The Disposable

by Katherine Vick

  Fodder risked a glance over his shoulder. Against the nearest horizon, The Narrative gleamed.

  The moment it reached them, the hook would give or the rope would snap. It was unavoidable. The labyrinth of rocks would knock them senseless and before they had time to come round and get out of its way, The Narrative would pounce. Resisting it whilst intact was one thing. But Fodder wasn’t certain that even his determination would be enough to keep him going against The Narrative whilst burdened with fatal wounds. If he was injured In Narrative, then he was injured. That was simply natural law.

  Well, we can’t stay here.…

  “Heave!” he bellowed over the ear-numbing roar of falling water. “We have to heave to shore!”

  He could feel the incredulity of several gazes whose owners were struggling to simply manage with holding on. But this was no time for debate.

  “On three!” he roared in a voice that brooked no argument even from Shoulders. “Left arm first! One! Two! Heave!”

  His right arm screamed as it momentarily was forced to take the pressure alone. But then his left hand found slippery purchase. The boat jerked forwards, a reluctant but definite motion.

  Yes!

  “And again! Right arm! Heave! Left! Heave! Right! Heave!”

  Slowly, painfully, they began to make progress, abandoning their helpful rock with a violent jerk as they swung back into the current and back towards the brink. But Fodder’s sharp instructions kept them moving as the riverbank edged closer and closer and closer.…

  “Jump for it!” There was a definite strained quality to Dullard’s voice, although whether it was from the effort or the elbow effect, Fodder couldn’t be sure. “We’re close enough! Take the packs and jump!”

  Shoulders barely even hesitated. Grabbing both packs from the bottom of the boat, he hurled them one after the other onto the riverbank. They landed with a noisy but safe clatter on the grass. A moment later, with only a brief and awkward scrambling against the damp and muddy river’s edge, he’d followed them.

  Flirt, however, had hesitated. She glanced from Fodder to Dullard and back again and Fodder could see the truth that had just dawned in her eyes.

  “Flirt!” he yelled. “Go!”

  “But…”

  “We’ll sort it out! Go!”

  Flirt’s brow creased. But nonetheless, she slackened her grasp, turned, and made the leap. The treacherous mud almost sent her sliding back into the turbulent waters, but luckily Shoulders’s quick reactions saved her from a tumble. He hauled her quickly up and dragged both her and the packs into the dense shelter of the weeping willow where the hook was lodged a dozen yards upstream.

  Fodder glanced towards the shining horizon. Good old Shoulders; it was smart of him to get out of sight.

  “Fodder! You too!”

  Fodder shook himself as his fingers screamed. Now it was his turn for a futile protest. “But…”

  “The princess can’t jump tied up, and I can’t jump and hold on!” Dullard’s face was set. “But if you hurry up, maybe the three of you can pull us to shore before The Narrative has time to break the rope. But you have to go!”

  He was right. Fodder knew he was right, though it still felt like a desertion. But what choice did he have?

  Abandoning the rope, Fodder turned, pushed off, and leapt. It was an ungainly landing that involved mud and a great deal of slip-sliding, but he found his footing quickly and hit sprint from a standing start as he scrambled upstream to join his friends. Ahead, vivid light was advancing at a roll down the river. The Merry Band were almost at the crest of the outcrop.

  He snatched the rope. “Help me!” he cried, and Flirt and Shoulders were at his side in a moment, hauling frantically as the beleaguered Dullard and his Royal paperweight were hauled closer and closer and closer…

  But it was already too late.

  “Here it comes!” he heard Flirt scream.

  The Merry Band crested the rise.

  Vivid light swept like a torrent downstream. Fodder saw Dullard’s eyes widen, saw him glance at the rope and sigh.

  “Oh dear,” Fodder heard him say.

  And then, mere seconds before The Narrative light could sweep in and seal his fate, he simply let go.

