“You’re a coward and a fool, Crane,” Dane said. “Maybe I’m a fool to let you live.”
“They won’t let me live long,” Crane said, speaking to the wall once more. “I failed them.”
“You failed a lot of people,” Dane said and headed out the door.
Rawl was standing just outside the infirmary watching some of the men apply the last of the nets. Dane stepped up beside him and fixed his gaze on the sentry above the south gate.
“You have nightmares, too, huh?”
Rawl sniffed. “Captain,” he said without taking his eyes from the workers, “Every morning I wake up, I thank Kran for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Rawl turned his face towards him as he started for the wall. “That I have yet to piss my pants.”
XXIV
The Man Who Turned
Shortly after Dane left, Crane found himself alone in the infirmary. Alone, that is, save for the stone-still form of the priest on the bed across from him. Sore and tired as he was, he soon drifted off to sleep.
Out of the dark silence of slumber they came to him. They did not come alone. They dragged Gundar with them, struggling and pleading. Gundar, the one who had escaped Rawl’s bolts for something far worse.
Had there been anyone in the room to hear Crane dreaming, they would have found the whimpers he made almost as unbearable as what the dark things were doing to Gundar. And they held Crane’s gaze and made him watch.
When they let the last, lifeless pieces of Gundar fall to the ground, they reached for him.
Crane sat bolt upright in bed. He hardly noticed the shooting pain in his shoulder. He had awakened to the barking of the dogs.
***
After Rawl walked away to help finish with the nets, Dane heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned to see Mirela, followed by Josie, emerge from the armory. Mirela wore a helmet, a knife was strapped to her waist, and she carried a shield.
“You look adorable,” Dane said.
She stuck out her tongue at him.
“Even better,” he said.
When she had first told him she wanted to be on the wall he had only shaken his head.
“You still think I’m afraid of dying?” she said.
It wasn’t that he thought she was afraid of dying. It was that he knew he was afraid of the thought of her dying.
“You think it would be better for me to crouch in some corner? What do you think they do to the ones they take alive? Do you think I want to wait around to find out?”
In the end he’d forced himself to relent. Not because of her words but because he’d promised himself he’d give her all the freedom he could. He had not guessed how that freedom would terrify him.
Josie wore a helmet, padded with extra wool to keep it from slipping, and the mail shirt Rawl had won. Her knife and quiver were at her hip and she cradled her repeater with a certain affection.
“Ever used a blade before?” Dane asked Mirela.
“I’ve cleared jungle that makes this island look like a picnic ground with nothing but a bush knife.”
“But the jungle didn’t fight back,” Dane said.
***
The men had just finished tying the last of the nets to the anchor poles when the dogs began to bark.
“Here we go again,” Paul said.
Rawl, standing beside him, suddenly remembered something from the day before. There was hardly need for him to have remembered, for the man he thought of, Aaron, was making himself heard.
“Get me out of here,” he pleaded, his hands on the bars of the cell. “Get me out of here. I’ll fight. I’ll die on the walls. Just don’t leave me in here.”
Dane and Bailus beat Rawl and Paul to the cell door. Rawl held his breath. Only Dane could decide Aaron’s fate. Dane looked at Bailus. Bailus nodded. Dane turned to Rawl and Paul. “Get him out and get him armed.” He turned back to the cell. “As soon as you’re ready, get up on the wall. You’re with me.”
Rawl felt a strange sense of relief as he slammed the door open and hurried Aaron to the armory.
Dane and Mirela ran to the infirmary. Molly and the boy were there, as were Leech and Owen and Lane. Owen, whose head was bothering him, had lain back down but was sitting up now.
Crane was straining against his bonds. “Let me loose. Please let me loose. You can kill me if you want, but don’t leave me tied up here waiting for them.”
“Forget it,” Dane said.
Mirela grabbed Dane’s arm. “Let him go,” she said. “His crime was against me.”
“Then you should know we can’t trust him,” Dane said, pulling his arm free.
