Firesong

by William Nicholson

  Sisi went limp in his arms. He held her weight, not wanting to cause alarm among the others. He looked towards them to see if any had been watching, and had witnessed the kiss. Everyone was up and preparing to continue the march. If they had seen, they were not showing it now.

  Sisi awoke, in confusion.

  ‘What happened?’

  She remembered, and blushed a deep red.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘It wasn’t you,’ said Bowman quickly. ‘Something got into you. It made you do things.’

  ‘The stinging insect?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did it make me drunk?’

  ‘Yes. In a way.’

  Sisi looked down, ashamed.

  ‘It made me kiss you, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s alright. It wasn’t you.’

  Now the horses were being harnessed to the wagon, and the people were moving to their places in the march.

  ‘Did it get into you too?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you still kissed me.’

  ‘I needed to hold you close. To get it out.’

  ‘Of course. To get it out.’

  There were several curious glances directed at them as they returned to the others, and Bowman realised they had been seen. He would have to explain.

  ‘The stinging insect is still with us,’ he said. ‘I’ve just taken it out of Sisi.’

  ‘My baby! Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes, Lunki, I’m fine.’

  ‘Be on your guard!’

  ‘To your places,’ called Hanno. ‘Lookouts, to your posts. We have an hour of daylight yet.’

  The march set off once more.

  Bowman marched in the middle of the column, and listened for the return of that telltale whining buzz. He heard nothing, and none of his companions were acting strangely. As the immediate danger faded, the memory of Sisi’s kiss returned, and troubled him. He told himself it had not been her who had kissed him, but the thing that had possessed her: but it had felt like her, like the most intimate part of her.

  There came a patter of feet behind him, and turning, he saw Kestrel running up to join him. He blushed, and feeling the blush, told himself it was because he should have thought to reassure Kestrel about Sisi.

  ‘She’ll be alright,’ he told her. ‘I got it out of her.’

  Kestrel looked at him curiously.

  ‘Will it come back?’

  ‘Yes, probably, but I can’t tell where. I’ve never even seen it. It’s as if it doesn’t exist until it stings someone. And then it’s like it’s a part of them.’

  ‘I saw how it made Sisi drunk.’

  ‘I had to touch her. To get it out.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You had to touch her.’

  Neither of them called it a kiss. The word hung in the air between them, unspoken. There had never before been anything they hadn’t been able to say. Bowman felt his sister’s silence, and it made him miserable.

  ‘Something strange happened –’

  ‘Bandits!’

  Mumpo’s urgent cry from the ridge shattered the private moment. Bowman span round just as there came a rumbling sound ahead, and what seemed to be half the hillside came sliding down, to crash into the riverbed in a cloud of fragments and dust.

  ‘Halt!’ cried Hanno. ‘To your weapons!’

  Bowman and Kestrel ran back to the wagon. A second grinding roar, this time behind them: a second rock fall now cut off their retreat. They were boxed in.

  ‘Mumpo! Tanner! Come down!’

  The lookouts came scrambling down the slopes to join the rest of the marchers, who were frantically taking out swords, hay-forks, and lengths of firewood, with which to defend themselves.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘A dozen. Maybe more.’

  Within moments they were able to count for themselves. A figure appeared on the west ridge, tall, lean, and seemingly faceless; to be joined by another, then by three more. They stood looking down in silence, silhouetted against the white winter sky. They wore many layers of clothing, of many different kinds, like refugees who scavenge where they can. The loose garments were cinched at the waist and above the elbows and knees with ties of fabric. Round the shoulders and neck, round the face and head, each one had wound a long scarf, so that only the eyes remained uncovered.

  ‘Bandits, sure enough,’ said Hanno.

  More and more were showing themselves along the ridges that walled the Manth people in. Bowman counted thirteen on the west side, and another eight on the east. They seemed not to be armed.

  ‘They don’t have swords,’ he said low to his father. ‘I think we can match them.’

