The Harvest Tide Project

by Oisin McGann

  Groach cowered as the Noranian leader advanced on him. Suddenly the room lurched and they were all thrown off their feet, with the exception of Cossock. Namen jumped up, but the tower shook again and he had to grab a table to steady himself.

  ‘Find out what’s going on!’ he shouted to Cossock.

  The bodyguard dragged Mungret out with him and charged down the stairs. Namen stepped over to the stand of weapons between the bookcases, glowering at Groach as he reached for a sword.

  ‘You’re up to something and, whatever it is, I’ve had enough of you.’

  His hand failed to grasp the weapon. Turning in surprise, he found that the narrow space between the two bookcases was filled with some solid shape. There was only the image of the weapons’ stand, as if painted onto a wall. He gasped in surprise, but recovered in an instant and grabbed a letter opener from the bookshelf, driving the blade into the image before Emos could regain his shape.

  Emos cried out, but lunged out of his hiding place. And now he had the knife embedded in his shoulder, he held it to him. The room shuddered and Namen stumbled. Emos slunched back into his normal form as he threw himself forwards, knocking the Noranian to the floor. Tossing the knife away, he swung his fist hard against Namen’s jaw. Namen got his foot against Emos’s chest and kicked him away. The Myunan rolled and flipped onto his feet, but Namen was already up. Groach charged at him, wrapping the chain of his shackles around the Noranian’s shoulders. Namen was snared long enough for Emos to get another punch in before the Noranian leader blocked him and landed a fist right across the Myunan’s nose. Emos let his face go soft, and Namen’s hand left an imprint. The Noranian swivelled and caught Groach with an elbow in the ribs. He shrugged out of the botanist’s grip and swung an uppercut that cracked against Groach’s chin and sent him reeling backwards. He collapsed unconscious against the wall. Namen stepped outside Emos’s next punch and drove his foot into the Myunan’s midriff, hurling him back across the room.

  Taya pulled herself onto a deck where she could hold on, helping Lorkrin up as the tower pitched back and forth violently. They had almost been thrown off when it had started moving, and now it was rocking like a ship in a storm. Lorkrin panted as he crawled to join her at the post where she was clinging on tightly.

  ‘By the gods,’ he gasped, wrapping his arms around the post. ‘This is getting to be a bit much, really. Maybe we should try taking the stairs from here on up.’

  ‘Well, at least it’s giving the guards something to think about,’ Taya replied.

  Anchored to the post were two heavy ropes which were pulled taut, acting against the movement of the tree. She reasoned that they must be linked to the ground, stabilising the tower. Her eyes followed their length down through the branches, and she found herself looking straight into the face of a soldier on a walkway below them. His face changed as he saw her.

  ‘Intruders!’ he roared, pointing up at them.

  All of a sudden, there were four more Noranians at his side. They snarled at the Myunans and grabbed the ropes. Climbing hand over hand, they made their way up the cables towards the two shape-shifters. Lorkrin pulled his bag off and rooted about inside. Drawing his knife, he started sawing through one of the ropes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Taya exclaimed.

  ‘Getting them before they get us!’ he grunted.

  The fibres of the rope parted under his sharp blade, and the tension of the rope pulled it apart. It snapped, nearly catching Lorkrin across the head as it whipped away, sending two soldiers tumbling down through the branches below them. The eb-tower, already fighting the current of the river and the collision with the bexemot, shuddered, and the strain on the other rope increased. He and Taya began to cut at it, and this one gave way almost immediately. The remaining soldiers fell kicking and flailing into the foliage.

  ‘They could be killed,’ Taya said, anxiously.

  ‘Nah, they’re bound to hit something on the way down.’

  The gigantic eb-tree turned to hang from its last anchoring lines, but the strain was too much now and one by one, they snapped like whips as the huge tree tore loose.

  The eb-tower spun and swayed, its wide base giving in to the current that it had stood firm against for so long. With the extra weight of its turrets and buildings, its top rocked about, the Myunans clinging to the post for their lives. Slowly, but with unstoppable force, it began to move down river.

