Warrior Bronze

by Michelle Paver

  As the falcon spiralled higher on an updraught, she felt the girl’s fear of the crow-humans, and her gnawing anxiety for the boy. The falcon hated it when the girl was worried, because then she was worried, too.

  A thunderclap and a flare of lightning – and at last the clouds burst and the rain pelted down.

  Reluctantly, the falcon tilted one wingfeather and swerved, and headed back towards the mountain.

  Sleeking back her feathers, she flew into the spirits’ dreadful reek. Their screams drove spikes through her skull and terror into her heart. She saw the rain hissing and turning to smoke on Their vast, scorching, featherless wings …

  The falcon knew that she could fly faster than any living creature – faster even than Them – but They were so many, and so huge.

  Against such terrible beings, what could even a falcon do?

  When Hylas was eleven, his best friend Telamon announced that he was going to climb the Ancestor Peak, and would Hylas come and watch him do it?

  The Ancestor Peak was forbidden, they’d never even been there – but that was the point. So Hylas had left Issi with the goats, and he and Telamon had taken the little-used trail up the mountain to its uppermost shoulder, where they’d stood craning their necks at the raw red peak. Around them, tall black pines creaked in the wind, guarding a narrow walled-in doorway cut into the rock.

  ‘That must be the Tomb of the Ancestors,’ said Telamon in a low voice.

  ‘Whose Ancestors?’ muttered Hylas.

  ‘Not sure, but I think they’re mine. Father never talks about our kin. All I know is they’re in the north. Mycenae, I think it’s called.’

  ‘Mm,’ mumbled Hylas, studying the peak. ‘You really want to do this?’ Telamon was one summer older than him, and bigger because he got more food – but still. To climb this peak, you’d have to scramble up the naked rock above that tomb, then all the way up those footholds that someone had hacked out; and then, near the top, you’d have to cross that crack, where some god had split the peak with his axe. And you’d have to manage all that while the wind was doing its best to blow you off.

  Telamon was fiddling with his sealstone. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll climb it if you come too,’ he mumbled.

  Hylas shot him a look. Then he broke into a grin. ‘All right. Let’s do it!’

  And they had. It had been a bright morning in spring. A swallow had whizzed past Hylas’ head as he’d climbed the sun-hot rock, his heart thudding against his ribs, his senses fizzing and alert … And when they’d done it and scrambled back to the pines, they’d collapsed against each other, spluttering with jittery laughter and promising eternal friendship.

  Lightning flashed and Hylas’ breastplate tingled; then a crash of thunder burst the clouds and at last the rain hammered down: in moments he was soaked and the trail was running with mud. His breastplate was still tingling. Something flickered in his memory, something Akastos had said once … but before he could grasp it, it was gone.

  Around him, storm-tossed trees thrashed and roared, and somewhere below, Jinx whinnied. An answering whinny from above, then Telamon’s riderless horse came careening down the trail, nearly knocking Hylas over in its haste to escape.

  So Telamon was already up there. Hylas pictured him casting the dagger down the crack, for the Ancestors to keep for ever.

  At last, he reached the grove of black pines. No Telamon. Slitting his eyes against the rain, Hylas made out the door to the Tomb of the House of Koronos. A lightning-struck pine had toppled against one side of it, making a spiky ladder that led up to its rocky roof.

  Another flare of lightning – and there was Telamon, standing at the foot of the fallen pine. He hadn’t seen Hylas: he was holding the dagger of Koronos before him, gazing at it with longing and regret. Hylas guessed that he was summoning the will to climb the peak and fling away his prize.

  Telamon felt Hylas’ stare and turned, and drew his sword.

  Hylas had already drawn his sword and his Egyptian knife, so they had two weapons apiece. ‘An even match,’ he called as he advanced on his erstwhile friend.

  ‘Hardly,’ sneered Telamon. ‘I’m a warrior, you’re just an Outsi –’

  ‘But I’ve fought a battle and you haven’t.’

  Telamon lunged at him. Hylas dodged, but not far enough; Telamon aimed a kick at his swordhand and knocked his weapon out of his grip. The sword clattered down the trail, and Telamon grinned. ‘Not so even now, is it?’

  They circled each other, silver jets of rain bouncing off their armour. Hylas feinted at Telamon, who fell to one knee, dropping his sword. Hylas flicked it away with his knife. He’d meant to grab it, but he flicked it too far, and it also clattered out of reach.

