Warrior Bronze

by Michelle Paver

  The ghost of Akastos’ murdered brother resembled the High Chieftain, only it was younger, and missing the little finger on its right hand. Slowly, it straightened, licking the blood from its lips and staring ahead with the vacant gaze of one still thirsty. Then it bent its head for more.

  With a thwap, the Angry Ones lifted into the sky and veered off towards Mount Lykas.

  Akastos moaned. His face was ghastly pale, and his eyes were shut.

  ‘It’s finished,’ said Hylas through a blur of tears. ‘You’ve atoned for your crime, the Angry Ones have gone. Be at peace!’

  Akastos’ face twisted in pain, and he didn’t open his eyes. His long punishment was over, but it didn’t look as if he would live to enjoy it.

  As Hylas knelt, blinking down at the man he’d loved as a father, the din of battle crashed upon him once more, and he became aware of what was happening around him. He saw the dagger of Koronos lying almost within his reach. He heard Periphas somewhere behind him, yelling his name in warning. Then a Crow warrior was looming out of the smoke, with his spear raised to deal Akastos his death-blow.

  Grabbing the High Chieftain’s shield, Hylas parried the blow. The Crow warrior screamed as Periphas’ sword pierced his back – and fell dead, crushing Hylas beneath him.

  For a moment, Hylas lay winded. As he struggled to free himself and reach the dagger of Koronos, he heard a horse galloping towards him.

  A horse? he thought dazedly. But Jinx cantered off the battlefield after Akastos dismounted, I saw him go …

  Hylas couldn’t see who it was because of the corpse on top of him, but he heard the horse skitter to a halt, somewhere close. Then its rider leapt off and strode into view. It was Telamon.

  Before Hylas could take in what was happening, Telamon had spotted the dagger and was striding towards it. He only had eyes for his prize, he didn’t see Hylas beneath the warrior’s corpse. Snatching the dagger from the ground, he cast a scornful glance at the motionless forms of Pharax and Akastos. Then he leapt back on his horse and raised the dagger high.

  ‘Akastos is dead!’ he roared. ‘Pharax is no more, and I, Telamon, am High Chieftain of all Akea! See! I have the dagger of Koronos!’

  Shouts went up from his men, and the rebels cried out in dismay.

  Telamon’s horse reared, but he checked it, and shouted orders to his second-in-command: ‘Ilarkos! You will lead our men to victory here – while I ride to make the dagger safe for my House for all eternity!’

  Before Hylas could free himself, Telamon was galloping across the battlefield, yelling in triumph and brandishing the dagger of Koronos above his head.

  Pirra reined in her horse in a cloud of dust. From below her came a raucous din: she was nearing the battlefield.

  Her body was screaming for rest, and her mount was heaving and blowing after its headlong gallop from Lapithos. Maybe somewhere the Sun was still shining, but thunderclouds shrouded Lykonia in menacing gloom, and it was so hot she could hardly breathe. Surely the storm would break soon?

  In the distance, a voice was shouting: ‘I will make the dagger safe for all eternity!’ It was Telamon. He sounded triumphant.

  Wildly, Pirra cast about, but she couldn’t tell where he was, and when he shouted again, he sounded much further away. Setting her teeth, she urged her horse towards the battlefield.

  The din grew louder. Through a haze of dirty brown smoke, she saw smashed shields and scattered fires, men sprawled or twitching horribly, waves of warriors and rebels crashing against each other. Where was Hylas?

  She spotted him in a group of rebels making for the edge of the field not fifty paces to her right. He’d lost his helmet and his face was bloodied, but he was grimly alive, limping beside a black-maned horse on whose back lay Akastos – whether dead or unconscious, Pirra couldn’t tell.

  As she put her horse towards them, she saw Periphas run from the smoke, push back Akastos’ hair, and peer at his face.

  ‘He’s still breathing!’ he yelled. ‘Nomios, get him to safety! The rest of you, come with me! The battle is not lost, we have everything to fight for!’

  Hylas turned on him. ‘But Telamon has the dagger! I couldn’t stop him!’

  ‘And I know where he’s taking it!’ cried Pirra, cantering down to them.