  Emos twisted out of a headlock and swept Namen’s feet out from under him. The Noranian fell back, staggered and hit the wall. His hand found a battle axe mounted by the window and he yanked it from its brackets. The room trembled again, and he was forced to hold on until it died down. Emos used the time to become a shorter, squatter shape and lengthen his arms. Punching a Myunan master was like thumping putty, but there was no doubt that Rak Ek Namen was the better fighter, and Emos was already weakening from his wound. If the Myunan did not use every advantage he had, he and Groach were both dead. By making himself smaller and stouter, he was better able to keep his balance on the rocking floor, and if he could keep the Noranian at arm’s reach, he had more of a chance of surviving this. As long as he had the longer arms.

  The Noranian closed in on him, brandishing the axe. Emos ducked and stepped to one side as the blade swung at his head, then leaned in and slammed a fist into the Prime Ministrate’s belly. Namen coughed and doubled up. Emos went for another punch, but Namen straightened up suddenly and drove the butt of the axe handle into the Myunan’s chest. Emos grunted but stayed standing, sidestepping Namen’s next strike and rolling away across the floor out of reach. The chamber pitched again and Namen wobbled on his feet. Emos leapt at him, wrapping his arms around him in a bear hug that trapped Namen’s arms.

  Taya appeared at the window as the two men crashed to the floor.

  ‘Uncle Emos!’ she screamed.

  Emos slunched and linked his arms into one band that held the Noranian leader fast. Looking up, he saw Lorkrin follow his sister through the window. Namen snarled as he recognised them.

  ‘Get Shessil out of here!’ Emos bellowed.

  ‘But you …’ Taya started.

  ‘Do as I say, girl! Get out now!’

  Turning towards the window, Lorkrin’s face dropped and he grabbed Taya’s shoulder. The tree was heading straight for one of the other eb-towers.

  ‘OH BOWELS!’ Taya cried.

  The eb-tree groaned and leaned hard over, the top of the other tree filling the view in the window. Gripping the sides of their mouths, the two shape-shifters slunched and each pulled their mouth open wide enough to swallow a water melon. Then, seizing Groach under his armpits, they pushed him through the window and followed him out.

  Moments later, the tops of the two eb-towers smashed into each other. Wood and metal, furniture, weapons, doors and windows were all pulverised as the enormous trees collided. The two trunks tangled on each other’s wreckage, tipping both over. Then they tore apart and rocked back up, their heavy bases bringing them upright.

  The three friends fell, branches and leaves sweeping past them as they hurtled towards the river far below. Opening their gaping mouths, the two Myunans let their entire bodies go slack, and the whistling air rushed up into their throats, shaping them and hollowing them out. The air filled them to their toes, expanding them until they were no more than billowing bags of flesh. Their fall slowed as they caught the air, their bodies stretched to their limit … but it was working. The wind caught them and they swooped further down the river. Like a pair of paper bags, they floated down, dropping Groach into the water before settling in themselves, deflating into loose folds. They tried to pull the botanist towards the shore, but they were too weak and clumsy. His unconscious body started to slip beneath the surface. They heard the sounds of splashes and felt hands grab them. They were hauled ashore and laid out on the ground. Lying in a stunned sprawl, and with his wide, flat head lolling about, Lorkrin saw armed men and women all around them. They were outside the city walls,
but were surrounded by troops and machines. Groach was lying still beside them. It did not matter. The soldiers had caught them after all.

  A familiar face appeared above Taya, his head tilting from side to side as if trying to imagine what she would look like if her features were closer together. His eyebrows lifted as he recognised her.

  ‘What are you two doing here?’ Peddar Murris asked, a concerned look on his face as he studied the two Myunans in confusion.

  Too weak to answer, Taya let out a deep, deafening belch, and flopped helplessly on the wet grass. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about her uncle, caught in the Prime Ministrate’s chamber when the eb-towers collided. There was no way that he could have survived. She felt a hand flapping against her foot and heard Lorkrin’s feeble voice:

  ‘Look … look up.’

