The Volunteer (The Bone World Trilogy)

by Peadar O'Guilin

  Whistlenose looked around the room, wishing more than anything the boy were here, but relieved too that he wasn't, for the child was too young not to tell others what he had seen. Or did that even matter now?

  "I know what they're planning," he said. "The Chief and his new friend. They want us... you, the Tribe, to go to a place his brother found. Stopmouth, his name was."

  "His brother? But..."

  "I know. He lived until only a few days ago, apparently. He was fast. I remember that much about him. I don't think his mind was right, but he always did his share. He was the one who won the Talker from the Armourbacks and the Flyers."

  "He must have been a lot smarter than he looked, then," said Ashsweeper, "if he stayed alive so long away from the Tribe. But who could do such a thing? Who would want to?"

  "Aagam was sure of his story. And the Chief believes him completely. There's... there's supposed to be another tribe out there somewhere. And Stopmouth found it with the woman he stole."

  She whistled. Then, all of a sudden, her eyes lit up. "But wait! If they survived, maybe you can too! Husband! You have so much more experience than either of them. You could make it to the... the other tribe!" She faltered.

  The whole idea tasted absurd to both of them. It couldn't work. Who would show him the way? He knew Stopmouth had headed towards Longtongue to begin with and had brought enough supplies to feed him and his woman for tens of days. Everybody had heard that much of the story, although the whole Tribe had learned soon enough not to speak of the incident in the presence the Chief.

  He felt strength returning to him from the meal he had eaten. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You can't stay, husband... Whistlenose. You can't kill him either, if it's true the world is ending like he says."

  He turned around and saw what those words had cost her. The Tribe came first and that's all there was to it. He felt the same.

  "I should go," he agreed, at last. "Before... before he comes back. I'm not sure I could stop myself if I saw him."

  "There's still one of your spears here, you know?"

  "I won't take it. You could swap it for flesh," he said. His second spear had seen a lot of use, but was in better condition than he was. It was one of the older ones from before the Tribe had learned to make tips from Armourback shell. It had a fine piece of flint at the end, however, that would buy a few good meals.

  "We won't starve," she said, and he knew it was because of her new husband. A man who couldn't hunt, but whose position at the side of the Chief made him a far better provider than Whistlenose could ever be.

  He nodded, unable to respond, and took the spear. Without a backward glance, he headed for the steps.

  "Where will you go?" she asked. "Will you try to find Stopmouth?"

  He didn't answer. He genuinely didn't know. But as he strode up towards the dangerous light, he realised suddenly that he would never Volunteer himself again. He was going to live, and that's all there was to that. He gripped the old spear and his face twisted itself into a smile.

  CHAPTER 6: Mourning a Traitor

  Wallbreaker didn't think he would ever cry again, but after his first meeting with Aagam, he interrupted the evening meal with his wives and his child. He sent them to their room upstairs.

  "I need to be alone."

  Not even Mossheart had objected.

  He found his face wet, and hot too, as though fevered. Stopmouth, of course. The only one he could trust. The worst of traitors and dead, it seemed, for a second time. But it hurt so much more now that the anger had faded.

  "Take care of him," their father had said so long ago. Wallbreaker hadn't known what this was about. "Mind your brother. Your mother had to fight to get him named and there's plenty hungry enough to think he didn't deserve it."

  Father had volunteered the next day and nobody had been expecting it.

  Poor Stopmouth had been especially hurt. He'd trailed after Wallbreaker everywhere and couldn't string more than three words together without his tongue getting lost along the way. A sweet boy for all that, and sometimes when the older brother was courting Mossheart, she would joke, "Lucky for you, Wallbreaker! I almost forget myself sometimes and kiss him!" But her kindness to the boy, rare as it was in a Tribe that expected him to Volunteer early, had only caused Stopmouth to dream of her, to want her. It must have festered inside—Wallbreaker saw that now—it must have festered there until he thought Mossheart should have been his all along.

