Where Gods Fear to Go

by Angus Watson

Someone or something was charging through the bushes towards them.

  Finn ran out into their clearing. “What are you doing–wow.” He looked at the dead wasp men, then up at the rest of them flapping in the sky. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were so far behind.”

  “I tripped,” explained Erik.

  “Oh. Sorry. But don’t hang around here. There’s shelter this way.”

  Finn led them through the bushes. The wasp men kept their distance. The humans reached a stream and ran along it to where it flowed under bushes at the base of the bluff. Thyri was waiting. She pushed a bush aside.

  “Follow the channel,” she said.

  They splashed along. The steam flowed parallel to the bluff, then under a ledge, sheltered on the open side by thick bushes. Erik thought this looked like a pretty good hiding place, but it was fatally flawed by the fact that the wasp men had seen them go in there.

  “Keep going!” called Thyri behind them.

  The stream cut into the bluff itself. Erik ducked as they splashed into a passage hewn through the rock. A dozen paces in they came to a torch-lit chamber. All their group was there, plus Nether Barr and two other Scraylings.

  “Hello,” said the new Scraylings.

  “I’m Amba Yull,” said one, a rotund and cheery looking woman.

  “And I’m Chartris,” said the other in a sensible voice. She was a toothy woman with high cheekbones. Both Amber Yull and Chartris were around Finn’s age.

  “Hello,” said Sofi and Erik.

  The politeness was a little surreal, backdropped by the screaming of the wasp men reverberating along the passage and welling ever louder.

  “Don’t worry, you are safe in here,” Chartris reassured them. “They’re simple creatures and won’t tarry when they can’t find us.” Her tone was efficient and a little bossy. She reminded Erik of a woman who’d looked after the smaller children back with the Lakchan tribe.

  “Are you the Pothole tribe?” asked Sofi.

  “Yes, we are. You are a bright one, aren’t you?” Chartris looked younger than Sofi, but she spoke to the Owsla captain as if she were a praise-needy child. Erik couldn’t decide if that amused or irritated him. Or scared him because of how Sofi might react. “We are called the Pothole tribe in the universal tongue, although in our own language we’re called the people.”

  “A lot of tribes are called the people in their own language,” said Sofi.

  “Yes, that’s true. Well done,” said Chartris.

  “Why Pothole people?” asked Finn.

  “There are a lot of potholes around our village, and we cook food in them. Sometimes the names given to tribes in the universal tongue are not very imaginative.”

  “Although, arguably, more imaginative than the people.” Erik opined.

  Chartris gave him a look.

  Chapter 3

  Sofi’s Dance

  The wasp men dispersed quickly, which pleased Sassa Lipchewer. She didn’t like being stuck in the cave. She walked next to Amba Yull as they headed for the Pothole village.

  “How do you know Nether Barr?” she asked.

  “Nether Barr’s my great-aunt. She’s Pothole.”

  “I see! She certainly knows her way across the desert.”

  “Where’s she taking you?”

  “To Wormsland.”

  “From Bighorn Island?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, deary me, she’s taken a bit of a detour.”

  “Has she?”

  “You’d be almost there by now if she’d taken a direct route.”

  “Oh.” Without thinking, Sassa put a hand on her stomach. “Why do you think she came this way?”

  “She might know something I don’t about the route between Bighorn Island and Wormsland. Knowing Nether Barr, though, it’s more likely she wanted to drop in on her family. She’s a great woman but she does tend to pursue her own agenda.”

  Sassa couldn’t blame her. She’d have given her right ear to see her family again. “It’s good of her to take us at all, and I suppose we’ll get there in the end.”

  “So when is the baby due?” asked Amba Yull.

  Sassa looked about herself. There was nobody in earshot, apart from Sofi Tornado, of course, but she was always in earshot and she already knew.

  “I think in about a hundred and sixty days. How did you know?”

  “The way you put your hand to your stomach just now. I’ve got two children myself and I used to do that. And, now that I know, your face does look a little puffy.”

  “Thanks!” Sassa laughed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Well, puffy faced for one, and my fingers feel fat. My back hurts, my thighs ache and there’s a line growing from my belly button downwards.”

