Bone Trail

by Paul Stewart

  Sure enough, as they rounded the first of the tall ­pinnacles, the valley beyond opened up below them. It was broad and flat-bottomed, the tree-clad sides rising up vertical. Ethan let out a long low whistle.

  There were splashes of colour in among the shades of green, where blooms and blossoms were on gaudy display. And streaks of silver and gold and metallic blue as, far below them, burnished-winged wyrmes wheeled and swooped through the misty air. They called out to one another constantly, yet their screeches and squawks were barely audible above the sound of rushing water.

  With Micah leading the way, the four of them continued along the line of jagged columns of rock that fringed the ridge, until the majestic stickle falls came back into view. Cool spray blew into their faces as a frothing torrent of water flowed out of a chasm in the rock between the last two stickles and tumbled down into the valley in a vast tremulous pillar.

  Beside the falls was a track. Trodden down by silvertails and billywyrmes, and widened by rainwash, the rocky trail zigzagged its way down the far side of the mountain range. Below, at the foot of the waterfall, was a lake. The sun was in their eyes as they set off towards it, an easterly breeze plucking at their sweat-drenched clothes.

  ‘One step at a time,’ Micah called back, his voice indistinct against the roar of the waterfall as they began their descent. ‘And watch your footing.’

  Soon they were walking at the same level as the wyrmes they had seen flying so far below. There were garish purple-crested fisherwyrmes, and pitchwyrmes, their drab cousins; and pale-blue mistwyrmes that were large and ungainly in flight, calling out their ­character­istic whoop-whoop-whoop.

  Ethan stumbled and almost fell as a pitchwyrme ­suddenly emerged from the waterfall, a great speckled rocksalmon clamped between its jaws. It circled overhead for a moment, then flapped off into the mistblur trees that lined the slopes around them. Cody steadied his brother with a hand on the shoulder, and they ­continued down the winding track.

  As they neared the valley bottom, it levelled out some, and the roar of the waterfall grew louder still as they approached the broad lake at its base. They stopped at the water’s edge, hot, tired, footsore, and gazed at their reflections in the rippling surface.

  ‘Better set up camp,’ said Micah. ‘Forage for firewood, catch some fish maybe . . .’

  ‘First things first,’ said Ethan, sitting down. He pulled off one boot, then the other, then climbed to his feet and removed his jacket, his shirt, his trousers and tossed them behind him. He was about to pull off his underwear when Cody – who had unshouldered the pack and pulled off his own jacket and shirt – stayed him with a furious nudge in the ribs. He nodded at Cara.

  ‘There’s a lady present,’ he said.

  Ethan stopped. A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘My apologies, Miss Cara,’ he said. ‘I was not thinking.’

  She looked back at him, and then at Cody, and was embarrassed to realize that her face was flushed. Cody was looking straight at her. She could not hold his gaze. Ethan turned back to the water, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He waded into the lake five, six steps, then threw his body forward and began swimming. Cody jumped in after him, and the pair of them swam towards the middle of the lake, out of their depth, where they stopped and twisted round and trod water.

  ‘Come on!’ Ethan shouted out to Cara and Micah, beckoning wildly. ‘It sure is refreshing!’

  Cara and Micah exchanged looks.

  ‘There’s no sign of Eli yet,’ Micah ventured. ‘And that water does look inviting . . .’

  He dropped his own pack to the ground and pulled off his jacket and shirt, then his breeches, before plunging into the lake. Cara watched him for a moment, then, with a single fluid movement shrugged off her rucksack and cape, and wriggled out of her wyrmehide breeches. She ran to the water’s edge, kicking off her boots as she went and, to the encouraging whoops and cheers of the others, plunged into the cool clear water of the lake in her underslip. She swam underwater for a few strokes before surfacing.

  ‘That is refreshing!’ she exclaimed, and she splashed Micah, who splashed her back, and she dived back down under the water.

  Cody laughed, and lunging forwards, placed his hands on Micah’s head and pushed him under. Then he turned to Ethan, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

  He swivelled round, his arms paddling at his side, keeping himself afloat – then cried out as someone grabbed at his ankles. He kicked out wildly, but the grip was too firm, and the next moment he was yanked down under the water, his laughter turning to gurgles.