  “Dullard!” Fodder half started forwards, but Flirt and Shoulders had already grabbed his arms and hauled him bodily under the thick branches of the willow. They were only just in time, as vivid light engulfed the riverbank, the surging waters, and the waterfall’s brink, rolling around their place of concealment like a storm battering a beleaguered isle. Fodder caught an impossible, Narratively intense glimpse of the little boat tipping like a seesaw, saw Dullard wrap his arms around the white-faced and silently screaming princess as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. And then, in a rush of spray, they vanished over the horizon and were gone.

  The Narrative had seen them fall. He could not have seen them so clearly if it hadn’t.

  He let go on purpose. He let go so that The Narrative would see only them and not us.

  It didn’t change one simple fact, though. With The Narrative all around them, they were trapped.

  * * *

  Erik rode like a boy possessed. Behind him, he could hear the frantic bellows of Elder to wait, to pull his reins and pause in his frantic flight long enough for Sir Roderick or Zahora to catch up with him, but he could not, dared not hesitate. How could Elder even ask it of him?

  Princess Islaine.

  He had seen her only for a moment, a brief, fleeting second before the inevitable drag of the terrible current had hauled her vessel over the brim of the waterfall and plunged her out of sight. But it had been enough to see the terror in her poor eyes, the horror on her face as yet again, her ruthless kidnappers subjected her to infamy beyond reason.

  He had to find her. He had to save her.

  He could only pray with all his soul that he was not already too late.

  * * *

  The Vast River was vast. That was kind of the point.

  But nonetheless, bathed in the unreal—or was it over-real?—light of The Narrative, Fodder could see the distant far bank quite clearly as he peered out through a tiny gap in the willow’s thick branches. The Merry Band were faraway outlines as they clamoured and shouted and it didn’t take long for Fodder to see why: a lone figure on horseback had streaked away, dragging the brightest focus of the light behind him as he pelted towards the waterfall at frantic speed.

  Ah, so that’s how they’re playing it.…

  “They’ve sent Bumpkin off in quick pursuit,” he whispered softly, his eye pressed gently against the curtain of wood. Long, woody fingers of willow branch itched at his back but he manfully ignored them. “They’re scared. They want to get the princess into Narrative as soon as possible.”

  “Just be careful, will you?” Shoulders’s voice was distinctly nervous as he rested with his back against the tree trunk as far from the ring of Narrative light as could be managed. He had already dragged back on the chain mail shirt he had earlier abandoned whilst rowing and was fingering his sword impatiently. “If you let that sodding light get in, we’re buggered and you know it.”

  “I think we’re okay here.” Fodder wasn’t sure if the words were to convince Shoulders or himself—the sea of vivid light that washed around their fragile island of self-control was hardly reassuring, but surely from so far away, they’d be safe enough under cover. He squinted once more at the hurtling figure on horseback heroically charging to the rescue. “Bumpkin’s focussed on the waterfall, and we’re a long way away. Too far for even someone with mysterious powers to spot an eyeball, I reckon.” He pulled a face. “I think it’s Dullard and the princess we’ve got to worry about. They’re about to hit a big chunk of Narrative.”

  “Dullard can take Bumpkin, though, can’t he?” There was deliberately placed confidence in Flirt’s voice in spite of her usual qualification. Having retrieved the rope and hook, she too was in the process of rearming herself and strapped the
elegant sword the prince had given her to her waist with a pointed flourish. “Especially if it’s one on one.”

  “Without this?” Shoulders hefted Dullard’s sword, a plainer example from his own collection, which was still strapped to his pack. “And he’s never been In Narrative like that before. How do we know he’s up to it?”

  “How do we know he’s conscious?” Fodder added. “Not to mention that Bumpkin has mysterious powers to fall back on. The Narrative is Bumpkin’s story. It can cheat him out of any trouble anytime it wants to.”

  Flirt’s hand was on her sword hilt in an instant. “We need to get down there. Dullard will need help and we can’t lose the princess now, can we? Not after all this!”

  “The minute we go out, The Narrative will see us!” Shoulders retorted. “And then it’s us in trouble!”

  But Fodder had noticed something. “Maybe not. Grab the packs.”

