"That's dangerous," whispered Olloo, suddenly wide-eyed. "We're not outside the colony at all."
Kieran jogged over to the nest at once, held up an egg and dashed back with it. "I hope it's alive. You think so?" he said, handing it to Olloo.
"It's warm and dry. I'll bet it is," he said, as Nessie and Markus trotted out of sight.
Suddenly, there was a shrill screeching. Olloo sprinted through the grass to find Nessie and Markus at the edge of a nearby nest with two baby strike falcons shrieking with all their might as they stood in their shell fragments. "They're going to get us killed if I don't do them in..." he said, grabbing for his knife.
"No!" cried Nessie as she lunged at the babies and scooped them into her shawl, quieting them at once.
"They stopped screaming, all right," said Olloo, “but they might not bond with you if you take them. Either way, they've already made their noise, so we'd better get out of here, now."
"My egg's in the nest, Markus. Would you get it for me?"
"We have to go, or the parents will kill us," said Olloo. "Come on!"
"I'm calling her Cronney. I want to give my egg to..."
"We can figure it out at home. Let's beat it, kids!"
Dyr sat on his rock just outside the Hooter Cave, looking at the stars as he waited for Ninar-dern to respond to his summons. He was surprised to find himself nervous. He knitted his beetle-brow as he thought about this. No sow had ever made him uneasy before.
"Dyr," said Dyr-jiny, "Here-be Ninar-dern."
"Walky-waddle, Dyr-jiny," said Dyr with an overbearing nod as he struck his best display pose and fixed his eyes on the young sow.
Ninar-dern got down on all fours, licked his foot and stood up to meet his gaze. "You want more big-nod put in your ear?"
"No, just your sit-beside. Is that hum-de-dumdle?"
"Big-head-nod, Thunder-man."
"Good. Gobble-say. Do you rolly-eye grab-wish for Fnanar?"
"I no-no do," she said. "Fnanar no be the brute I dream-drooled."
"No be?" said Dyr. "You look squirm-shudder. You can be big easy-easy hum-de-dumdle. You can gobble-say, gobble-say. Fnanar no-be my son."
Ninar-dern looked at him carefully. "I no-be Dyrney for Fnanar. He only yum-yum nods at my rear-end and my milk-bags. He likes to knee-slap-hoo-hoomp when he flabber-toomphs my ear, but it snuff-snuff like rotten beastie. He big-nods Gnydy be my Da, but I could just-as-well be a big rock."
"That be Fnanar, but did you ever-be rolly-eye grab-wish for him?"
"No-no, all shaky-head, shaky-head. I dream-wished to-be Big Sow. But I head-nod tried-and-tried to be his sow. This I head-nod, head-nod."
"Did you like-be Big Sow?"
"Not in Fnanar's camp. Fnanar's Big Sow no-be big. His brutes all-be hair-jerk kick-sows."
"Here," said Dyr, with a smooth toss of his brows, "Big Sow tall-be big-big foldy-arm head-nod."
"I big-nod think-back, but no-be, no-be with Fnanar."
"Then I hold-out a would-you-like, Ninar-dern."
Ninar-dern looked up in surprise, holding her breath.
"Would-you-like to be Big Sow here, to true-Dyrney? You will hold thunder-thump over all sows and all kids."
"No Sow has ever-had thunder-thump," she said, dropping her chinless jaw.
"Now-be for you," said Dyr smoothly. "Do you want?"
"Yes," she said.
Chapter 17
Fnanar had a big rock. It was an even bigger rock than Dyr's rock, but it wasn't quite in the right place. He really resented its not being more in the center of things, but he spent a great deal of time up on it, even so. He sat thinking about this as he dangled his legs off the side of it, idly straining to hear the purple-ribs in the timber, far down the mountainside.
"Fnanar..." said Gyrn, carefully ambling up.
Fnanar looked his way with a jerk, vexed at being given a start.
"I bring drag-back-talk from our go-look-sees in Dyr's..." he said, hesitating before the rock.
"I crossy-arms head-nod you no-put his name in my ear!" growled Fnanar as he leant over the edge with a furious look.
"Then I... bring drag-back-talk from Big Thunder-man's..."
Fnanar smacked him with the back of his hand hard enough to make him sit backwards in the dirt. "He no-be Big Thunder-man!" he bellowed into the echoing trees. "He be Big Dung-smear! And if you no-like head-smash, I no-ever ever-be Little Thunder-man!"