  Meanwhile, Telamon had lost no time in starting up the pine trunk that led to the roof of the tomb.

  ‘I wouldn’t do it, Telamon!’ shouted Hylas, heading after him. ‘Now you’ve only got the dagger, if you chuck it down that crack, you’ll have no weapons left! You won’t live very long with me on your tail!’

  ‘But if I throw it to my Ancestors,’ panted Telamon over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be invincible!’

  Hylas barked a laugh. ‘You want to put that to the test, do you? You with no weapons and me with a knife?’

  Telamon ignored him, lurching up the slippery trunk that was spiked with broken branches.

  Hylas was halfway up it when he caught movement above Telamon. Through the driving rain, he saw Havoc, drenched, clinging precariously to the streaming rocks. And just below her, waiting to ambush Telamon, crouched a huddled figure clutching a knife.

  Time stopped. Hylas forgot the wind and the rain, he even forgot Telamon, as he stared up at a shock of barley-coloured hair and a small fierce face he hadn’t seen in two summers.

  She stared down at him, open-mouthed.

  His lips formed her name, but no sound came. Issi …

  ‘Hylas, look out!’ screamed Pirra from somewhere below.

  He threw himself sideways, and Telamon’s knife-thrust missed his neck, glanced off his breastplate and struck his forearm instead. He dropped his Egyptian knife, Telamon snatched it with a triumphant shout. ‘Now I have two weapons and you have none!’ Wobbling on the tree trunk, he lunged for the kill, but Hylas had backed down, out of range.

  ‘Coward!’ taunted Telamon, climbing higher. He saw Issi and faltered. She ducked behind a rock. Havoc sprang at him. But the lioness had misjudged the distance and she fell short, her claws scrabbling for a grip on the slippery stone. As Hylas watched in horror, the lioness slid with a dreadful scraping sound and disappeared down the other side of the peak.

  Hylas stopped breathing. Havoc didn’t reappear. He couldn’t remember what was on that side of the peak: were there trees, to break her fall? Or was there nothing but a sheer drop off the mountain?

  Above him, Telamon was hooting with glee. ‘The gods are on my side, Hylas! Not even your lion can help you now!’ He sprang off the pine trunk on to the first of the footholds hacked in the rock, heaved the tree over, and sent it crashing towards Hylas.

  Hylas leapt clear in time – but down at the tomb, Pirra screamed. She seemed to have jumped aside, but not quickly enough, a branch had fallen across her leg and pinned her to the ground. Hylas saw her struggling to free herself. But he couldn’t go and help her, he had to stop Telamon from reaching the crack.

  As Hylas started up the footholds, the sky suddenly darkened, and the Ancestor Peak was blotted out by vast, charred wings. The reeking breath of the Angry Ones scorched Hylas’ lungs. Their screams pierced his brain and froze his heart with dread. They were everywhere: menacing Telamon above, and Issi cowering behind her rock; even swooping lower to attack Pirra, down at the tomb.

  Telamon was lashing out blindly at the terror in the sky, clutching Hylas’ knife in one hand and the dagger of Koronos in the other. He’d nearly reached the crack that split the Ancestor Peak and led to the fathomless heart of Mount Lykas.

  Then Hylas heard a sou
nd like tearing silk, and a dark bolt plummeted past him. Below him, the Angry Ones drew apart with stone-splitting screeches, and Echo swooped round and harried Them again, shrieking and twisting nimbly out of reach as she chased Them away from Issi behind her rock, then hurtled lower to attack those threatening Pirra at the tomb.

  More Angry Ones were circling the peak like gigantic vultures. ‘They’re coming for you, Telamon!’ panted Hylas, toiling after him. ‘You can’t see them, but I can! The Angry Ones are all around you!’

  ‘You’re lying!’ yelled Telamon. But his face was wild with terror and his long hair flew as he cast about him.

  ‘They’re after you! You left Alekto to the crocodiles!’

  ‘I never touched her!’ screamed Telamon. ‘The Angry Ones can’t hurt me, not while I have my ring of iron!’

