Where Gods Fear to Go

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Where Gods Fear to Go Page 35

by Angus Watson


  She could hear Ottar and Freydis larking about behind her. She’d worked it out. She wished that she hadn’t. She was pretty sure Sofi knew. They were taking Ottar to his death. They had to be. He’d be killed and the Warlock Queen’s son would take his body.

  She blinked. Maybe she was wrong. But she wasn’t often wrong. Sitsi looked back at the lovely valley, trying to take her mind off the subject.

  She hoped she’d be able to come back to the Valley of the Gods with Keef the Berserker. Maybe they’d settle here? Why not? She didn’t feel bound to the Owsla any more and she was pretty sure Sofi would let her go. Maybe Sofi would stay with them?

  No. Sofi wouldn’t settle. She’d do her duty. She’d go back to the Green tribe, pick up Ayanna’s son Calnian and take him back to Calnia to rule. She’d need help with that. Thinking about it, Sitsi would never be happy letting Sofi go off and face the danger alone. And Keef would love the adventure. He was no readier for domestication than she was.

  The only certain thing about her future was that it was unknown. It was frightening and exciting. However, if they were taking Ottar to his death, that would cast a pall over the rest of her life. Surely there had to be another way?

  Time was that she’d known the future. She was Calnian Owsla. She would fight until she was too old or she was killed. If she survived, she would train others until she was too old for that, then she’d sit around and knit, embroider, sing and gossip until she died. That had been her life plan. She’d never thought that Calnia as she knew it would come to an end, nor that she would find love.

  It all changed the day they’d captured Keef, cut off his ear and gouged out his eye. Had she fallen in love with him then? No. But she’d liked him. She remembered standing on the bridge, listening to him being brave and funny. What was it he’d said? Don’t take my eye, you don’t want a captive with no depth perception.

  It was the first time she’d ever liked an enemy and, perhaps more importantly, the first time she’d ever questioned the actions of the Owsla.

  Oh, Innowak, she called after the great swan that had flown behind the mountain, please let us live through the attack on The Pyramid. Please let all of us live.

  That was never going to happen.

  If we don’t all make it, please let Keef the Berserker and me live, she added, feeling guilty.

  They reached the spot where the Virgin River resurfaced from the flood debris. Chief Maya directed the preparation of the canoes. There wasn’t anything for the Calnians to do. It was wonderful.

  She watched a warrior toss a squirrel into the Virgin River. The rodent swam ashore, seriously pissed off but otherwise unharmed.

  Sitsi waited with the others for a while. The mood seemed both sombre and fearful. They were heading into a battle they might not win. She wondered if any of the Wootah had worked out Ottar’s role. She suspected that Keef had. He’d been the only Wootah to understand that killing Pook was the right thing to do. She hoped he would be as understanding about the sacrifice of a child. Their child.

  Right then, Ottar was the most relaxed of all of them, sitting on a log, puffing out one cheek and then the other.

  Sitsi had to look away.

  Paloma Pronghorn ran alongside the Virgin River. They’d decided it was safer to travel by boat at night. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care. She would never be safer in a boat.

  She tore up a mountain. Caught up in her thoughts, she misjudged it. It was pretty much a cliff for the last hundred paces. Relentless gravity pulled at her as she neared the peak. She strained as hard as she was able–something she very rarely did–leapt the last couple of paces and was on safe ground again.

  She’d made it. Phew. Falling backwards down a mountain would have been a seriously dumb thing to do.

  She stood on the cliff edge. The boats wound downstream along the grey river below like little black beetles. All her friends were in those boats, heading towards probably the most dangerous place in the world. They looked very vulnerable from her high perch.

  Which of them would make it out alive? She hoped they all would, she really did. She may have messed things up a bit by snogging Finnbogi and then ignoring him, but they had a tolerably awkward relationship now. She was with a group of diverse characters who made her feel comfortable and valued, and, what was more, she valued every single one of them. Even Finnbogi.

  So she really didn’t want any of them to be killed.

