by Oisin McGann
Mirkrin wanted desperately to go to Ceeanna’s aid, but he was now on his own against the skacks. Turning his back on his friend, he flew circles above the animals, dodging left and right, infuriating them, his shoulders aching, his back and chest ready to cramp.
Westram was satisfied with his damage of the controls, but there was still the generator’s engine. He could see the fuel tank down on the side of the vehicle. If he could reach the cap … He pulled a tinderbox from his pack. He heard the metal slap of a chain and turned to see a skack advancing along the top of the truck towards him. He hurled the last of the acid at it, and then threw the bottle, making it stumble backwards off the roof. Another vaulted up to take its place. With Ceeanna gone, Mirkrin was losing ground to the beasts. He swooped in and delivered a kick to the skack’s ribs. It staggered sideways and, finding nothing on the smooth metal to grip, slipped down the curved side of the generator to the ground below.
Westram turned his attention back to the fuel cap of the engine. He could just reach it. His fingertips touched the knurled disc. A serrated claw slammed into his forearm and dragged it downwards. He slipped off the top of the generator and into the clutches of a snarling skack. Mirkrin caught his foot and hauled upwards, but the skack had the better grip and was not about to let go. Westram screamed and thrashed wildly as the animal’s jaws bit into his shoulder and held on. With his teeth clenched and every muscle straining to its limits, Mirkrin heaved his friend upwards.
Another skack leapt at them and got a grip on the first one’s leg, and Mirkrin was lost. The weight dragged them all to the ground and he kicked desperately at the animals that came at him. Two more skacks piled on top of Westram, tearing in with claws and teeth and his screams rose to a piercing pitch and then went quiet. Mirkrin could not get to his feet while he was kicking out at his attackers and so was unable to fly. He dragged himself backwards to get out of reach of the animals’ chains, but his wings made him slow and clumsy. A skack was making straight for him, but was suddenly shoved aside by another winged Myunan. Nayalla banked around and grabbed Mirkrin’s shoulders, driving down hard with her wings to get enough lift to pull him from the ground. More soldiers were becoming aware of the fight over the generator and crossbow bolts started shooting past them.
The jankbat dived down at the soldiers, scratching and clawing at their faces with tentacles lined with claws. Other Myunans joined in the fray, attacking the soldiers in a range of winged shapes. Nayalla hauled her husband upwards into the dark sky, sweeping out over the trees to lose their silhouette against the hills so that they could no longer be seen. She released her grip and followed him as he glided wearily to the ground. They watched from the hillside as the tattooed jankbat made a pass over the remains of Westram’s corpse, and then flew down and seized Ceeanna’s body, picking it from the ground and carrying it out over the palisade.
Whistles sounded: the signal for the Myunans to fall back. All over the compound, flickers of movement could be seen as some of the camouflaged figures slipped over the palisades or through the burnt gaps; others scaled the steep face of the mountainside and the rest took to the sky. The Noranians turned their defences outwards, rushing to shore up the holes in the fence and make ready the perimeter in case another attack should come at them from out in the darkness.
3 ELECTRICAL EXORCISM
Once the skacks had been safely reined in, Harsq surveyed the damage to his machine, shining a lantern over the ruined control mechanisms.
‘Well?’ Cotch-Baumen demanded impatiently. ‘Can you fix it?’
The eshtran’s brow furrowed and he grimaced.
‘I could patch together some of it, Brask willing. I have a few of the parts. But I need copper wire, a forge and something with which to make moulds, and a drill with a bit that can bore through steel.’
The Provinchus looked to the minemaster, who nodded.
‘Yessir, we have it all but the copper. There’s not much of that hereabouts.’
‘How about gold?’ Harsq asked. ‘That’d be even better.’
‘The frame of my mirror was gold.’ Cotch-Baumen snapped his fingers at the minemaster. ‘It is ruined, useless to me now. You may melt down the remains and make the wire.’
‘Then I can fix it,’ the eshtran said.
‘Have it functioning by this evening,’ the Provinchus insisted, and then raised his gaze to the whipholder, who stood to attention nearby. ‘Are the fences fixed?’
‘Just about, sir,’ the officer replied. ‘We’re making the last repairs now.’
‘When they are, release the skacks outside the compound. They have a taste for Myunan meat now. Let’s see if they can find some more. The curs will have left spies to see whether or not they have succeeded. It is imperative that they do not make another attempt to impede us before the ceremony. Leave the skacks outside until the exorcism is complete.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘At dawn, I want you to take the skack-keepers with two of their animals, along with some troops, and find the Myunan village. We shall return their compliment by burning it to the ground.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cotch-Baumen looked distastefully at his dressing gown, now blackened and grubby. With his wardrobe burned, he would be reduced to wearing one of the whipholder’s ill-fitting uniforms. It was unpardonable.
‘And Whipholder?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Ensure the rabble burn with it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
* * * *
Taya and Lorkrin were perfectly still up in the boughs of a tree that overlooked the yard. They had moved closer during the night to get a better view of the attack and were only a stone’s throw from a section of fence that had been set on fire. Now soldiers were moving around the gap with lanterns, replacing or reinforcing the burnt pales. The two children could not leave their hiding place for fear of being seen by them. Dawn was approaching and with no tools to disguise themselves, they would only be able to rely on their colour camouflage in the light of day, an unsettling situation for a hunted Myunan.