  Another flare of lightning set Hylas’ breastplate tingling – and at last he remembered what Akastos had told him, back in the smithy on Thalakrea: Bronze draws the power of the gods …

  Telamon was within a few steps of the crack. Somehow, Hylas had to keep him there while the thunder and lightning stalked ever nearer …

  ‘Telamon!’ he cried, ripping at the thongs that fastened his breastplate to his chest. ‘You swore to the Angry Ones that you’d cut out my heart! Well, here it is!’ Wrenching off his armour, he flung it down the mountain; then he ripped open his tunic and bared his chest. ‘Look, Telamon, I’m unarmed and unprotected! Now’s your chance!’

  In disbelief, Telamon watched Hylas starting towards him. ‘Don’t come any closer, Hylas, I know it’s a trick!’ But as he turned to climb the final steps to the crack, he slipped and lost his grip on the dagger.

  Another flare of lightning, so close that Hylas caught the stink of burnt stone – and there was Issi, snatching the dagger from the step.

  ‘No Issi, no!’ he bellowed. ‘Put it down, let Telamon have it! Get down, Issi, down!’

  Issi met his eyes in astonishment – then she did as he said, dropping the dagger on the step and half-sliding, half-falling past him down the rocks.

  With a shout of triumph, Telamon snatched the bronze dagger and raised it high. ‘The Outsider didn’t wield it very long, did she?’ he yelled.

  ‘Long enough to fulfil the Oracle,’ panted Hylas, to keep him talking. ‘The House of Koronos – Lapithos – it’s burning, Telamon, just like the Oracle said! You must have seen it on your way up!’

  ‘I am the House of Koronos,’ roared Telamon, straddling the crack that led down to his Ancestors. ‘I am invincible!’

  The pain in Hylas’ temples grew unbearable, and he saw the Angry Ones blackening the sky above Telamon.

  ‘I am invincible!’ he roared again.

  The Angry Ones shrieked and scattered. Hylas saw a blinding light and the clouds splitting open, a vast shining fist hurling a bolt of dazzling fire at the peak. At the same moment, Havoc leapt at his chest, knocking him out of the path of the lightning. He heard Telamon scream as the bolt struck the dagger of Koronos and blasted him off the peak.

  Then the whole sky was ablaze and Hylas slid down into blackness – and saw nothing at all.

  Hylas woke up lying on his back. He was battered and bruised all over and his face felt sunburnt and stiff. He couldn’t open his eyes: his eyelids were stuck together.

  He was lying in wet bracken. He heard dripping and trickling. An owl hooted. Shards of memory returned. A blinding glare, Telamon brandishing the dagger as lightning blasted him from the peak.

  ‘Pirra?’ croaked Hylas. ‘Issi! Havoc! Anyone?’

  No answer.

  Blindly, he rolled on to all fours and began to crawl. He hadn’t gone far when his hand touched cold, dead flesh. He smelt charred skin. His reluctant fingers moved over long braids with tiny discs at the ends. He found Telamon’s lifeless fist clenching a stump of twisted metal: what remained of the dagger of Koronos.

  If the Outsider wields the blade, the House of Koronos burns. The Oracle had been fulfilled – but the words of the gods never mean quite what you think. It was Issi who’d wielded the blade, and it was Telamon who’d burned. I am the House of Koronos, he’d screamed – and retribution had come from the sky. Hylas remembered Thestor’s ghost pointing its finger upwards, in warning. The gods had blasted Telamon and the dagger to oblivion. The rule of the Crows was over.

  It was what Hylas had fought for, but he felt too numb to take it in.

  Something stirred in the bracken, and he heard a large creature moving towards him. Then Havoc was making groany owmp owmp noises and thrusting her whiskery muzzle in his face.

  A sob rose in his throat. He flung his arms around her neck and buried his head in her fur. If she hadn’t knocked him out of the path of the lightning, he would be as dead as Telamon.

  Someone else was here too, but he couldn’t see them, his eyelids were still stuck together. ‘Who’s there?’ he gasped.

  A small cool hand touched his.

  ‘Pirra?’

  An angry hiss, and whoever it was ran off.

  ‘Issi!’ shouted Hylas. ‘Issi come back!’

  After that he must have lost consciousness, because when he woke again, he could feel the heat of the Sun; although he still couldn’t open his eyes.

  A bird lit on to a branch, spattering him with raindrops. He caught the faint breeze of Echo’s wings as she flew down to him with an ear-splitting Kyi! Kyi!