  Who would she pick, she wondered, if she had to choose one of them to die? They were her friends now and that probably wasn’t a normal thing to be thinking, but who said she had to become normal just because she had friends now?

  An image of Thyri Treelegs’ sulky face popped into her mind.

  Yup, definitely her. But she’d still be upset if Thyri died. She’d even risk her own life to save her.

  She’d changed.

  Paloma sighed and ran on. Moments later she was happy again. At least she still had running, and she would still have running after whatever happened at The Meadows. Assuming she made it through. Who was she kidding? she thought as she tore down the hill, freaking out an owl that was flapping along a narrow passage of woodland. She was Paloma Pronghorn. Of course she was going to live.

  She’d do her best to make sure the others did, too.

  Erik the Angry awoke, rolled his head around and heard his neck crack.

  “Good morning,” said Chogolisa without turning.

  They had a canoe to themselves, away from the children they’d been carrying so often. Wulf had insisted on it, even though it meant that his own canoe with Freydis, Ottar, Thyri and Sassa was a little crowded. Erik was grateful and embarrassed by the kindness, and tried not to think that Wulf was giving them some time together because he thought one or both of them was going to get killed.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep now?” he asked Chogolisa.

  “I’m fine,” she said quietly. “We’ll sleep during the day.”

  “I can never sleep in the day.”

  “I can. So sleep now and guard me when we stop.”

  That seemed reasonable to Erik. The current was swift enough to carry the boat without paddle power, but there were no serious rapids so she’d be fine piloting the craft alone.

  “Okay,” he said, settling back. He’d been worried about Chogolisa, and himself for that matter. The coffin seemed to exude some kind of melancholy miasma. Now that the warlocks and warriors had taken if off their hands–they were currently towing it in its own canoe a good way behind them–they’d both perked up a lot.

  Erik liked the Warlocks and Warrior tribe, particularly Maya, their chief. He’d told her that being too near the coffin made you feel shitty. She’d listened, nodded and asked him what he thought they should do. That was why it was being towed in its own boat.

  He liked it when people were clever enough to listen to him and do what he recommended. Kobosh, his old friend and chief of the Lakchans had been like that.

  Erik wondered if he’d ever see him again.

  Moments later he was dreaming about his bear friend, Astrid. She was towering on two legs, paws on hips, angrily asking where the Hel he thought he was, and when he was coming back.

  He was woken what seemed like a couple of moments later by a bang and a splash of water on his face.

  “Erik?” said Chogolisa. She was paddling hard.

  “Yes?”

  “Might need a bit of help.”

  Erik sat up, but was knocked back as the canoe surged down what he guessed was a small waterfall.

  He gripped the sides and hauled himself up.

  They were in a canyon. The sky was beginning to lighten. The boat turned sideways to the current and he could see past Chogolisa. The river was churning.

  Erik grabbed his paddle. “Ready. Just tell me—”

  “Hard on the left, hard on the left. Don’t ease up until I tell you.” He paddled, hard. “Ease up… now!”

  The canyon was deep and majestically m
eandering. The canoe bucked and slid, plunged and rocked along the vivacious current. Chogolisa shouted instructions and they paddled, leant from side to side, sometimes guiding the boat along with the flow, sometimes fighting the current.

  Erik was so wrapped up in his work that he’d forgotten the others, until a couple of high-pitched screams rang out behind them.

  He turned, expecting to see a smashed boat and heads bobbing down the treacherous tumult, but it was Freydis and Ottar, squealing with joy.

  “Wooooo-tah!” shouted Wulf, paddle aloft.

  “Wooooo-tah!” he yelled himself as they flowed over the next low waterfall.

  “Wooooo-tah!” he heard Finnbogi shout.

  Erik smiled. For all its hardships, this trip hadn’t been all doom and gloom because, quite simply, the Wootah were a lot of fun. So were Chogolisa, Paloma and Sitsi now, but it had taken exposure to the Wootah to bring it out of them. Even Sofi was good company–and he’d be dead at the bottom of a canyon without her, of course.