  She blinked, turning her head as best she could to look skywards and saw what appeared to be a sheet of paper floating down towards them. As it sailed closer, she could see that it was shaped like a man, but the size of a boat’s sail. It was Uncle Emos. With most of his body stretched out as thin and flat as sailcloth, he was riding the wind like a kite. He spiralled lazily down until he came to rest nearby. Then crefting back into shape, he got stiffly to his feet and walked over to kneel between his nephew and niece, holding their stretched, baggy hands. Taya sobbed again, but this time with joy, and Lorkrin sniffed back some tears. Whatever happened now, at least they had their uncle back.

  EPILOGUE

  Lorkrin and Taya were wrinkly. They had resumed their old shapes, but were covered in sags and folds that betrayed their day’s adventures. Exchanging glum looks, they turned with pleading expressions to their uncle. He smiled at them and spread his arms, shrugging.

  ‘You overstretched,’ he said simply. ‘You’ll return to normal eventually.’

  ‘But how long will it take?’ Lorkrin asked.

  ‘A few weeks, perhaps.’

  ‘Weeks!’ Taya burst out. ‘I can’t walk around looking like this for weeks!’

  ‘Well, maybe with a bit of effort, you will fix up in a day or two,’ he reassured her, barely suppressing a laugh. They were obviously upset, but they did look very funny.

  The three Myunans were standing near the river in a camp of Braskhiam troops, Sestinians and others who had joined the march on Noran. With them were soldiers from the Kartharic Peaks, mixing, talking and sharing food and drink with the people who had been their enemies only days before. Tents, weapons and vehicles were scattered all around them, positioned for a siege on Noran that had never happened. When the eb-towers had collided, the fight had gone out of the soldiers still loyal to Noran as they realised they had lost their leader. Emos had been thrown clear when the towers had crashed together, leaving Rak Ek Namen caught in the chamber as the two huge trees demolished each other.

  ‘Couldn’t you do something?’ Lorkrin begged. ‘I bet you could fix us.’

  ‘Oh, no. I don’t think so.’

  ‘I bet you could,’ Taya repeated.

  ‘Give me a couple of days to think about how to do it,’ Emos told them.

  ‘Uncle Emos!’ they wailed in unison.

  ‘In the meantime, you two can think about how this found its way to the study of the Noranian Prime Ministrate.’ He held up his quill.

  ‘What’s that?’ Lorkrin raised his eyebrows, in an attempt at ignorance.

  ‘Looks like a pen, or something,’ Taya chirped. ‘Is that yours, Uncle Emos?’

  The discussion was interrupted by the sound of an engine drawing near, then a skid and the clang of metal on metal.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ came the sound of Hilspeth’s voice. ‘By the gods, these things are harder to drive than they look.’

  The three Myunans turned to see the wagon that Draegar had hijacked, resting against an engined catapult, its front bumper dented. Hilspeth and the Parsinor were getting down from the cab, and Hilspeth whooped when she saw Groach sitting, having his head tended by one of the Braskhiam healers. She ran over and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him hard on the lips. He was taken aback at first, but then he kissed her back tentatively.

  ‘You made it!’ she cried, as she pushed him back to get a good look at him.

  ‘Most of me.’ He gave a pained smile. ‘It seems I owe my life to just about everyone.’

  ‘You’ll just have to live a quieter life from here on in.’ She hugged him again.

  ‘I’ll certainly try my best.’ He dropped his head, and then raised it to meet the gazes of the others. ‘Thank you. Thank you, all of you.’

  There was an awkward silence while everyone tried to think of something to say.

  ‘I have a wagon to return,’ Draegar spoke up. ‘I must head south soon and make what amends I can to the driver. I can only hope his stay at the storyhouse has been pleasant. I’ll need somebody to drive the thing. I still can’t get my feet on the pedals.’

  ‘I’ll drive for you,’ Emos offered. ‘These two are overdue back at their parents’.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do,’ Groach muttered.

  ‘The farmers in Braskhia will need all the help they can get to save their crops after the Harvest Tide,’ Murris told him. ‘I’m sure they could find a use for someone with your expertise.’

