The Volunteer (The Bone World Trilogy)

by Peadar O'Guilin

  And then, it was a long climb up the hills with Ship People cursing and even weeping all around him. Most people had been hungry in the Roof as their food supplies had slowly dwindled. But those who had come with him to the surface had been amongst the privileged. Many had already lived five times longer than any of Stopmouth's Ancestors—or at least those he knew of! They were beautiful in appearance and their minds could hold ideas that would terrify any hunter.

  These few had feasted their lives away, even as the rest of their Tribe starved, and finally, as their home died around them, they had bent all their resources and their considerable genius in trying to save themselves—and nobody else. Deserters, in other words. Deserters. Like his own far-off Ancestors who had fled the Earth. The Ship People hated him, but he struggled every day not to return the feeling, because he needed them if Flamehair were ever to grow up. If Indrani were to be safe.

  "A great sight, hey?" Rockface was beside him now. The sun was coming over to the gap in the Roof and to Rockface, who had never left the surface, the new tribe must have seemed numberless. Sodasi had come along too. The young slinger had taken it on herself to be Rockface's protector, although the big man didn't seem aware of the fact. She had saved his life at least once that Stopmouth knew of. The woman had no problems with the slope. None of the surviving Religious did, not even Kubar, one of the oldest-looking people in the community. He chivvied his Secular enemies along, keeping his spite to himself for once, as yellow beams of light picked out the scales of Fourleggers formed into a spearhead at the front.

  Stopmouth called a halt at the top of the hill. The Ship People looked exhausted, their dark skin sheened with sweat, their eyes open a little too wide at the thought that they were about to go into danger now, albeit very little compared to that of their Fourlegger allies who were already streaming on ahead.

  "This is it," Stopmouth shouted. He pointed down the hill towards the plain on the far side, lined with rows of what looked like black dots. "Indrani says the sun will only light up a little of the plain and only for two tenths of a day or so. After that, nothing will keep the Diggers away from us. So, we run down there. Everybody will take one joint of meat, or two if they think they can handle it, and then, head straight for home. Understood? It's easy, and nobody needs to get hurt. If we're on our own side of these hills before nightfall, we should all be fine."

  "And what if we refuse?" said a woman in the torn remains of a blue Warden's uniform. She looked muscular enough to rip Stopmouth's head off, but the rivers of sweat dripping from her was proof enough that she had never been one of the Elite.

  "You can refuse if you like," said Stopmouth. "Just don't try coming back inside the walls without flesh. You won't be welcome."

  There. He had said it. He might not be allowed to Volunteer anybody, but every member of a Tribe needed to work for its survival. He had expected more anger from the woman, but the ex-Warden surprised him.

  "I am Ekta," she said. "I am going to live." She nodded and he nodded back. Not friends, but allies, if only for a little while.

  "Traitor," said an older man, who saw them talking, but he winced when Ekta glared at him.

  "All right," cried Stopmouth. "Enough! Let's go! Come on, now! You don't want to be here when darkness falls!"

  And they didn't, nobody did. The Ship People found a new lease of life, and, aided by a downward slope, the whole tribe surged after their nonhuman allies. In no time at all, the stench of the Digger fields rose to meet them and they could see individual Fourleggers dodging the flailing limbs of Digger victims to skewer the brains.

  Experienced butchers followed on, mostly women and children from amongst the Religious exiles who had long since lost the squeamishness that had killed so many of their friends. They didn't bother with the more difficult cuts—a waste that made Stopmouth squirm to think of it. But the Talker, translating the cries of "mother!" from the planted creatures of a hundred species, quashed any misgivings he might have had. The tribe would need to get out of here quickly.

  Limbs were piled up: parts of local creatures like Slimers, along with the milkier flesh of Skeletons, while mounds of squirming grubs shrivelled in the sun.

  Ship People wept and vomited. They cried out in horror at what they had to do. Many had to be prodded with spears by the sneering Religious, but in the end, every one of them headed back up the rocky slope with an armful of bleeding flesh.