She took his arm again and forced him to look at her. “I’m not asking you to give him a weapon, but if my judgment means anything to you, cut him loose.”
Dane turned to Crane. He glanced around the room. Everyone was watching him. He drew his knife and in two strokes cut Crane’s bonds. “Don’t make me regret this,” Dane said.
“Yes, sir,” Crane said. But he had already decided what he would do.
Dane picked up Owen’s bow, which sat by his bed, loaded it, and handed it back to him. “Keep an eye on him,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Owen said. “If he so much as sits up I’ll nail him right back down again.”
Dane and Mirela stepped into the courtyard. The dogs continued to bark and whine. They, and most of the men, were already on the wall.
The shriken came. Massing in the meadow but also surrounding the entire settlement as they had the day before. They dragged Gundar with them. They did many of the things to him Crane had seen them do in his dream, but they did them quickly. When they were finished, they held up his head towards the watchers. Then the shriken which held his head hurled it in a long arc at the wall. This time there were no other preliminaries. While Gundar’s head was still in the air, they charged.
The nets worked brilliantly at first. The shriken, who had doubtlessly spent days studying the fortress, seemed to pay no attention to the new additions until their first wave smashed into them. The creatures were hurled back to earth, where they landed in tangled heaps to be shot by the men on the walls. Others became caught in the nets as they tried to scurry up the walls and these were just as easy to kill.
But they learned all too quickly. Vaulting up the walls, they sprang for the poles that supported the nets. They climbed along these upside-down until they were clear of the nets. Then they swung their weight up and perched-crouched there on the ends of the poles to launch themselves in great acrobatic arcs, up and over the wall and onto the walkway. Then the men and women of the expedition were fighting for their lives.
As the first shriken hit the walls, the boy thrust himself loose of Molly’s arms and ran out the door of the infirmary. Molly gave a cry and disappeared out the door herself. Lane followed her. Leech moved to the open door. He was about to shut it when he saw Will Thatcher, Molly’s husband, receive a cut to the leg from one of the first attackers over the wall. Will’s partner killed the shriken, but Will was rolling around on the wall-walk with his hands pressed to his leg. Leech could see red pouring out between his fingers. “Stay here,” he shouted to Owen.
Leech grabbed a bundle of bandages from the table and disappeared through the door. So it was that Owen and Crane were left alone.
Crane knew his chance had come. He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs off the bed.
“What are you doing?” Owen said, bringing up his crossbow.
Crane stood, wobbled, but kept his balance. “Give me your bow, Owen” he said.
“You come one step closer and I’ll give you more of it than you want.”
“I failed them. I know what I have to do. If you’re not going to help me, give me your bow.”
Owen swung the bow around, but it was too late. Crane lunged forward and, with his injured arm, blocked the bow. With his good hand, he struck out, knocking Owen’s hand back from the trigger. The two me
n leaned against each other grappling, Crane the more hurt but above Owen and able to use his weight.
A moment later, Crane staggered out of the door of the infirmary with Owen’s bow in hand. He paused in the doorway, surveying the scene. He nearly gave up right there. The wall was crawling with shriken. More were hurling themselves over it every second. Some of these landed on their feet on free spaces of the wall-walk. Others threw themselves, and the full force of their spring, straight at the defenders. Crane watched as one pounced on Pratt and the two figures tumbled into the courtyard together.
Crane’s eyes scanned the battle until he found Mirela. She was ducking and dodging, bringing her shield up over her head and striking with her knife from underneath it. Josie and the Johnson twins fought beside her. They were all still on their feet. Crane saw there was no point in trying to get to her.
Then Crane spotted Dane. Whoever Dane’s partner had been, he was lying on the wall, dead or dying. Crane remembered Dane’s last words to him. He started towards him. His wounded leg felt like it was made of wood, wood which had been thrust into a fire, and his shoulder throbbed. Every step seemed more impossible than the last. As he approached the ladder that stood just to the left of Dane’s position, he saw Dane smash his axe through a shriken’s chest. But something was wrong. Dane was jerking and dragging the body around. His axe was caught in the creature’s ribcage. Dane released the axe and drew his knife as another creature came over the wall. Facing an enemy whose reach far exceeded his, with only a knife. Crane knew it might make no difference whether he got to Dane or not.
