The Volunteer (The Bone World Trilogy)

by Peadar O'Guilin

  Stopmouth heard the groans even before they had crested the rise. Then, the smell hit him, the usual stench that told him the Diggers had moved in below: that stomach roiling mix of excrement and vomit, concentrated here between the hills.

  He was reminded too of how dangerous the situation was.

  "This is great," said Rockface, only increasing Stopmouth's misgivings.

  "Is it? The Diggers w-want us to d-do this." They would love for a good proportion of the remaining humans to waste themselves foolishly.

  To either side of the hunters, other people jostled for a view, Religious and Secular alike. Even Yama, who worked for Dharam now, was here to keep an eye on them, although Stopmouth knew the boy wouldn't be able to resist taking part.

  Nearby, Ekta was talking rapidly to somebody in her own language. She had arranged for people who could understand each other to coordinate everything. Right now, she was probably ordering them to extinguish their torches, for the sun was already on its way.

  Everybody looked afraid. It didn't stop them peering down at the rows of planted people, seeking out the faces of friends, exclaiming in dismay when they saw one. They had been warned to silence, but Stopmouth supposed it didn't matter. The Diggers knew they were here anyway.

  "Will they come at us from below, do you think?" asked Rockface.

  "I d-doubt it. I've never seen them destroy one of their own fields."

  But in that case, how was a trap to be sprung? The only thing Stopmouth could think of, was that the enemy were hiding just beyond the brow of the far hill, on the other side of the dip. As soon as their precious grubs used the mouths of their victims to cry for help, the mothers—if that's what they were—would come streaming over the top of the hills. It wouldn't leave the humans enough time to get away, not if they were burdened with those they sought to rescue.

  "All r-right," he muttered. He tried to give the order to move, but found his muscles unwilling to obey him.

  What if his plan failed and he died while Indrani was still angry at him? She had spoken to the Ship People on his behalf, but her manner had remained distant.

  She would forgive him anything, he knew, after he was dead. But that wasn't how their life together should end. No, more than anything he wanted to patch things up with her first. To make her understand that there could be no future for her and Flamehair without the Tribe. To tell her that her safety was the reason he had made peace... and worse... with his terrible brother.

  With a wrench, he pulled himself back to the present. "Move!" he told himself. "Move!"

  He passed the signal along the line. He saw a great many faces he recognised here, scattered in amongst the strangers: Vishwakarma, his eyes so sad; Ekta, rippling those great muscles; Tarini—surely too small for this part of the plan. Why wouldn't she stay on the crest of the hill with Kubar, who would be organising the work gangs?

  Rockface saw the signal and passed it along the lines. "Oh, I can't wait!" he said. "This is going to be glorious!"

  Everywhere, breathing grew faster, faces more anxious. The Diggers would be waiting for them, had to be! And yet, when Stopmouth flung his arms forward, every woman and man, Religious or Secular, launched themselves over the ridge and onto the scree on the far side. There were at least 200 of them running down the hill, at least that many. Far too many to waste should things go wrong, but it was too late to think about that now.

  Stopmouth slid down the slope, jumping, stumbling, running. Clouds of dust sprayed from under his feet. A woman tumbled past him with a screech and tiny stones rained all around. In a dozen heartbeats, he had reached the bottom, where human bodies drooled and suffered just beyond the light of the sun.

  As he came within touching distance of them, the victims began grabbing at him and a great moan rose up from those at the front, spreading and spreading towards the rear. "Mother!" they cried, each in his or her own voice. "Mother!" Although he didn't know the languages spoken, the various words were eerily similar to the one he had used as a child.

  Stopmouth stayed clear of their arms. He had a spear with him and he poked at the ground with it for tunnels, while others watched the ridge of the far hill anxiously. Hunters fanned around to the edges of the crowd, ready for the attack that must soon come. But it was the unskilled men and women who would be doing the real work now.

  In teams of four, they fended off the arms of the victims and dug them out of the soil, one at a time.

