The Tattooed Tribes

by Bev Allen

  The little girl dashed her hand over her eyes. “You’ve not listened to anything I’ve told you.”

  There was more she would have liked to have said, but Wainwright gave a sharp intake of breath and turned an odd colour. Stacey pulled a small but efficient first aid kit from her pack and went to work on his wound. She sprayed sealer over the hole, rebound it and then jabbed a needle full of something in his arm.

  She turned to Jon slipping in and out of consciousness and jabbed him as well.

  “I’ve got enough for another shot each,” she told Lucien.

  “If you let me have one of the rifles we can increase our fire power,” Dr Riddett said. “I’m fairly sure … Vlic? ... is as good with a bow as he is with a rifle.”

  Lucien made a decision.

  “Vlic, what are you better with, a bow or a rifle?”

  Vlic looked regretfully at Jon’s weapon. “A bow,” he admitted and without comment or argument handed the rifle to Dr Riddett.

  She looked both relieved and surprised.

  “I’ll prove you can trust me,” she promised.

  “You do that,” Lucien replied, grimly. “Now we need to keep quiet; dawn is here.”

  The two boys set to guard each end of the ledge, their weapons ready, and they began the waiting.

  Chapter 19

  The sun rose higher as the morning progressed, but still there were no sounds to indicate a search was underway. It grew warm under the canopy of vegetation, for it stopped any breeze that might have cooled the air around them.

  Sweat attracted small biting flies that crawled down necks and up sleeves.

  Wainwright had dropped into state of semi-slumber. He was aware of his surroundings and of his daughter, but he was too weak to move.

  Jon was already feverish, slipping into and out of rational thought, one minute rejecting the water Stacey tried to give him, the next drinking it eagerly.

  “He’s hurt somewhere inside,” she told an increasingly worried Lucien.

  Anxious as he was, he had other things to concern him as well. He had expected the pursuit to begin soon after dawn and was painfully aware of how much evidence of their flight and trail they had left.

  “Why did we leave the canoes?” Dr Riddett asked, just as Lucien began to wonder if Jon might not have been right on the subject.

  “The stream is choked with reed,” Brigedh told her. “When they brought me here, they spent more time cutting than paddling. It will have grown back by now. If we’d gone that way, they could’ve come at us from both banks.”

  Dr Riddett considered this. “Instead we’re trapped under a tree, gods help us,” she said with a small cynical laugh. “In fact, gods are probably our only hope.”

  With that she retired to her watch point at one end of the shelf.

  “Stupid bitch,” Lucien muttered, but the idea took a hold. “Do you have a god to pray to?” he asked Vlic.

  Vlic looked awkward and it was Brigedh who replied, “He can’t tell you, you aren’t one of The People. Neither can I, but I’ll ask for some help.”

  She pulled a length of red cord from a deep pocket in her skirt and began to knot it in a complex series of patterns. Stacey caught the flash of red and to Lucien’s amazement also produced scarlet twine and began to make knots in it.

  “Hell, I’ve got a lot to learn,” Lucien muttered to himself, and went to check on Jon. “You’d better get well,” he whispered. “I need you.”

  Jon was apparently in one of his lucid phases, because he gripped Lucien’s hand and said, “Doing my best, son.”

  The morning was well advanced when there was a sound in the distance. At first Lucien thought it was drums, but the tone was wrong.

  “Thank you!” Brigedh said, apparently to no-one. “Listen!”

  The sound came again.

  “Thunder!” Vlic exclaimed.

  “Rain!” Lucien added. “It’ll wash away any sign.”

  “It’ll also wake them up,” Stacey pointed out.

  “And delay my father,” Vlic added.

  The overhanging branches and vines provided them with excellent shelter, but some of the downpour found the odd hole and there was the occasional puddle on their ledge. The air was thick with water and soon they were all damp, their clothes sticking to them unpleasantly- the heat had only reduced a little.

  Vlic pulled a long face as his bow string became softer, but the rifles and the ammunition remained safe, dry and useable, and they were able to drain the canteens dry and refill them.

  Time dragged on, but apparently whoever was in charge back at the camp was having difficulty raising enthusiasm for a hunt in men with monumental hangovers. Around mid-afternoon Vlic caught Lucien’s arm and pointed to the valley floor.

  A party of three tried to make their way along the boggy river bottom. They stopped a couple of times to argue over something and eventually passed the hiding place and on out of sight.

  Dr Riddett drew breath to say something, but Brigedh put her hand firmly over her mouth and above them on the ridge they heard the sound of voices.

  At first they were too far away to make out words. The listeners strained every ear for a hint of where the speakers were, and were nearly startled into exclamation when a voice right above them said, “Wait. I need to piss.”

  A jet of steaming liquid arched out over their roof down to the valley floor.

  “Are you sure none of the men can find a trace of sign?” Frain said.

  “Not after they left the clearing,” Eldrien replied. “There were three of them, maybe four, Douwe wasn’t sure.”

  “Is he your best tracker?”

  “No, that would be Tiede.”

  The stream of urine stopped. “Then get Tiede looking!”

  “I can’t. He got a knife in the guts last night.”

