Where Gods Fear to Go

by Angus Watson

  Finn thought. “No, not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just want you to know that I’m very grateful.”

  “Well, whoopee fucks for you. See ya!” Keef ran off down the hill, waving Arse Splitter around his head, jabbing, chopping and sending more barrel cactuses to barrel-cactus Valhalla. Finn walked after him.

  They made camp in a dry stream bed overhung by dead trees which had probably been willowy once but were now skeletal.

  People spoke only as much as was necessary, and then in hushed tones. Finn had nothing to say to anyone. It was all done. His father was dead. His grief had settled on him like drunkenness, confusing him and making it difficult to talk.

  He wasn’t the only one brooding. Everybody was in a sombre mood, apart from Ottar and Freydis. The boy was counting stones in and out of a pot, while Freydis was telling him a story she’d made up about Raskova, the friendly squirrel who lived on the world tree.

  Finn walked a little way from the others and found a rock to sit on. The sun was setting. Would it be the last sunset he saw?

  Raskova… Raskova… thought Finn. Then he remembered. Raskova the Spiteful and Marina the Farter had been twin daughters of Jarl Brodir the Gorgeous back in Hardwork. He shook his head. It had been only four moons before–the beginning of summer–when the Calnians had slaughtered the lot of them. He should remember them all; his Uncle Poppo Whitetooth, his sort-of sisters Brenna the Aloof and Alvilda the Shy, and so many more.

  He’d been lucky to make it so far, to become a Wootah. Most of the people who’d left Hardwork after the Calnian attack were dead. He tried to remember them all. Frossa the Deep-Minded had been jumped on by a giant fish, Hrolf the Painter’s throat had been ripped out by a black bear. Fisk the Fish had been torn to pieces by Erik’s bear Astrid when he’d tried to kill Rimilla and Potsi. And Gurd Girlchaser! That dick! The only one of them that the Owsla had actually killed. It was the first time they’d seen any of the Owsla up close. Finn remembered being stunned by Sadzi Wolf’s amazing athleticism and beauty, and the undeniably thrilling horror when she’d taken Gurd’s axe from him and cleaved his face in two.

  Next to go, and good riddance, had been Chnob the White, sucked up by the tornado. Then there was Garth Anvilchin, another one he’d been glad to see the back of. Did he mean that, he wondered? Had these intense few moons matured him enough to wish that Garth wasn’t dead and he could have sorted out his differences with the man? No, not at all. Good riddance to the murderous fucker.

  Frossa, Hrolf, Fisk, Gurd, Chnob, Garth. He wasn’t going to miss anyone who’d died on the far side of the Water Mother. Funny how all the arseholes had died so quickly, he mused, not for the first time. It was almost like the gods had been smiting those who might hinder their quest.

  Then they’d crossed the Water Mother and left the gods behind. Wonderful Bjarni Chickenhead had been an idiot and killed himself. Morningstar wouldn’t have liked to admit it, but she’d become one of them and Finn had liked her. That horrible reverser warlock had killed her. Lovely Luby Zephyr who he’d hardly known but already liked a lot, had been killed by the Badlander Owsla, then Empress Ayanna had thrown herself–well, had Chogolisa throw her–into the jaws of a thunder lizard to save them all.

  Then Gunnhild. Was it the wasp sting or had she simply died? It was almost like she’d known how much tougher the journey would become and that she’d be a burden, so she’d just let go of life.

  And then Erik. His dad was dead.

  Finn squeezed his eyes but no tears came. He could accept Bjarni’s death. He loved Bjarni, but with the man’s lust for drugs and lack of nous it had always seemed like he had a tenuous grip on life. It was more than that, though. Why was Bjarni like that? Underneath all the zany bluster, he had been sad. He’d always been sad. Finn hoped Bjarni was now smoking, eating and snorting all he could find in Tor’s Hall and wasn’t missing this world at all.

  It was the same with Yoki Choppa. Finn wished he hadn’t died, and was grateful that he’d saved Ottar, but the warlock had seemed ready to go, free of ties to this world and ready to embrace whatever the Hel went on after life.