  "It's f-f-far too s-s-slow..."

  "But where are the Diggers, hey? Where are they? You think they're coming around at us from behind?"

  "N-n-not b-by d-d-d—"

  "Not by day? They'll come from the front instead? You'd better hope so! But shouldn't we have sent somebody up to the top of the far hill to watch for them?"

  Stopmouth had thought of that, of course, but figured the Diggers would be just out of sight and he'd lose whoever he sent up there. But now he wished with all his heart that he could have had some kind of warning. Oh, how he wished it!

  And then, the Diggers struck.

  By that time, only five or six of the Ship People had been dug free of the earth. They lay insensible in the semi-darkness on the slope nearest to HeadQuarters while their rescuers worked on freeing others.

  But while Stopmouth was watching the ridge in fear that Diggers might appear at the top of it, something far worse occurred. The whole of the far slope began to move as what must have been a thousand Diggers or more threw off a covering of stones and moss.

  Humans used camouflage, of course, as had other creatures they encountered over the generations. But the Diggers had never done so before now, preferring to strike from below ground through tunnels. I have underestimated them, Stopmouth realised, mouth hanging open in shock.

  The enemy boiled down the slopes. Their claws scrabbled for purchase, raining stones and scree, much as the humans had done arriving from the other direction. "Watch out!" Stopmouth shouted pointlessly. Everybody had seen the threat. Some stood motionless; others ran for home. Not one of the Ship People stuck to the plan that had been agreed for the inevitable Digger ambush.

  "Don't run!" Stopmouth cried, signing furiously with his hands for attack. "Forward! Forward! We have to fight!"

  Luckily for him, several dozen of the ex-Religious had followed him into the dip, and these at least, held their nerve. It was they who had clung on together when the world had turned dark and Diggers had swarmed up the walls of HeadQuarters. No cowards remained among them, for half considered themselves already dead, while the rest now believed in their own invulnerability.

  They charged around the edges of the field to meet the Diggers, to keep them from advancing too far into the dip, while the Ship People ran, or milled about or started dragging the few who had been saved back up towards safety.

  The two species came together on the flanks of the field.

  The Diggers had come looking for more victims. Grubs covered their bodies so that their skins seemed to ripple with silver, even as their claws tore up the earth in their eagerness to find new homes for their young.

  The enemy did not slow at the sight of human spears. They crashed into the Religious, dragging men and women to the ground, fighting for access to the fresh meat.

  One of the creatures impaled itself on the tip of Stopmouth's spear and the weight of its comrades shoved its body all the way down the shaft. He had to let go of it at once, pulling a dagger free from his belt. Beside him, Rockface roared and a Digger flew backwards through the air. Humans were writhing and screaming, trying to protect their ears and noses and mouths.

  Claws swept towards Stopmouth's face, but they were only meant as a distraction—the Diggers didn't want anybody dead. He kept the creature from pinning him down. He ducked, he stabbed with his knife, feeling it catch, pulling it free, slashing it around himself in a circle.

  A Digger threw itself at his legs, but when he jumped aside, he collided with some other hunter and both men hit the ground together and
stayed there too as claws pressed them into the mud. Stopmouth kicked with his feet until they too were pinned. He raked at a Digger belly and tried to bite too, when one of them came close enough. But then, he saw the grub they were going to put into his ear or his nose and all he could do was throw his head from side to side, screaming in rage.

  It landed on his cheek, warm and ticklish, until he threw it off, but another was there already and more were making their way up from his chest. "I won't!" he shouted, "I w-w-won't!" One of them had reached his left nostril and claws were now tangled in his hair, pinning him still.

  Are you happy, brother? This is what we agreed! That I would disappear. Indrani, Indrani, I'm so sorry!

  But then, the sun came out and blinded him.

  It swept into the dip. The Diggers on top of him let go, staggering backwards. The grubs on his face writhed and stretched and fell away. Stopmouth felt his hand come free and he wiped them off himself in a panic. He could see very little with the spots in front of his eyes.

