by Mark Bowsher
As he attempted to sit up he felt coarse rope cut into his wrists. He looked around. He was in a large tent hung with lanterns of orange and green and blue and purple. The Goonmallinns sat about on a sea of cushions, drinking their tea. They appeared to be rather intoxicated. They clapped and laughed hysterically as one danced insanely in the middle of their little circle. He could see his pack halfway across the room from him but there was no way he could reach it. He was tied to a post holding up the centre of the tent and a few tugs told him that neither he nor the post were going anywhere anytime soon.
Krish was struck by a horrifying thought. He’d been unconscious. He’d seen the Vulrein while he slept. He shut his eyes to see how close they were. They were on the edge of the plain, sniffing around the rocks where he’d been captured by the Goonmallinns. They showed no signs of moving from their current location although they were certainly excited by him closing his eyes.
Of course! He had no idea where he was so neither did they. The stinking Goonmallinns probably unintentionally smothered his scent as well, although they’d find him eventually, if he kept his eyes shut for long enough. He opened them.
Krish felt bizarrely safe, but maybe it was just the relief of having slept for a short time. Thoughts of the traitorous Balthrir returned to him but instead of dwelling on them he turned his attentions to the Goonmallinns. They hadn’t noticed he was awake so he continued with the plan. Balthrir’s plan… Forget her! He’d carry on with the plan. He watched, to see what he could learn.
The Goonmallinns wore robes of black or dark green which were frayed in places but generally in good condition. Criss-crossing about their robes at various points were lengths of rope holding a number of scuffed, misshapen gold bangles in place, preventing them from jingling noisily as they stalked their prey. Their hooded headdresses similarly featured rope and gold but most now had theirs thrown back. Their skin was lighter than most on Ilir, the colour of milky coffee. They were far from old age but farther from youth. Their hair was thick, dark and tangled, flecked with dry skin. He doubted they’d ever washed it. Their faces were dirty and their teeth black.
Sadly, there was little he could tell from their conversation. He managed to pick up on their names though. The leader was called Boona. Boona was taller and leaner than the others. Through ripped, ragged sleeves Krish saw strong muscles clinging to thin bones.
Then there was Marl, a little more hunched than the others with one unmoving, half-closed, dead-looking eye, partially concealed by crusted lids. Every time she glanced over at him it was as if she had to strain her remaining eye extra hard to take in the slightest detail.
Metta was small and rarely spoke but when she did her shrill cries were so hoarse and foul he felt they could cut through bank vaults. She had the occasional spurt of energy, usually egged on by Blas.
Blas, who was almost as small as Metta, was brimming with energy. Barely a few seconds would pass without her swirling about in a clumsy dance or making strange clucking noises or high cries of excitement.
Halfa (the one he and Bal— that stupid wizard had seen first, who apparently was from another tribe but they’d accepted her for helping to capture him) was a little darker-skinned that the others, and seemed somewhat younger. She was quiet and cautious, her clothes clearly of a different tribe, her wrist less adorned with beads and bangles. She kept her headdress on.
Molran also wore her headdress. She was old and hunched, always rubbing her gnarled old hands together, dry skin falling from her fingers. She spoke even less than Metta but was constantly interjecting with stern but agreeable ‘mmm’s.
Blas was dancing now and Metta was balancing a glass of tea on her nose. The others laughed and cheered.
‘Where you get dis?’ Marl said to Blas, examining the pot of tea with her one fully functioning eye.
‘Wine merchant!’ answered Blas. ‘At da sout’ port. ’Er want pay! I stick ’er!’
They all laughed. Foul, breathless laughter.
‘Mmm, mm,’ added Molran.
‘I stick ’er good! I say, “No, sir. It don’ work like dis. Not for I kind! Goonmallinn take what dey take!” So I stick ’er! ’Er beg for ’er life. “Please!” ’er say. “Please! I got family! Chil-dran!” “What dey got?” I say. ’Er tell I. Dey got a lot! So I go to dey house and I take! And I stick dey too!’
Their laughter was now out of control and every last one of them fell about in hysterics. Blas started telling another story but suddenly Boona spotted Krish.