  “I got all of that, too,” said Amba Yull. “The thighs were the worst for me.”

  “Thighs aren’t great, but I think walking all day helps. It’s my back where I’m really feeling it. I’d give an awful lot to sit down for a moon or two.”

  “Why don’t you? Can’t this lot leave you with us and pick you up on the way back?”

  Sassa looked at the happy Potholer. She hadn’t realised it, but she’d been aching to talk to somebody who’d already had a baby. She wanted to be reassured by a woman who’d experienced childbirth, not just by a super-powered warrior and a supportive husband. She’d been speaking to Amba Yull for only a short while, but she already felt closer to her than any of the women in her group, especially with Sitsi Kestrel and Paloma Pronghorn elsewhere. Chogolisa Earthquake was sweet, but only interested in Erik and the children, and Sofi Tornado was not a chatter.

  “Would your tribe let me stay?” asked Sassa.

  “Of course! Unless you’ve got any filthy habits we don’t know about yet?”

  “Oh, I’ve got loads.”

  Both women laughed, then walked on across the red desert.

  It was dark by the time they approached the Pothole people’s village. Chartris’ idea of a short walk was longer than Sassa’s. If you had to stop for a meal during a walk, Sassa reckoned, it was not a short walk. When they had paused to eat, their guide Nether Barr had carried on ahead to tell the Pothole villagers that visitors were on the way.

  They could see the settlement from a long way off, lit up by torches. It was based around a cluster of huge boulders perched on a low dome of rock.

  At each end were two poles topped with cages. Sassa could make out a hunched figure in the nearest pole-top cage.

  Rear a deer, she thought, what weirdness is this? She was seriously considering staying behind with the Potholers, but not if they had caged dwarfs on poles.

  “Those are watchtowers,” said Chartris, as if reading her mind.

  “Oh. Who’s watching from them?”

  “There’s a horned owl in each one. They know the wasp men are coming before we do.”

  “How do they tell you?”

  “Hopefully you won’t find out, but you’ll know if they do.”

  “Have you been attacked by the wasp men much?” Sassa asked Chartris, thinking how much small talk had changed since she’d left Hardwork a little over three moons before.

  “Not here. We’ve seen them from the village, but they’ve always kept their distance. We think the torches frighten them at night, and that all the activity during the day keeps them away. But we’re seeing more and more, so it’s possible that they are waiting until they have the numbers to mount a big attack.”

  “Are they that calculating? They look like insects.”

  “According to Erik, when they held back from attacking him and Sofi earlier, they were waiting for reinforcements. He said there were hundreds more coming, which is far more than we’ve seen before. If a flock that large finds the village we might be in trouble.”

  “Aren’t you worried they’ll follow us back?”

  Chartris pursed her lips. “In a way, I hope they have. We’ve put a lot of work into preparing for a big attack, so, maybe perversel
y and I’ll probably regret saying it, I’d like to see the new defences tested. Other tribes have fled. We’ve chosen to stay. I’d like to know if that was the right decision.”

  Sassa thought she could feel the horned owl watching her as they walked up the gentle slope to the torch-lit village. She’d seen plenty of the animals on their travels but never felt a malevolence like this from any of them. Perhaps it didn’t much like being stuck in a cage.

  She could see now that there was a wooden walkway running all the way around the perimeter of the boulder cluster, a little over Chogolisa’s head height. There were sheds built on it every couple of dozen paces. If the walkway and sheds were the new defences Chartris had mentioned, she couldn’t really see how it could help, other than to make them easier targets for the wasp men.

  “Most people will be on their beds by now,” said Chartris, “So if you don’t mind—”

  “Wasp men coming!” shouted Sofi.

  “You’re mistaken,” Chartris yelled back. “The owls would—”

  A dread shrieking burst from the nearest cage, then the other three started up.

  “Everyone who can fight, onto the platform!” yelled Chartris over the noise of the owls. “The rest of you follow Amba Yull.”

  “How many?” she shouted to Sofi over the noise of the owls.

  “A lot. Hundreds.”