  And then Indrani had fallen from the sky and changed everything. Wallbreaker had saved her life when all around wanted her Volunteered. Then, he had honoured her by taking her as a second wife, although she couldn't so much as make a blanket!

  The life of the Tribe confused her. The whole surface of the world horrified her in a way only a really intelligent man like Wallbreaker could share. He alone had loved her: her marvellous dark skin; her bright teeth and the determined set of her jaw. No other woman in the Tribe could compare.

  The thought that she was still alive, still out there. That she could be his again, filled him with joy.

  She would have had time to adapt to the world by now. She would be thinking more clearly. And with his traitorous, wonderful brother gone, nobody would steal her from him ever again.

  Two days later, Aagam stumbled back into the Chief's house sporting two black eyes and clutching at his chest.

  Wallbreaker surged to his feet, heart pounding. "Who attacked you? By the Ancestors, I should have put a guard on you!"

  "It was that slut you gave me for a wife!"

  "You asked for her. And already you call her a slut?"

  "Well, I want a different one now, and I want that one Volunteered. Along with her brat of a son."

  "No," said Wallbreaker.

  "No? You forget who I am." Aagam tapped his head with one finger. "I went to a lot of effort to learn what I've got up here."

  "It doesn't matter," said Wallbreaker. "There's only so much the Tribe will swallow without chewing, you understand? We already have them harvesting moss now when they should be hunting—"

  "—that was your idea, you ignorant savage! I wasn't saying to do that at all!"

  Wallbreaker took a deep breath. "Are you trying to force me to kill you? Is that why you came here?"

  "You wouldn't dare! I'm the only one—"

  "Sit down." And when the man ignored him and kept spitting and shouting, Wallbreaker kicked the legs from under him and knelt down hard on his belly. Even then, the stranger failed to shut up until he felt a knife against his throat. It was made of Armourback shell and quite capable of sawing right through the man's neck.

  "I need you," said Wallbreaker. "The Tribe doesn't know that yet. They're not even sure they need me, although they do. They'd be gone already, every one of them, without me. But it doesn't stop the muttering over the fact that I don't hunt any more. The older ones especially don't understand it and every setback brings new cries for a return to the old days.

  "And now, with your arrival, we have two men who do not hunt. One of these is practically a beast with fur on his face. He can't even talk, but already he gets a proven survivor Volunteered and takes over that man's family without so much as paying a bride price. People are wondering whose wife the Roofman will want next."

  "But only I can—"

  "Shut up, Aagam. You're barely human. You should be food for our spears. You're not Tribe." He tapped his chest. "We don't feel you here. If you marry again now, without showing your worth, it won't be just you that feeds the Clawfolk. It will be me too. And my wives and my daughter. Your knowledge might save us for tomorrow, but your greed will kill us for today. Do you understand?"

  "I can't control that woman. She's a monster, I tell you."

  "Her boy will go out gathering moss today."

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  Wallbreaker didn't like the man's attitude and he allowed his knees to sink further into that soft belly until he started struggling for breath. He expected t
here to be pleading, but Aagam wouldn't give him the satisfaction, preferring to sweat and gasp instead.

  "Ashsweeper's boy is too young to be sent to gather moss," said Wallbreaker. "By putting him out, I'm sending her a message she will understand. You will find her less troublesome this evening.

  "Now, to business. We need to plan the migration and you will tell me what I need to know."

  CHAPTER 7: The Coward

  On Aagam's wedding day, Wallbreaker had followed his usual custom of presiding over the feast from the first floor window of his house. He didn't like to go outside, but three days later, he forced himself to do so.

  First, as always, he had his wives dress him in Speareye's famous cloak made of a dozen different hides. He liked the weight of it on his shoulders and the way the colours cleverly overlapped to form alternating layers of light and dark. He felt the breath of the Ancestors on his neck when he wore it. He became more than himself: he became every great Chief the Tribe had ever known.