‘Aaaahhhhh! What us got ’ere? ’Im wake!’
The Goonmallinns crowded around. He was greeted by a panorama of gleeful smiles, their lips cracked, their teeth dark and mottled and their breath foul, stale.
‘Look at ’im!’ Marl licked her lips. ‘’Im good meat! Boy eez good meat!’
‘Hush yer tongue, Marl!’ cried Boona. ‘Yer ulready eat too much!’
‘No!’ Blas chipped in. ‘Dar eez good market for dis! Give ’im meat to a spicer and she spice and smoke ’e. Tree days and ’im taste so good yer’ll be eatin’ nuttin’ but boy for ulways from now on!’
‘Mmm!’ added Molran.
‘Yer no take ’e to no spicer!’ said Metta.
Marl squealed with displeasure. ‘Yer canna waste ’im! ’Im is fresh! Freeee range!’
‘Eez waste takin’ to spicer!’ continued Metta. ‘Give ’e to a witch! She tear ’e up but keep each part alive! Eez best fun! Best fun!’
The Goonmallinns rocked back and forth with laughter.
‘I take ’e ’ead nort’!’
‘I take ’e neck sout’!’
‘One take ’im leg one way and take arm udder way! Tickle foot, ’im cannot scratch!’
The room erupted with hysterics once more. Krish was more awake than he’d ever felt and his brain was buzzing with a thousand mad, desperate plans.
‘I know where to get Myrthali!’ he cried.
This was only met with more laughter.
‘Boy, we ull know where to get Myrthali!’ said Boona. ‘But King Obsendei never gonna give it to we! And we not interested in goin’ nowhere near dat Black Palace of his!’
‘But please! I’ve made a bargain with the King—’
Krish stopped in his tracks. If he told them too much they could take the pearl and the twine, catch the feather of a FireHawk and claim the Myrthali for themselves. The Goonmallinns’ wicked smiles dripped with a thirst to elongate their filthy lives. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself abandoned in the desert to die.
‘Bargain, yer say?’ Boona spoke quietly, creeping towards him with wide eyes.
‘A-and you don’t get to know any more about it until you let me go!’ he added.
Boona bared her rancid teeth in a gleeful grin. She turned to the others and they giggled and clapped their hands. All of them except one, who smiled cautiously and remained relatively still. Boona didn’t notice this and turned straight back to Krish.
‘Mebbe we do take ’e to spicer! Mebbe I am spicer!’ Boona grabbed a wooden bowl full of deep red powder. ‘And I make ’e squeal and den ’im tell us!’
The Goonmallinns cheered and chanted and clapped and jumped about with a terrible joy in their every move. But still there was a dissenter amongst them. Halfa, the outsider, was shrewder than the rest.
‘Aye, yer ruin ’e flavour!’ said Halfa. ‘Feed ’e up for a few days. Nice ’n’ fat! Take ’e to a real spicer. I don’ wanna waste no time on no boy when there is good tea spoilin’! And dancin’ to be done!’
‘She talk right!’ cried Blas.
High-pitched rhythmic squeals from the others and in moments there was music and dancing.
‘Set stones!’ said Boona to Marl. ‘We wake at next nightfall.’
Marl produced a bag full of small stone tablets about the size of dominoes, each one carved with a strange symbol. She carefully laid them out to one side in a circle like a clock face, far from the blur that was Blas. She placed one stone on top of one of
the others and left to rejoin the festivities.
After an hour or so of furious activity they began to collapse onto the cushions one by one. Halfa was the first, Krish noticed. Her fall to the pillows seemed almost choreographed. Soon all was still. The Goonmallinns slept so solidly you’d hardly know they were alive at all. Krish felt as if he was in a gallery amongst a collection of statues.
Only then did Krish notice how piercing the quiet of the desert surrounding them was. As the wind died down and with barely a breath passing the lips of the Goonmallinns, Krish could hear complete silence for the first time in his life. He twisted his body a touch to the left to check that Marl, just in the corner of his eye, was definitely asleep, and the gentle sound the movement produced made him jump. The absolute silence had made him question for a second if he had gone deaf.