  Gunnhild, on the other hand… the way she’d loved Ottar and Freydis, the way she’d loved Finn himself, she must be missing them all terribly. He couldn’t see them from his rock, but he could still hear Freydis singing and Ottar chirruping along happily. How Gunnhild would have loved to have been here, fussing over the children and telling everyone else how to live their lives.

  And Erik.

  You die when you die, said Gunnhild in his mind. Hardworkers do not mourn the dead.

  Fuck that shit, thought Finn. The Wootah do. But on the other hand, if anyone was going to enjoy Tor’s Hall, it was Erik. And that’s surely where he was now, having a marvellous time. That’s what Finn was going to tell himself. It would make the whole thing a good bit easier.

  Freydis asked to sit on Paloma’s lap after the evening meal to listen to Sofi, Wulf and Maya’s plan of attack. Paloma was pleased to let her. It was a bit much when Ottar cuddled up next to her but she couldn’t really knock him back after she’d said his sister could. Especially because tomorrow was his big day. Tomorrow they were going to find out why Ottar was so vital.

  Paloma hoped it wasn’t what she suspected. It couldn’t be, could it? Surely Sofi would have told her.

  She held the warm little children on her knee as everyone gathered on the broad, dry stream bed. The sun had set but the moon was bright and it was warm. They could still hear the monsters in The Meadows roaring and screaming and they could also, Paloma fancied, smell them. Something smelled faintly of dirty monster arse, anyway. It might have been Ottar, now she thought of it. Left to their own devices, little boys were smelly animals, and nobody had been looking after Ottar much of late.

  When all were assembled, Maya began.

  “The warlock Finn the Deep—”

  “I’m no warlock,” interrupted Finn.

  “You can enter the minds of animals?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Then you’re a warlock. As I was saying, Finn the Deep will take over the mind of one of the creatures in The Meadows and—”

  “But I can’t.” Finn looked flustered. “I told Sofi. When I tried to take over the spiders—” Finn stopped. He’d noticed the look on Maya’s face. Like many chiefs, she wasn’t a big fan of being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Finn finished.

  Maya continued: “You have to, because you are our only hope. To improve your chances, the warlocks and warriors will attack a couple of miles to the north and distract the Warlock Queen.”

  All the warriors and warlocks, Wootah and Calnians were looking at Finn. Paloma was kind of proud. Sofi gave him a single nod–her version of an encouraging hug.

  “While we have her attention,” continued Maya, “you will persuade a suitable animal to come to the edge of The Meadows. You, along with some of the Wootah and Calnians, will climb aboard with the coffin.”

  “Some of the Wootah and Calnians?” asked Sassa.

  “You are pregnant,” said Sofi. “You will stay behind. And Freydis is not needed.”

  “I’m coming,” Sassa insisted.

  “Sorry,” Wulf shook his head. “Someone needs to look after Freydis.”

  “She can stay with the warlocks and warriors. I’m coming. My archery will be useful, as it was when we fought our way out of the Badlands, as it was when we defeated the wasp men, as it was when we battled the spiders. I’ve killed way more monsters than you have, Wulf the Fat, and none of them have killed me. Why don’t you stay and look after Freydis?”

  Wulf opened his mouth but had nothing to say.

  “I’m very happy not to come,” said Freydis, “and I’ll be happy with the warriors and warlocks. I’m glad to hear I’m not needed. So which one of you has learned to talk to Ottar?”

  “Ot-tar!” shouted Ottar.

  “If he is as important as everyone keeps saying,
” continued Freydis, bobbing her head to some internal tune, “you need to know what he’s saying.”

  Sofi looked at Wulf. “All right,” said Wulf. “All the Calnians and Wootah will ride on the beast.”

  “Assuming we dupe a goddess with a trick which wouldn’t fool Ottar,” muttered Finn.

  Maya ignored him and continued the plan. When all seemed done and Paloma was ready to get up–her bum was numb from the extra weight of the children–Maya said: “There is one more thing you Wootah and Calnians should know.”

  The way Sofi and Wulf looked at her, this was news to them.

  “One of the Warlocks has seen treachery among you in his alchemical bowl. You should be wary of each other tomorrow.”

  “Which one of you has seen this?” demanded Wulf, looking towards where the warlocks were gathered.

