.
“To the west of here are the Shining Mountains. They are far higher than the Black Mountains, so high that you will find deep snow at their summits even in the hottest summer. On the far side of the Shining Mountains is the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of, stretching hundreds of miles west to the Meadows. Throughout that whole desert is destruction and death. The closer to The Meadows you go, the worse it becomes. I got this,” he pointed to his face, “in a firenado.”
“A what?” asked Keef, sounding more excited than might have been seemly.
“A tornado that’s caught on fire. They roar across the desert like giant, spinning, burning snakes on their tails, setting everything ablaze and hurling it up into the sky. Sometimes there are two or three of them, travelling together like a hunting pack. They leave behind them a trail of fiery rain, burned ground and nothing—nothing—alive.”
“Wow,” said Keef, impressed.
“How did you escape it?” asked Paloma.
“I left the others. I’m not proud of that. They weren’t my kin. I hardly knew them, but …” He shook his head. “I ran. The firenado picked me off my feet as I reached the river. It spat me out into the water almost immediately, but I’ll never forget that agony.”
Sassa flicked a bitey looking fly off Wulf’s bare arm. Her near-euphoric mood had cooled considerably.
“The firenados are maybe the worst of the weather,” Weeko continued, “although your standard flame-free tornados, rockslides and flash floods have killed plenty. But the weather isn’t the greatest danger, not by a long shot.”
“What is?” asked Wulf.
“The monsters.”
“We’ve fought monsters,” said Keef.
The two one-eyed men held each other’s gaze for a moment. “Not like these,” said Weeko.
“I bet we fought worse.” Keef twirled Arse Splitter.
“Did any of them fly?”
“Um …”
“Did any have claws that could snip a man in half?”
“Well …”
“Were any of them five hundred, a thousand times the size of a buffalo?”
“Actually, yes, the last lot we fought—”
“Did these ones you fought swell, turn purple and burst, showering a deluge of burning poison for miles around?”
“Not exactly �
�”
“Then you haven’t seen monsters. Not like these. Some mad god is mashing the most dangerous, toughest animals into horrific, disgusting creatures and swelling them up to bizarre sizes. Crabs as big as hills with scorpion tails instead of pincers; huge, hairless bears with tarantula fangs, millipedes as thick as your arm with—”
Weeko broke off to have a coughing fit. Tatinka handed him some water. Even Keef was silent until he’d had a few gulps and could continue.
“The best things you can say about the monsters in the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of is that they’re unstable. The biggest ones don’t last long. They fall apart and, like I said, they burst. But while they’re alive … you just got to hide. And I think they’re living for longer now. The smaller ones certainly don’t die as quickly as they used to. The newest thing when I made it out of there were flocks of flying, man-sized insects with claws for hands. Their screams will melt your bones with terror. They fly down, screeching so loud that people are too scared to fight back, and slaughter a whole village; people and animals, too.”
“Where do the monsters and the weather come from?” asked Wulf.
“The Meadows. There’s something there distorting nature, defiling its laws to make living nightmares.”
“What is it at The Meadows that’s creating all this havoc?” asked Finn. Sassa thought he sounded more serious and grown up than ever before.
“I don’t know. There are rumours. Many say it’s a long-dead warlock queen mourning her child. There may be some truth in that. There is a massive pyramid at The Meadows, the tomb of a queen who died a long time ago. Shortly before this all started, the two largest tribes in the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of—the Warlocks and the Warriors—decided that there was something magical hidden in that tomb. They both wanted it, so they went to war. Whether either of them found it, I don’t know. What I do know is that both of those once proud and numerous tribes are now all but destroyed.
“So I implore you. Do not try to go to The Meadows. Even if you could cross the Shining Mountains—which you can’t because of the squatches—but even if you could you’d be dead within hours.”
“The squatches are our friends,” said Erik.
Weeko looked at Erik like a wife might look at a husband who’s suggested they introduce a couple of squirrels into their love-making routine.
“You’ve been to the Shining Mountains?”
“No …”
“The squatches in the Shining Mountains are cruel and they’re clever. They could tear you apart with their astonishing strength—even your big girl there—but they prefer to use their minds to stop your heart.”
“If they’re clever, can they be reasoned with?” Wulf asked.
“No. They have about as much respect for humans as we have for fish. Would you listen to a fish?”
“If it was talking to me, yes.”
“Okay, bad example. But they have no respect for us. They enjoy killing us, that’s it.”
“How did you get through?”
Weeko sighed. “I made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“If they let me go, I would trick a load of people into going back there and they’d be able to kill more humans.”
“Nice,” said Wulf.
“I didn’t intend to honour the deal when I made it, and I don’t intend to now.”
“I see. Still, squatches or no, we have to cross the Shining Mountains and destroy the force at The Meadows,” said Wulf.
“You might as well try to destroy the sun. Flee now. Head back east and pray that the living nightmare stays west of the Shining Mountains, at least for as long as you live.”
For a long moment, there was silence. The wind in the leaves now sounded like the whispering of monsters, about to burst from the trees and kill them all. Sassa looked at her friends, Wootah and Calnians.