  He wanted to go on more adventures. He really hoped they lived through this one.

  “Left paddle, left paddle!” cried Chogolisa. She was enjoying it now as much as he was.

  He was looking forward to a life with her more than anything.

  It was almost a shame when they rounded a bend and found several warriors standing bravely in the fast channel, gripping canoes and shoving them towards a shingle beach.

  Chogolisa stuck her paddle forwards to the left and, with one mighty swoosh, sent their canoe surging through the water towards the beach with such force that Erik fell backwards.

  She held out a hand to help him up and out of the canoe. By the way she’d driven the craft ashore, she could have piloted it alone through the rapids without a bother. She hadn’t needed his help. She’d just wanted to enjoy it with him.

  He smiled.

  Chogolisa stood, hands on hips, watching upriver for the others. She could have strode into the current and proved her strength by hauling in the boats like the warriors, but showing off wasn’t her thing.

  She was so lovely, so kind, so powerful, so pretty. What did she see in him? He didn’t need to ask her whether he was just a fling to distract her as they travelled. Paloma Pronghorn might have done that, but not Chogolisa. He was pretty sure she was the type who mated for life, just like he’d always wanted to be.

  Suddenly, Erik’s breath was short and he felt a little sick and faint. He sat on a boulder. Was this death coming? He was over forty years old now. People his age often just died. It did happen.

  But he didn’t think he was dying. Thinking about how much he loved Chogolisa and the rest of them, he was suddenly very, very afraid. He could feel the fear in his elbows, for the love of Tor.

  He knew they had to go into The Meadows, that they had to return the dead boy to his dead mother at The Pyramid. But he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want Chogolisa to be in danger ever again.

  The others came ashore and Erik recovered enough to stand up and fake a smile. The Warriors and Warlocks made breakfast as the sky lightened, but, other than bringing them food, kept their distance from the Wootah and Calnians.

  Maya wandered over when they were eating. “I hope you don’t think we’re being aloof,” she said, “I just know you’ve had a difficult journey and thought you could do without having to make polite conversation, so I’ve told the others to leave you alone.”

  “That,” said Sofi, “suits us very well.”

  After eating, Erik and the others turned their canoes upside down to make shelters against the grass bank. The sun wasn’t over the canyon’s sides yet, but the day was already heating up. Erik made sure that Chogolisa’s spot in the lee of their boat was comfortable then sat on the other side, leaning against the canoe.

  He never knew if Chogolisa did actually sleep, because as soon as he sat down, even though he’d slept a good part of the night, he himself fell into a deep, dream-free slumber.

  He woke around midday. It was so hot in the deep canyon, even by the rushing river, that it was difficult to breathe. He went to check on Chogolisa. She wasn’t under the boat.

  He panicked for about four heartbeats then spotted her sitting upstream making a garland from the flowers that hung in clusters from the riverbank.

  “If there’s any snow on the mountains upriver—” he said.

  “Then this heat will have melted it already and it will be on its way downriver,” she said. “I was thinking that, too. We should have camped on top of the bank, at least.”

  “Shall we get everyone to move?”

  “No, let them sleep. Let’s sit here and keep an eye on the current.”

  A warrior appeared out of a bush.

  “What are you doing? Get back under cover!” he barked. It seemed the warriors weren’t all as charming as Maya.

  “We’re keeping an eye on the current,” Erik explained, “in case there’s a flash flood.”

  The warrior puffed out his chest like a fluffy bird trying to attract a mate. “And you didn’t think we were capable of thinking that?”

  “That wasn’t our main motivation, no,” said Chogolisa. “It’s so hot that—”

  “That snowmelt might cause a flash flood.” His tone was patronising and mocking. “What do you think I’m watching for?”

  “I don’t know,” said Chogolisa, cocking her head innocently, “maybe for a decent character to come bobbing along the river, so you can swap if for the fucking bellend one Innowak gave you?”