‘How long does it take to fix a jaggin’ fence?’ Lorkrin muttered.
‘They’re almost finished. Can you see what they’re doing over at that truck?’
‘They’re all standing around talking. One of them looks like he’s havin’ a go at fixing it.’
‘That can’t be good.’
‘No.’
They had seen Ceeanna and Westram die, and the shock of it was still sinking in. Part of each of them still believed they would be back in class that afternoon, learning texturing from Ceeanna, or birdcalls from Westram. It didn’t seem real that they were gone.
Neither of the youngsters knew why the truck was so important, but if the damage Westram had done could be fixed, then the tribe needed to know. And Lorkrin and Taya would tell them, as soon as they could get out of their tree.
‘Did you see that jankbat?’ Taya whispered.
‘Yeah, it was Uncle Emos, wasn’t it? And I’m sure that was Draegar beating up the guards in the tower.’
‘What’re they doing here?’
‘Same thing everyone else is, I suppose.’
Just as the soldiers were finishing, another came jogging up and said something to the men on the outside of the fence. The group hurriedly packed up their tools and made their way back to the gate. Lorkrin heaved a sigh of relief and began to climb down, but Taya stopped him. She could see the gateway from her vantage point and she saw the skacks’ van reverse up and manoeuvre the rear door into the gap between the two sturdy wooden gates. Six of the eight skacks were pushed out by their handlers, each one sniffing the terrain and then bounding off into the trees in a different direction.
Then the gates were closed and barred.
‘Aw, bowels!’ said Lorkrin. ‘There’s no way I’m getting down now.’
‘How do they get the things to come back?’ Taya thought aloud. ‘It’s not like they can be trained, is it? Are they just going
to let them loose for good?’
‘Hajam weed,’ Lorkrin told her. ‘They put it in their food. The skacks get addicted to it. If they don’t come back, they get sick.’
Taya stared dejectedly at how her smooth skin stood out against the rough texture of the bark. For a Myunan, being unable to fit into their environment wasn’t just a survival issue; poor camouflage was considered uncouth and ugly.
‘I wonder how long it takes them to get sick?’ she muttered.
‘We may have to find out.’
* * * *
One by one, the Myunans appeared in the weak light of dawn. The sheltered clearing had been the agreed meeting place for everyone to gather after the attack on the mining camp. Some were injured, most blackened with soot and smoke. Not everyone had heard about Westram and Ceeanna, and as word spread, the mourning began.
Nayalla and Mirkrin heard that three others had also been killed, cut down as they started the fires at the palisade. Everyone was exhausted and Mirkrin, in particular, was devastated by what had happened. He kept playing the events of the night back in his head to see if there could have been some way he could have prevented the deaths of his friends. If only he had been quicker to pick up Westram, or stopped Ceeanna flying straight at that soldier … there must have been something that he could have done. Nayalla leaned her head against his shoulder. She had tried to comfort him, but words could only sound hollow at a time like this.
Once everyone had been accounted for, they set out to catch up with the rest of their tribe, which was already making for the mountain refuge of Garrain. The Noranians would be out for blood, and the children and the elderly had to be taken to safety. They had left lookouts to watch the compound in case the generator was repaired, but they could not continue the fight for their mountain until the weakest in their tribe were out of reach of their enemies. It would be a long time before this land saw peace again.
It was mid-morning by the time they had found the tribe, the horses and carts loaded with the dismantled lodges and the villagers’ other belongings. One of the elders, Tennu, saw Mirkrin and Nayalla coming and hurried over.
‘Taya and Lorkrin are missing,’ she told them, her face drawn with worry. ‘Some of the other children said they heard about the ambush and followed you. I’m so sorry. We only noticed when we started to pack up, we … we should have been watching them more closely. We’ve sent out some people to look for them.’
Nayalla put a hand to her mouth and turned to look back along the trail. Mirkrin just closed his eyes and had to sit down.
‘The Noranians have let the skacks out,’ Nayalla said almost to herself. ‘There will be soldiers out hunting us now too. How are we going to find them in time?’
‘They have no tools,’ Mirkrin rasped.
Tennu was taken aback.
‘Why not?’
‘We took their tools off them,’ Nayalla told her, her voice cracking as she spoke, ‘as punishment for going into the mines. And we thought it would make them stay put.’
‘We have to go back and find them.’ Mirkrin got to his feet. ‘Nayalla and I will go alone. You take the others on to the hills. We’ll see you back at the meeting point when the tribe is safe.’
‘Bring them home safe.’ Tennu hugged them both. ‘We’ll be praying for you.’
The two parents took some things from their cart and packed them into bags that they slung onto their backs, and then they headed off back towards the soldiers, the skacks and their sacred mountain.
