by Angus Watson
“Someone help Wulf!” she shouted again, but everyone was busy.
She reached for her dropped bow, but it slipped from goo-coated fingers.
By the time she managed to grasp her bow, Wulf had seen the snake. He was bouncing from foot to foot, hammer ready.
The snake was huge. And Sassa’s fucking fingers were too slippery to grip an arrow.
She wiped them on her cotton trousers, looking about for help.
The snake writhed closer, the front of its body on top of the Great Worm, the rest wrapped around it. Wulf raised Thunderbolt.
And Sassa relaxed.
She was wrong to be worried about him. It was even insulting to be so desperate to get help to him. She thought of her help Wulf! cries and was embarrassed.
He was a great warrior. He’d fought who knew how many of the vile creations, all the while balancing on that arch, and prevailed. While she’d been busy getting covered in monster yuck, he’d probably dispatched more serious opponents than a snake.
Still, it was very big.
It reared its head and flicked dozens of forked tongues.
Wulf smashed Thunderbolt into its jaw.
It screamed–such a scream that she could hear it above all the other monster yells–and recoiled.
Wulf stepped in to finish it.
The snake reared again, flicking multiple tongues.
The tongues leapt out of its mouth.
The tongues latched onto Wulf’s arms, legs and neck. They weren’t tongues. They were two-headed snakes, like the one Nether Barr had thrown at an attacker.
Wulf prised a snake from his neck and threw it away. He gripped one that had latched onto his arm, but he didn’t have the strength to wrench it off.
His arms fell to his side, hammer dangling. He turned, shoulders slumping, and looked at Sassa.
He held her eye for a moment, smiled, mouthed something that looked like “Wootah” and toppled forwards off the arch.
Sassa ran, dodging creatures that snapped and slashed.
She found the coffin first, lying on slickrock, still intact. Tough box, she found herself thinking, ridiculously.
Wulf was nearby, lying on red sand. Could the sand have cushioned his fall?
His skin was grey and his eyes were closed. The snakes were gone, but there were small circles of blood on his new white trousers and shirt.
“No!” Sassa yelled.
She tossed her bow aside and leapt onto him, not caring that there were creatures bent on killing her all around. She felt his neck. Nothing. She put her ear to his open lips. No sound, no motion. She grabbed his shirt and shook him.
“Sassa.”
It was Yoki Choppa. He put his blowpipe to his lips, shot what looked like a giant, inside-out caterpillar that was slithering towards them, then crouched next to her and Wulf.
“Please make him live,” she sobbed.
Yoki Choppa poked a finger into Wulf’s mouth and held still. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” shouted Sassa.
She saw through tears that the others had arrived and were standing uselessly, watching her.
“You!” she pointed at the Wormsland warlock. She’d forgotten his name. “Do something!”
He shook his head.
“Sofi?” she implored.
The best warrior in the world shook her head, too. She was only good for killing! Sassa’s rage swelled and then dissolved.
More of the group arrived, staring at her in sorrow and pity. She fell onto Wulf’s unmoving chest and sobbed.
Chapter 7
Magnificent Worm
Sassa must have fallen asleep–Fraya knew how. She woke to Wulf’s smell and had a moment’s bliss before she remembered he was dead.
She sat. Wulf looked grey and dead. It was nearly dark. Wulf’s last day alive was coming to an end. She touched her husband’s cheek. It was cold.
Sofi should have gone for the box. Or Paloma. But it wasn’t their fault that Wulf had insisted. Sassa should have stopped him herself. That’s what wives were for–that’s certainly what Wulf’s wife was for. He always leapt before he looked. Her duty was to look for him and to hold him back when necessary.
She’d failed.
“You die when you die,” she said, out loud. Hardworkers did not mourn their dead.
It seemed the Wootah did, though, thought Sassa, as a huge sob welled up from her stomach.
