The Women and the Warlords

by Hugh Cook

  'She's a very vigorous child,' said Hearst.

  'Yes,' said Yen Olass. 'And a virgin.’

  'A virgin?’

  'Don't sound so surprised!’

  'Sorry,' said Hearst. 'It's an odd thing to say, that's all. You don't really think I ...’

  'You might want her when she's older,' said Yen Olass. 'But I spoke of virginity because you asked about the Silent One. She's a virgin. She's head of the Sisterhood.

  Head of all the oracles. And an oracle is . . . well, a storyteller, if anything. Sometimes an oracle shows people the hidden side of themselves. Sometimes she shows .. . possibilities.' 'Possibilities?’

  'An oracle sometimes describes a possible future. She shows the consequences of actions.' 'For what purpose?' 'To discipline the lives of men.’

  'She sounds like the kind of person I could live without,' said Hearst.

  'You could,' said Yen Olass. 'You can. You do. But the Collosnon Empire needs this . . . this secular priesthood. If you had a week to spare, I could teach you why. But I don't know that I could feed a big hungry man like you for that long. Come on, let's go inside.’

  Yen Olass cooked breakfast, and they ate together. Unlike the Yarglat, the Rovac saw nothing odd in sharing a meal with a woman.

  When breakfast was over, Yen Olass bullied Hearst into helping her bring some driftwood back from the piles cached along the beach. While they were about this labour, Hearst reviewed, aloud, what he knew about Yen Olass. He had heard some of her life from her own lips, and had got much of the rest from Resbit. He knew the outlines of her life reasonably well. He knew of the three apples she had shared with the Lord Emperor Khmar.

  'Do I know what I know?' said Hearst, when he had finished his story. 'Or have I been fed a fantasy?’

  'It's true enough,' said Yen Olass, vaguely, watching the falling tide.

  Soon the flats would be exposed, and it would be time for her to begin her day's work.

  'Then I've got a proposition for you,' said Hearst.

  'A hundred crowns then,' said Yen Olass. 'I told you that before. Kisses are extra.’

  'No,' said Hearst. 'This is not a game. Listen: I want you to be the Silent One.’

  'Too late for that,' said Yen Olass. 'I've lost my virginity long ago.’

  'Let me explain,' said Hearst.

  'You want your own Sisterhood in Brennan?' said Yen Olass. 'You're crazy. Why don't you have your own Rite of Purification as well? We could make ceramic tiles, just like all the Collosnon soldiers wear, paint them with spiders and--’

  'Yen Olass.’

  'All right,' said Yen Olass. 'Tell me what you really want.’

  And she listened as he talked. When he had finished, she gave her answer: 'No.’

  When Hearst tried to argue, she elaborated: 'This time, you really are crazy. It'll never work. And I'm not going to have any part of it. There are much easier ways to die much closer to home.’

  And a little later, she watched him set off for Brennan, limping a little from the wound he had taken in the battle of Razorwind Pass. He was a professional hero, and would be until he died. He had other battles ahead of him -- storms to fight, dragons to kill, kingdoms to win, fortunes to gain and world-conquering powers to subdue. But she was a woman with a five-year-old child to raise, and so could not venture her life in such frivolity.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Living by the sea, Yen Olass had to take special care to prevent her fingernails rusting away. She painted them with imported lacquer and wore gloves when she was working out on the flats.

  Shortly after Morgan Hearst had departed, she was following the receding tide out over the flats. She was armed with a probing spike, a digging stick and a swatching knife; on her back she carried a pack.

  As always, there was a certain excitement in discovering what the sea had left behind it. Sometimes, in water channels gouged between sandbanks, there were big fish which she could hunt down, using the probing spike as a spear. Sometimes, after a hard blow from the west, there would be scallops lying exposed on the sand, although usually three or four days of constant storm was needed to force the scallops that far shorewards.

  Today, scanning each new wave-shaped vein of shell-shatter, Yen Olass was glad to be able to dedicate herself to her work, and forget Hearst's hero-talk, so heavily larded with disturbing names from the distant past: Celadric, Meddon, York, Draven, and, most surprising of all, Eldegen Terzanagel . . .

  Hunking over a big sclop of dark sea-smelling seaweed, Yen Olass found its roots clutching a lump of coal. She knifed away the seaweed and put the coal, knobbled with big pink carbuncular barnacles, into her pack. Rooting itself in the seabed, seaweed often clung to interesting things which were then brought to the flats when storm turbulence uprooted them. Once, in the winter just gone, Yen Olass had even found a glass bottle knotted in the clutches of a mass of seaweed; it was hidden away in her sand scully while she waited for an opportune time to market it.

  When she had first come to Carawell, she had been frightened by these tidal flats, so different from the modest littoral zones she had seen at Favanosin and Skua. Now, after two years, she thought of this as an esssentially friendly environment arranged very much for her own wellbeing and comfort -- storms to recruit scallops for her kitchen, seaweed to mine the depths of the sea for her, ocean currents to bring in an endlessly renewing supply of driftwood all year round.