  Sofi ran on and Sassa stood. It felt like her stomach was trying to rise up and out of her mouth. She was going to be sick.

  No, she told herself. There’s work to be done. Baby-saving work. She swallowed and ran after Sofi.

  Up at the village, dark figures were scaling ladders onto the platform. Teams of three headed for each of the little sheds.

  Yoki Choppa and Freydis were running with Amba Yull to the northern end of the rock cluster. Other adults were mustering gaggles of jogging children in the same direction.

  “You all right?” Wulf asked, taking her hand. His big blue eyes weren’t taking the piss for once. He looked almost ready to cry with concern for her.

  “Never better.”

  “You know you shouldn’t fight, don’t you?”

  “I’m an archer, Wulf, and these buggers fly.”

  He nodded. “I know. You’ll be more use than any of us. Just be careful, please.”

  “When am I ever not careful?”

  “Marrying me was a risk.”

  “We all make mistakes!” She hugged him, pressing her head into his hard, warm chest. “You be careful, too,” she said.

  “I will,” he said, prising her arms away. “Let’s go. Those monsters aren’t going to shoot themselves out of the sky.”

  They ran towards the village. Potholers sprinted about holding burning brands and pressing them against torches on short poles. By the time Sassa and Wulf reached the base of the ladder the whole place was lit up like a weird orange day. They dropped their backpacks and headed up onto the platform. Sofi and Erik were climbing the next ladder along. Sassa glanced over her shoulder.

  A darkly shimmering mass which had to be the flock of wasp men was blocking out the stars to the east. It was very large–maybe larger than the millions-strong flock of crowd pigeons that had pulled the Plains Strider–and it was growing by every heartbeat. They were coming fast.

  The screaming started. The creatures must have been a mile or more away, but still the sound made her wince.

  “Can you use a bow?” a man on the platform asked Wulf. He was a gentle looking fellow, his tone more like someone asking Wulf if he would like a drink, while hoping that he wasn’t intruding.

  “Sure.” Wulf took the proffered weapon.

  “Great. Try to hit them in the head, if you don’t mind. That’s the only shot that will stop them in one go. Grab a spot in between the seated bows. You’ll find quivers of arrows there. There are also spears, in case they get close and shields in case they spray venom. You’ll also need this moss to put in your ears.”

  “Got moss, thanks,” said Wulf.

  Sassa thought with half a smile that Erik would be disappointed that the Pothole people had also come up with the moss in ears idea.

  The sides had been removed from the constructions that Sassa had thought were sheds to reveal sturdy tripods, each supporting a chair and a giant bow. Three people operated each. One was seated–it looked like he or she would do the aiming and loosing the bow–and the other two were pulling back rope-like bowstrings and nocking projectiles that were more spear than arrow.

  The wasp men closed, their screams louder and louder. She could still hear the owls on their watch posts, however, shrieking as if determined that they would be the loudest animals in the desert that night. They didn’t have a hope.

  Sassa stood with Wulf on one side and Chartris on the other. There were quivers of arrows on wooden tripods all around. Along the front edge of the platform were troughs filled with light, stone-headed spears.

  They were near the centre of the long side of the wooden oval that crowned the cluster of boulders on the dome of rock. There were perhaps two hundred defenders in total, all with bows. Chogolisa was easy to spot about twenty people along. Erik and Finn were next to her. She couldn’t see Sofi.

  Seeing her own people among the defenders filled Sassa with pride. The Wootah stood there strong and ready to die for a town they’d stopped in on their way to defeat the mythic force in The Meadows. It was like something from the sagas.

  The wasp men screamed louder. Much louder. A head-crushing wall of sound hit them. Some staggered, some crouched, some put hands over their ears; none were unaffected, despite the moss. Sassa fought to stop her sense of pride and resolve dissolving into gibbering terror.

  The wasp men were close enough now that the defenders could see individual animals zooming towards them on leathery wings. The Pothole people recovered quickly from the noise. The chair bows loosed their giant arrows. Moments later half a dozen wasp men fell out of the sky, but it wasn’t much of a dent in the hard-skinned horde speeding towards the vulnerable village.