  They stared at her, and it flashed across her mind how she must appear: a wild-haired girl covered in soot on an exhausted horse lathered in sweat.

  ‘He’s taking it to his Ancestors!’ she panted. ‘Hekabi thinks he’s going to throw it down the crack in the Ancestor Peak – then it’ll be safe for ever!’ She was about to add that Issi was up there too, maybe heading for the Ancestor Peak, to try and stop him – but Hylas had enough to deal with, without learning that Pirra had found his sister, only to lose her again.

  ‘Hekabi’s right,’ Hylas said in an altered voice. ‘That has to be what Telamon meant. He’s going to throw it to his Ancestors.’

  ‘This peak, do you know the way?’ said Pirra.

  He didn’t reply. He was appraising her exhausted horse, and she guessed what he was thinking: it would never make it up the mountain.

  ‘Take Jinx,’ said Periphas. ‘We’ll use the girl’s horse for Akastos.’

  The swap was swiftly made, Periphas gently easing the wounded man off the black-maned horse called Jinx.

  Hylas jerked his head at Pirra. ‘You get up first.’

  ‘What? But he’ll be slower with two of us –’

  ‘I’m not leaving you on a battlefield!’ Boosting her on to the horse’s back, he jumped up behind her and gathered the reins.

  As if to mark his words, a great shout rang out behind them, and the Crow warriors attacked with fresh savagery. Pirra recognized their leader as Ilarkos, a ruthless warrior who she knew would fight to the death. The rebels knew it too. Pharax might be dead, but Telamon had the dagger, and Pirra saw the weariness in their grimy faces; even Periphas’ shoulders sagged.

  ‘Do you see that red glare in the foothills?’ she shouted while Jinx snorted and side-stepped. ‘That’s Lapithos! We set it on fire! And listen to this, all of you! Koronos is dead!’

  ‘Dead?’ cried Periphas in disbelief.

  Pirra nodded. ‘It’s true, I saw his corpse!’

  With shining eyes, Periphas raised his sword. ‘Koronos is dead!’ he roared, and the rebels within earshot took up the cry. ‘Koronos is dead!’

  ‘Hold tight,’ Hylas muttered in Pirra’s ear. As she grabbed fistfuls of Jinx’s coarse black mane, Hylas yanked the horse’s head round and dug in his heels.

  ‘How much further d’you think Jinx can take us?’ panted Pirra.

  ‘Top of that ridge,’ said Hylas. ‘From there it’s too steep, I’ll have to continue on foot.’

  Pirra noticed that he said ‘I’, not ‘we’, but she made no remark. She asked how he knew that Telamon was going the same way, and he said, ‘Because this is the shortest trail, and I’ve seen his tracks.’

  They’d slowed to a jolting trot as Jinx picked his way up a stony trail between tall pines. With a double load, the stallion was tiring fast: several times, he’d stumbled and nearly pitched them over his head.

  For the tenth time, Pirra debated whether to tell Hylas that she’d found Issi. He ought to be told – and yet what good would it do? It might prove a fatal distraction, at a time when he needed all his wits to stay alive …

  They came to a stream, and of one accord slid off and fell to their knees to drink, while Jinx threw down his head and took long thirsty slurps.

  A crash of thunder, and the stallion jerked up his head. ‘Why won’t the storm break?’ muttered Hylas. He glanced at Pirra. ‘Did you really set fire to Lapithos?’

  She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘Hekabi did, I just helped. She’s still up there, she said the main thing was for me to take the horse and find you.’

  ‘The House of Koronos burns …’ muttered Hylas. ‘But I haven’t wielded the dagger.’

  ‘Not yet,’
said Pirra.

  As he rose to his feet, he asked if she’d seen Havoc, and she nodded. ‘Echo was with her, I think she’s looking forward to the storm.’ She flashed him a grin, but he didn’t smile back. His face was gaunt with fatigue and there was a darkness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. She wondered what horrors he’d experienced on the battlefield.

  Suddenly, she knew that she had to tell him about Issi. He needed to know that his sister was alive, in case – in case Hekabi’s prediction came true, and he was killed.

  ‘Hylas,’ she began, ‘there’s something I –’

  ‘Jinx can’t carry the two of us any further,’ he blurted out.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know that, don’t you?’ His face was drawn and determined as he picked up the reins. ‘You have to stay here, Pirra, where it’s safe. I have to go after Telamon alone.’