  ‘That sounds like a good place to start making amends,’ Groach smiled. ‘There’s a fisherman and his wife in Crickenob to whom I owe a debt as well. South it is then.’

  ‘I’ll need to get back to work down that way too,’ Hilspeth said. ‘We can all go back together.’

  ‘A recipe for further disaster, I’m sure,’ grunted Emos with a wry smile. He rubbed his hands together. ‘I look forward to the journey. For now though, I think a good meal is in order.’

  ‘A feast more like,’ Murris cried out. ‘I feel a party coming on. You must all stay until you are stuffed to the gills and we’ve danced ’til we’ve dropped. I think it should be the last act of this war to go out to music. I do love a good dance.’

  Suddenly, Taya grabbed Lorkrin’s saggy wrist and nodded towards the river. Emerging from the water was a huge, scarred, yellow-skinned man with weapons draped about him. In his right hand, he held a spiked iron ball hanging from a chain; in his left, a viciously sharp axe. He had murder written on his face.

  ‘Cossock,’ Groach whispered.

  The Barian advanced on them, ignoring the rebel soldiers on either side. Draegar drew his sword and his battleaxe and took a stance before him. Cossock measured him up, and then growled to the group of friends:

  ‘Make your peace with your gods. I will feed the grass with your blood before I am killed.’

  Emos put a hand on the Parsinor’s arm and faced Rak Ek Namen’s bodyguard.

  ‘If it’s a fight you want, you’ll get it, friend. But don’t think that you will get the honourable death you’re looking for. We will not fight to kill you. But if it’s embarrassment you are after, I can guarantee it. I am a master of transmorphing. Just one touch is all I need to give you ears like a donkey, or feet like a duck, or perhaps just turn you bright pink. You can fight to kill me, but I will fight to humiliate you. Just one touch, whether you kill me or not. And then every man here will descend on you. So, win or lose, you will die a laughing stock. Now, was it a fight you wanted?’

  Cossock stood stock still, unsure of himself. It was the Barian way to fear nothing, to fight and kill and die with honour. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for an opponent who would make a clown of him whether they died or not. This was not the kind of combat he knew; it did not seem fair. More people had gathered. Hundreds were watching. This was not how it was supposed to be. He bared his teeth and hissed, but nobody seemed impressed. They were all waiting for the moment when he grew duck’s feet and turned pink.

  For the first time in his life, Cossock blushed. With a roar of disgust, he threw his weapons to the ground, and walked back to the river, his head in his hands. Stumbling into the river, he dived into the curren
t and swam away. The crowd relaxed. Lorkrin was secretly crestfallen that there hadn’t been a fight, and even Draegar looked a little disappointed.

  ‘Could you really have done that?’ Taya asked her uncle.

  ‘Well, no. It takes a bit more than a touch to do it. It would have taken a little work.’

  ‘Then you lied?’

  ‘Exaggerated, dear. Better than somebody dying, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘This definitely calls for a celebration!’ Murris was still determined to have his party. ‘A Barian embarrassed into defeat. Now that’s a story that will travel! Somebody make some music!’

  Later that night, as Groach, Taya and Lorkrin were sitting together, taking a rest from the joyous mayhem that was going on all around them, Taya looked up at the botanist and took his hand.

  ‘I just want you to know that we don’t blame you for everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Oh … good.’ Groach nodded uncertainly.

  ‘But just in case it was all your fault,’ Lorkrin continued. ‘You will let us know if you get in any more trouble? It’s been loads of fun.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Taya laughed. ‘Much better than Uncle Emos’s farm. Promise us you’ll keep in touch. We’d miss not having you around.’

  ‘Taya, I can safely say that my life has not been the same since I met the two of you. If ever I am being hunted and attacked and imprisoned, you will be the first people I think of.’

  ‘We’re sorry about the sewer … and making you lose your beard.’

  ‘Well, at least I can say I came out of this looking better than you two.’

  Taya pulled the folds around her neck up over her face to stifle a snort of laughter.

  Lorkrin chortled and slid his loose scalp down over his eyes. Deciding it was a good time to join Hilspeth in the dancing again, Groach excused himself, stood up and disappeared into the crowd.