  Treeneck chatted away gaily, her palms gently weaving bones into her husband's hair. Mossheart, meanwhile, was tightening his tool-belt a little too much.

  "I know you, woman," he said. "It's deliberate."

  "Afraid you'll show your stomach? It's a judgement of the Ancestors that it has grown so much."

  She was too clever to speak this way outside the home—she wouldn't give him a good excuse to put her aside.

  I loved you once, he thought. She seemed so plain now when compared to Indrani. Her face was little more than a collection of angry lines, deepening by the day. And she made Treeneck's life a misery too.

  "You're the mother of my child," he told Mossheart now. "Bring her to me before I leave."

  "She's asleep."

  "I want to see her."

  Mossheart softened. He always liked to flick a drop of blood at his girl before going outside. But he was even more nervous now than usual. Tomorrow he would finally tell his people what horror lay in store for them all. That was bad enough, but beforehand, he would have to put himself in real danger, something that hadn't happened since the great battle with the Flyers and their allies.

  He stepped outside to where his men were waiting. Nobody had been allowed to hunt for several days. Faces showed signs of strain and frustration and no little curiosity. They were used to his surprises and his schemes, but he wagered they'd be more than a little shocked today. The younger hunters, the more loyal ones, were nowhere to be seen.

  "You will escort me to the Hairbeasts," Wallbreaker told the men. He felt their resistance to his command. His predecessors, Speareye, and before him, Brainlicker, had always preferred to persuade their hunters. Direct orders were all very fine from a pack leader away from home. But in ManWays, the Tribe ruled, and the Chief was only there to voice its desires. Even the choosing of Volunteers was done by the Flesh Council, whose decisions the Chief carried out.

  Slowly, slowly, Wallbreaker was dragging his people towards a new way of doing things. Just as a hunter must protect his eyes, so must the Tribe keep safe its Chief. He was their vision. His ideas were worth more than any ten of their lives.

  Aagam was the only other person he'd ever met who truly understood this. The man had swaggered into the Chief's house with a magic word on his lips: information. Aagam had believed—no!—he had known it would bewitch the Chief, while that poor fool Whistlenose could only stare, never having seen the spear that killed him.

  Wallbreaker felt happier every time one of the old hunters volunteered to be replaced by a younger man. But he knew too, that with the coming migration, he would need their experience more than ever.

  He touched the tool-belt with the special pouch Treeneck had made him for carrying the Talker. That was one thing whose importance he didn't need to explain. Its power had made possible the alliance of enemies that had nearly wiped the humans out, while its capture had fed them many times since.

  He held it up for the men. "Only I know how to work this," he reminded them. A white lie, of sorts, but one that made them nod and formed them into ranks around him. Then, the group was marching out beyond the rickety new defences towards what was left of the Wedding Tower.

  Swirls of blood covered the walls in this area—typical Hairbeast art. The designs had meaning that the Talker translated as, "tunnel" and "life-into-blue" and other, even stranger concepts. The group paused. A few Hairbeast males regarded them from the roof of the Tower, watching for hostile hunting parties. Humans, who had been in alliance with them since time out of legend, didn't count.

  "We have come to trade," Wallbreaker shouted up to them.

  While they waited for a reply, one of his men, Laughlong, asked, "What if their Chief has gone out hunting?"

  Wallbreaker ignored the veiled insult. The Hairbeasts preferred to hunt by night these days. They were few now. Twenty-three adults and an unknown number of mindless pups. They survived in the shadow of the humans' protection—something Wallbreaker himself had achieved. They'd proven themselves invaluable in the battle against the Flyers and more especially the Armourbacks.

  Eventually, their Chief came outside. It was a female. With the Hairbeasts that kind of thing didn't seem to matter. It had painted its hands bright red with the blood of a relative who was probably recovering inside. Surrounding her came a delegation of her own: fifteen, a number exactly matching Wallbreaker's. These mangy beasts were the finest surviving specimens of their race. They stood half again as tall as a man, their bodies covered in fur that smelled sharp, like blood. It was always unpleasant and especially strong when the males fought each other.