Krish tugged at the ropes tied around his wrists. As he struggled he could feel the rope getting tighter. He could see his pack but there was no way he could reach it from here. The distress stone was in the top…
A tiny sound in the endless quiet. He looked over at the circle of stones. The stone that had been placed on top of another was somehow rolling itself over and over until it sat atop the next stone. The deafening hush returned.
Minutes passed.
Then there was a stirring in the silence. A rustle of robes so loud in the noiseless tent. Halfa strode over to Krish and knelt beside him. She held up a flask and without hesitation he opened his mouth and his throat was soothed with cool water.
‘So, dis bargain yer struck wid da King, tell I more…’ Halfa wasn’t bothering to keep her voice down. Krish glanced over to check there were no signs of movement from the others. They were as immobile as rocks.
‘Aye, dey not be gettin’ up any time soon,’ said Halfa. ‘Too much tea, too much dancin’. Dey wake in a couple o’ days. Till den, we talk.’
Krish still had his doubts about telling anyone of his deal with the King. Not that he was convinced that he would honour it anyway.
‘It’s, um… Sorry,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake.’
A short sharp squeal and a shake of the head from his amused inquisitor.
‘Yer’ll not be goin’ into no business tellin’ lies! Yer’ll not make a Shella! Now tell me: what eez dis bargain yer struck?’
Krish knew he wasn’t going anywhere fast so he told her.
When he’d finished, a knowing, almost cunning smile greeted him.
‘Mersha and ullwihr.’
‘Who?’
‘Aye!’ Halfa gave Krish a friendly little backhanded slap on the shoulder. ‘Yer be better at foolin’ than lyin’! Mersha and ullwihr be spices, not peoples! We got plenty o’ spices! We drop a little pinch o’ mersha, little bit o’ ullwihr on fedder, keep it somewhere safe and fire be burnin’ long time. Looong time! Dat keep yer FireHawk fedder alight!’
‘But how do we capture one?’
Another cunning smile.
‘You is already talkin’ like we eez partners! We can be partners but I ’as conditions. One: yer’ll not be seein’ h’exactly ’ow we is capturin’ da FireHawk. Two: I wants tree quarters of da Myrthali—’
‘No! I can’t! I…’ He didn’t want to talk about the devil. Or his Mum. Or why he was really here. The devil had said no bargains or none of the Myrthali would return with him.
‘Well yer will. You ’ave no choice.’
He didn’t and there was no way he could argue.
‘Last ting! What ’appen to you friend?’ Halfa’s hand tightened on her dagger. ‘She part o’ bargain?’
‘She’s… she’s gone.’
‘She gone for now… but she come back…?’
‘No. She’s not coming back. She’s no one.’
‘Ah! No one is wizard!’ Krish failed to hide his shock at Halfa’s perceptiveness. ‘Aye, I sees ’er staff. Others, dey did not see. She come back… we taste wizard.’
‘Really. She’s not coming back.’ Krish hated being so sure. He might never see her again.
Halfa nodded thoughtfully. ‘Dere be a firestorm due in a few days.’
‘How do you know?’
That knowing smile. ‘We know. We catch bird and I take fedder. But you stay ’ere. Don’t yer worry yerself.’ She stroked his head and something about the way she was doing it reminded him of a cat toying with a mouse. ‘We get yer Myrthali for sure.’
CHAPTER 23
THE FIRESTORM
Krish remained awake as Halfa slept amongst the others. He barely even blinked – he had bigger problems than the Vulrein now. If he kept his bargain with Halfa, he could leave Ilir with no Myrthali at all.
The sun had risen, setting the canvas of the tent aglow and turning his surroundings hot and clammy, alleviated occasionally by a gentle breeze through the gaps in the fastened entrance. Hours passed. The stones in their little clock-like circle continued to move into new positions every now and then. The sun sank into darkness once more. The chill of night crept into the tent. One of the stones found its way into the centre of the circle and began to glow red. It emitted a high, almost serene noise, like the sound of someone running their wetted finger around the rim of a wine glass.
The Goonmallinns began to stir grumpily. Marl stumbled across the room and kicked the stones. The stone in the centre instantly became silent and ceased to glow. They began to build a fire for their pot, and when it was ready they shared a little of their bitter broth with him. Then a sound somewhere between thunder and a low, muffled roar made them empty their bowls back into the pot, extinguish the fire and begin to pack with furious speed.