"I head-nod your every-say," said Gyrn, rolling onto all fours and carefully sitting back on his heels. "Big Dung-smear giggle-grabbed Ninar-dern for Big Sow. And she-be Thunder-sow for sow and sow and sow and sow and kid and kid and kid and kid..."
Fnanar tossed his head aside in disgust.
"And Ninar-dern be all melon-waddle with near-be birth-grunt," he said, rising to his knees. “And if she birth-grunts a brute-baby, he will be debt-baby. And if they juicy-champ the debt-baby, you can big-nod, big-nod that Arrdsey-phnyr-phey-fne will make Big Dung-smear's hunt-grab, hunt-grab, hunt-grab, hunt-grab be thunder-jump-bite, thunder-jump-bite, thunder-jump-bite, thunder-jump-bite and thunder-jump-bite."
Fnanar squinted at his feet as he wiggled away a few balls of mud from between his toes. "Time now-be to pound Thunder-dung all to head-smash," he said.
"How-be?" said Gyrn with a nod, as he smacked the ground with the butt of his spear and stood up.
"Thunder-dung's brutes no-like ho-hum-hairy-beast when they big-head-nod that no-see, no-see grab-up-squeakers must-where some-be," said Fnanar with a wide-eyed hoot face and a snicker. "Even Nig-spoon-fi left Thunder-dung to follow me for grab-up-squeakers. Debt-baby no-make many juicy-champs for all his brutes, so we dress for debt-baby-feast and stand-up talk talk crossy-arm head-nod grab-up-squeakers, grab-up-squeakers, grab-up-squeakers. When all his hollow-head brutes grow big-eye, big-eye, we jump-bite and head-smash, and all brutes who follow me be Thunder-clan, Thunder-clan, Thunder-clan. Have the brutes put on mud and grease and ashes and bring them here. I'll be ready to-dance our-plans.”
Every hair stood up on Gyrn's arms. He howled like a wolf-dog and scampered away.
Dyr sat on his rock, idly watching the sows stir up the fires as the last light faded from the sky. Maybe things were going to work after all. The hunts were still merely keeping everyone fed, but the last of the young hotheads had long ago defected to Fnanar's camp. He had not heard complaints for some time. The faint breeze coming down the slopes stirred the leaves of the maidenhair trees as it spilt over the Great Rock Wall.
"Am I dream-smashing you?" said Ninar-dern, settling herself beside him with big-boned ease in spite of her pregnancy.
"I rocky-arm huggy-hold your dream-smashing me, any time," he said, putting his arm around her. "You-be my most-most mmm-mmm."
"You look-out from-here every day," she said as she removed a twig from his matted hair. "As you looky-look, do you see something far-away-bad? You be my rocky-arm, rocky-arm. You could put it in my-ear."
"You-be head-nod, head-nod," he said, rubbing his temples with a grimace.
"Something tumble-down?"
"No. I just have bark-beetle grubs burrowing in my head. They've been scratchy-digging since Fnanar left."
"Maybe Dyr-jiny could make a hole..."
"That no-be what I see when I looky-look off this rock. I wonder what-will tumble-down on you if our-baby not be brute-baby."
"If he-be sow-baby, then you-be no more Thunder-man, and all Dyrney will dance, dance, dance head-smash jump-bite to see who-be new Thunder-man. That be?"
"Yes. And I be run off or head-smashed. And new Thunder-man will head-scratch what to do with you. You could be head-smashed or be his drag-along licky-foot."
"That no be," she said fiercely, as she sat up straight. "I no give sow-baby. I did what the birth-grunt witches shaky-fingered me to do at my sow-making dance. I drank their juice and I danced and puked and danced and puked and danced and puked until I head-nod that there no-be little sow up there. I give you brute-baby."
&
nbsp; Dyr knew that if she had been with him from the start, the Clan would still be whole. "I head-nod your every-say," he said.
Ninar-dern's face lit up. She rose and carefully climbed down from the rock leaving him once more to his contemplations. Inside the Hooter Cave, her water broke as she bent over to straighten a pile of skins. "Dyr!" she hollered outside. "Shout-grab the birth-grunt witches! Brute-baby wants out!"
Vafa-gyr-fni-yy was a freckled and a very fine-boned troll. He was easily less than half what any other troll his height would weigh. With his long legs, he was teased, shunned, kicked aside and occasionally called "Grab-up-squeaker" by the other Dyrney. He didn't have the might to do much with a club or a spear, and one would never think of seeking him out as a brute, but he could run.