  "Get up," he croaked. "All of you get up! We don't have long."

  He hoped everybody would remember what to do now, because they certainly wouldn't understand a word he was saying. On top of the low hill, the Ship People were reflecting the sun's rays into the dip with polished pieces of wreckage from the Warship. But they wouldn't have more than a few hundred heartbeats of light before the angle of the sun, already very poor, made the task impossible.

  At least half of his hunters writhed on the ground with grubs already inside them, causing horrendous agony. These had to be helped away by terrified Ship People whose courage lay trembling in their hearts as lightly as a leaf.

  He pulled out his spear from the Digger that had taken it. The creature was properly dead, for its grubs could not restore it to life in the reflected glare of the sun. A great many of its comrades had died from their wounds too and they scattered up the slopes.

  "Leave it!" he shouted to Rockface who was carving a snack for himself. "We've no time!"

  "Just taking what I'm owed, hey? The Ancestors hate waste."

  At the top of the far slope Diggers continued to flee the light as it followed them up. It was actually much easier to direct it up there, or so he'd been told, than down into the dip. That was why his hunters had been forced to engage the enemy as close to the far side of the dip as possible even if it meant fighting uphill.

  "C-come on," he told Rockface. "We've all g-got to help with the rescue now b-b-before the Diggers come back. And they will."

  "True," said Rockface. "They nearly had me there, you know? It was like the old days. I feel great!" He slapped Stopmouth far too hard across the back and then joined in with those who were digging people out of the dirt while others carried unconscious bodies all the way up the small hill.

  CHAPTER 29: The Hero

  Whistlenose watched the return of Stopmouth's raiding party from the roof of HeadQuarters. Mossheart stood quietly nearby, but the Chief, under the full glare of the sun and with a temper to match it, paced up and down. He kept muttering, "I told him not to save them! I forbade it!"

  But everybody was cheering the triumphant raiders. Even the young men from Wallbreaker's Flesh Council. They had run down to the streets and were now clapping their hands and hanging onto Rockface's every word.

  Whistlenose leaned over the wall as far as he could, watching the line of rescuers with their moaning victims, parading through the streets. Now and again, one of those who had been saved, would double over and void their stomachs to great cries of relief from all who watched. It meant the grubs had left them for good. Another one saved—really saved, from the Diggers.

  When he straightened up again, the Chief and his wife were arguing about something. Mossheart didn't seem to care if Whistlenose overheard them or not.

  "He agreed to that?" she said. "No wonder they love him more than you."

  Wallbreaker's eyes slid over towards Whistlenose who pretended to be fixing the binding on his spear. "Enough of that, woman. Shut up."

  But Mossheart was not cowed. "That's the difference between the two of you. I used to think it was that you had better dimples and that Stopmouth was just a boy. It's all anybody saw back then and look at you now! Look at him!"

  "Ha! Well not for much longer. I know my brother. He will stick to the deal we made. Now, enough of that gristle, I said. Enough."

  A huge group of weeping Ship People arrived—men and women who hadn't gone on the raid. They were begging forgiveness and Whistlenose had no need for a Talker to understand that. They hugged their friends and family. They laughed and sang, while the returning heroes grinned and preened, or collapsed with sudden shakes as they realised the enormity of what they had experienced.

  One female voice was shouting loud enough to be picked up by the Talker: "It was brilliant. The mirror trick! We got all of them out. We didn't lose a single person and we scared those Diggers senseless! That Stopmouth's a god, I tell you. A beautiful terrible god!"

  That was too much for the Chief. He called Whistlenose away. "All right, old man. Remember the orders I gave you. You're to take the Talker. I'll kill you myself if you lose it. Go down there and find out where they're putting the captives. The ones who haven't puked yet. Remember what I said to do. It's important."

  Whistlenose did remember, although he wasn't happy with it. Not one bit.

  "I'll join you shortly, hunter."

  As Whistlenose walked away, the Chief and his wife started back at each other with their bitter, bitter words.