  Despite the heat, she’d gone cold. ‘Then – you’d better go, hadn’t you?’ she said shakily.

  For a heartbeat he met her eyes. He gave a curt nod and prepared to mount – but then he turned and pulled her into his arms. It hurt because of his breastplate, but she didn’t care. She breathed his smell of forest and horse and sweat; she raised her head and kissed his mouth, and he kissed her back, hard. Then he leapt up on Jinx and cantered off.

  Pirra fixed her eyes stubbornly on the ground: she would not watch him go. Then she changed her mind – but she was too late, already he was out of sight among the pines.

  Pirra sniffed and wiped her eyes with her fingers. She knelt and re-tied her sandal. Then she started up the trail, after him.

  It was only then that she realized that somehow, before he left, Hylas had managed to take off his wedjat amulet and slip it over her head: so now she had a powerful charm to keep her safe – while he had none.

  Telamon’s horse was stumbling with exhaustion, but still he kept beating its flanks with his stick. He’d nearly reached the end of the trail: nothing could stop him now. Koronos was dead. So was Pharax, and Akastos – the so-called Lion of Mycenae. The gods had chosen him, Telamon, to rule.

  Above him, the Ancestor Peak loomed blood-red against the charcoal clouds. Below him in the foothills, he glimpsed a blaze of orange flame. Earlier, his horse had shied in terror as he’d galloped past the fiery chaos that Lapithos had become, and for a moment, his courage had faltered. ‘The House of Koronos burns,’ the Oracle had said …

  But I have the dagger, not Hylas, he’d told himself. So what if Lapithos is burning? I’ll have it rebuilt, bigger and more splendid than before.

  He’d felt a fleeting regret for Pirra, shut up inside – but so be it. It was her fate to die, it wasn’t his fault.

  A crash of thunder and a blinding flare of lightning showed him the end of the trail. His horse reared, nearly pitching him off, and he yanked savagely at the reins.

  That was when he saw it: someone – something – crouching above him on the trail. In the gloom, he made out a small hunched form and a sharp grey face. Tawny eyes glaring at him through a thatch of barley-coloured hair.

  ‘Issi?’ he croaked. But it couldn’t be her. Issi was dead, she had to be.

  Then from high overhead came a rushing sound, as of vast leathery wings. His horse squealed in terror, he struggled to control it. When he looked again, Issi’s ghost was gone.

  Springing down, he ran to the place where she’d been – but he could find no tracks. He went cold. Ghosts, he thought.

  Whipping out the dagger, he slashed at the empty air. Was his father’s ghost here too? And Alekto’s? And Pharax’s and Koronos’?

  ‘I never touched any of you!’ he whispered. ‘The gods wanted you to die!’

  More thunder, more lightning. Wildly, he glared at the churning black clouds. Were the Angry Ones wheeling above him? Were They following him up the mountain?

  The sight of the iron ring on his finger gave him courage. Not even the Angry Ones could touch him. Nothing could. Now only Hylas was left, and he was far below on the plain, perhaps already slaughtered in battle.

  As lightning flared around him, Telamon felt a tingling in his bronze breastplate, and the power of the dagger coursed through him. His will hardened. It would be a wrench to fling the dagger down the chasm of his Ancestors, but he would do it.

  He was Telamon, High Chieftain of Mycenae. He could do anything.

  The she-lion leapt on to a boulder and anxiously snuffed the wind, while below her the little human cub picked her way between the pines, completely unaware of the dangers around her.

  The fires in the Up were making the she-lion’s claws tingle, and her fur stand on end. Soon all that rage in the Up would send the wet hammering down. But while most creatures had taken shelter in caves or the forest, the little human was determinedly following the evil crow-man on the horse. Why? What was on top of the mountain?

  Twitching her tail in frustration, the she-lion bounded after her charge. If only the little human would stay out of danger, instead of going to look for it! The she-lion had led her right to the girl and the female with the magpie mane, who could have kept her safe – but instead, the little human had watched from her hiding place, then sneaked right into the crow-men’s burning lair.