  An older man stood. He looked unsure of himself. One of his eyes stared off into the mid distance while the other looked at Wulf. Paloma breathed again. The guy did not look reliable.

  “What did you see?” asked Wulf.

  “Nothing solid. I felt one of your group killing one of his or her own. Perhaps more than one. That is all.”

  Paloma swivelled her eyes to look at Sofi. Was she still planning to follow Empress Ayanna’s orders and kill all the Wootah? Sofi’s expression, as always, was unreadable.

  “Could it have happened in the past?” asked Sassa.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “The Warlock Queen is pale-skinned,” said Sofi. “Could you have seen her death?”

  “Yes…” said the warlock. “That could have been it.” He did not sound convinced.

  When they were done, Finn went to look for Chogolisa. He found her, sitting on her own a little way down the dry gulch. She looked up at his approach. Her eyes were wet with tears.

  He sat down next to her. She took his hand in her own and he held it as she rocked and cried.

  Chapter 8

  Assault on The Meadows

  The sky lightened. It would be a good while before the sun cleared the mountain behind them.

  Finn the Deep crouched with Paloma Pronghorn a short way uphill from the edge of The Meadows. They were wrapped in a grey blanket that blended into the dusty land. Paloma was dressed in Owsla garb and pressed against him. Finn hardly noticed.

  Monsters ruled The Meadows. The mountain shook with cries, groans and screams and the air was heavy with the stink of rotting meat, excrement, beast sweat and Loakie knew what else. The size of the monsters completed the sensual assault. Some towered high above where he and Paloma were hidden, a hundred paces up the hillside.

  Of the six beasts with pyramids on their backs to the north of The Meadows, three remained. Finn wondered if the others had died and collapsed back into the monster mash. More likely, they’d gone to spread the Warlock Queen’s misery around the world. How many more had gone before?

  As they’d seen the day before, the creatures seemed to be held back by an invisible line and they did not stray up the hillside. It reminded Finn of the Hardwork confinement–the invisible boundary ten miles from the village of Hardwork which the Goachica had forbidden them to cross. The Pyramid was apparently around ten miles from the edge of The Meadows.

  Coincidence? thought Finn. Yes, probably. A life without coincidence, said Gunnhild, is more unlikely than the strongest coincidence.

  As the sky brightened further flying creatures emerged from the throbbing morass and screeched into the air. Some plunged back immediately, wailing hideously. Others circled, screaming hatred. Like the ground-based animals, they were noisy bastards. One breathed a great gout of fire. Finn’s eyes bulged–all the Calnians and Wootah being burned to a crisp in an instant would be a serious hindrance to their plans–but then he saw that the fire-breather had set its own head alight. It plummeted, consumed by flames, and exploded on the monsters below. The roaring raged momentarily louder as dozens of beasts burned.

  There were plenty more to take their place. The Meadows was a constantly evolving lake of creation and death. Monsters rose and sank; the living climbed over the dead, the dead fell onto the living.

  A column of something that looked like snot rose rapidly skyward. It wobbled–tall, shimmering and aggressively green–and Finn thought it must collapse. Instead, all over the pillar thousands of rheumy eyes blinked open, shining with malevolence. Then it collapsed, to burst with a great splat, coating all the beasts nearby with mucoid goo.

  As if taking that as a cue, the warlocks and warriors began their attack, two miles to the north. Thunderous booms rang out and light flashed. Maya had promised noise but Finn hadn’t expected anything like this.

  “All right,” said Paloma. “It’s time.”

  Finn opened his mind.

  He’d expected the minds of so many and such huge creatures to hit him like a hurled bucket of water, but it was more like having shit-soaked moss rammed into his mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears. It was the mental manifestation of their smell.

  He breathed deeply, calming himself and pushing back against the sluggish tide of semi-formed, primitive thought. He probed the sea of minds. They felt unimaginably ancient and dangerously stupid.

  And, thank Oaden, no Warlock Queen so far. It was just possible that the Warlocks and Warriors’ noisy diversion was working.

  He began to find individual voices. The great globular hill of life with eyes wanted to consume other organisms and grow. The insects and the crabby beasts were in a frenzy of violent ravenousness. A couple of giant lizards, four-legged and low-slung, wanted to kill as many other creatures as they could, then eat them. There was a theme.