  He heard an answering cry – then Pirra was crashing through the bracken. ‘Well done, Echo!’ she panted. She was kneeling beside him, laughing and sniffing and giving him little pats on his shoulders and chest. ‘Thank the Goddess you’re alive, we’ve been looking everywhere, we couldn’t find you!’

  ‘Where’s Issi? Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s fine, I saw her just now with Havoc. But Hylas, your face – you look as if you’ve got sunburn!’

  ‘The lightning was so close. I – I can’t open my eyes. What about you?’

  ‘My ankle’s all swollen, I’m hopping with a stick.’

  ‘Did you see – Telamon’s here too.’

  ‘I know,’ she said in an altered voice. ‘Can you sense his ghost?’

  ‘… No. No, I can’t.’

  ‘It’s over, Hylas. The gods destroyed the dagger. There’s only what’s left in his fist, the rest was shattered to bits.’

  Hylas did not reply. Koronos, Pharax, Telamon … All dead. But he couldn’t feel glad. He was sick of death.

  Pirra gave his shoulder another pat. ‘We’ve got to get you down the mountain.’

  She helped him to his feet, and at last his eyelids came unstuck and he blinked. He blinked again. He touched his eyelids. They were flaky and dry, but definitely open. He felt hollow inside, as if he was falling from a great height.

  ‘Can you walk if you lean on me?’ said Pirra.

  ‘I can walk all right, but … Everything’s black.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Pirra, everything’s black. I can’t see.’

  The battle had ended soon after Hylas and Pirra had left.

  ‘Our luck changed,’ said Periphas, ‘when Pirra told us Koronos was dead. Then Hekabi saw lightning strike Mount Lykas, she shouted it was a sign the gods were against the Crows. Soon afterwards, the battle turned, and Ilarkos and his men realized it was hopeless, and surrendered.’

  Shortly after that, Periphas’ scouts had found Hylas and Pirra and helped them down the mountain. Hylas had refused to be taken to the main camp, he’d insisted they pitch their own small camp above it in the hills – because of Havoc, and Issi, who wouldn’t go near warriors, whether they were rebel or Crow.

  That had been three days ago – and still Hylas couldn’t see. This morning, a boy had arrived from the main camp, bringing Jinx, and a summons to the High Chieftain’s tent.

  Hylas rode, with Pirra on foot, holding Jinx’s bridle. Hylas hated that, he hated being helpless and blind. Last night, he’d overheard Pirra asking Hekabi if the Lady of Fire
had taken his sight in return for sparing his life. He’d wondered that too, but the fact that Pirra hadn’t mentioned it to his face made it even worse.

  ‘I can still ride, you know,’ he told her between his teeth.

  ‘I know, but you can’t see what’s coming –’

  ‘There’s no need to treat me like a child!’

  ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Next time I see you heading for a low branch, I’ll just let it knock you off, shall I?’

  He didn’t reply. After Hekabi’s eye-baths and Havoc’s assiduous licking, he could just about distinguish night from day, but faces remained a total blur.

  ‘You’ve got to be patient,’ said Pirra.

  ‘You try it,’ he flung back.

  These days, they bickered constantly; it helped keep the fear at bay. Not even Hekabi knew if he would ever see clearly again.

  And then what? he thought as Jinx picked his way down the hill. If I can’t see, I can’t hunt. I’ll be no use to anyone …

  He told himself he had much to be thankful for. They’d all survived, and thanks to Hekabi, Akastos was recovering from his wounds. But somehow, Hylas couldn’t feel it. He was jumpy and irritable. He couldn’t talk to Pirra, couldn’t tell her he had nightmares every night, flashes from the battle and Telamon screaming as the lightning struck …

  Even finding Issi again wasn’t the joyous reunion he’d longed for, because he couldn’t see her – and she couldn’t speak. ‘It happens sometimes,’ Hekabi had said. ‘It might be years before she speaks – if she ever does.’ Hylas had tried to talk to his sister, but it was hopeless when he couldn’t see her face. She spent much of her time in the hills with Havoc, and seemed ill at ease with Pirra.

  ‘Maybe she thinks I’m in the way,’ Pirra suggested. ‘That I’ve sort of – taken her place?’

  But Issi was his sister, how could that be?

  They’d reached Akastos’ tent. Hylas asked Pirra if she was coming in too, but she was still cross with him, and stomped off to water Jinx.