Helix and the Arrival

  We nod. We have to.

  Steckman is left standing speechless.

  We cast aside all unnecessary weight. I leave behind my spear and food sack. Saleeka throws her spear on the ground, too. Ug leaves his heavy club, but keeps his spear strapped across his back.

  Ug begins climbing the tree to reach the ropes strung across the river. We watch him from below. It looks easy enough, even for someone of Ug’s size.

  ‘Come on, follow me,’ he says.

  Saleeka starts climbing the tree, using the footholds to scale her way upwards. She’s far enough up for me to follow, but just as I’m about to begin climbing, I hear a sound from the tunnel that we just came through.

  ‘What was that?’ I ask Steckman. I can tell he’s heard something, too.

  Porgo squeals, but it’s not her usual friendly excited squeal.

  ‘What is it, girl?’ says Steckman.

  The lady braid vine opens to reveal a large grey mountain wolf … followed by another.

  I take a few steps back and Steckman does the same. Ug and Saleeka, high up on the river-crossing rope, can see what’s going on but are unable to do anything.

  Both wolves have quivering lips and bared fangs. A deep growl comes from within them. They are big creatures – the larger of the two stands taller than me. And they’re looking at us and thinking of one thing. Food.

  But then something happens to shift the attention of the larger wolf. It has picked up the scent of the food sack my mum gave me, which is lying on the ground. This could be our saviour! The wolf walks to the sack and sniffs once, then twice. Then it turns its head back to face me and gives me an unimpressed look that says, ‘I’d rather go for something a bit more fresh – plus I’m not a big fan of charcoaled mountain vole.’

  Both the wolves creep slowly forward. With the river behind us, we have nowhere to go. Still, I walk backwards and, as I walk, I’m aware of my spear on the ground behind me.

  Half of me says, ‘If I can just reach the spear, I might be able to defend myself.’ The other half says (rolling on the ground in laughter), ‘You? Defend yourself with a spear? You must be joking!’

  Steckman has picked up his sack and is holding it between himself and the smaller of the wolves as if it might offer some protection. Porgo, like us, is walking backwards. With each breath, she lets out a soft whimper.

  Ug’s voice comes from above. ‘Your spear, Helix.’

  ‘Grab it!’ says Saleeka.

  I take another step backwards. The growls are getting deeper and the pink-gummed snarls more frequent. The wolf with its eye on me has saliva hanging from its fangs.

  I feel the wooden shaft of the spear underneath my foot. All I need to do is to reach down, pick it up and thrust it through both wolves at once. Easy. Kind of like a giant version of my mum’s meat-on-a-stick.

  Steckman looks at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘The spear, Helix,’ he says.

  There’s no more time for thinking. If I’m going to die at the teeth of a wild beast, it may as well be with a spear in my hand. I reach down with speed and take the spear in my throwing hand. In the one motion, I throw it the short distance into the great grey leaping beast.

  The world stops. Time freezes. Then the beast takes a moment to look at the spear embedded in its chest below its throat. The spearhead, as it turns out, has only just pierced the wolf’s skin. I guess this is what comes of almost thirteen years of no spear-throwing practice.

  The creature growls. This time, though, it is not only a hungry growl, but an angry growl as well. Great. Now it has two good reasons for ripping me to pieces. With the spear dangling off it like a twig, it bounds two steps towards me and leaps, with the smaller wolf following. It looks like I’m first on the menu.

  A wall of grey fur, muscle and sinew closes in …

  Then there is a yelp, and the smaller wolf falls sideways with a spear in its side. Ug has struck from above.

  The bigger wolf, which is standing over me, looks upwards at Ug with revenge on its mind, but quickly realises that Ug is well out of its reach.

  ‘Not to worry,’ I can see the wolf thinking. ‘There’s a meal for the taking right here.’

  It focuses its attention back on me and bares its fangs so that I can see its glistening pink gums. It thrusts its head forward, ready to take its first bite …

  There’s a problem, though. The end of the spear attached to its chest is now butting into the ground, stopping it from moving its head forward.