  But even as he spoke, one of the masked men drew a cord from his belt, and stooping, picked up a stone from the ground.

  ‘Sling shots!’ cried Rollo Shim.

  The bandit swung the cord in rapid circles over his head, hissing through the air, building up speed at its weighted end. Then with a flick of the hand, he released the stone. It shot down into the valley and hit one of Creoth’s cows on the side of its head, with such force that the beast fell dead without a sound. The Manth people were struck with terror. Creoth cried out, and ran to the side of the lifeless animal.

  ‘Cherub! My Cherub!’

  All along the ridges the bandits could now be seen to be holding sling shots at the ready. They neither moved nor spoke. Their posture of readiness said all that was needed.

  Hanno made a rapid calculation. The bandits were above them on both sides. The horses and cows could not scramble over the steep landslides. They must fight or give in. If they fought, they could inflict damage on the bandits, but many of his people would fall as the cow had fallen.

  ‘Lay down your weapons,’ he said to the marchers.

  He called to the one who had used his sling shot to such great effect, who he presumed to be the leader.

  ‘We are Manth people! We mean you no harm! What do you want from us?’

  The bandits stared back in silence.

  ‘Do you want our cows and our horses? We have nothing else.’

  The bandit leader signed to two of his men. At once they jumped over the ridge, and pushing small rock-slides before them, came skidding down to the valley floor. The rest of the bandits raised their slings, to show their readiness to strike should their companions come under attack.

  ‘Don’t move!’ Hanno called to his frightened people. ‘Stay still, until we know what they want.’

  The two scarfed bandits now came among them, eyes glittering, and scanned the motionless marchers. One of them pointed to Kestrel, then to Sarel Amos. His companion took both by the arms and roped their wrists.

  Mumpo growled a deep growl of rage.

  ‘Don’t move, Mumpo!’ hissed Hanno.

  He saw, and understood that they would have to fight after all, whatever the cost: but he wanted to give his people their best chance. He looked round, to calculate how many of them could find cover beneath the wagon. Even so slight a movement of his head was enough to signal his intention to the keen-eyed bandit leader above, and his sling whirred. Bowman saw the stone leave the sling and hurtle towards his father. At once he reached out with his mind to shield him, and himself rocked under the stone’s impact, sending it glancing harmlessly to one side. Its force shocked him. He had enough strength to deflect a single shot, but he knew that if all the bandits were to strike at once he would be helpless.

  The bandit leader, surprised that he had missed, was already reloading his sling.

  ‘Bo,’ said Hanno, ‘do we have a chance?’

  ‘No. They’ll kill us all.’

  As he spoke, one of the bandits on the valley floor was roping Ashar Warmish. Her father Harman Warmish drew his knife.

  ‘Harman! Don’t!’

  A snap, a crack, and Harman crumpled to the ground, his skull smashed. Bowman gasped aloud. It had happened too fast, he had caught the flick of the s
ling too late.

  Now for the first time the bandit leader spoke, calling down into the valley in a harsh voice.

  ‘Must we kill every man among you? We’ve done it before.’

  Harman Warmish lay unmoving on the ground, the blood bubbling from his head. His wife sobbed, but did not move. The bandit holding young Ashar Warmish pulled her, now limp and unresisting, to join Kestrel and Sarel. After her they picked out Seer Such, and Red Mimilith, and Sisi: all the girls who were no longer children, but were not yet mothers; though Ashar was barely twelve years old.

  Kestrel allowed herself to be roped and led aside, because she understood exactly what danger they were in, even before the killing of Ashar’s father. Bowman was speaking to her.

  Don’t resist. Not yet.

  Sisi too understood that she had no choice. When her turn came she brushed the bandit’s hand away with contempt, and walked of her own free will, head held high, to join the shivering group. Lunki tried to go with her, but the scarfed bandit pushed her back.

  When the six girls were all roped together in a chain, the bandits indicated that they were to climb the slope. Their mothers and fathers began to groan, so that Hanno had to command them.