  Erik glowed with pride. Fucking bellend was one of his expressions.

  The warrior looked her up and down as if deciding whether to attack her, then said: “Get back to your shelter and stay there. The size of you, any passing monster will spot us.”

  Erik did not much like having Chogolisa’s size mocked. He stood, Turkey Friend in hand. Chogolisa put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s quite secluded, our shelter, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he answered.

  “Let’s go back there. I’m sure we’ll find something to do.”

  They set off again at dusk.

  Finn the Deep had loved the rapids that morning. His boat mates Keef the Berserker and Sitsi Kestrel liked to take the fun routes rather than the safe ones. It wasn’t what Finn would have done himself, but he was glad they had.

  This next section of rapids, however, was considerably more treacherous. It didn’t help that it was getting darker every moment. Finn managed to whack his own paddle into his lip, which bled, then Keef yelled at him for paddling on the wrong side. We are going to drown, he thought after they’d made a particularly brazen route choice and plunged over a waterfall higher than he was tall. Moments later, however, they popped out of the canyon into a gently rolling valley. The river widened and the current slowed.

  The moon was bright. Crazily bright. Mountains to the east and a monumental mesa to the west were silver and black.

  He counted the canoes ahead and behind, then counted again to be sure.

  “One boat missing,” he reported grimly.

  “Did you count ours?” asked Keef.

  “Ah, no. We’re all here then.”

  They stopped for a meal on a rare stony section of bank. Finn didn’t know what meal it was. Hardworkers hadn’t had a name for a meal in the middle of the night. Everyone in Hardwork had slept through the night to prepare for another day of indolence.

  Finn wasn’t hungry anyway. He walked upriver, alone.

  He wasn’t sulking. He was overjoyed for everyone who’d found love. He really was. It was wonderful that Sitsi and Keef had got it on. They were so well suited. Wulf and Sassa had been a great couple for years. He didn’t mind that his father and Chogolisa didn’t have time for anyone else–they were new lovers heading into a dangerous situation. And he was glad that he’d accepted Thyri would never be the one for him. She was becoming more introverted and moody every day. If they were a couple he’d have to deal with that. How tiresome would that be? Imagine t
he sex, though, said a voice in his mind. No, I won’t, Finn argued back.

  Play with the stones you receive, said dead Gunnhild, not with the ones you wish you had.

  I’ll give it a go, Finn replied.

  He sat on the shingle and threw stones into the dark swirl. A fish leapt and flashed silver.

  And Paloma? Was his campaign of aloofness working? He had no idea because she seemed to be operating the same campaign towards him.

  He stopped throwing stones into the river and started to throw them at his own feet.

  He’d denied his child and left it to be brought up by another man. He didn’t deserve love. He’d probably die attacking The Meadows but if he did survive he was destined to walk the world alone.

  Worse than any disease is not to be content with yourself, said Gunnhild.

  I’m sure you’re right, thought Finn. But what if yourself is a prick that you hate for leaving its baby?

  Just cheer the fuck up, it’s happened. That didn’t sound like Gunnhild, but Finn was glad to take the advice.

  It would be okay, walking the world alone. He’d be a craggy wandering hero, then one day he’d find his child, and they would –

  There was a footstep behind him. He jumped to his feet and turned in one move, pulling Foe Slicer free of its scabbard.

  “Please don’t kill me,” said Paloma Pronghorn with the hint of a smile that said I know I’d kill you a thousand times out of a thousand.

  She looked vibrant. Finn was tired and his arse was wet and itchy from the canoe.

  “I’ve been practising,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’d like to talk before we head into The Meadows.”

  “Sure.” Finn’s voice cracked only a little. He sat back down on the stones. Paloma sat next to him.

  I am a very cool man with a mighty sword, he told himself, hoping he wouldn’t be sick.

  “Finn,” she said.

  He nodded. It wasn’t a very happy sounding “Finn”. He almost welcomed disappointment. Hope was becoming unbearable.

 

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