He flew up the skittering rocks of the steep talus pile above the Great Rock Wall on all fours and paused, heaving in deep breaths as he fumbled to retie his waist length straight black hair. Somewhere below the Wall, a great grey owl wailed. He grabbed hold of a gnarly pine, and with a lunge, started himself along a rock ledge which ran under the pines and blue maidenhairs toward the upper reaches of Ubh Ollmhor, far up the slopes of Mount Sliabh. He set out on a run that was to last for some hours, leaping from stone to rock and flinging aside branches. By midnight, he lay on a bed of pine needles on the east slope, watching the pearly moon slice through wisps of scurrying cloud as he caught his breath. It could not be too far now. He was fairly sure of how to go.
"Fnanar," said Phnyr-phaf, appearing out of the shadows, "Vafa-gyr-fni-yy the Sneak just came-over the-top and wants-to huffy-huff his breath in your-ear.”
"Get him," said Fnanar, rolling his eyes. "He might maybe-have nod-say."
Phnyr-phaf was back shortly. "Here-be Grab-up-squeaker," he said, giving Vafa-gyr-fni-yy a shove between the shoulder blades.
Vafa-gyr-fni-yy was still quite out of breath. He propped his hands on his knees as he stood before Fnanar and steadied his breathing, utterly ignoring Phnyr-phaf. "Dyr's new Big-sow birth-grunts," he said when he had the wind. "They dance and dance to birth-grunt and they dance and dance to juicy-champ debt-baby."
Fnanar threw back his head and laughed out into the night. "Get-ready all-brutes!" he cried as he pounded his chest. "We go over-the-top and dance."
His brutes were plastered and smeared with mud in short order, clubs and spears in hand, bounding and clambering over the rocks as they raced to follow him up the slope to the shoulder of Mount Sliabh. A nearby shivering owl answered the call of another one, far off through the woods as they ran. Before long, they were filing over the shoulder, tramping silently over the mat of fallen needles between the rocks as the wind whisked through the gnarly pines and rattled the leaves of the maidenhair trees.
After some time they began hearing faint fragments of boont-boonk, boont-boonk, boont-boonk, boont-boonk... carrying over the mountainside. By the time they could make out a hurried staccato chant, "Ah-oh, ah-oh, ah-oh, ah-oh, ah-oh, ah-oh..." they could make out a great wavering light up the front of the Great Rock Wall from bonfires launching orange sparks into the black sky. Soon they could make out Dyr-jiny leaping and whirling with his terrapin rattles, beads and talismen whipping about his neck, shickety-shick, shick, shick, shick, shick, shick... as he led Dyr and his Dyrney-brutes dancing around and about the fires and all who were gathered.
Fnanar and his brutes quietly eased themselves in to stand amongst the bouncing, swaying revelers. Every single troll was chanting, and any who could manage were beating logs with stones. "Ah-oh, Ah-oh..." boont shick, boonk shick, "Ah-oh, Ah-oh..." boont shick, boonk shick, "Ah-oh, Ah-oh..." boont shicka, boonk shick...
Ninar-dern lay on her back on a pile of skins in the throes of labor with a birth-grunt witch on each side of her. A third witch writhed and clowned in front of her splayed legs, beckoning and coaxing the brute-baby to come out. A fourth scampered crabwise to the chanting, 'round and 'round them all, pantomiming labor and delivery.
Suddenly the brute-baby was crowning. Ninar-dern wailed out with the final cries of labor as the chanting gained speed, "Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh..." The crab witch triumphantly bit the umbilical cord in two and handed the wee blood-streaked brute to Dyr. The baby managed to burst out with its only cry, the moment before Dyr snapped its neck. The chanting stopped dead silent. Dyr saw pretty Ninar-dern's tear streaked face and coughed out a great anguished sob. Immediately the trolls stamped and clapped and hooted with cheers as the brutes formed a frenzied dancing circle around him and the debt-baby.
"Dungful fog-eye hollow-head!" roared Fnanar as he leaped into the circle and thrust his face at Dyr. "You twisty-crackle-neck your brute-baby for no do do! Gyrn's debt-baby let us find the no-see, no-see grab-up-squeakers. Ardsey-phnyr-phey-fne gave the no-see, no-see grab-up-squeakers to me!" He spat at Dyr's feet. By now every troll was dead silent. He turned away to face the crowd, catching eye after eye. "I be Dyrney Thunder-man!" he bellowed. "Da be Dyrney Dung-man! All Dyrney trot-behind me over the water-top mountain and juicy-champ, juicy-champ grab-up-squeaker, grab-up-squeaker, grab-up-squeaker!"
An excited stir of murmuring and nodding of heads broke out throughout the crowd of trolls.