  Sassa pulled, aimed and loosed.

  “Wait until they’re closer!” yelled Chartris.

  Sassa nodded to where the wasp man she’d skewered through the face was tumbling groundwards from the swarming mass of monsters.

  “Oh! Carry on then!”

  She did. She’d brought down five before the other small bows started shooting. Wasp men fell like heavy rain but still they came, hundreds and hundreds.

  Wulf piled a couple of arrow-stuffed quivers at Sassa’s feet. “Chartris!” he yelled. “When they get here, we’ll use spears and shields to defend Sassa. Sassa, keep shooting from behind us.”

  “Got it!” yelled Chartris.

  “Right!” shouted Sassa. Her arm was already tired from pulling the string again and again. But she’d keep going while there were wasp men to kill. She’d keep going for Wulf and her growing baby, for Ottar, for the rest of the Wootah. For the Calnians, even if they had killed her mum and dad. And Chartris. She was sure the woman was less spikey once you got to know her.

  The wasp men swarmed down. Sassa loosed arrow after arrow. The attackers slowed and began to dodge, making it harder to hit their heads. She tried a couple of body shots but they had no obvious effect. On the upside, slowing down like that was a seriously dumb move, because if they’d kept coming at the same speed they would have overwhelmed the defenders. So they might be bright enough to attack en masse and even to dodge arrows, but they clearly weren’t that bright. Or perhaps they were clever enough to be cowardly. Sassa didn’t think that she’d be that happy charging a barrage of near-certain death, even if it would help her fellows behind her win the day.

  Off to her left, a wasp man hovered above the nearest owl on its pole, leant back and stuck out its half-pace-long-sting, preparing to spray. Sassa shot the beast and smiled when it fell and the owl shrieked on. She liked owls.

  Dozens of the wasp men landed on the bare rock expanse running up to the boulders and marched towar
ds the supposedly safe place where Amba Yull had taken Ottar and the other children. Three pairs of hands swung purposefully on each attacker. Wings were folded on their backs and claws held high.

  Sassa shot one of the walking wasp men, but the beasts in the sky were closing dangerously, and much faster, so she returned her attention to those. Surely the children were hidden away somewhere secure?

  Wulf tossed his bow aside and snatched up a spear. “Behind me, Sassa!” he yelled above the screaming.

  She glanced back to the wasp men advancing on the ground. There were far fewer now, and others were falling. Was someone shooting them? No, it was Sofi Tornado! She was dancing among the enemy, axe in one hand, short spear in the other, braining them with the axe and jabbing her spear into heads. Yoki Choppa was down there, too, blowpipe pressed against his lips and spear in one hand, but Sassa’s eyes returned to Sofi. The other Owsla women had always said that Sofi was the best warrior, but Sassa had never seen why. Surely Paloma with her speed or Chogolisa with her strength were more effective in a fight, she’d thought.

  But now she got it.

  Sofi was running, twisting, leaping and striking so quickly and perfectly that the wasp men couldn’t begin to defend themselves. Sassa’s jaw dropped. The Owsla captain was so fast, so fluid and so constant; almost a blur as she killed wasp man after wasp man with the regularity of a drummer marking out a fast beat. Jab it in a rabbit, thought Sassa. She had never seen… she refocused. This was no time for spectating.

  The airborne wasp men flapped their wings to slow themselves further and hover outside spear range. As if they’d practised it–and maybe they had, who knew what creatures like this got up to in their free time–they angled their abdomens forward to point stings at the defenders, clearly intending to douse them in venom. Fingers on their vile, human-like hands twitched. Claws open and closed. Orange eyes stared hotly. Dangling below their chests, their segmented, pendulous abdomens shone wetly and disgustingly. Sassa shuddered.

  “Shields!” someone shouted. Sassa hopped back and kept shooting as Chartris took up a shield. Wulf hurled spears, taking out several creatures. They weren’t outside his spear range. They killed so many wasp men so quickly that none had a chance to spray. There were a couple of screams from defenders further along, but most of the line was dealing with the beasts as effectively as Sassa’s section.