* * * *
The skack had found a scent. It snuffled around the dead leaves and undergrowth, trying to find out which way the prey had gone. It was definitely prey. There were only two kinds of animals in the world according to the skack’s mind: prey and not prey. It had tasted some of this kind of prey already this morning and the taste had been strange, not like normal meat. But meat all the same. The meat from earlier had thrown something in the skack’s face, something that burned but wasn’t hot and now it could not smell very well and its face itched and stung. Not being able to track the new prey was starting to aggravate it. It felt around with its sound, but could sense only trees. There was little prey in the ground and the bushes around it, but it was not hungry enough to bother with that yet. It wanted the bigger, strange new meat.
* * * *
Lorkrin barely dared breathe. The skack was right below them, sniffing the ground and rubbing its face with its arms as if it had an itchy nose that wouldn’t go away. The creature lifted its head and screeched into the forest. Taya hung onto the trunk behind her brother, pressing herself into it as tightly as she could. Their camouflage colours were useless against the skack – it did not see anything; it felt out things with its shrill cries. It aimed a string of high-pitched clicks up into the trees and then froze. It made the noise again, and this time Lorkrin was certain he felt the pulses of sound hit him. The skack edged towards the tree, sniffing. It was raising its claws to start climbing when something distracted it. It turned its head to the side and then ducked suddenly into some bushes and went quiet.
A stooping figure came into view among the trees. It was a lean Myunan with grey hair and a triangular tattoo on his face – their Uncle Emos. He had found their trail and was tracking them. Lorkrin and Taya nearly called out, but then realised the skack could scale their tree in moments if it heard them. They stayed silent, not knowing what to do. If they shouted out, the beast would get them. If they didn’t warn their uncle, their trail would lead him right up to where the predator was hiding. Then Lorkrin had an idea. He concentrated for a moment and turned bright red from head to foot. Taya smiled and changed to a brilliant orange hue.
The bright colours caught Emos’s eye and he spotted them up in their hiding place, but he stayed where he was, reading the sign for danger. He reached behind him and drew out a knife, searching warily for the threat. Putting a hand to his mouth, he gave a sound like a birdcall, as if warning someone nearby. Taya willed a rough spearhead to appear on her back in yellow, its point aiming in the direction of the skack. Emos’s eyes found the bush, but dropped away and he straightened up and strode off in another direction.
* * * *
More prey. The skack stayed crouching in the bush, unable to decide whether to follow this one, which moved like it was hunting and might put up a fight, or see what was in the tree. It slunk out of the bush and crept after the moving prey. It felt ahead with its sound, using its highest pitch so the prey could not hear. Hunting pitch.
The prey had got further away, but the skack was not worried. It could feel the meat clearly in the trees ahead. It crawled faster, keeping low to the ground as it closed on its victim. Its face itched worse than ever, but it ignored the irritation. It was about to make a kill – the only thing that mattered was the prey. It got close enough to make the final sprint, squatting in readiness to dash the last few paces for the kill …
* * * *
Emos was amazed at how little sound the skack made behind him. If the children had not warned him, it could have caught him off guard. It was close now. He knew its sound vibrations would be measuring the distance to him. It was now or never. He stopped and turned around, knife out before him, feet planted in a fighting stance.
Just as the skack was about to pounce, it stopped, spinning instead to avoid a battleaxe that flew at it from behind. The axe caught it in the shoulder rather than the back, but still sent it sprawling. Draegar launched himself out of his hiding place behind a rotten, fallen tree, falling on the creature before it could get up. He swung his short sword at the animal’s neck, but the skack deflected it with one of its long claws. Emos wrenched the axe from its shoulder and as it turned to lash out at him, Draegar lopped its head off with a backhand swing of his blade. The lifeless body slumped to the ground.
‘Damn it all, they’re quick!’ the Parsinor breathed.
‘There’s more of them around and they’ll smell the blood,’ Emos said, wiping off the axe. ‘Taya and Lorkrin are
back there. Let’s get them and leave before we run into any more of these things.’
* * * *
Paternasse stood with the other miners behind the cordon of soldiers, watching as Kalayal Harsq and his fawning, sycophantic disciples set up his machine. The circle of Noranian troops kept everyone back from the Braskhiam truck and its feverish group of priests. Up in the watchtower, the Provinchus and some of his officers sat drinking wine and watching through spyglasses as if this were some kind of theatre. There was something unholy about all this, the old man thought to himself. He had been a miner all his life, like his father before him, like all the men in their family, and it had given him a healthy respect for the land they worked under. This mountain had proved to be the hardest, most unforgiving mound of rock it had ever been his misfortune to dig into, and it had beaten them down … but that was mining. Some places gave up their loads easily; others held onto them like grim death. It was just the way of things, that was all. But what this Braskhiam was doing now, this disturbed Paternasse more than he liked.
They had bored holes in the walls of number two tunnel, the middle one, and now cables were being run from terminals on the machine to pins driven into the holes. The eshtran had spent all day repairing the damage the Myunans had caused, but now the ‘dynamo’, as the priest called it, was ready and he could perform his ceremony. Paternasse had seen into the machine while Harsq had been working on it. The body contained a drum wound thousands of times around with copper wire. He had seen one of the eshtran’s tools flip out of his hand at one point and stick to a part inside the drum; the thing used magnets too.