“We should go back,” said Gunnhild. She was still holding Ottar by the shoulders. Freydis was holding his hand. “We cannot take the children into a land like that. There is no shame in knowing the line between bravery and foolishness, and staying the right side of it.”
Wulf looked at Sassa. For once, he did not know what to say. Even Keef was lost for words. Had they come this far to turn back now?
“We have to go to The Meadows,” said Yoki Choppa eventually. Everyone turned to him. “The nightmare that Weeko Fang describes is strengthening. It will cross the Shining Mountains and will spread across the world. All will be killed, human and other animals, unless we act. Ottar the Moaner can defeat the force at The Meadows. He needs us to get him there.”
“But how can this little boy stop such a magic?” pleaded Gunnhild.
“I don’t know,” said Yoki Choppa.
“Tell us what you do know!” demanded Gunnhild.
“I already have.” The warlock looked down.
“How then will we even start?” Gunnhild continued. “The squatches will kill us!” Sassa was glad Gunnhild was speaking up because it saved her from doing so. She didn’t want to take her developing baby near any more monsters, but neither did she want to lose face by saying they should turn back.
“Weeko will lead us over the Shining Mountains,” said Sofi Tornado.
“Did you miss the part about my deal with the squatches?” growled Weeko. “They’re expecting me to return with a group of people so that they can murder them.”
“So that will let us walk right into their territory.”
Deep throat a goat, thought Sassa. Sofi had crossed the line between bravery and foolishness and kept going for a few miles.
“Where they will kill you,” said Weeko.
“We’ll work something out.”
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps. But you will take us,” said Sofi. “We’re the only chance you’ve heard of to stop The Meadows killing everyone, and you need to make amends for fleeing when the others died.”
Weeko held her eye for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
“Er, Sofi,” started Wulf.
“Yup.”
“Is following Weeko the best plan?”
“You have another guide?”
“No.”
“Good. We’ll leave now.”
“No, we won’t,” said Wulf.
“We won’t?” Sofi turned to him. She didn’t put her hand on her axe handle but Sassa could see her fingers twitching.
“We’ve suffered,” said Wulf. “All of us. We’ll have one more night’s rest, then we’ll go.”
“People are dying right now, Wulf. The power from The Meadows is strengthening every moment.”
“So we’ll walk faster after a rest. We need that rest.”
Sofi lifted her chin, then deflated and nodded. “Oh, why not? Tatinka, may we stay one more night?”
“Of course you may. Not least because there is another, more immediate danger that you must face.”
“Oh no,” said Bodil. “What?”
“Beaver Man. He will be waiting for you at the southern edge of Green tribe territory. He is already on his way there with his dagger-tooth cat cavalry.”
“How does he know where we’ll leave your territory?” asked Sassa.
“Probably in the same way that I know he’s coming. But it’s also possible that he’s worked it out. There’s only one good path south from the Black Mountains and you presumably told him where you were headed?”
“Hmmm. And the lizard kings?”
“They are dead. Beasts like that can never live for long, thank Manchinga. The ones you killed would have died within a day or two.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Gunnhild.
Tatinka smiled. “Manchinga sees.”
“Why doesn’t Beaver Man follow us into the Black Mountains?” asked Wulf.
“He fears the mountains.”
“Should we?”
“Klippsta will escort you south. As long as you are with him you are protected. Manchinga also saves.”
“So you say,” Klippsta muttered.
“We’ve been through this, Klippsta,” said Tatinka. “I wouldn’t send you if it was dangerous.”
“Will your people help us defeat Beaver Man?” asked Sofi.
“They are not warriors. However, I will give you weapons which should help. I have five arrows that will pierce Beaver Man’s skin, and you have the world’s best archer.”
Sitsi bristled like a happy cat.
“There’s one more thing,” Tatinka continued. “You have a baby with you. He will not survive your journey. Please will you leave him with us?”
“Sofi?” asked Wulf.
“It does make some sense,” said Gunnhild, trying, Sassa reckoned, not to look desperate to be free from baby care.
“He’s the heir to the Calnian empire,” said Tatinka. “We won’t use him politically, but we will tell him who he is, and perhaps one day he will regain his lands. Or perhaps you’ll all come back here and you’ll help him.”
“He’ll stay here,” said Sofi.
“There are two other young who should stay here, who I will undertake to look after myself,” said Tatinka.
“But Ottar is the prophesy …” said Finn.
“His racoons are not.”
Ottar looked about, open-mouthed and despairing. Hugin and Munin pressed themselves into his feet, yickering. Ottar squatted down and gathered the animals to his chest.
Tatinka walked across to him.
“Ottar, your small friends are young and will not be able to cross the Shining Mountains. You or someone else could carry them, but the racoons will hate it, they may die, and the person carrying them will be dangerously burdened.”
Ottar moaned and shook his head.
“If it was just the mountains, my dearest boy,” Tatinka continued, “it might be worth the risk. However, on the far side of the mountains is the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of. It’s a terrible place for racoons in normal times. As things stand now, they will definitely die. It would be cruel to take them with you. You understand, don’t you?”