  Shoulders’s expression flashed with incredulous disbelief. “You can’t be…”

  “The Narrative’s running with Bumpkin!” Abandoning his lookout post, Fodder rushed forwards and, following the lead of his friends, pulled the chafing, heavy metallic mass of his chain mail coat over his head. “And Bumpkin’s about to ride down the side of that waterfall! And as soon as he’s below the horizon…”

  “We’ll be out of Narrative sight!” Flirt flung her pack emphatically over her shoulder as Shoulders more reluctantly followed suit with Dullard’s. “We can make a run for it!”

  “But the rest of the Merry Band are still out there!” Shoulders jabbed one angry finger in the direction of the willow curtain. “They’ll see us!”

  “But not Narratively! And I’m betting the Taskmaster will care much more about getting the princess back in The Narrative’s clutches than turning around to try and catch up with us.”

  “They’ll chase us!”

  Flirt snorted. “Then we’ll have to run fast, won’t we?”

  Shoulders’s eyebrows were knitted together in one anxious line. “But…”

  The vivid light that had encased the willow faded, flickered, and dimmed. A moment later, it vanished.

  And Fodder screamed out, “Go!”

  * * *

  The brink of the cliff sheered out before him, the wide road transformed all at once from a broad, safe track into a narrow, perilous decline. But Erik barely slowed, confident in the sure footing of his loyal mount as he hurled himself down the winding trail, his eyes already scanning the turbulent waters below for some hint that the mysterious young woman who had tugged at his heart from the moment he’d set eyes on her had not perished on the jagged rocks below. His search was frantic, fervent, desperate, for she could not be dead, she was not dead, he knew it, he could feel it…

  And then, glory be, he saw her.

  Shattered wood, the remains of the boat, lay scattered in broken chunks across a narrow, pebbled inlet on the river’s far shore. A bedraggled shape wrapped in vivid sky-blue velvet lay slumped and motionless in its midst.

  Islaine!

  Until the day he died, Erik had no idea how he managed to cross the river. One moment he was galloping towards the nearest bank, and the next, his horse was skidding to a bemused and bewildered halt amongst the pebbles of the previously distant beach. Aware as he was that something strange had just happened, Erik nevertheless dared not pause to ponder it—leaping from his saddle, he stumbled and staggered his way through the wreckage, hurling himself to his knees beside the tumbled, sodden mass of beautiful blonde curls.

  She was so still! Carefully, almost reverently, he stroked back the soaking hair to expose one perfect, porcelain cheek and the soft curve of her throat. Gently, beside the tattered remains of what looked like a handkerchief, he rested his fingers against her swan-like neck and prayed for a miracle.

  A dull thudding greeted his touch just as a soft exhalation escaped from her lips. She lived! She lived!

  He leaned closer, his mouth just inches from the delicate shell of her ear.

  “Princess Islaine?” he whispered softly. “Princess, can you hear me?”

  She sighed gently. Her eyelids fluttered.…

  She was waking! Erik leaned closer, unable to keep the smile from his face.

  “Princess,” he whispered. “Princess, you’re safe now. I’ll look after you, I—”

  The crunch of a foot against pebbles was startlingly close. The young man started to turn…

  * * *

  There was no doubt that Shoulders hesitated. But Flirt had seen it coming, and her fingers wrapped with abrupt firmness around his arm. Ignoring his screech of protest, she all but flung him through the scratchy screen of branches before plunging through herself.

  Fodder had already darted forwards to slap against their protective curtain, his mailed arms raised to shield his face as he shoved his way through the hanging twigs and out into the open. He heard the yells rising at once from the far side of the river, but he did not dare stop and look to see who’d seen them—his legs pumping, his arms swinging as he bolted up the slippery, grassy slope of the riverbank, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he dragged himself over spray-dampened roots and protruding rocks and hurled himself into the cover of the trees.