  Micah resurfaced, then Ethan, and the two of them wrestled with one another, each one trying to push the other one down. Cody swam beneath them, seized both of them by a foot and pulled them under.

  Cara watched it all, laughing and splashing each of them in turn. Then, turning away, she set off for the shore, pushing the water behind her with long steady strokes. Her toes touched the gravel of the lakebed. She crawled the last few yards on her hands and knees and was about to climb to her feet when her gaze fell upon a pair of dusty boots directly before her.

  ‘Eli!’ she cried, looking up.

  The cragclimber smiled down at her, helped her to her feet, then nodded out into the lake, where Micah, Cody and Ethan were still splashing and diving and dunking one another, unaware of his presence.

  ‘Seems like you’ve made some new friends,’ he ­commented.

  Six

  ‘Got to know just when to strike . . .’

  Eli froze. He was standing on a broad rock at the bottom of the falls. The water foamed around him in the depths, tugging at the cottonweed and churning up bubbles. His legs were spread and braced; his knife, strapped to the end of his walking staff, was raised in his hand. He stared unblinking into the water.

  Below him, in the swirling eddy, a stunned tunny rose to the surface. And, in the split second before it could recover itself and dart away, Eli struck. The sharp point of the makeshift spear skewered the fish and Eli raised it above his head.

  ‘That’s another,’ he muttered. ‘Two more to go.’

  On the adjacent rock, Micah held out the net. Eli reached across and deposited the fish next to the other two with a flick of his wrist.

  ‘You make it look easy,’ said Micah.

  ‘It’s how I started out,’ said Eli. ‘Fishing the falls when I first got to the weald. I’m sure I told you that before.’

  Micah nodded. ‘You did,’ he said. ‘But I had no notion of what a skill it was.’

  ‘Trick’s to get them just after they land,’ he said, looking up at the torrent of water.

  Micah followed his gaze, and saw the wyrmes still wheeling round in the air and diving through the falls after the tumbling streaks of silver.

  ‘They make it look easy too,’ he said.

  Eli had resumed his stance on the rock, legs braced, spear poised. When he spoke his voice was low and steady.

  ‘Nothing is easy in the high country, Micah. You of all people should know that. You have to be ­vigilant at all times . . .’ The cragclimber’s blue eyes were fixed on the bubbling water. ‘Search for food, spot the best place to rest up, cover your tracks on the trail . . .’

  He thrust down into the water with the spear, pulling it out a moment later with a fourth fish wriggling at the end. He dropped it into Micah’s net, then glanced across the lake at the camp.

  Cody was tending the fire, while Ethan was making Cara laugh with some animated story or other.

  ‘It’s hard enough as it is in the weald,’ he said, ‘without acquiring extra mouths to feed.’

  Micah was about to reply, to explain that Cody and Ethan were all right, just a little green was all – just like he had been when Eli had found him; and that if he and Cara hadn’t teamed up with them, they would most likely be starving by now, or worse . . . But he was cut short by Eli’s grunt as he
thrust the spear into the water once more. A moment later, the fifth and final fish was flopping about inside the net with the rest.

  ‘I’m gonna have to have a word with them,’ said Eli evenly.

  The cragclimber stepped off the rock and into the foaming water, which rose to chest height as he began picking his way across the uneven gravel of the lakebed, taking care to avoid the dark shadows of the depths. Micah watched him go, then followed slowly after. On the bank, Ethan and Cody looked up as the pair of them approached, and the sight of their eager smiling faces made Micah knot up inside when he thought of what Eli was about to tell them.

  ‘Did you catch anything, sir?’ Ethan was asking him. ‘I was just telling Miss Cara about the time Cody and me was fixing to catch us some supper, only I lost my footing and—’

  ‘Five,’ Eli interrupted him. ‘Big fellers too.’

  Micah held out the net and tried to smile, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew.

  ‘If you’ll allow me, I’ll gut and clean ’em ready to cook,’ said Ethan eagerly. ‘My brother here’s got a mighty fine fire going, ain’t you, Cody?’