  And there is one other problem for this wolf, too. From the side, much to its surprise, comes a heaving, squealing mass of pink-fleshed bristle. Although Porgo doesn’t have the weapons (as in fangs) to do any real harm, she bows her head and batters into the giant grey wolf, knocking the beast off me.

  The two of them – grey wolf and swamp boar – roll down the river embankment until flatter ground stops their momentum. I get up onto my hands and knees. Piercing the air comes a horrific squeal.

  ‘No!’ I yell, running down the bank towards Porgo.

  ‘Stop, Helix!’ calls Steckman.

  The wolf, tasting blood, has forgotten about everyone else. It isn’t even aware of me now, as I take hold of the spear still attached to its chest and push as hard as I can, trying to drive it into the beast. It moves a little way in, but not far enough to do any harm.

  Porgo is shaking. And squealing. I can see her look into my eyes, pleading for me to do something, asking me why this is happening.

  All my weight is on the spear, but it’s not enough. On my own, I can’t do it. On my own, I’m just Helix, the puniest caveboy on the mountain.

  But then I feel another pair of hands around mine … and another.

  Ug and Saleeka have made it down from the crossing rope. They grip the spear, hand over hand, as if everything depends on it. We all push together and the spear disappears into the grey beast. There’s a brief moment when it turns, howls and bares its fangs towards us, but then its life has gone.

  I bend down and look at Porgo. Steckman is by her side, with one hand on her round belly. She’s bleeding and not moving. I pat her head and I think she knows I’m there because her small tail waggles, just a little.

  ‘We have to save her,’ I say to Steckman.

  Without much confidence, he says, ‘If we can get her across the river, I might be able to seek help for her.’

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘She saved my life.’

  Steckman reaches into his largest sack and removes a skin of high quality. ‘It’s panthera … I was saving it to trade when the winter comes. It will keep the cold off her skin and stop some of the bleeding,’ he says.

  I help Steckman wrap the thick panthera skin around Porgo’s middle. We fasten it with a short length of vine rope. Next, Steckman ties a longer piece of rope around her torso. ‘We’ll pull her across once we reach the other side. I can’t think of any other way.’

  Ug removes his spear from the smaller grey wolf and heads towards the tree. ‘We must leave,’ he says.

  Saleeka follows him, and then I go, too.

  Steckman ties his sack to his back. With Porgo’s rope tethered to him, he follows us up the tree and onto the crossing ropes. ‘I’m still very uneasy about this,’ he mumbles. ‘Bringing uninvited folk from the mountain across the river … It’s a recipe for being tied to a wooden pole and sent downriver. And then there’s … Oh, it doesn’t matter. We’ve come this far – no turning back now.’

  I don’t think to ask Steckman what his other concern is. My only focus at the moment is making it over the river and seeing Porgo reach the other side safely.

  The two taut ropes make it easy for us to make our way over to the other side. At one point I look down and see the fast-flowing waters below. It makes my stomach jump and I turn my eyes back to the riverbank ahead of me.

  We reach the other side, one by one, and just as on the mountain side of the river, there is a rope and notches in the tree on the far side to help us down. Steckman is t
he last to reach the ground, laden with his heavy sack.

  The four of us heave Porgo across the river using the rope. The current makes it difficult, but we work as one until we can haul her up onto the riverbank. Once on the bank, she lies on her side, motionless. Her chest is rising and falling, so there is still life left in her.

  ‘What now?’ asks Ug, but he needn’t have spoken.

  Appearing from the bushes are at least twelve rivermen. Arrows are loaded in their bows, ready to be fired. They encircle us so that we can’t escape.

  Although they are a fearsome sight, what I notice most about them are their neckpieces. They hang in front of their bare chests and are threaded with shells, feathers and small colourful stones that look much more interesting than our sacred rocks.

  With one smooth movement, Ug reaches for the bloodstained spear strapped across his back. Holding it in both hands, he crouches low and faces the rivermen, ready to defend himself and his friends. Far from intimidating the river people, this only makes them pull even tighter on their arrows, as if they’re about to shoot at any second.