  Stopmouth took in the endless fields of bodies, scanning for the Diggers, but finding no sign of them yet. The light had spread over a greater area, but very soon, the sun would complete its short journey. He could feel the Ancestors in the air around him, warning him to make haste. The Diggers would spill out of the night at once, and they always followed after those who stole from them.

  A commotion came from down amongst the fields. People seemed to be fighting with... with Fourleggers? He was running before becoming fully aware of it, his young legs powering him over moss-covered rocks. "Stop it!" he called, "Stop it!"

  He was shocked to find Vishwakarma and Kubar amongst those in the thick of the struggle. Vishwakarma bled from claw marks that ran the length of his ribs. A little deeper and he would have been finished. But his face was more angry than afraid. Stopmouth had never seen him like this before.

  "What's wrong? Stop fighting!"

  He pulled Vishwakarma away from a Fourlegger that topped him by a head. One on one, a Fourlegger should beat a man, especially a relatively inexperienced one like Vishwakarma, and this creature was particularly large.

  "Calm, now," Stopmouth told them. And to the Fourlegger. "Thank you for not hurting my people."

  "Do they not hunger?" it asked.

  "What's going on here?" Stopmouth demanded.

  Vishwakarma couldn't speak, such was his outrage. Even now, he didn't realise that he should be dead. But Kubar found his voice easily enough. He pointed at the nearest body—one that was calling for its Digger mother like so many others. A human. A man Stopmouth recognized, who had been stolen when the Diggers came over the walls of HeadQuarters. "This alien was going to kill Sanjay."

  Sanjay continued to cry for help between drooling and moaning. His eyes rolled in their sockets, first one way and then another. He was sunk up as far as his own thighs.

  "His feet are gone," Stopmouth whispered. "You can see that, can't you? If... if we got him out and managed to carry him over the hills, he would be in terrible pain. He'd never be able to hunt..."

  "He's my friend," cried Vishwakarma. "I knew him back... back..."

  "I'm sorry..."

  The Fourlegger picked that moment to speak again. "Has your hunger no need?"

  Vishwakarma roared and it was all Stopmouth could do to hold him back. But in less than a heartbeat, all strength left Vishwakarma and he was weeping instead. "This one is ours to kill," Stopmouth told the Fourlegger. "Please tell your sisters that we must go back now. Darkness is falling."

  "We... we're going to kill Sanjay?" asked Vishwakarma. "We're really going to kill him? Sanjay?"

  "You are," Stopmouth told him gently. "His friend should free him from this pain." Poor Vishwakarma nodded.

  The last of the Fourleggers were pulling back. Ship People were scrambling up the slopes, weighed down by delicious fresh meat. All they had to do now was get home.

  "This was too easy," Stopmouth told Kubar.

  "The Diggers are scared of us," said the priest. "After the way you burned them when you landed the Warship. You must have killed thousands of them."

  "What are thousands to them? They cover the whole world."

  "True enough," responded the priest with a shiver. "Come on then, Chief. Let's get going."

  They gave Vishwakarma the privacy he needed and turned up the hill after the others. A few hundred Fourleggers came running on behind, adults and children all together. They caught up with the burdened Ship People all too quickly. "Hurry now!" Stopmouth told them. None of the Roof people carried very much, but they were far we
aker than he had feared. Darkness would overtake them long before they reached the top.

  "Shall I tell them to abandon the flesh?" asked Kubar. "I doubt any of these have run anywhere since they were children, and in some cases that was a long time ago!"

  Already the moaning from below had stopped and the stench was easing off. The Diggers would come now, Stopmouth felt sure of it. A great wave of them surging up the hill. His mind raced with plans that he should have come up with the day before. He could hold a line here with the experienced hunters and the Fourleggers. But would that be enough? And how many Diggers would come? If they broke the line, the Tribe would be lost within days. Even if they beat back the enemy now, the cost of such a fight would jeopardize everything...

  He felt a soft touch on his elbow. Kubar. "Don't forget, Stopmouth, you have a Talker."