He started up the ladder. He had thought walking was an agony. He would have walked a mile rather than go up one more rung of that ladder. But he was driven on like a man possessed. Before climbing, he removed the bolt and clenched it between his teeth. He held the crossbow in his bad hand, which hung limply at his side. He threw his good hand up to the highest rung he could reach and let his weight hang on his extended arm. He stepped up with his good leg, keeping his bad leg locked at the knee. Then he pulled with his arm and pushed with his leg and pulled the stiff leg up onto the rung. He worried he might break the bolt in half between his grinding teeth.
Owen crawled out of the door of the infirmary on his belly. He cursed himself for letting Crane best him, but as they’d struggled, Owen’s head had begun to throb and the room had started spinning. He’d come to to find Crane and his crossbow gone. Still woozy, he dropped out of bed and crawled to the door. From the doorway he saw it all. He saw Mirela duck, bringing up her shield against the blow of a flail and saw Paul cut the legs out from under her attacker. He saw Tipper lying on the battlement. His dog, Dioji, raged about his fallen master. The dog threw itself against the chest of the nearest shriken and the two rolled across the wall-walk, then Dioji was up and tearing into the leg of the next shriken. The shriken fell to its knees and Dioji leapt at its throat. There was a spray of rich, red blood and the creature folded back on itself. As Dioji wheeled on the next enemy, Owen thought the dog’s eyes glowed a deeper red than the blood which had spurted from the shriken’s torn neck. Owen saw Bailus swinging his hammer like a windmill blade. In one twirl he deflected a blow and knocked the attacking shriken against the wall. The next twirl brought the hammerhead smashing down on its skull. Owen doubted a meteorite hurtling out of heaven could have made a bigger crater. Or a bigger mess.
Then he spotted Crane. Just reaching the top of the ladder and rolling over onto the wall. Dane’s back was turned to him. Owen screamed a warning, but it was lost in the clamor of battle.
As Crane pulled himself onto the wall and rose to his feet, Dane thrust his knife at the shriken in front of him. The creature dodged and dealt Dane such a blow with its flail that he spun half around and his blade flew from his hand. Crane slipped the bolt into the drawn bow. As Dane staggered to regain his footing, his eyes met Crane’s. He did not try to dodge but turned so that he fully faced Crane, as though he preferred to die by the hand of a man, even the hand of a traitor, than one of these fiends. Crane, who could barely stand, had no breath for words. “Move,” he gasped.
Dane did, just in time. Crane brought up the bow and sent the bolt home through the shriken’s chest just as it was bringing down its sickle. It spun around and dropped off the battlement. Even as it fell, another came over the wall with it sickle already raised. The sickle fell in an arc towards Dane’s back. Crane lunged forward. The sickle’s blade entered his stomach. Before the shriken could draw its weapon back, Crane’s good hand locked around its wrist. He flung his other arm around the creature’s back and pulled it to him. His shoulder felt like it was tearing loose at the socket. He released his grip on the creature’s wrist and threw his good arm around it, pinning its arms to its sides. He could feel the beat of the heart through the fragile ribs. How had he ever feared these creatures? He squeezed as hard as he could. His hope had been to crush the thing in his arms but he found he lacked the strength. The creature was struggling horribly. The beak gouged Crane’s bad shoulder, cut his cheek. He swung the monster around against a low cutout in the wall. He surged his weight upwards and forwards. As he teetered on the wall with his enemy pinned beneath him, his eyes met Dane’s briefly. Dane grabbed his arm but his hand, slick with blood, slipped. Crane, holding the creature in a death-grip, fell forward and over the wall. Their bodies spun once in the air so that Crane’s body landed heavily on the shriken’s.