  Tim Frain added more of his bodily fluids to the surroundings by spitting copiously over the ridge.

  “I brought enough dust for everyone.”

  “There is never enough dust, Frain sakeman.”

  “Well, you won’t be getting more,” Frain replied. “Not unless you find Harabin and whoever got him out.”

  There was a long silence at this, long enough for the listeners to begin to think about relaxing, but then Eldrien spoke again.

  “You would do well to remember, Frain sakeman, that you are not the only supplier of dust.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I was only speaking a truth. Let’s get back to the camp. Wherever they went, it was not this way.”

  There was a rustling sound and some earth came trickling down between the leaves. In the shadows Lucien raised his rifle to his shoulder, signalling to the others to remain as they were.

  From above them there came a long, melodic call, which was answered from further up the valley. Eventually there was the sound of greetings being exchanged and it was obvious the earlier hurting party had been called back.

  The last thing heard was the distant sound of Frain’s voice raised in ire, “I told you, I’ll get you more! Now shut the fuck up.”

  No-one on the ledge moved or made a sound for a long time. Then Vlic, whose hearing was acute, relaxed and nodded to the others.

  “Gone,” he whispered.

  Lucien went to check on Jon, he was awake, but his eyes were little more than slits in the swollen, battered mass that was his face.

  “You’re doing well,” he reassured Lucien.

  “Maybe,” Lucien agreed. “Do you need another shot?”

  Jon turned a weary head towards Wainwright. Stacey was bathing his head with a damp cloth torn from a spare shirt. He looked feverish and was obviously in a great deal of pain.

  “Save it for him,” Jon replied. “I’ll be fine.”

  It rained again late in the afternoon, giving them a second chance to drink their fill and replenish the canteens. It continued to shower until the sun began to sink and long shadows filled the valley.

  There was comfor
t in knowing there was no chance of the hunters finding them under cover of night, but it was daunting to face the long hours of darkness without the comfort of heat or light, and nothing to fill their hungry bellies.

  It stopped raining sometime during the dark hours, but the damp and the chill had done its worst. Lucien and Vlic rubbed heat into their numb arms and legs, while Brigedh worked on the cramp in Stacey’s leg. She had been kneeling by her father all night long, doing her best to keep him alive.

  One glance told Lucien she might be fighting a losing battle, but he did not say anything. He and Dr Riddett’s eyes met briefly and he thought he might have seen remorse there, but he had no time or inclination to consider the matter.

  Jon, younger and fitter, had come through the darkness in a better condition, but was far from well and his broken ribs caused him a lot of pain.

  “Try not to move,” Lucien advised.

  “Believe me,” Jon replied. “I’m trying. Watch yourself today, son. It’s been a bit too easy until now. I’ve a feeling it’s going to get harder.”

  Lucien nodded and moved over to Vlic’s side.

  “I hoped dad would be here by now,” Vlic admitted.

  “Me, too,” Lucien replied. “Jon thinks we’ve been lucky so far.”

  The sun rose higher and higher into the sky and the vegetation began to steam in the heat. Under the canopy the temperature rose and sweat poured down their faces.

  Wainwright, already heated by a low fever, became more and more restless, tossing and turning until his wound opened again and blood stained what was left of his shirt and bandage.

  Jon was also suffering, but he was still.

  “We need more water,” Stacey whispered, coming over from her place by her father. “Dad is …”

  She stopped as Lucien put a finger to his lips, instantly quiet, straining to hear what made Lucien alert. Vlic cupped his ear and then signalled up.

  The sound came from the ridge above them, someone was there humming to himself as he went. There was no melody, just the steady drone of someone who may once have known the words and possibly even the tune, but can no longer quite remember how it went. Had he been asked, Lucien would have said the hummer was a contented drunk.

  He paused and there was a thump and a grunt as if he had fallen. Then there was a small avalanche of earth, stones and leaf litter; whoever he was, he was coming down the slope and not trying to hide his descent.

  For one glorious moment Lucien wondered if it was Iesgood, but there was a curse followed by a high-pitched giggle, and hope died.

  They sank deeper into their hole, pushing themselves as far back as possible. Lucien could hear Dr Riddett’s breathing, short and shuddering; he reached out and took one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  There was another curse and then one of the Niifliinling passed them, half sliding, and half tumbling to the bottom.

  He had a canteen in one hand and was obviously in search of water, but he lay by the stream for a while giggling and struggling to rise.

  Lucien recognised the signs of dust; the man had taken enough to be only partly in control, but not enough to conveniently fall and drown himself in the water.

  He got to his feet and scrambled around on the bank for a while, slipping and sliding on the wet vegetation. He finally picked his way, alternatively cursing and giggling, over the soft ground until he found somewhere to kneel and fill his canteen.

  When it was full enough to satisfy him, he stumbled to his feet. He swayed for a second or two before turning. The momentum made him lean backwards and as he did so he looked straight up and his eyes went immediately to their hiding place and he saw everything under the canopy.

  He seemed surprised for a second, swaying back and forth as he tried to get his balance and allow his brain to work out what his eyes were seeing.

  Suddenly a wide grin spread over his face and he opened his mouth to let out a triumphant whooping yell.

