Throwing the clean robe aside, he sank into a small depression in the rocks, drawing up the bare parts of his legs and covering his face with a shallow-rooted thicket he’d ripped from the ground. The beasts soon saw the robe he’d discarded. One of them, a bright green monster identical to the one that had maimed Utal, dropped with a heavy thump beside the cloth while the other glided in circles overhead. The beast picked up the robe and sniffed it. It turned its incredible head both ways, staring left and right along the hillside. The eye that Ren could just about see rolled suspiciously in its socket, the inner layers moving like ripples on a pond. Ren steadied his breathing, praying he hadn’t left a toe exposed. He thought about his hair, which was lighter than the colour of corn, and hoped the thicket had covered it well. Lay still, he told himself. Still as the dead. If he rattled the thicket or made water down his leg he would know in an instant what it felt like to be a log on a fire.
But the beast didn’t come for him, and its friend in the sky was growing impatient. It gave a grating call. The one on the hill gave a sharp call back. It took off with a whumph!, trying to shake the robe from its claws. It was several wingbeats clear of the hill before the robe came sailing back. It landed beside Ren’s hiding place, ripped but still wearable.
When he was certain the skalers had gone, Ren carefully changed back and hid the soiled robe beneath the thicket, keeping it separate from the undercloth. A flush of boyish pride ran through him. He had accomplished something no one else in the tribe had ever done. He had walked across the scorch line and back again, unburned.
He had fooled the beasts.
6
Ren hurried back to the settlement and washed for some time in the river which ran behind the shelters, treading water in the shadow of an overhanging tree to avoid inquisitive eyes. Very little of the dung had got onto his hands (one slight burn on a fingertip) and mercifully the smell stayed in the water. He walked home fresh of body and mind, bristling with the need to tell someone what he’d done. Wisely, however, he kept it to himself, mainly because he returned to find the settlement veiled in sadness.
Utal had developed a fever. No one would speak any details of it, but Ren heard his father saying to his mother that Utal’s arm was being chewed by a wound the colour of grass. None of Targen’s herbs could cleanse it. Two days later, Utal died. His wounded eye was sealed and matted, the other popping out like a hard grey pebble.
The tribe gathered around a fire to mourn him. They drank the juice of many berries. The talk among the men grew loud and dangerous. They shook spears at the mountains and called for vengeance. But what hope did they have of killing a skaler when they could not even get near to the beasts?
This was the moment an unexpected voice spoke up.
‘Ren Whitehair knows a way.’
The voice belonged to a girl, Pine Onetooth, so called because she had one strong tooth in the middle of her mouth, gaps to either side of it.
‘What’s this?’ said Ned, while Ren was busy stilling his heart.
Pine came into the light. A frail girl, thin as the flower stalk hanging loose between her fingers. ‘Two days afore, I see’d him washin’ long in the river.’
‘Washing?’ scoffed Ned. ‘Away with you, girl. The boy’s mother likens him most to a snorter. If he could bathe his bones in mud, he would do it.’
The men laughed, but Oak Longarm took up Pine’s words. ‘What mean you, Pine? Why would seeing Ren in the river be aught to do with the skalers?’
Pine did not answer. She simply looked at Ren and skipped away into the night.
‘Well?’ said Oak. He turned his attention now upon the boy.
But Ned Whitehair was in no mood to amuse himself with the ways of children. ‘Ren, be gone. Your bed beckons,’ he said. He flicked a twig into the fire and ran a hand through his hair. The loss of Utal had hit him hard.
‘Nay, I would hear his piece,’ said Oak. ‘The boy is quick of mind and purpose.’
This was met with a grunt from Oak’s right. Varl Rednose, a man with an oval belly and a beard so dense it was a wonder nothing nested there said, ‘Perhaps your boy would tell us our business, Ned? Shall I loan him a spear and point him at the mountains? He might bring us back a juicy skaler leg to roast.’ He broke wind, making the fire flutter. The men laughed loudly, but their mood remained sour.