"Nyr-ruy!" cried Dyr-jiny as he sprang to Dyr's side.
The trolls began quieting.
"Nyr-ruy!" he thundered, as he rattled his terrapin shells. When it was dead silent, he began, "If you ear-hole ear-hole big-nod this Thunder-sly-sneak-say, you no be Dyrney. If you stand-up ear-hole, then waggy-tail pant-pant after his rump. But-first, ask-look him, 'Where-be your grab-up-squeakers?' Surely, he hump-carried some grab-up-squeaker juicy-champ to show-snuff. Where-be? And no-see, no-see grab-up-squeakers? Your Thunder-man Dyr already head-nod-was. He wanted big, big-head-nod from Arrdsey-phnyr-phey-fne for all Dyrney. After you juicy-champ Dyr's debt-baby, you'll see who has grab-up-squeakers..."
This was too much for Fnanar. He threw back his club and made a bug-eyed lunge for Dyr-jiny, who saw it coming and leaped aside as the blow came down squarely on Dyr.
"Dyr!" wailed Ninar-dern, rushing to his lifeless side. "My Thunder-man!" With a grating squeal, she sprang on Fnanar, seizing him by the hair and hurling him into Dyr's rock, knocking him cold. She ran at him and spat and furiously kicked his head, ripping off one of his ears. She wheeled 'round to the wide-eyed trolls. "Fnanar no-have grab-up-squeakers!" she cried. "Gut-rip-birds make him cower-dog! He came-back with brute, no-brute, brute, no-brute, brute, no-brute and no grab-up-squeakers! He be Cower-man! He…"
Fnanar quietly stepped up from behind and shattered her skull. "Dyr be sow-heart!" he roared. "I be Thunder-man!" And with that, he waved to his brutes and ran for the edge of the clearing.
Fnana-fnyr had neither spear nor club, but when he saw Fnanar coming, he tackled him, flinging him to the ground. He jumped on him and broke one of his ribs with a furious kick. As Fnanar tried to get up, Fnana-fnyr hove a good sized rock to hit him in the hip, knocking him flat again. But as Fnana-fnyr grabbed up the rock again, Fnanar swung out with his club, knocking Fnana-fnyr's legs out from under him, putting him down long enough to manage to hobble away into the brush and vanish.
June came once again to the Great Strah. Nessie, her yearling shawk spoogh, Cronney and little Ursula had found a wonderful place for a game of jackstones, far out in the tall grass where the wild aurochs had bedded down the night before, mashing the grass flat. Cronney settled onto her keel and gave each wing a snap, as Nessie plopped onto her knees with Ursula and shook out her bag of polished stones onto the ground. A bee whined by overhead in the warm sunlight. Ursula began at once plucking white clover heads and braiding them into a bracelet. Bobolinks paused to sway in the grass, chattering and scolding before flying on. She tossed up a stone and picked up another before catching the first and tossing the second, chanting,
"Caith aon...caith dha...
Caith tri...ceithre...
Ursula aici buachaill...
duine i ndiaidh an duine eile..."
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Cronney followed each toss up and down with cross-eyed concentration.
"Toss one...toss two...
Toss three...four
Ursula has a boyfriend...
One after the other..."
"I don't either," said Ursula, scooting over to pat the feathers on Cronney's neck. "I don't even have one, and I don't want one, either."
"Not even for babies?" said Nessie with a wise look, as she scattered out her stones for another go.
"That's too much work. I want my very own stripe falcon, just like Cronney."
Cronney gently rattled her beak along a strand of Ursula's golden curls, as if to encourage her. Ursula gave her an adoring hug and sat running her fingers down the feathers of her back.
"Strike falcons are work, too, Ursula. Do you have any idea what you have to do to get one?"
"What did you have to do?"
"Well, you have to be big enough to go out and get one, for one thing. They're supposed to be eggs. Markus and I got ours out of a nest, and they were just hatched and the mother was a-coming, too, and Olloo was scared and everything. Everyone had to run. Doona and Oisin had to run, and Martyn and Donachan had to run, and even Queen Vorona had to run, but here she is." She gave Cronney a squeeze and a pat while Cronney discretely picked up and turned over various jackstones.
"So? I can do that..."
"Probably not. You're probably so little that you'd need more help than anyone would ever have the time to give you, even me."
"You really think so?"
Cronney quietly gobbled up three polished jackstones.
"Yea, you're definitely not big enough for your own strike falcon..."
"I am so!" cried Ursula, springing to her feet with brimming eyes and a quivering chin. "I'm getting a stripe falcon."
Elf Killers Page 17