Wulf wouldn’t see his baby! Wulf would have loved his baby. She pictured a tiny human hand clasped round Wulf’s finger while he beamed down, eyes shining with joy. She sobbed all the more.
After she didn’t know how long, she looked up.
She started. Finn was sitting on a rock five paces away.
“How dare you!” she raged.
“We’ve taken it in turns—” he stuttered.
“Spunk on a fucking skunk. You’ve been spying!”
“No… no. I’m guarding you and… Wulf. It’s dangerous here.”
She saw now that his sword was unsheathed and across his lap.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Are there more monsters?”
“No. The ones we didn’t kill died, then most of them melted into the ground. A few of the bigger ones left bodies behind.”
“I see.” She looked down at Wulf. He’d been killed by a monster made out of the land. She wondered what he’d have said about that.
“Shall we go back to the others?” Finn asked.
The rest of them, plus the warlock Gaven and Chief Tarker, looked up as she climbed down the gully side into the sandy clearing.
There was meat roasting on the fire.
Life went on.
Erik nodded to Sassa. He picked up a sturdily constructed wooden frame, about the right size for carrying a body, then headed off up the hill. Chogolisa and Finn followed.
Sassa realised she was standing there like an idiot and everyone was trying not to stare. All apart from Ottar, that is. He was sitting on the sand and apparently finding out how many stones he could cram into his mouth in one go. Sassa envied his obliviousness.
She caught Paloma Pronghorn’s eye and the speedy Owsla woman patted the rock next to her. Sassa walked across and sat, thinking that she’d never before seen Paloma sitting down during the day.
“It may not be the end for Wulf,” said Paloma.
Sassa looked at her. What kind of fresh nonsense was this?
Paloma nodded to where Nether Barr was standing on the edge of the group. The hardy lady’s weathered face looked a little less angry in the soft evening light.
Nether Barr gestured with her head. Sassa got up and went over.
“Follow me,” said Nether Barr. “And eat this. You’ll need strength.” She handed her a crispy little lizard.
“What about the rest? And Wulf?”
“They’ll follow and bring him.” The elderly lady set off.
Sassa looked at Paloma, who winked. The rest of the group nodded encouragement, apart from Sofi who wouldn’t meet her eye.
“What’s going on?” asked Sassa, ducking to avoid a cactus hanging from a rock.
“I lived here with the Popeye tribe for a while. I had a Popeye lover.”
“Did you?” Sassa asked, wondering what the fuck this had to do with anything, and why she was having a chat when she could have been spending her last moments with Wulf’s body.
Nether Barr continued, very much as if Sassa’s husband hadn’t just been killed. “I met a Popeye man called Sealter at a gathering in the Pothole village when I was a little younger than you. He loved me, so I thought. But he was also attracted to younger women. Girls. Maybe he did love me, but he couldn’t help what he was.”
“Oh?” said Sassa, still wondering why she was listening to this, as well as taking issue with the idea that people couldn’t help what they were. Surely helping what you were was pretty much what life was all about?
“I became pregnant. Before I could tell Sealter, a man accused him
of sleeping with his daughter. Others came forward. It was soon clear that Sealter had had various degrees of contact with more or less everybody’s daughters. He was good-looking and charming, so most of the girls, if not all, had been willing. But they were too young to know their minds. As a general rule, one shouldn’t shag children.”
“No, indeed,” said Sassa, while her brain screamed, Why am I listening to this now?
“Sealter was remorseful. However, the chief said he had to die. Most agreed. I certainly did. The warlock suggested an alternative.”
The red sandy path crested a rise and Sassa looked back. Owsla and Calnians were a hundred paces behind. Wulf was on the litter, borne by Keef and Erik, his hammer strapped to his chest. The men were struggling. Wulf would find that funny, thought Sassa, and he’d be touched that they were making the effort.
“An alternative?” Sassa asked.
“The morning that the chief made his pronouncement,” continued Nether Barr, “a girl called Hampsee whom Sealter had abused was bitten by a rattlesnake.”