  Of course! "Thank you, Kubar." The priest had shown how its bright light could drive the Diggers away.

  "But use it sparingly," warned the old man. "It needs light to refill itself."

  Stopmouth scanned the base of the hills, and thought he detected the first signs of sinuous movement. "Hurry up!" he shouted to those around him. There was no point in trying and hide their presence from the enemy. The Diggers knew perfectly well where the thieves were already. Stopmouth could feel them watching him...

  And yet, no attack came. Nobody screamed as they were dragged away. Every single human and Fourlegger made it safely back to the useless walls. Exhausted people were getting sick again, flinging the precious meat away from them. Others were cursing his name for the crimes he had forced on them, or collapsing as though they had done something incredibly difficult.

  Stopmouth didn't care. It was over now. He found Indrani and the sleeping Flamehair. He hugged his wife tightly. "Not a thing went wrong," he said. "Not a single thing!"

  The next day, he learned otherwise.

  CHAPTER 20: Choosing a Side

  Stopmouth woke well after the sun came up—almost everybody did that. "The days are too short now," they said to one another, but they still marvelled at the chaos of sprinkled stars that came by night, and greeted the first yellow beams of light with joy and relief as though fearful that one day the sun might fail them. But here it came again now, and spiral clouds of glittering mossbeasts rose up to meet it. He had never seen them do that back when the Roof shone for them.

  The passing of darkness brought children out to play at hunting, and sent groaning adults to trudge down to the fields. They hadn't planted anything yet, or so Stopmouth had been told. Most of what they had been doing was clearing rocks away and releasing beasts too tiny to see into the soil so that human food might be welcome there. He understood none of it. Instead, he spent his time worrying about the fact that the guards—mostly Religious—had no love for those they were supposed to be protecting.

  They were doing their jobs, however. He saw Sodasi directing men to nearby hides and fortified positions. These had been her own idea. "We're not hunters any more," she had told Stopmouth, while Rockface sputtered with outrage. "We just need to stay alive until the farm starts feeding us."

  Whatever about Rockface, the rest of the men had seen her hunt a dozen times now—enough to have forgotten she was a woman. They obeyed her without question. Mind you, when he thought about it, just as many women in the Roof seemed to command as men.

  "Sodasi!" he called down to her from the one remaining roof of HeadQuarters. "Where's Vishwakarma? Wasn't he supposed to be leading a patrol with you today?"

  "Yes!" she said. "I've got to run now!"

  "What was that about?" asked Indrani, putting an arm around him, while her other cradled Flamehair.

  "I don't know. Maybe she didn't hear me properly. Or maybe the Talker is having problems." He squinted at the little sphere, looking for tell tale droplets of slime on its skin. He had been very careful on his return to keep it away from the technology of the Warship. So far, the device had survived, but he dreaded the day when it died or became lost.

  "We are much too dependent on this," he said. "We need a... a language for all of us. Just the one. And a way of communicating with the Fourleggers too. We should start working it out before it's too late."

  "Hmm..." said Indrani.

  "You disagree?"

  "I don't disagree at all, love. We'll need to teach everybody to write as well, before the skill is lost. But forget that for now. What I think, is that Sodasi is avoiding you."

  "Avoiding me?"

  "She didn't answer your question and it has nothing to do with the Talker."

  "Oh... But I just asked her where Vishwakarma was."

  "Exactly, love. And where is he?"

  The Chief looked around. From here he had a great view over the new fields and the collapsed buildings that had seemed so strong before the great Digger attack. Now, the rubble stretched most of the way towards the hills that protected the tribe, with the odd house, here and there, miraculously untouched. A single large structure—what Indrani called a warehouse—had survived too, and this was where the Fourleggers had made their new home.

  Immediately below him, shelters made from salvaged materials from the Roof or the Warship, huddled inside new walls of rubble. This was where most of the people lived now, not trusting the stability of the houses. A hunter like Vishwakarma could hide in a thousand different places here. But why would he want to? Was he concealing an injury?