  The sound never left his mouth.

  Lucien shot him clean in the face; he fell backwards into the river and laid there, a gaping hole in his forehead, blood flowing from the exit wound in the back of his head. All around him the water began to colour scarlet.

  Lucien looked down at him dispassionately and then he vomited up what little there was in his stomach.

  Turning to Stacey and Vlic he said, “Now we fight!”

  The sound of the rifle brought a search party fairly quickly and it did not take them long to find the body in the water. There were exclamations of anger and shock, but there was no co-ordinated search or even an attempt at one.

  Finally Frain’s voice was heard. “Shut up, you fools. They’re here somewhere. Find them!”

  Without concise orders, there was a lot of milling around and people telling other people what to do and being ignored.

  Finally, for some strange drug-induced reason, they decided to plunge off into the deep woods behind the ridge. There was a great deal of crashing around, but no-one thought to investigate the overhang or even to glance in its direction.

  Inside the defenders held their breath and gripped their weapons tightly.

  Dr Riddett was trembling, but she held her rifle ready in her lap and shut her eyes. Her lips moved in silent prayer and to everyone’s surprise Brigedh took one of her hands and held it, while in the other she worked the red cord through her fingers.

  After what seemed like hours voices again came from above them.

  “We couldn’t find a trace of them,” someone said. “They must have gone along the valley.”

  “Then get the hell down there and look!” Frain ordered.

  There was a crash on the top of the overhang and the body of a tribesman flew passed them and tumbled down the slope and into the water, landing close to the body.

  He clambered to his feet, face twisted in rage, but as he turned to face Frain he looked up as his dead fellow had and he saw them.

  “Here!” he shouted and pointed, but it was the last thing he ever said, as an arrow shaft bloomed in his chest. He looked down at it in surprise; then at Vlic and then he collapsed in a boneless heap.

  There was a commotion of shouting and confusion above, but then everything went silent and Lucien braced himself.

  “Be ready,” he whispered to Dr Riddett. “Both of us together, on my word.”

  There was a rustling above them and a great many water droplets and bits of leaf and twig dropped on them; someone was trying to climb down from above.

  The vine screen sagged under the weight, bending the mass of foliage in upon them, making it difficult to raise the weapons.

  Briefly a savagely grinning face appeared through a gap in the twisted mass of branches and then an axe began to attack the growth. At the other end a second one began to hack and chop.

  “Now!” Lucien said and both rifles exploded, deafening in the confined space.

  There was a scream of pain and the sound of someone scrambling back up the bank from one end, but at the other end the overhang suddenly sagged even further, something heavy was caught there and not moving. Slowly a single drop of blood appeared and dripped onto Eric Wainwright’s feet, then another and another. The steady sound of it dropping and splashing seemed to fill the whole space, but there was no movement from the source.

  Evandne Riddett went green.

  “God forgive me,” she muttered, and tears ran down her face. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can!” Brigedh said firmly. “Cos if you don’t, they’ll hurt you the way they hurt my mummy.”

  The doctor stared at the child in bewilderment for a moment; then her jaw set with terrible resolve and she took a firmer grip on her rifle.

  Above them they could hear the sound of angry voices, but they were staying well back from the edge. Obviously they were a little more careful and that suited Lucien.

  Stacey borrowed his war club and pushed it up through the vines, seeing if she could dislodge the body pulling
their cover down. At first she made no impression, but gradually she began to move it slightly and as gravity took hold, there was a sudden rush and a body fell headlong into the valley. If it had been alive when it started its journey, it certainly was not when it landed.

  The canopy shot back up to something near its original position, giving them more space to ready their defence. It seemed unlikely another attempt to use it as a platform would be tried, so they were all startled when something weighty struck their roof again.

  Lucien and Vlic both swore violently and Lucien’s finger tightened on the trigger, but whatever it was had bounced off and was rolling on down the slope to the water.

  It was a large rock and it was followed by a succession of others. They made some of the branches groan and many twigs and leaves cascade down on the little group, but they did not break the thick growth and they did not penetrate its cover either, but did create a series of holes and through these it was possible to get glimpses of what was happening above.

  Eventually the rocks stopped and there was the now familiar sound of someone climbing down to investigate. At Lucien’s silent signal they allowed him to get close.

  The investigator was wary, stopping to listen for hint of movement or noise, but they remained silent, even Eric Wainwright, now conscious, slowed his breathing and waited.

  Jon watched the action from his corner, his face expressionless, but his gaze alert.

  Slowly, lulled into a false sense of security the man swung himself over the edge and dangled there for a second or two trying to find a foothold.

  He never found it, Stacey’s arrow slammed into his throat and with a terrible gurgling sound he fell to join his fellows in the water below.

  “They’ll be more cautious after this,” Jon remarked with some satisfaction.

  “I hope they’re slow learners!” Brigedh said, her little face taut with anger and fear.

  For reasons he could not quite understand, Lucien reached over, took her hands and kissed her palms.

  “Help’s coming, little sister, and you will have your vengeance.”

  She gazed at him for a second, her eyes liquid with tears; then she hugged him fiercely and went back to knotting her red cord.