  Steckman steps in front of Ug and says, ‘Put the spear down, boy.’

  ‘Tell them to point their arrows away and I will lower my spear,’ says Ug.

  ‘No, I won’t!’ says Steckman. ‘You’re a stranger in their land. How do you expect them to react?’

  ‘He’s right, Ug,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you put your spear down so we can talk to them?’

  Reluctantly, Ug places his spear on the ground and stands back up with his fists clenched. As he does this, a riverman, taller and with a much more heavily decorated neckpiece than the others’, steps forward.

  ‘A wise choice,’ he says to Ug.

  At the sound of his voice, the rivermen lower their weapons.

  ‘Steevor. Your greatness,’ says Steckman, descending to one knee.

  Steevor, who must be their leader, looks down at Steckman. ‘Steckman, stand. I have never given you permission to bring mountain folk to our land.’ Like the other rivermen, he is lean and muscular, with dark brown skin. His hair is black and his eyes are deep blue like the river. He speaks softly, but there’s force in his words.

  ‘Yes, I’m s-s-sorry,’ says Steckman. ‘We … They have come to ask for your help.’

  ‘Then perhaps they should speak,’ says Steevor.

  Steckman is silent. He looks at us and we look at each other. I’m the first to talk. ‘Your greatness,’ I begin. ‘On behalf of my friends, I apologise for coming uninvited to your lands, but we come with good reason. My friend’s father,’ I say, gesturing to Ug, ‘is very ill. He will die without proper medicine, medicine that only the people of the river can provide.’

  ‘You come for our medicine?’ asks Steevor, with a smile.

  ‘Yes. Our medicine man does not have the knowledge to help. You are our only hope.’

  Steevor takes a moment to think it over and nods his head as if he has made up his mind. He talks quickly now. ‘So you have come to our land without permission, and you expect us to gift you our precious medicine. For generations, your people have treated us with nothing except hatred. But now, in a time of need, the mountain sends three of its young folk to ask for help. Are there no adults left on the mountain?’

  The other river folk smile at Steevor’s remark. I can see Steevor’s point – it must seem strange having three young people make such a request of him.

  ‘And what is this?’ he says, looking towards Porgo.

  ‘Ah … yes … well …’ begins Steckman. ‘I was intending to sell her as a pet to your people, but …’ He gestures towards her wounds. ‘As you can see, she’s been injured. I was hoping someone could have a look at her …’

  ‘We already have tame lowland dogs for pets, Steckman, you know that. Why would we want a swamp boar?’

  ‘Um … Well … she’s very bright …’

  Steevor waves a hand and casts his attention back to the three of us. His face tenses and the seriousness returns. He turns to one of the men standing with him.

  ‘Take them to an empty roundhouse and place guards at the entrance. I will decide their punishment later. Steckman, you will come with me.’

  I’m grabbed on either arm by a riverman, as is Saleeka. Ug is, too, but he throws aside the first two rivermen that try to restrain him, which only leads to him being besieged by six others. They pin him to the ground but he keeps on struggling, throwing off two who are pinning him by a shoulder and kicking away another who is pinning him by a leg.

  ‘Place an arrow in him,’ says Steevor calmly. ‘He is threatening our people.’

  ‘Please,’ says Steckman. ‘He’s just a boy.’

  One of the rivermen puts an arrow in his bow and draws it back purposefully. He’s trying to get a clear shot into Ug’s leg from close range but Ug and the rivermen he’s grappling with are a jumble of arms and legs, making it impossible for the marksman to aim with confidence.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ screams Saleeka, who is being held tight. ‘He only wants to help his father.’

  ‘Steevor … your greatness,’ I say. ‘Please! Our people were once friends with your people. Crev, Vedgar, my great-grandfather Herb …’

  But it’s too late. The riverman has found his target – there’s a clear path to Ug’s body. I hear the dull twang of the bow. Then there is silence. Even from the river.

  I look to Ug’s body, expecting to see the arrow buried in his midriff, but it isn’t there. And then I notice Steevor: his arm is outstretched and the arrow is in his grip, still shuddering.