  ‘Don’t move! Our duty is to live!’

  It was a pitiful sight to watch, the manacled girls half-scrambling, half-pulled up the slope, dragged by the rope from above, slithering to their knees, kicking for a foothold on the loose scree. But then it was done, and the bandits on the eastern ridge were already loping away.

  ‘Don’t try to follow us!’ called the bandit leader. ‘We go into the labyrinth. You’ll never find us, and you’ll never find your way out again. We wish you no harm. Take this warning, and go on your way.’

  He gave a sign, and the roped girls were led away. Mumpo watched, groaning under his breath, his whole body shaking with controlled rage.

  ‘I wish you harm!’ he said.

  ‘Don’t, Mumpo!’ said Hanno. ‘You’re no use to us dead.’

  Bowman called silently to Kestrel.

  I’ll find you. We can’t do anything yet. But I’ll find you.

  One by one the bandits on the ridge slipped away, leaving only the gaunt threatening figure of the bandit leader. Then suddenly he turned and was gone.

  At once Mumpo and Bowman, Tanner Amos and the Shim brothers, raced for the western slope. It was far harder to climb than they had supposed, watching the sure-footed bandits. Again and again their scrambling feet set off rock slides, which carried away the ground beneath them and sent those behind tumbling back down. Mumpo fell twice, and then took the entire hill at a run, hurling himself to the top by sheer force. The others, scrambling up behind him, called out to him.

  ‘Do you see them?’

  ‘No,’ said Mumpo, standing on the ridge where the bandits had stood, looking west.

  One by one the others joined him, and understood why he had fallen silent. From the ridge to the far off western horizon the land was riven by a maze of deep cracks. Here and there the jagged fissures met, or crossed each other, in a crazy network that extended for miles. The cracks varied in depth, some no deeper than a man, some seeming bottomless. From the surface they all looked the same: shadowy slits without any distinctive markings, without any visible plant life, without the marks of human habitation. The bandits and their captives had vanished into the labyrinth leaving not even a trail of footsteps on the hard windswept plains.

  Bowman closed his eyes and turned his face to the west. He was tracking Kestrel by other means.

  ‘They’ve not gone far,’ he said. ‘They’re moving fast. But I can find them.’

  4

  Walking the storm

  Kestrel felt the tug-tug-tug of the rope on her wrists as she followed the bandits down the cracks of the labyrinth. She hated them for what they were doing to her, but she also hated to be dragged like a roped calf, so she did her best to keep up with their jogging pace. Behind her she felt the tug of the rope that was pulling Sisi along, and behind Sisi the other girls, all strung like pendants on the same twitching string. When one stumbled all of them were jerked back a pace, and then lunging forward again, the stumbler was dragged back to full speed. Behind the chain of girls came the rest of the scarfed bandits, in silence but for the pounding of their running feet.

  The rock walls forked before them, and they were led to the right; and then another fork, and a turn to the left; turn after turn, until there was no way of knowing which path they had taken. The cracks became deeper, the rock walls higher as they went: now the slot of sky seemed frighteningly far away overhead: but deep though they were into the ground, here and there their path ran alongside an even deeper crack, that seemed to fall away into bottomless darkness.

  After an hour or so they reached a space where several cracks intersected, and here the bandit leader called a brief stop. The girls were untied, and the bandits removed the scarves from their faces; all but one, who kept silent, and remained unobtrusively at the back. Kestrel and Sisi and the others rubbed their wrists where the ropes had chafed them, and waited in fear to learn what was to happen to them.

  The bandit leader too removed his covering scarf. He was an older man than they had expected, fifty or more, with greying hair and a deeply-lined face.

  ‘I am Barra,’ he said. ‘I am the father of the klin. You are now my daughters.’

  ‘We have fathers of our own,’ said Kestrel.

  ‘Where are they now?’ said Barra, fixing her with his hard eyes. Kestrel stared back, not flinching before his gaze, but saying nothing more.