‘Dis time we gonna get one!’ said Boona. ‘Yer mark my words!’
‘I’ll knock boy out.’ Halfa was marching towards him. ‘Don’t want ’e tryin’ to escape while we gone.’ She leant beside him, her head by his ear, opened her mouth, but she never got to speak. He guessed she was going to fake knocking him out but Boona cut in.
‘Yer’ll be doin’ no such ting! We need him wrigglin’! Dey like ’em wrigglin’!’
‘What yer sayin’, Boona?’ asked Halfa.
‘In your tribe mebbe dey use a different way but ’ere we find not’ing better than live bait!’
And now it was Halfa’s turn to be given no choice. Blas stepped in, cut Krish’s bonds and dragged him across the room. He passed his pack and thought quickly. He struggled and Blas lost her grip. He fell onto the pack, knocking it over. He could see it! The little red rock – the distress stone. Sitting on top of some parcels of shredded root. If he could just… But Blas grabbed him roughly and hauled him outside to the horses, holding both of his wrists together behind his back.
Blas retied his bonds and slung him over the back of her horse, treating him no different to any of the sacks she then flung over the backs of the other horses. Marl tied his ankles to a stirrup on one side of the saddle and his wrists to the strap on the other side. When the others weren’t watching, Halfa kindly gave him a swig of water from her flask and then very unkindly tied some sacking over his head.
‘No peekin’!’
*
The journey through the mountain pass was short but more than long enough for Krish’s liking. The backbone of the horse cut into his middle and with every bump he found his head was loose enough to fly up and then bang against the horse’s muscular thigh. He could see very little, although through the sacking he could just make out the glow of the lamps the Goonmallinns carried, illuminating the rough ground below them and the craggy rock face to one side. When he straightened his spine for a few moments he managed to make out the hazy void on the opposite side of the path where the light fell into nothingness. They must be high above the desert now, he thought; he could no longer feel grains of sand caught in the wind, which was much stronger up here.
That smell reached his nostrils again, the odour he’d detected when he’d first arrived in the Pale Hunting Grounds. Then he remembered… Several years ago they’d had a family barbecue. His Dad and Uncle
Ravi had been in charge. They were hopeless. Everything was burnt on the outside and raw on the inside. Uncle Ravi had ended the afternoon by pouring a glass of water on the fire and the coals had sizzled noisily and spat a cloud of smoke back at him. After dark, the adults in a circle of camping chairs in the garden talking quietly and laughing about ‘grown-up stuff’, Krish had finally given up and headed to bed. As he passed the barbecue he saw the coals were still hot, sitting in a pool of slowly evaporating water. That was what he could smell: dampened smoke.
After some time there was relative quiet. There was the infrequent shuffle of impatient hooves and the howl of the wind, but it was clear that his captors’ attention was on the silent sky. Minutes passed as if they were hours and Krish’s ears tuned into a distant rumbling. Then a thunderous roar reverberated around them. Krish felt the reins tense in front of him, the horse turning slightly to the right and causing the sacking to fall away a little. He could just make out the shadowy landscape, illuminated somewhat by the light of Mother and Sons. Tall jagged rocks and narrow valleys below them. He looked ahead to see Halfa in the saddle in front of him staring back.
‘Enjoy da view,’ said Boona. ‘You be one of der last to see it.’ Before he could think much on these words he found the sacking pulled over his face by Halfa.
‘Dere!’ came a cry seconds later. He looked about, desperately trying to make out the something the Goonmallinns were focusing all their attention on. And then he saw it. A short line of flame shining brightly enough in the night sky to be seen through the sacking. He watched closely as the blur of light above them travelled soundlessly across the sleeping world. A high, shrill cry then reached his ears and he realised that the bird must be miles away. And it really must be bright for him to be able to see it from here. The flapping of great wings. How big was it? That great heavy flapping suggested something bigger than any bird on his world. How on earth, no, how on Ilir would they get anywhere near a creature that size? thought Krish.
‘Now…?’ said Marl.