  ‘I have,’ said Cody, colouring. Unlike his younger brother, he seemed to have noticed the cragclimber’s unwavering stare and taciturn manner.

  Eli nodded. ‘Best get on with it then,’ he said quietly.

  Ethan gutted the fish, and Cara skewered them on sharpened greentwigs and set them over the hot embers.

  ‘Sure does smell good,’ Ethan said as the fish began to brown on one side. He shifted across to the fire on his knees and turned them over, one at a time.

  When the fish were done, Cara handed out the greentwig skewers. They ate in an awkward silence, as if Eli’s reticence had infected the others and cast a solemn shadow over them all. Overhead, in the deepening dusk, the wyrmes dived and swooped, dark shadows against the ochre sky as they called to each other and headed off to their roosts in the wooded valley slopes.

  Ethan and Cody finished their fish, and Ethan thanked Eli profusely while Cody stared disconsolately into the fire. The cragclimber said nothing. He tossed his skewer into the flames and watched it burn, the firelight playing on his weatherbeaten features.

  Finally Micah could stand it no longer. ‘Tell them,’ he said grimly, his gaze fixed on Eli. ‘This . . . this just ain’t fair. Tell them once and for all, Eli, for pity’s sake, and get it over with.’

  He fell still, his face burning.

  Everyone was staring at at him. Ethan seemed ­bewildered; Cody looked dejected as if he guessed what was coming. Cara appeared to have understood too, for she reached over and took Micah’s hand and squeezed it. There were tears glistening in her green eyes. Micah kept his gaze fixed on Eli, as the cragclimber stared ­impassively into the flames.

  Eli took a deep breath. He pushed his hair back from his forehead, which creased up thoughtfully. He looked up at Ethan, and then at Cody. He observed their threadbare clothes, their meagre kit and their faces – one pathetically eager and full of hope, the other shy but strong – and Micah could tell that he was noting the exact same things that he and Cara had noticed on their first meeting with these greenhorns.

  Micah’s stomach gave another lurch. High above them, a mistwyrme gave a whooping call into the night.

  Eli glanced over at Micah, then back at the Ethan and Cody. ‘Micah and I had words earlier,’ he said. ‘And since then I done a deal of thinking . . .’

  Micah swallowed.

  ‘Life in the weald is harsh. To survive, you need to organize your year wisely. Gather as much you can during the seasons of plenty to see you through the privations of fullwinter. Then find a den to store it in. Away from prying eyes . . .’

  He paused. Ethan glanced at Cody, then back at the cragclimber.

  ‘Fact is,’ Eli continued, ‘I’ve a notion to head out to the west into valley country as yet little travelled. Find a winter den there. It’ll be a hard trail, but there’s rich ­pickings to be had where others ain’t trod before.’ Eli’s eyes were fixed back on the fire now, and his voice was so low he seemed almost to be talking to himself.‘And we’ll need rich pickings. It might only be half­summer now, but already time is short. If we’re to survive next fullwinter we got us a whole lot of work to do . . .’

  Micah watched Eli closely, hope suddenly thudding in his chest. The cragclimber smiled.

  ‘Happen we could do with extra hands in this ­endeavour.’ He paused. ‘Would you two boys care to join us?’

  For a moment, there was absolute silence. Micah was overwhelmed with a mixture of relief and gratitude. It seemed the cragclimber simply hadn’t had the heart to cut these greenhorns loose. Then Ethan broke the silence with a whooped cheer, and Cody reached forward and shook Eli’s hand.

  ‘It would be an honour, sir,’ he mumbled.

  ‘And we won’t let you down, no sir,’ Ethan babbled. ‘We’ll work hard and earn our keep and . . .’

  Cara climbed to her feet and crossed to the brothers. She clasped their hands, one after the other, smiling broadly. Eli looked across at Micah.

  ‘And you, lad?’ he said. ‘Anything more you want to say on the matter?’

  Micah swallowed and shook his head. Then he smiled. ‘Out to the west,’ he murmured. ‘Where the great whitewyrmes come from . . .’