  "Flesh?" the female enquired.

  "Yes," said Wallbreaker.

  "We didn't even have a Council meeting about this," muttered Laughlong behind the Chief. That's what you think. Wallbreaker had had a meeting all right. But only with the younger men who weren't here now.

  "You are our oldest allies," said Wallbreaker. "Our tribes have worked together since the time of Treatymaker."

  "We have tasted your flesh forever," agreed the Hairbeast female. "Your marrow is sweetest of all."

  "How many pups do you have in the Tower?" asked Wallbreaker.

  "You have not asked this question before." The Talker gave the words a suspicious tone.

  "We need a lot of flesh," said Wallbreaker.

  "Why?" asked the creature and the Chief knew his men wanted the same answer.

  "Now, that is a question that you have not asked before!" Wallbreaker grinned. "How many pups?"

  "Sixteen."

  "We'll trade for all of them."

  "Three of our pups make sounds that might soon be words."

  "As I said, we'll take them all."

  "I cannot decide this," said the female, exactly as Wallbreaker had hoped she would. He kept the look of relief from his face, although the Talker did not translate such things as far as he knew. "My tribe must make sure all the pups are mindless. We will all decide together. In the dark."

  Wallbreaker nodded. "I was aware this was your tradition. You will gather together and you will give us an answer tomorrow. Good. I will return then for the flesh."

  Most of the humans went back to Centre Square muttering amongst themselves. But the Chief separated out three of the best: skinny little Quickbite, the lumbering Mossdrinker and the ever rebellious Laughlong. "Come with me." He led them away and then, doubled back, heading through the rear door of an old house that looked straight across a little square to the doorway where he had negotiated with the Hairbeast Chief.

  "What are we doing here?" asked Laughlong. The others looked wary, but not worried.

  Be quiet, Wallbreaker signalled. He felt nauseous. It had been a long time since he'd been away from his home with so little protection. He could hear his own pulse in his ears. It was ridiculous. He knew that. But the fear was not as bad as once it had been, when he had first escaped with his life from the Armourbacks.

  He still bore the scars of their spears. He still had the nightmare s
ometimes, of swarming young with sharp little beaks, consuming him one little stab at a time. But he was getting better. He slept right through until morning more often. He allowed visitors into his house and even made trips away from ManWays to trade for flesh with the power of the Talker.

  And now this. Away from home with the most modest of escorts. Across the road from the building where he'd consummated his marriage with Mossheart the very night that his courage had first been poisoned. He was doing well. Very well.

  Darkness was falling. The light of the Roof dimmed and the tracklights came on. His disciplined hunters stirred not at all. They would keep their curiosity all penned up until they had the walls of home between themselves and the hungry night.

  Wallbreaker stiffened as he felt a tap on his shoulder. Quickbite had spotted movement in the weak illumination of the tracklights. The Chief could only imagine the surprise of his escort as they realised the figures that now emerged from the darkness, creeping close to the ground, were human.

  Good. Good. No alarm had sounded. That meant the Hairbeast guards were already dead. Generations of butchering Hairbeast pups had given humans an excellent grasp of how the creatures might be killed, while the trust between the two species would have allowed the young hunters to get right up close without arousing suspicion.

  On top of the Tower, fires were burning and large silhouettes waved claw-tipped arms.

  The young hunters were carrying something in their arms: moss. Bundles of red moss. Now there were a dozen of them crawling around, using their knowledge of the Wedding Tower to stuff holes with clumps of the plant. They built a large pile of it right in front of the only entrance to the Tower and set it alight with the help of the kindling and the embers they had brought with them.

  Wallbreaker's escort stirred around him, agitated. Perhaps the betrayal horrified them, although when Chief Speareye had urged wiping out the Hairbeasts before, only Wallbreaker had spoken up for them.