  This lower reach of the Rambling Woods was thicker than the woods around his home, and three steps in, his progress was seriously impeded by a bramble patch. Luckily, his mail was protective enough to prevent a serious scratching. Powered by sheer momentum, he gritted his teeth and piled on through the undergrowth, staggering as his boots trampled the thorny stems beneath him. A muddy hole sucked at his foot and sent him reeling to bounce with bruising force against an ivy-covered tree—sticky leaves clung to his armour as he flailed his way free of their grasp. Rolling spray from the roaring waterfall off to their left had sneaked its way between the trees, filling the air with splattering, half-blinding dampness. Fodder could hear the squelch of Flirt and Shoulders’s footsteps off to one side as they encountered a patch of ground this rolling wall of fresh water had quickly made its own. A moment later, mud-splattered and battered, just as he was, they broke out of the trees behind him.

  Fodder barely hesitated. “This way!” he roared over the waterfall’s rumble, sweeping one arm round in a beckoning gesture that gained him a handful of spider’s web and a very disgruntled eight-legged passenger. Yes, they had to keep going, and keep the waterfall to their left, because that way they would still be heading down to the bottom, to where Dullard fell, to where they needed to go and—

  Fell. Down. Even as Fodder swept aside a hanging branch and hurtled mindlessly on through the spray-riddled undergrowth, the thought dropped into his head with a clang. If Higgle had dropped the landscape where the river was, basic natural law would mean he’d have to drop it on either side as well. And that would mean a…

  Slope.

  Big slope.

  A fold of sky opened out before him. Treetops glimmered damply at eye level.

  Oops.

  Only his reactions saved him. Even as the woodland floor disappeared from beneath his feet, tumbling away down a drop that teetered on the brink of sheer and was littered with rather bewildered trees that were clinging on only by deference that they had started the day on far more level ground, his hands lashed out, smacking around an overhanging branch. His feet pawed for an instant over empty air but, fingernails digging into bark, he desperately clung on, scrabbling his heels against the muddy drop-off as he tried to find his footing.

  But it was too late for that.

  “Look out!”

  He heard Flirt’s screech, caught a glimpse of her flailing arms as she struggled to stop, but momentum and wet leaves left her with little option but to hurtle into Fodder with a solid crash. Impossibly, for a moment, his grasp held them both, but Shoulders’s whoop of horror told him that the respite was only brief. A moment later, his fellow Disposable barrelled into them both with an echoing thud.

  Fodder’s fingers parted. Scrambling desperately for something
, anything to hold on to, his hand lashed out and grasped around the first solid item it encountered.

  Unfortunately, this was Shoulders’s belt.

  It proved a bad move for all concerned.

  The ground vanished. A moment later, however, it made its presence felt rather more solidly. Tangled impossibly in a cluster of metal-clad limbs, Fodder could only gasp as every ounce of breath was driven from his body by their first bruising bounce. A hard elbow drove into his chin, a leg whacked against his chest, and roots drove into his back as he tumbled over and over. Clinging trees got in their way, but the pull of gravity was stronger. He bounced off bark, ricocheted off rocks, leaves, ground, sky, leaves, ground, sky flashing dizzyingly before his eyes. He could hear Shoulders wailing in sore horror, could hear Flirt’s grunts at every battering blow as he rolled himself up as tightly as he dared and prayed for the mercy of geography.

  And then, abruptly, he got it.

  The flash of leaves parted. Muddy ground slipped into a softer gradient, and then suddenly they were rolling over grass, out into a small but blessedly flat clearing as the terrible slope finally ran out of steam. Their momentum pushed them on for several more yards, a silver ball of bruises, but slowly, hesitantly, they rumbled to a halt, unfolding with a metallic sigh into a heap of battered limbs and lolling heads. For a moment, Fodder could only lie gasping, face against the cool grass, with what looked like Shoulders’s leg hanging over his chest and Flirt’s arm slumped and twitching by his face. He couldn’t be certain, though. For all the feeling he had left in his limbs, they could have just as easily been his own.

  His head was swimming. The world was a blur of green and blue, interspersed with odd grey smudges. Dizzily, he struggled to bring his eyes back into focus but they bluntly refused to co-operate. The smudges danced before his eyes, rippling, moving, coming closer…

  “Well,” he heard Shoulders groan from somewhere behind him. “That’s one way to make a getaway!”