  Seven

  They set out at first light, Eli scouting the trail ahead, with Ethan tripping along at his heels like an eager ­puppydog. Cody followed, carrying both his and his brother’s kit, while Micah and Cara hung back a ways, allowing a distance to build up between them and the rest of the party.

  The roar of the stickle falls diminished as they crested and then descended the first of the jagged ridges that lay beyond to the west. Scrubthorns and thistle sprouted from between the grey-green rocks, and small clumps of dwarfoak tufted the hill crests around them. A watery sun shone dimly through the early morning sky, and the air smelled of rain.

  ‘The west,’ Eli had said as they’d sat watching the dying embers of the campfire the night before. ‘Into the heart of the valley country, where the great whitewyrmes dwell and kith have yet to venture . . .’ His blue eyes had taken on a faraway look and his face appeared suddenly careworn and grim. ‘Not even the kith gangs with their harpoons could slaughter all the wyrmes that live there. But it’ll be a hard trail,’ he’d added.

  The cragclimber had been right. The ridges to the west stretched to the far horizon, a seemingly im­penetrable barrier of deep ravines, stormgulleys and scree-scattered slopes. It would take all Eli Halfwinter’s experience and ingenuity to find a route through them, Micah realized.

  He reached out and took Cara’s hand. It was soft and warm. The callouses and scars of life on the trail had yet to leave their mark.

  As they picked their way carefully between thorn-fringed boulders, Micah glanced round at Cara. Her auburn hair was tied back with sky-blue twine. She wore a scarf of Deephome red at her neck and a tooled leather belt at her waist. These were the only touches of decor­ation to her person. The tan wyrmehide breeches and heavy greywyrmeskin cloak, creased and worn in, and the battered broadbrim hat that hung at her back, were the unadorned apparel of a weald traveller. But with the simple addition of scarf and belt, Cara had made it look stylish, becoming. Even the heavy boots, cross-laced and toecapped, seemed to flatter her, emphasizing the length and the shapeliness of her legs.

  Cara caught Micah’s glance and smiled, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. Her skin was freckled and honey-coloured­ from the sun, and her lips glistened with the mintroot salve that she applied every morning, and made Micah want to kiss them. He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her towards him, but she laughed and pushed him away.

  ‘Not now, Micah,’ she said, and flashed him a ­mischievous smile. ‘There’ll be time enough for foolishness when we make camp tonight – and I reckon
we’ve a deal of ridges to scale before that happy outcome.’

  Micah laughed in turn and let go of Cara’s hand. She was a beauty, this kithgirl of his, and tough and resolute to boot. And she loved him. And Micah blessed the Maker to have found her.

  ‘Sure is hot,’ said Ethan, pushing his hat back and making a show of wiping his sleeve across his forehead.

  Eli did not reply, his eyes fixed on the uneven cleft-ridden rock ahead as he walked.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve ever known it so hot,’ Ethan added, and was rewarded with a soft grunt for his perseverance.

  Three days they’d been on the trail – three gruelling days – yet Eli had to concede, the youth was bearing up better than he’d feared. This ridge country was rugged, the constant climbing and descending taking a toll on muscles and kit alike. He pulled his water bottle from his belt, took a swig, then held it out.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ethan, taking a mouthful and wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Eli grunted again, then added, ‘Reckon you should be carrying your own water.’ He looked over his shoulder at Micah and Cara, and at Cody, who was carrying Ethan’s kit and watergourd as well as his own. ‘Ain’t right to leave everything to Cody.’

  Ethan blushed. Carrying their stuff was just something his brother did – all part of the way he looked out for him, but Eli’s words had stung nonetheless. His skin prickled and burned at his scalp, at the tips of his ears, at the nape of his neck. He restoppered the water bottle and handed it back, and they kept walking, with Ethan repeatedly checking to see whether Eli looked as angry as he had sounded. But he could not read the cragclimber’s impassive expression.

  Ethan swallowed. Perhaps it would be better to drop back and walk with the others, but he wasn’t sure how to take his leave of the cragclimber without seeming offended or petulant. Anyway, he didn’t want to drop back. He liked walking ahead with Eli. It made him feel safe in the great threatening expanse of the high country to have this calm experienced weald traveller at his side, and he was loath to give that up.