“This is a fascinating story,” said Sassa, “but I’d really like to—”
“Bear with me. You will see the point. The girl died. The Popeye warlock, whose name I forget–age does that to you–had heard things about the Magnificent Worm from the previous warlock.”
“Is the Magnificent Worm better than the Great Worm?” Sassa asked, despite herself.
“It’s different. Not as long but more spectacular. I thought you were keen to get to the point?”
“I am. Sorry.”
“The Magnificent Worm, so the idea goes, pulls magic from deep in the earth, like a magic sponge. Sealter, the warlock said, should lie that night with the corpse of the dead girl in the hollow next to the Magnificent Worm. If he slit his own throat with rock chipped from the arch, so the theory went, his life would be transferred to the girl by morning.”
“What?” Sassa blinked.
“He’d die. She’d come back to life.”
“Oh.”
“Sealter agreed to do it.” Nether Barr looked ahead as if peering into the past. “Possibly he wanted to make amends. Possibly he didn’t want to be pinned out on the desert floor to be eaten alive by animals, which was the alternative.
“The girl’s father took some persuading to let Sealter lie next to his daughter again. There was even a fight between the father and the mother’s brother, which the father lost when the brother kicked him in the balls. These were not the Popeyes’ most glorious days.
“Now I think about it, they were an unpleasant people all round. I thought I’d picked the best of them and he turned out to be a child molester. I didn’t shed a tear when I heard they’d been driven from their land. Given the amount of help that the Potholers and Cloud Tribe sent when Tarker and her lot invaded–which was none–it seems nobody liked them much.”
“So what happened? Did Hampsee come back to life?”
“I’m getting there. By nightfall everyone was persuaded. Hampsee was laid in the hollow. Sealter chipped a shard from the Magnificent Worm and lay next to her. Her mother sat by the arch and waited. The Popeye warlock–what was his name?–said whoever loved the deceased most should be the only person up there. He said it was part of the legend. I suspect he wanted the mother and her bow up there to make sure Sealter didn’t flee, while preventing the father from keeping vigil. The father was an idiot and would have mucked it up.”
Nether Barr started as something large leapt from the bushes ahead. It was a lion, a large male. Sassa reached for her bow, but the big cat took a languorous look at the women then padded off in the same direction they were headed, huge paws silent on the soft sand.
“Now, where was I?” said Nether Barr, following after the lion. Sassa kept and arrow strung, but the animal didn’t seem interested in them.
“You were about to tell me if it worked.”
“It did. Hampsee and her mother came walking down the hill at dawn the next day.”
“And was Hampsee the same?”
“As far as I know. I went back to Bighorn Island that morning. But I did return maybe fifteen years later and Hampsee had children of her own and seemed normal. Or at least as normal as anybody is. I guess she lived until she died with the rest of the Popeye, but I don’t know.”
They walked on in silence for a while. The sounds and smells of the desert night grew louder and stronger, but the moon was bright. Both women were wary. They couldn’t see the lion any more, but there were plenty of other nocturnal desert creatures that could kill them. There were plenty of diurnal creatures that could kill you, too, but it was easier to see those coming.
“So we’re heading to the Magnificent Worm now to try to revive Wulf,” said Sassa eventually.
“They build them bright where you’re from,” smiled Nether Barr.
“Do you really think it could work?”
“Hampsee was dead. I saw her. Then she was alive. So yes, it could work.”
Sassa felt a flash of hope. However–and it was a very big, plan-buggering however–one vital ingredient was missing.
Did Nether Barr and the others expect Sassa to sacrifice herself?
She would have done it in a shot if she hadn’t been pregnant (or at least you can say you would have, said the most cynical recess of her mind). But, no, she couldn’t kill the growing baby in exchange for Wulf, especially when the only suggestion that it might work came from this potentially badger-shit crazy old woman.