  The further she got from the shore, the more life there was on the flats. There were holes in the sand, in which lurked funny little creatures like centipedes; swimming over the flats in the warm days of summer, she had sometimes seen them venture briefly from their holes. She saw the feeding holes of wedges and tullies; hard-shelled sand snails wormed their way across the sandflats in places where a thin slick of water still persisted; little sea anemones grew on dead shells, as did the convoluted white loops of odd little worms which, when submerged, would extend multicoloured fans -- finer than eyelashes and brighter than peacocks -- out into the water around them.

  Yen Olass squatted down and dug enough wedges for lunch and dinner. There was an endless supply of these small shellfish; they were a little bit tasteless, but it took very little time to gather enough for a meal. She also picked up two horse mussels and threw them into the pack. Twice the size of her hand, these oversized shellfish were too rubbery for her taste, but Quelaquix would eat them if they were chopped up fine. (And if not, then not -- the lyre-cat knew exactly what he liked, and would turn up his nose at anything not prepared according to his taste.)

  With this task done, Yen Olass walked out across beds of black-green seagrass to the edge of the sea, now rapidly retreating toward low-water mark, habitat of whittle-crabs, snerd octopuses, claw-claws and luxuriant orange starfish.

  Out in the water lay a low, dark shape. A whale? She had heard a lot of Carawell talk about stranded whales, and she dearly wanted one of these beasts for herself -- a fortune in flesh, bone, oil, ambergris and scrimshaw teeth. Although, to be realistic, if she found one she would probably have to share it with the people at Vinyard, or lose most of it to the next tide.

  Drawing near to the stranded alien, Yen Olass was disappointed to see it was not a whale but a tree. Something moved in one of the few remaining broken-off branches. It slipped down on the far side, as if it had seen her. What was it? Closing the distance, Yen Olass circled round the tree, probing spike poised to strike in case she found herself hunting something edible.

  There was nothing to be seen.

  Yen Olass wrinkled her nose and walked right round the tree. Twice. There was something odd here. She scrambled up onto the tree, which was bare-backed, all bark and leaves having been stripped away long ago. There was no hiding place here for anything even half the size of a kitten.

  Yen Olass surveyed her world. The flats stretched away to the sea and the shore; she could make out Skyhaven in amongst the dunes and the saltwater pines, although anyone not knowing where and what to look for
might easily have missed the distant cottage. A gull slid through the sky overhead, silently. There was a little wind, just enough to flay a little spume from the backs of the waves guggling at the sea's edge.

  Yen Olass sneezed, three times, loudly. Then wiped her nose. She sat astride the tree as if riding a grenderstrander, and kicked its flanks with her heels.

  'Come on, tree. Where's your rider? Give!’

  But the tree maintained an obdurate silence.

  Yen Olass got to her feet and walked the length of the tree, bending down now and then to inspect marks gouged into the wood. Some were recent. And they sure weren't made by seagulls. She took another look at her surroundings. There were three places to hide: in the tree itself,

  under the tree, or under the sand.

  Yen Olass rapped at the tree with her digging stick. Thunk thunk. It sounded solid. Could something have dug its way under the tree? It looked like it was firmly bedded in the sand . .. unlikely. She took another look at the sand, considering the nuances of shape and texture. She paid special care to the sand beneath the hair-thick slices of water still easing off the flats. That was the natural place for any fugitive to bury itself, knowing the water would soon confuse the marks of its retreat underground.

  After long and careful scrutiny, Yen Olass identified five sinister low-slung humps in the sand. Each almost imperceptibly raised disc was about the length of her arm. Whatever they were, they had gone to ground, each a horse-length apart from the next. Yen Olass found she was frightened.

  But they had run away from her. Which meant they must be more frightened than she was. And they were small compared to her -- whatever they were. Crocodiles? No, crocodiles were thin and lean, like little dragons without wings. Anyway, they were friendly, good-natured beasts, content to live in their own rivers in unimaginably distant warm-weather lands, maybe eating the occasional incautious explorer now and then, but otherwise largely content to live and let live. Unlike . . .

  Unlike the Swarms, for instance.

  Despite herself, Yen Olass recalled tales Morgan Hearst had told her of the onslaught of the Swarms. Pushing north, destroying civilizatior.s as they went, they had been defeated in a battle at the southern border of Estar. Mountains had been positioned across the Salt Road, blocking the advance of the Swarms. But now, according to Hearst, the Swarms were building their own coast road, a slick grey highway outflanking the coastal mountains guarding Estar. He claimed to have seen it as he sailed close inshore on one of his trips to or from the distant island of Stokos.

  He had also told her about the monsters that tried to venture north over the mountains ... or to come by sea.

  Yen Olass counted her enemies. All five were still there. Creatures of the Swarms? No, the idea was ridiculous. The Swarms were huge. Much bigger than people. And they lived above water, not under it.

  As Yen Olass was thinking this, there was a 'shlock' as a red tube burst free from the sand. It was about as long and as fat as her thumb; it looked like an obscene little prick sticking out of the fiats, waiting to be reaped, but she supposed it was probably a breathing tube. Shortly, there were five breathing tubes protruding into the air.

  So these creatures could not live underwater.