  Steevor turns to face me with the arrow still in his closed hand. ‘If your friend stops struggling, I will spare him his life.’

  I get down on my hands and knees beside Ug, who is still trying to free himself. ‘Stop it, Ug! Do you hear me? Stop!’

  His face is red, there’s blood trickling out of his nose and spit is foaming from his mouth. ‘My father … My father,’ he breathes, his mouth pushed against the ground.

  ‘Ug, you have to stop or they will shoot you,’ I say.

  Finally Ug stops struggling. His only movement now comes from his heaving chest.

  ‘Stand,’ says Steevor to me.

  I get to my feet and look into Steevor’s clear eyes.

  ‘You mentioned Crev, Vedgar and another name,’ says Steevor.

  ‘Herb. My great-grandfather Herb,’ I say.

  Steevor nods. He turns to the man who almost sent an arrow into Ug. ‘Take them to a guest roundhouse and see that they are fed and given water. Bring them to me when you are done.’

  ‘What about Porgo?’ I say, wanting to know she will be taken proper care of.

  ‘Who?’ says Steevor.

  I point to Porgo, who is still on the ground.

  Steevor catches the attention of one of his men. ‘See to the swamp boar. Take it to Borvet. If anyone can save it, he can.’

  With Steevor’s change of heart, we are saved for the time being. But what made him change his mind? For now it doesn’t matter. The main thing is that all of us, including Porgo, are safe and that there is still a chance we can save Ugthorn.

  The three of us are taken to a roundhouse. The walls are thick and the roof is thatched and watertight. Inside, in the middle, is a fire. Its smoke disappears into the roof above and out into the lowland sky.

  We are brought food in brownish-red bowls made of something that is solid but lighter than stone. The lips of the bowls are thin and the material doesn’t appear to have been carved but instead fashioned in some other way.

  The food is like nothing we have ever seen before. On the mountain, food comes in pieces, sometimes threaded on a stick and cooked until it is black (at least in my family) over hot coals. But the food that is before us here is a mixture of liquid, what I assume to be grains, some greenery and pieces of meat.

  Ug pushes his bowl away and Saleeka sniffs hers from a great height, as if there may be a small animal holding its breath beneath the liquid, w
aiting to spring out and attach itself to her face. I can tell they’re thinking about what Speel has told us about lowland food.

  I decide to trust what’s been put in front of me – it can’t be any worse than Mum’s cooking! I bring the bowl up to my mouth and take a small sip of the warm liquid.

  I shudder. These are flavours I’ve never tasted before. My mouth is dancing to different tunes – but it’s a happy dance. I bring the bowl up to my face again and, this time, take a proper slurp.

  ‘It’s good,’ I say.

  Ug and Saleeka are hungry, but still suspicious of what they don’t know. Saleeka brings the bowl to her mouth. She raises it with jerky movements and takes a small sip of the liquid. Her face shows her confusion. ‘What is this?’ I can hear her thinking. ‘Where does it come from?’

  By the time Ug decides to taste what’s in his bowl, I’ve finished what’s in mine, scooping out the last of the grains and greenery with my fingers and wondering whether it would be rude to ask for more.

  ‘This is really good,’ says Saleeka, as she scrapes the last of the grains into her mouth. ‘How do they make it taste like this?’

  After his initial taste, Ug buries his face in the bowl. He finishes his food with a giant slurp and a satisfying burp. We each feel full and content.

  ‘So what is this about your great-grandfather?’ says Ug.

  As I open my mouth to begin to explain everything, a riverman pokes his head through the entrance. ‘Steevor will see you now,’ he says. ‘Follow me.’

  We leave the roundhouse and walk through the village. Everything about the place interests me. Folk are busy and all seem to have a purpose, whether it be making food, tending their fields or looking after their working beasts.

  We notice lowland dogs, about seven of them, curled together, sleeping in front of a roundhouse. They are thin but have very muscly legs, and I imagine they would be excellent at retrieving game. As we walk past, a man appears at the entrance to the roundhouse.