  But no, there had never been any forced Volunteering in this tribe. People would have different reasons for hiding here, but for the life of him, Stopmouth could not think what they might be.

  "I should find him..." He kissed Indrani good-bye. "But listen, love. I have a new job for you."

  She bristled. Indrani did not take orders from anybody. Not even her husband. A lot of Roof women were strange like that. "I mean, I was hoping you would take care of the language thing. The reading. Before the Talker dies."

  She relaxed and smiled. "I'll talk to Rockface about it."

  "Rockface? Oh, of course, you think we can use the sign language of the children?"

  "Exactly," she said. "I'll take it up with the big lunkhead." And she meant that term affectionately. He hoped. "Now, love, you go find Vishwakarma."

  He meant to do just that, but when he had passed down the stairs and travelled no more than twenty paces farther on, he heard shouting from behind one of the makeshift shelters.

  Four women were rolling in the dirt, while a fifth hovered nearby with a rock as though she meant to strike one or more of the fighters. She dropped it and ran as soon as she saw the Chief.

  He pulled three of the women away to find a smaller one at the bottom of the pile, scratched and bloodied.

  "Tarini?" Most of the passengers from the Warship had one thing in common: beauty. Women and men alike had arrived on the surface with clear skin, straight teeth and perfectly even features. Roof magic had made them this way—particularly those born before the so-called Crisis. The same magic had not been available to the younger ones.

  However, although Tarini was thinner and shorter than the other women, it seemed that she had taken four of them on by herself and marred their perfection somewhat with a few bruises and one broken tooth.

  "What's going on here?" he asked.

  Nobody said anything, not even Tarini herself. Stopmouth had a horrible intuition that they had intended to kill her—his only friend from the Roof. He'd been foolish to leave her with them, to use her as a spy against them. He saw that now.

  Growing up in a Tribe where people who fought amongst themselves were Volunteered, where justice was meted out by the Chief, and where the highest law was the survival of humanity, none of this would ever have happened. So, he had made no real effort to hide his friendship with her and now, with the food stash of the Newcomers betrayed, they wanted her dead.

  "Go to the fields and do your work," he told them.

  "Do it yourself, savage," said one of the women, tall and wide-eyed like a Goddess from one of
the Roof's religions. "I hefted carrion for you yesterday. Over the hills. No more. I've had enough." The others nodded, but timidly. "I'm an engineer, not one of your brood mares or your peasants. We could have gone to Earth if it weren't for you. Cannibal."

  They left, of their own accord, perhaps heading for the fields as he had ordered, perhaps not.

  He helped Tarini up from the ground. The girl had saved his life in the Roof, aiding his escape from a prison of his own fear. She looked even thinner now than she had up there.

  "Haven't you been eating?" he asked her.

  She shrugged. "I'm used to it. That lot didn't like sharing much, but we have their food now, right?"

  "Right." He smiled, but she failed to respond and that worried him. In the Roof, with the whole world collapsing around her, Tarini's funny little grin had never faltered. Now, as the sun passed right overhead, she screwed up her eyes against it.

  He couldn't help asking, "Do you think it's growing?"

  "The sun? Of course not."

  "No, I mean—"

  She grabbed his arm. "Listen, Stopmouth, listen. There are two thousand of them and only maybe, what? A hundred and fifty of the rest of us?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The Ship People, of course. They hate it that they're here. They hate you. Us."

  He shrugged. "Where else can they go? They have to live here now and only I can show them how. Or Rockface."

  Tarini shook her head. "They don't believe that, you see? Not like the Religious who came before them. They don't believe it. Because they don't want it to be true, any of this. They've started paying attention to Dharam again. Have you noticed?" She stopped talking for a moment, cocking her head to one side. She checked the nearest shelter, making sure it was empty. Then, she whispered, "Some of them are planning a takeover. They want a new Chief, one of their own. They're still scared of you, but sooner or later they'll get you by yourself just like they got me." He followed her gaze as it swept around the walls. Everybody was gone: working in the fields or on patrol or watching for attack.