  ‘You think you will run away,’ said the bandit leader, moving his eyes to look at each one of them in turn. ‘If you do so, you will be lost in the labyrinth. You will wander the rocky passages until you’re too weak to go on. You’ll lie down to rest.’

  He felt in an inner pocket, and drew out a strip of dried meat. He looked up at the sky far overhead, and then threw the meat onto the rock floor a few paces away.

  ‘You’ll grow weaker. You won’t be able to move. No one will find you.’

  There came a sudden blur of wings, and a great bird flashed down out of the sky, swooped on the strip of meat, and carried it away.

  ‘But the scavenger birds will find you. They eat the flesh from starving animals while the animals are still alive.’

  He saw the terror on the young faces before him, and nodded, satisfied.

  ‘Stay with us, and you’ll be fed, and protected.’

  ‘What do you want with us?’ asked Sisi.

  ‘We are a warrior klin,’ he replied. ‘Young men join us, because we are strong. Young men need wives.’

  The leader indicated the bandits on either side. Kestrel looked, and saw for the first time that they were indeed young, many of them even younger than she was herself.

  ‘Are your young men so hated that they must take their wives by force?’ she asked.

  Barra’s hard eyes locked onto Kestrel’s once more.

  ‘Hated, yes. And feared. As it’s right that they should be.’

  The intensity in that lined and weathered face scared Kestrel. He went on in a more controlled voice.

  ‘The world is at war. Cities burn, people starve. Scavengers roam the countryside, taking what they can. The strong prey on the weak. These are dark, brutal times. You think we choose to live like rats in cracks in the ground? You think we choose to come courting with slingshots, killing for our brides? That is the world today! Our klin survives because we have no pity. Your klin has lost you because they’re weaker than us. You belong to the Barra klin now.’

  ‘And if we refuse?’

  ‘Go. Go now. Leave our protection, and die.’

  There was a silence. Kestrel looked from Sisi to Sarel Amos, to Red Mimilith and Seer Such and little Ashar Warmish. No one spoke. No one moved. The bandit leader was content.

  ‘So we understand each other,’ he said. ‘When we get to our settlement, you will each be given a husband. Be good to
him, and he will treat you well.’

  He gestured to his men, and the ones in front set off once more down the endless passages. Kestrel and the other Manth girls followed. The bandit leader and the rest of his men came behind.

  The atmosphere had changed. Kestrel became aware that the men were staring at them as they loped along, discussing them among themselves. From time to time they even tried to catch their eyes, and smile. The girls looked ahead or down, avoiding all contact. They caught fragments of conversation between the young bandits, and realised that already they were being compared and quarrelled over. Shortly two of the bandits started jostling and shoving each other, evidently squaring up for a fight to settle who was to get the preferred bride.

  ‘Stop that!’ cried Barra.

  The jostling stopped at once.

  ‘The brides will be chosen according to the way of the klin.’

  The journey continued in silence, but for the patter of their feet over the rock floor. By now they had come so far down so many twists and forks in the labyrinth that Kestrel wondered if Bowman would be able to follow after all. Also they were deep in rock fissures, which would make it harder for him to sense her presence. Kestrel knew her brother would keep searching until he found them, but she began to realise the search could take many days. Somehow she and the others must survive until then.

  The line of bandits, with the captive girls, now ran in single file along a curving ledge. To one side the rock face rose up a hundred feet, to the strip of paling sky above; on the other, the fissure fell away in a vertical drop, that vanished into contrasting darkness. Afraid of the drop, the girls pressed themselves to the rock wall, and found that it was wet. Thin threads of water were trickling down it, and finding grooves and runnels in the ledge, and trickling on down the falling rock face. Shortly this ledge brought them to a triple fork. They took the left-hand way. Here the path ran once again between high walls on either side. The walls slanted, becoming narrower as they rose, so that only a thin slit admitted the daylight above. Soon even this slit closed, and they found themselves walking on in a darkness broken only by the dim glow of light growing ever fainter behind them.