  Whatever they were, they had to count as invaders. Living on the tree for days on end, they were doubtless weak, with little fight left in them. But once let them get to shore, and they would rest up, and feed, and grow stronger. And maybe . . . yes, maybe they would breed.

  Yen Olass thought about running to Vinyard to get help. Then she remember the mobile, slippery form which had slipped down out of sight as she approached the tree. Once she left, these things would move. By the time she got to Vinyard, they would have hidden themselves in the hinterland. And, ten crowns to half a pickle, nobody in Vinyard would believe her if she came bearing a tale of monsters from the sea. They would think she was seeking revenge for all she had endured in the way of mythical land octopuses and crawling lightning.

  Yen Olass took off her pack and hung it on one of the tree branches. She took out the lump of coal and smashed it. She threw one small piece onto each of the concealed aliens. Then she gathered up her weapons and jumped down to the sand. As she landed, the red breathing tubes retracted smartly, but the pieces of glittering black coal marked each of her enemies.

  'Gah!' shouted Yen Olass, driving her probing spike into the back of the nearest alien.

  The sand heaved up. She whacked it with her digging stick. It subsided. Yen Olass stamped down on the sand and pulled out her probing spike. It was stained with green.

  A sucking sound behind her gave warning.

  Yen Olass wheeled. She saw a lump of coal sliding away as a creature heaved itself up from the sand. As it leered up into the daylight, she saw eight legs, vicious underslung claws, a clutch of groping feelers and a dozen nameless lugs of green and yellow flesh. She speared it with her probing spike. The creature flailed. She tried to withdraw her weapon. The claws gnashed at the steel. It was stuck. So she pushed instead, trying to drive it right through the creature.

  Something grabbed at her boot.

  Yen Olass screamed. At her feet, an armlength disc of faded rainbow colours. It was encroaching on her boot. Green slime oozed from its back: this was the one she had wounded. She kicked at it, releasing herself.

  She lost her hold on her probing spike, and the alien she was spiking fell on her weapon. Now the steel was trapped under the creature's weight. Now she could only see its shell, instead of the fearsome apparatus underneath the shell.

  The alien which had grabbed her boot had another go. Yen Olass kicked it away, then jumped on it with both feet. Its shell broke with a sick crack.

  With a sucking sound, the remaining three enemies scabbed out of the sand. Briefly, she saw their undershell apparatus as they climbed up from their hides. Then, legs and jaws hidden under their shells, they scuttled towards her.

  Yen Olass threw her digging stick at the nearest and took to the tree. The aliens followed. Wood ripped and tore as they gouged for holds in the tree trunk. Yen Olass unhooked her pack and hurled it with all her strength. One of the enemy went down.

  And now?

  One of the aliens swung itself up onto the broad top of the tree trunk. It scuttled towards her. One was still climbing up. Yen Olass jumped, hitting the climbing alien with her feet together. The impact smashed her enemy

  loose from the tree. They landed in the sand together. Yen Olass looked up.

  The creature left on top of the tree started down after her. Moving too fast, it lost its grip and tumbled down. When it landed, Yen Olass slashed it. Her swatching knife tore into its shell. Then she jumped backwards as the creature rushed her.

  Running swiftly on its low-slung legs, it slammed into her at knee-height. Yen Olass was knocked backwards. The next moment, the creature was greeding at her stomach. She slammed her strength upwards, feeding it steel. Her swatching knife ripped into something soft.

  She heaved at the weight above her and rolled the alien onto its back. It lay there, apparatus kicking. Yen Olass screamed, and hacked into it with her knife. She killed it, killed it, killed it, shouting, spitting, slashing, swearing.

  A noise behind her.

  Yen Olass wheeled to find one wounded alien dragging itself toward her. She sprang forward on the attack, jumped on its back and gashed its shell open. It started to gyrate and buck, trying to throw her off. Anchoring herself with her knife, Yen Olass hung on for dear life. Every time the creature paused for a moment, she whipped the knife out and slammed it into a new spot.

  When it stopped moving once and for all, she gouged a deep channel in its shell until it was just about cut in half. Then she went to work on the others to make sure they were dead for real and forever. She counted the corpses. One, two, three, four, five. She counted them again, to make sure.

  Her stomach was hurting. As if it was burning. Shedding her clothes, she found the alien which had crawled over her had rippe
d right through her weather jacket and a woollen singlet. There were half a dozen shallow scratches on her belly. Green gunk from the body of the dying monster had reached her wounds. That might be partly to blame for the pain.

  Yen Olass shovelled away sand in the centre of one of the thin slicks of water still streaming off the flats -- the water would still be draining away even when the tide returned. Water spilled into the hole she dug, and she washed her wounds, cleansing them vigorously. That hurt, but she thought it best to have them clean.

  The wounds bled a little; she decided to leave them open, to bleed freely into the air. Blood would carry away the last contamination. Blood was clean, unlike that filthy green monster slime. She did not want to put on her contaminated clothing, but, even in its torn and tattered state, it was too valuable to throw away. Though her weather jacket was not going to be any good for anything other than patching. It had survived all the adventures of six years and more -- and now it was ruined, just like that! How was she going to replace it? Still, it had saved her life -- she could not complain too much.