  He spotted what he wanted–one of the giant rabbits. This one was cowering on its own, looking no happier in the crowd of carnivores as one would expect a rabbit to be. It was black, and mind-bogglingly huge. Had it fallen from the sky onto the village of Hardwork, it would have obliterated the village.

  Was it prejudice, he wondered? Had he picked the warm-blooded, furry animal because it was more like himself?

  He told himself to shut the Hel up and get on with it.

  The giant rabbit, was terrified. Several lizard beasts were attacking it, but they couldn’t bite through its fur, let alone its skin. The rabbit understood this, but also knew that there were larger beasts all around which would be able to hurt it. It was hunkered and shivering, believing that they wouldn’t see it if it stayed still.

  A giant blue-armoured beast came shambling towards it. Rivers of saliva flowed from a mouth that could have easily accommodated the rabbit’s head. The rabbit held its ground. What else could it do? Underfoot was shifting and strange. It didn’t want to run.

  Run here! suggested Finn. It’s nice here.

  He heard the squeak of fear above the other monster grunts and felt the rabbit’s terror at having another voice in its mind. It was more frightened of Finn than of the blue fucker that was going to eat it. It gripped the ground and shivered. Crouching further, it exposed tendons on its back foot. One of the relatively little lizard beasts managed to get a mouthful.

  The rabbit redoubled its efforts to stay in the same place.

  Escape pain, escape pain, Finn tried, attempting to be more encouraging and less commanding. It’s nice where the hill begins. The ground is still and the lizards won’t get you.

  The rabbit stood, sniffing.

  Come onto the rock, away from the pain. Hop over here. It’s good over here.

  The rabbit flicked a back paw and the buffalo-sized lizard which had been biting it flew, tracing a high parabola across the monster-filled sky. Still the rabbit stayed put, afraid to move across the shifting ground.

  The big blue beast was heartbeats away, mouth agape and ready.

  Your feet are huge. You will have no trouble crossing the land. You are stronger than you know.

  The giant black rabbit leapt away from the predator and came hopping over the sea of monsters. Smaller beasts screamed as they were crushed by huge rabbit paws.


  The armoured beast didn’t even deign to watch the rabbit run, let alone chase it. Finn guessed there were plenty of other animals to eat.

  The rabbit hesitated at the edge of the beast swamp. It wasn’t meant to go on the rock.

  Safety here, warm rock to lie on. Nice rock.

  The rabbit hopped onto the mountainside a hundred paces down the slope and lay flat, nose twitching.

  “He’s done it!” shouted Wulf, a little way up the hill. “Come on!”

  Sassa and the rest of them followed, bounding down the boulder-strewn slope towards the giant rabbit that they intended to ride across the monster-filled Meadows to The Pyramid of the Warlock Queen. Over to the right were screams and great bangs as the warlocks and warriors attacked the oversized, warped beasts with magic, might and as much furore as possible.

  Just another Wootah day, thought Sassa.

  She wondered if Finn should have chosen something a little more dauntless than a rabbit.

  Chogolisa was by her side, holding Ottar clutched to her chest with one arm and the coffin on her shoulder with the other. Sassa could feel dark nastiness emanating from the coffin. She felt bad doing it, since Chogolisa and Ottar were putting up with the malevolence, but she slowed to get some distance from the vile box. She had a child to think about, she told herself.

  Sofi ran past.

  Wulf was worried that Sofi was going to turn on them. He hadn’t said as much, but Sassa could tell by his expressions when the Owsla captain was nearby as clearly as if he’d shouted I don’t trust Sofi! all night.

  Sassa knew he was wrong. She knew it. Sure, there’d been a time Sofi had been trying to kill them, but that was following the orders of an empress who’d sacrificed herself so that the Wootah could live. Surely that was as clear a cancellation of her commands as anyone could ever need?

  Ahead, the others were making short work of scrabbling up the rabbit. Finn was already sitting between its ears like an elf in a saga.

  The vast beast didn’t seem to have noticed the human invasion. Sassa reached its flank. Paloma and Freydis were ten paces above, standing on the back of the big bunny.