Ned said, ‘Varl, he’s a boy. Let him be.’
‘Aye, but he likes the beasts fondly, doesn’t he?’ Varl stared at Ren as if he meant the lad mischief. ‘Why do you stand among the grieving, boy, when your heart flies the other side of the scorch line?’
‘Ned!’ Oak gripped Ned’s arm before he could retaliate. ‘What good would it do to fight among ourselves? How will that bring my brother justice?’
Varl burped and wiped an arm across his mouth. ‘I tell you all there will be no justice until we put a sword through a skaler’s throat. But let us hear what Whitehair’s boy has to say. My gut is sore in need of humour.’
‘Well?’ said Ned. He switched his gaze to his son.
The eyes of the Kaal tribe turned upon Ren, pressing the story out of him.
‘I…I know a way to cross the line safe,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Ned. ‘What blether is this?’
‘Ned, give him air,’ Oak Longarm said. He met Ren’s gaze again. ‘You have made your boast, Ren, now you must share it.’
Ren could feel himself shaking inside. There was a terrible, terrible conflict here. If he did not say his piece he would be sorely ridiculed before his father. But if he revealed his method to the men, he was opening up the way for a possible attack on the creatures he loved. But what if the Kaal did cross into skaler territory? One man? Two men? A whole tribe? What harm could they do to the winged giants?
And so he spoke his truth. ‘Dung,’ he said.
A portion of the fire collapsed, scattering cinders across the erth.
‘Dung?’ Varl said. ‘Have my ears turned soft?’ He stood up, swaying. ‘DUNG?’ he thundered. ‘Are you mocking us, boy? It was dung that took out Utal’s eye!’ He hurled a stale, chewed bone at Ren, and not even Ned could object to it.
‘But…it works,’ Ren shouted over their derision. He looked at Oak, who had turned his head away in disappointment. ‘I covered a robe in their scent and went beyond the line. I hid from two of the beasts – and returned.’
Ned stood up quickly, forcing Ren back. ‘Go to your bed and dream there,’ he snarled. ‘What devil makes you shame me so? This, on a day so clouded by misery?’
‘But—?’
‘Go!’ Ned pointed the way.
Ren sighed and stumbled back. But he did not go to his bed, for a storm was brewing in the minds of the men and the first roll of thunder was about to break. It came from the mouth of Varl Rednose again. ‘Why do we sit with our hearts in our boots when we all know a way to defeat the skalers?’ He cast his ugly gaze around the circle. ‘I will not sleep this night while these words sit heavy on my tongue: I say we raise the darkeyes.’
‘NO!’ cried Ren, coming forward again.
Once more, his father was forced to intervene. He grabbed a hunk of Ren’s robe and drew the boy to him. ‘This is men’s talk. Why are you still here?’
Ren shook his head, making his white hair fly. ‘Please, Pa. You cannot let them do this.’
But the plot was already in progress. ‘How?’ said Oak, the only voice except Varl’s not muttering in fear.
Varl clapped a hand to Oak’s sturdy shoulder. ‘Utal’s spirit may be with the Fathers, but his body can still be of use to us.’
Oak looked puzzled. ‘Again, I ask how?’
Varl bent close. ‘We give your brother to the darkeyes in sacrifice.’
‘What?’ said Oak. His face had turned the colour of the moon.
Varl st
raightened up. ‘We go to their cave,’ he boomed at the men. ‘We wake them, aye. Make them know the skalers are back. Invite them to suck every speck of green from that murderous fire-thrower in the mountains. Let the darkeyes and skalers war again. Let the beasts be hunted by the black terror and the skies be clear of their kind for good – just like the first time the skalers came…’
‘No!’ cried Ren. ‘I won’t let you hurt them! It was Utal’s folly that earned him the right to his walk with death. The skalers mean us no harm!’
‘Ned, put your boy away,’ growled Varl.
And Ned had no choice but to drag Ren clear.