If not Sassa, then who? None of the Calnians. Why would they? Finn? Keef? Thyri? No, no and no. Even if someone did volunteer, Sassa couldn’t allow it. Wulf wouldn’t have allowed it. He’d rather have stayed dead.
“You are now wondering,” said Nether Barr, “who will kill themselves so Wulf can live?”
“They breed them bright where you’re from, too.”
Nether Barr sucked her teeth. “The Popeye tribe aren’t all dead. Tarker’s tribe kept some for slave labour. They do all the hardest, dirtiest work. Tarker has offered one of these in exchange for Wulf.”
“No.” Sassa shook her head.
“Wulf will live. The victim will be freed from—”
“Sorry to be crude, but no fucking way.” Tears came to her eyes again. To have hopes raised and dashed was almost unbearable. “Wulf would never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself,” she managed.
“Please don’t cry,” said Nether Barr. “Wulf is coming back. There are no Popeye slaves. I made them up. I wanted to see what kind of person you are.”
“Oh.”
“I will die for Wulf,” said Nether Barr.
Sassa stopped and rubbed her eyes. Nether Barr was still walking. Sassa jogged to catch up. “You can’t,” she said.
“I don’t need your permission. The other Wootah agreed while you slept.”
“It’s not up to them, Wulf is—” She stopped. Wulf wasn’t hers. He was as much theirs. “Why?” she asked. “I’m asking because I’m interested to know. There’s still no way you can do it.”
“I had you right, Sassa Lipchewer. The rest of your tribe agreed much more readily. I guess I’m just a useless old woman to them, so near death that it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m sure that’s wrong. It must have been because they love Wulf so much and don’t know you so well.”
“And now you’re defending them,” Nether Barr smiled. “You’re good.”
“I’m not. I have killed people.”
“You’ve defended yourself.”
“No, I’ve murdered two men. With one of them–Garth Anvilchin–it was his life or another’s. But the other…” She thought of Hrolf the Painter. She remembered watching his expression change as she’d pushed her knife into his neck. “I killed the other guy because I didn’t like the way he looked at my tits.”
“Do you regret it?”
Good question, thought Sassa. She mused for a moment.
“No,” she decided.
“Good!” Hearing that Sas
sa was a murderer seemed to have tickled Nether Barr. “And now I mean to die, and I have good reasons.”
“You cannot do it.”
“Hear me out. There are three reasons I’m giving myself for Wulf. The first is that my mother died aged ninety, her mother aged eighty-nine, her mother aged eighty. I am eighty-eight. So I don’t have long left. Wulf will hopefully have many more years than me.”
“But won’t he just get the years you have left?” Sassa heard herself saying. Was she really considering this?
“No, I remember the Popeye warlock whatshisname explaining. The life force itself transfers. The amount of years left are entirely down to the ageing and decay of the revived person’s body.”
“You can’t know you’ll die at the same age as your mother.”
“True. That’s the weakest reason. The next is that I love children. I want you to have a child like I didn’t, and I want that child to have a father, like mine wouldn’t have done. Did I mention that I was pregnant when Sealter was forced to kill himself?”
“You did.”
“I killed that baby before it was born. I’ve carried that weight all of my life. Now I can do something to make amends before I die. That’s my third reason. It trumps both the others and wins the argument.”
“But—” Sassa managed.
“But nothing. If it makes it easier for you, I’ll give you a condition. You must call the child Nether Barr.”
“Of course,” said Sassa. If Nether Barr really was set on this…
“Good. It’s not just your child I want to save. You will face more monsters, disasters and hardships before you complete this quest. I want you to succeed because I want you to save all the children, not just your own. I’m not an outwardly sentimental person, Sassa, but it makes me cry to think how many children that evil Warlock Queen has killed already, and how many more will die if she is not stopped.”
They turned off the main path. “We’re a little over halfway there,” said Nether Barr. “Wulf the Fat, the hero with his mighty hammer, will be a much greater help in achieving that quest than I will.”
“He’s already managed to die once,” said Sassa.