  And just now, she’d nearly got trampled by that horse. The she-lion had had to knock her over and push her into some bushes, but even this hadn’t put her off. She didn’t seem to care about the crow-man’s big shiny claw – and she seemed not to have sensed the far greater menace that was following him.

  The she-lion had often sensed the terror that haunted the Up, and she’d caught Their black, biting stink. She feared no living creature – but she feared the terrible winged spirits of the Up.

  Strangely, humans couldn’t see them very well, although like horses, they often panicked when they were near. Just now, the she-lion had watched the crow-man slashing frantically at the Up. How odd that he hadn’t seen the terrible spirit perched on a boulder, only a paw-swipe behind him.

  As for the little human cub, she was frightened of them too, but not nearly frightened enough. She didn’t seem to realize that the terrible spirits don’t care who is good and who is bad – or who gets in Their way.

  The little human had climbed out of sight around a bend, and the she-lion hurried after her. The nose-biting stink thickened – the entire mountainside reeked – and up ahead, she caught the rustle of giant wings and the scratch of talons on stone.

  Rounding the bend, she saw to her horror a whole shadowy swarm of them, hunched on boulders a few pounces up the slope. And the little human was climbing blindly towards Them.

  The she-lion shot up the slope and leapt in front of her, roaring at the spirits and lashing out with both forepaws. They spread Their vast wings and screeched at her, blasting her back with Their burning breath – but They didn’t fly away. One lone she-lion wasn’t enough to drive Them off.

  Still roaring, the she-lion spun round and swatted the little human downhill into a patch of thistles. With an outraged yelp, the little human struggled to her feet. She was furious and frightened, but still grimly determined to head back into danger.

  The she-lion bounded down and leant firmly against her. No, not that way! The little human tried to push her aside, which was ridiculous, it was like being pushed by a leaf.

  Gently, the she-lion took one small furless forepaw in her jaws and tugged – and at last, the cub understood, and started up a different trail that looped around the boulders where the terrible spirits perched. As the she-lion followed her, snaky necks twisted to watch them go, and she heard the rustle as the terrible spirits folded Their wings. The danger was past – for now.

  The she-lion had to keep her charge safe, until she could find the rest of the pride; but she needed help. She couldn’t fight these spirits on her own. And she couldn’t fly.

  The falcon had had a marvellous kill. After one of her fastest dives ever, she’d knocked a big fat pigeon out of the Sky and caught it in her talons just befor
e it hit the ground, then she’d swooped on to a rock, ripped out its breastfeathers, and gulped its salty-sweet flesh. After that she’d felt sluggish and full, but she’d soon sicked up a large pellet, and squirted a massive load of droppings – and now she felt light and fast again, and ready for anything.

  No more screeching at ants, no more being shivery and scared and unfalcon-like. Best of all, no more awfulness of being tied up and unable to see, or move so much as a feather. All that was behind her. She was a falcon again, with the limitless Sky for her home.

  And she was thoroughly enjoying this storm. The lightning tickled her nostrils and set up a delicious tingling at the roots of her feathers; the Wind was fascinatingly bumpy, and there were all sorts of rock-hard clouds and wobbly towers of air for her to zoom around and in between.

  Far below her on the plains, she scanned the poor earthbound humans, slogging away at their fighting. They were so slow and so angry. Near the top of the mountain, she spotted the evil crow-human who’d had the effrontery to trap her in his stinking black wings, then tie her up. With a shudder of disgust, she swooped past him – and of course he didn’t see her, because like all humans, he kept his head down as he plodded towards the peak.

  Scornfully, the falcon slid sideways on the Wind – and nearly crashed into a swarm of the dreadful, bat-winged spirits.

  Badly shaken, she shot off across the Sky. The spirits ignored her, screeching and twisting Their long black necks to peer at the tiny, toiling crow-human below.

  The falcon was scared. She longed to fly away and never come back. There were lots of other mountains just as good as this one, that weren’t haunted by the terrible spirits; and she could go wherever she liked in the flick of a feather.

  But. The girl was on this mountain – and she too was nearing the top. So was the boy. And there was his little sister, the one who’d freed the falcon from the fire; and with her was the she-lion, who could usually look after herself – but not this time. This time, even the she-lion needed help.