At the shelter, he drew the boy to him again. ‘Listen to me, Ren, and listen well. Is your mind so addled by these fearful creatures that you have no pity for Oak’s sad loss and would taunt a brute like Rednose with it? I have no love for the darkeyes, you know this. I would rather swallow a fistful of grit than have the tribe befriend such a hideous thing. But the skalers have taken Utal’s life. We must fight for his honour. What else would you have me do?’
‘Make peace,’ gulped Ren.
Ned sighed and put a hand to the boy’s pale face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. ‘The skalers took our land, Ren. The stars were always going to settle like this.’
‘Then you will all die!’ Ren said harshly.
And he dived into the shelter and threw himself, face down, onto his bed.
That night, without sleep, Ren thought long about the ‘black terror’, for the darkeyes were a mystery all to themselves.
Sometime after the first wave of skalers, the Kaal began to witness battles taking place in the skies above the mountains. A terrifying creature, the colour of a caarker but the size of twenty, appeared just as suddenly as the beasts had done. They had twisted, scale-free bodies, stunted wings and a shortened tail. Their eyes were like mud shaken up in water; no light shone from their fixed black cores. They blew no fire, these things, but instead released a poisonous spit that burned as fiercely as any flame. Several of the tribe carried scars from the time a squealing darkeye had crashed on the settlement, the rear half of its body ablaze. Ren’s father had put an arrow through its throat as it thrashed in agony on the ground. He’d been trying to show the creature mercy, but the darkeye had let out a hideous squeal, thrown its head and sprayed the camp with its ugly bile. A skaler had followed the darkeye down and destroyed it with a flame so hot it had marked a deep scar in the ground. Whatever these dark-eyed creatures were, the skalers regarded them as mortal enemies.
The battles raged for nearly three days. No man or woman of the Kaal (and certainly not Ren) ever believed the skalers would be beaten. Yet they were. The darkeyes prevailed, with two survivors. It was feared the two would lay claim to the land and call others of their kind to colonise the mountains. But no. More mystery followed. The survivors withdrew, secreting themselves in a cave half a day’s ride from the settlement. They were still there now as far as anyone knew, yet they had not challenged the new crop of skalers. Likewise, the second wave of skalers seemed unaware of the enemy in the cave. A bizarre situation, but one that the Kaal, led by Varl Rednose, intended to use to their advantage.
The next morning, Ren heard more of their scheme. Varl announced it openly to the tribe. Let the darkeyes have Utal! Let his body be taken to their cave and shown to the creatures! They will know from the stink, if not the arm, that skalers are in the air again! Surely this will draw them out and encourage them to drive their enemy away!
The Kaal roared their support, but nothing could be done without Targen’s approval.
Targen retired to consider the plan. He would speak in dreams with the Fathers, he said, and announce his decision shortly. The men chewed on their frustration. They were ready to tie poor Utal to a sled and drag him to the darkeyes there and then. But Targen had spoken, and they must wait.
Ren was relieved. Here was his chance to act. If Targen’s journey with the Fathers was long (and they usually were), Ren would have time to carry out a plan of his own, one he’d been hatching overnight.
Under the hides where his father slept was a rare prize. When the burning darkeye had crashed on the settlement, some kind of horn had broken from its head and lodged in the wall of Ned Whitehair’s shelter. A small, hardened spiral of flesh, sharper at its tip than the best Kaal arrows. Ren had wanted it for his collection, but to his frustration, his father had claimed it. A trophy, Ned said, for arrowing the beast. It was the best relic in the Kaal’s possession, the only evidence they had of the darkeyes’ existence.
Before he departed, Ren left a flower on his mother’s bed, hoping she would send his soul to the Fathers if he was brought back to her in a worse state than Utal. In truth, he could not explain this feeling in his breast, but his heart told him he must do right. His plan was simple. When night fell he would cross the scorch line, make his way to the great ice lake, bow down before the skalers and show them the horn.