  Whistlenose gathered some of the Flesh Council together, and with their help, he made sure that any Digger victims who had yet to recover, were made to do their throwing up in a dark room beneath HeadQuarters.

  "You can have them back later," he told worried relatives. "When they've recovered. I promise it. You have my word." And he kept it too. But more importantly, about thirty men and women ejected their parasites in a place where the strongest light was that of a torch.

  Wallbreaker had come downstairs by that time and he dismissed the younger hunters.

  "How long can we keep the grubs alive, Chief?" asked Whistlenose.

  "A tenth at the most," said Wallbreaker. "Or so Aagam assures me. If we can believe a word that comes out of his mouth."

  Whistlenose spat at the mention of the stranger's name, but otherwise said nothing. Instead, he looked at the helpless little worms, questing and questing about. A Tenth of a day was nowhere near enough time to prepare for what the Chief had in mind. Nowhere near enough. A few of the grubs were getting tangled with each other and he surprised himself with a burst of laughter. "Are those... are they making love?"

  Wallbreaker cursed. "You idiot! You idiot, no! They're eating each other!" And suddenly the two men were down on their hands and knees gingerly pulling the precious grubs away from each other and stranding each one on a separate rock or clump of moss where they curled into thumb-sized balls.

  From outside came another cheer, this one large enough that the whole complex seemed to shake with it. Wallbreaker gritted his teeth. There was no getting away from it. The Ship People loved Stopmouth now. Just as the Real Tribe did, for had he not rescued them too? Oh, of course, Whistlenose and everybody else knew that the real saviours had been the Ancestors themselves. But who could forget the sight of the young hero's first appearance amongst the burning tallies? Like a Chief out of the stories!

  "It is ridiculous," said Wallbreaker. "I'm the one who's going to ensure their future! I bet he hasn't told them that!"

  "I know, Chief," Whistlenose said quietly. "And everybody else will know too when the Diggers are gone for good. So... what are we going to do about keeping the grubs alive?"

  "I've made arrangements, Whistlenose, don't worry. They should already be here... Ah!"

  Footsteps came down one of the corridors leading from deep inside Head-Quarters itself. It was a young hunter of Stopmouth's new Tribe, the one called Yama. He had a knife to the throat of a much taller man
who had been gagged and who'd had one of his arms bound in a sling.

  "Good," said Wallbreaker. "Just in time."

  "I told you which woman I want," said Yama.

  "You'll have her, hunter, don't you worry."

  "What's going on?" asked Whistlenose.

  "My brother and I have both agreed that there should only be one Chief from now on. That makes sense, doesn't it, Yama?"

  "Yes, Chief," said the hard boy who only reached as far as Wallbreaker's shoulder. "We want a proper leader here. One who knows how to reward his followers. This one," he kicked at his prisoner, "wouldn't give me what I deserved. Worse than Stopmouth if you ask me."

  "Don't worry, hunter. You'll find that I won't be making the same mistakes."

  The captive rolled over and managed to spit out the poorly tied gag. "Savages!" he hissed. Then, he raised his voice to a shout. "Help! The savages have me! The savages have me!" until Wallbreaker kicked him hard enough that it must have cracked a rib.

  "They're all celebrating my brother's victory outside, so nobody heard you." He paused, contemplating the Roofman. "Dharam? Is that your name?" The man was growling, as though unafraid. That was about to change. "I hear you've lived a very, very long time, Dharam. Maybe what happens next won't kill you either, you never know. But I can't have any rivals for the story of the future, you understand me? Oh, Ancestors, I know you do. Maybe only you do."

  "I understand you too, Chief!" said Yama. "I'll be your man all the way."

  "Then help me dig a hole in here, hunter. Knee high should be enough."

  "What... what are we going to do to him?" asked Whistlenose. But a sickening clenching of his stomach had already told him the answer.

  "We need to keep these grubs alive a little longer," said Wallbreaker. "Come on, let's show the Ship People they aren't the only ones who know how to... to farm."