Dane leaned over the wall to look at the two lifeless forms tangled there and, in that moment, heard behind him the awful screams of the creatures. They were the same screams he had heard yesterday. There was a sound of utter hate and loss in them. He turned back to the courtyard. The creatures were retreating as they had the day before. One of them passed so close to him he could have reached out and touched it. They disappeared beneath the eaves of the forest, and the sounds of their screams died away behind them.
Dane turned around and sank down against the parapet. Bodies, of men and monsters, lay tangled and twisted on the wall-walk and in the courtyard below. Blackthorn, beloved dog of the late Franklin Moore, was struggling to rise. As Dane watched, he laid down his head and moved no more. Dane glanced at the body that lay beside him on the battlement, Aaron’s body. Crawling over to it, he rolled Aaron onto his back. This action caused him to realize how hurt he was. His whole body felt a mass of cuts and rising bruises. His forearm was torn and bleeding but strangely numb and he could hardly grip with that hand. Even so, Aaron looked a lot worse. Dane would have hardly recognized him if the man had not been fighting beside him a few minutes earlier. He wondered if Aaron had suffered or if it had been quick. At any rate, it was over for him now.
Dane rose to his feet. He was too stiff to take the ladder so he headed for the stairs. This brought him to the place where Tipper had been fighting. What Dane saw first was a pile of dead shriken, at least half a dozen, and Tipper’s dog, Dioji. Dioji still gripped the throat of the last shriken in his teeth. He growled as he watched Dane approach. Dane knelt before the dog and held his hand out over the dog’s head. The growl stayed in Dioji’s throat but did not rise. Dane lowered his hand and rubbed and scratched the dog between his ears. “I know, boy,” he said. “I know.”
While one hand massaged Dioji’s head, Dane reached over Dioji with the other and shifted a shriken off of Tipper’s body. Tipper lay on his back with his knees bent. His leggings and his leather jerkin were torn and bloodied but his face was unmarred. Dane brushed Tipper’s hair out of his face. He looked younger in death than he had in life.
Dane patted Dioji’s head and rose and stumbled on down the battlement. He saw Bailus standing, his hands resting on the head of his hammer like a cane, and Leech kneeling beside Will. Will’s leg was wrapped in so many bandages it looked like a beehive. His face was pale but he was sitting up and his eyes were clear. Dane and Leech helped him to his feet and guided him down the stairs.
They made for the infirmary. Owen was sitting outside, leaning against t
he door jamb.
“I’m sorry, sir. I tried to hang on to that bow but he got the better of me.”
“He got the best of all of us,” Dane said. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”
Dane pulled Owen to his feet and helped him through the door.
“Where’s Molly?” Will asked from behind them.
“She ran out after the boy,” Owen said. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”
Will pulled away from Leech and hobbled out the door. “Molly,” he shouted. “Molly.”
Dane came out and steadied him.
“They went left I think,” Owen called.
Both men turned and saw a door standing open two rooms down. The door leaned inward at a crazy angle. It had been wrenched halfway off its hinges.
“No,” Will said, and staggered towards it.
As he neared the open door, a dazed-looking Lane stumbled through it into the courtyard.
“Molly?” Will demanded.
Lane was holding his good hand to a bloody tangle of skin and hair on the side of his face but he nodded towards the door silently.
Will bounded inside with Dane right behind him. They almost tripped over the body in the doorway. The shriken lay on its back with its head twisted to one side. Something lighter and thicker than blood was slipping from the cracks in its lopsided skull. A wooden rolling-pin lay in the dark puddle of fluids leaking from the creature.
Molly huddled in the far corner of the room. The boy, crying softly, was buried between her arms. When she heard her husband saying her name, she spoke to the child and stood up with her arms still around him. Her hair was disarrayed and her face and hands were covered in cuts and scrapes. Her apron was torn and bloodied like a battle-worn banner.
“Oh, Will,” she said as they embraced.
Will didn’t say anything, he just stood there holding her and blinking hard.
The Silent Isle Page 28