The darkeyes were coming. The beasts needed to be warned.
And he, Ren Whitehair, would be the one to do it.
7
He used the dung robe as he had before. The smell had turned even worse for the keeping, but this was the price Ren knew he must pay if he wanted to get among the beasts.
The night was dry and idly dark. Even the sluggish, half-chewed moon failed to notice him crossing the scorch line. Only twice did he need to conceal himself, once from a startled hooter that glided away from the smell of his disguise, and once from a distant skaler. This time, the beast made no attempt to land.
By dawn, he was deep into skaler territory, already climbing the sleeping mountain, so called because it rumbled with fire and smoke like an old man blowing wind from either end of his body. The beasts were often seen circling here. Skalers, because of their size and weight, needed good ledges on which to settle. And nowhere were the mountainsides more ragged than on the peaks that surrounded the great ice lake. Ren was certain he would find a whole clutch of skalers here. And why warn one when he might warn many?
Travelling in the light was slow and dangerous. For a while, he was safe in the Whispering Forest, among the swathe of tall green spikers that thrived on the lowest sections of the climb. But when the trees thinned out and he was faced with a bumpy expanse of grass, his choices became severely limited. If a skaler flew over and he was forced to lie low, he would have to hope it mistook him for a solitary stone. A perilous risk to take. So he changed his mind and took the longer way round, keeping to those areas of bare grey rock where only the skinniest plants took hold and the shadows offered plenty of cover.
Despite the unevenness of the slope, he was able to travel freely for a while. But it wasn’t long before the mountain grew serious and the rise began to bow his back. The rocks made ever more awkward angles and their edges began to cut into his hands. And soon he was faced with another problem: snow. The higher he climbed, the more pockets he encountered. At first he ignored it and went scrambling up the incline like a young bleater; the Kaal were mountain people, used to living with cold conditions. But there came a point where every fingerhold burned. Worse, water had leaked into his boots. His toes no longer moved when he stretched them and his back was a growing arc of pain. If he didn’t complete his journey soon he would either have to go back to the settlement or make himself known to the next beast that flew over.
Luck was on his side, however. Not far ahead was a fresh crop of trees. They were set out in clusters of twos and threes. Their branches were sparse and offered poor cover, but no skaler, unless it came down to feed, was going to see him amongst them.
He checked the skies then ran for the nearest tree. It wasn’t easy. The slope was truly against him now and his knees had forgotten how to bend. Twice he stumbled, the second time kicking enough scree down the mountain to wake every beast from the ice lake to the sea. The rubble slid away and would not stop clatt
ering. Ren plunged toward the treeline, getting there in time to see a purple skaler with a long white neck come soaring up the spur of the hill. It jerked its head at the trickle of stones, but didn’t stop to investigate. Ren sighed with relief and pressed back against a tree. A chance to rest and warm his hands.
Burying his fingers in the pits of his arms, he turned to see where the skaler had gone. It was well above the ridge, near the peak of the mountain, resting on an overhang beside another skaler. They snapped at each other as they shuffled for room. Then both of them turned toward the valley, their long tails flapping in the wind.
At the same time, a lengthy cry split the air. Ren jumped and covered his ears. The wail was so strong it shook the trees, sending down a shower of the dark green spikes that grew from their branches. A skaler had clearly made the sound, but it seemed to have come from within the mountain. The pair high above roared back in response. Ren’s heart began to thump in unison. He didn’t need to speak the skalers’ language to realise they were seized with excitement.
Blowing on his hands he moved into the open, scrabbling from one clump of trees to the next. A half-blind caarker might see him now, but the skalers seemed more concerned with what was happening on the far side of the ridge than in guarding this tiny part of their territory. At the last of the trees, Ren paused for breath, and looking up, he saw an amazing sight.
Two skalers, one white, one blue, appeared to be clashing in mid-air. They rolled as they approached one another at speed, disappearing from sight as a cloud exploded and the sky around them filled with rain.
The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle Page 5