by Angus Watson
“Good to hear it,” she said, not entirely sure whether he was taking the piss or not. “We might get giant snakes, we might get something else. Chances are it’s going to be nasty.”
“As nasty as my axe?”
“Yes.”
“No. Way.”
“Let’s agree to disagree. Listen carefully.”
“Right. Let’s swap sides so you’ve got my good ear.” He jinked around behind her.
Morningstar felt a pang of something very odd. Was it guilt? She remembered the Wootah man’s bravery when Talisa White-tail had maimed him. Curse Yoki Choppa for taking the rattlesnake from her diet. “Do not attack. Jab, block, do whatever you need to do to keep the foe the length of your weapon away. I will kill it or them when the chance arises. You are not to strike unless you are absolutely sure of a kill. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Why are you smirking?”
“The length of my weapon. It’s a good bit longer than any other man’s but it’s still not—”
“Shut up. Grow up. You know what I mean. The point is not to rush. I can kill anything with one club strike. So if we are fighting something—by Innowak!”
She stopped because they’d turned a corner in the narrow gully and the land had opened up. Where there had been dozens of people hanging on the bare red and yellow walls of the Badlands, there were now hundreds. All Calnians, bleeding into the rock and dying. Her people.
She touched her spider box. There was nothing she could do.
“So patience is the watchword,” she continued. “Hold back, let me kill everything.”
“Got it!”
Had he? She wasn’t sure. Was he taking the piss? The Mushroom Men had a weird sense of humour that she couldn’t understand had she wanted to. Even their leader was for ever pointing out rock towers that looked like penises, for the love of Innowak. Calnians grew out of that sort of juvenile japery about the same time they learned to shit in a pot.
Back in the camp, Sofi Tornado realised she was fretting, worried for Morningstar. It was a new feeling and she didn’t like it.
By the terse words that people were throwing around, unfinished breakfasts and worried eastward gazes, the rest of the Calnians felt the same and the Wootah were concerned for Keef the Berserker.
“Gather round everybody!” she yelled. Everyone came quickly.
“Sit down,” she gestured to the logs around the main fire. “I’m going to tell you a tale.”
Sitsi and Chogolisa couldn’t have looked more surprised if she’d produced a squirrel from behind her ear and bitten its head off. Paloma was equally surprised but better at hiding it.
Sofi waited for silence, which meant waiting for Wulf to quieten Bodil, then began.
“Far to the north is a little-populated land of lakes and islands. It’s a shitty place to live. It’s piss-freezing cold all winter. In summer it’s boggy, swarming with large biting insects and busy with white bears which are so pissed off about being bitten by the insects that they attack and kill any creatures that they can catch, including people. Despite the shittiness of the land, a city not much smaller than Calnian grew. Rule of this city was passed down the male—”
“Hang on,” interrupted Sitsi Kestrel, “are you sure this isn’t a myth? I’ve never—”
“It could be a myth. I certainly thought it was, but recent events have led me to think otherwise … can I carry on, Sitsi?”
Sitsi nodded, reddening.
“The rule was passed down the male line. All officials were male and men were very much in charge. Nobody knows how or why, or at least my source didn’t, and I guess it may have been to do with the male dominance, but the city became even more consumed and obsessed with sex than your average city. Their answer to every problem, their celebration of every success, their solace in the face of adversity, was fucking.”
“Um?” said Wulf the Fat, nodding at Freydis the Annoying and Ottar the Moaner.
“The only taboo was that a son could not—” she glanced at the children, “—could not have relations with his mother until he was fourteen. Apart from that, anything went. Grandmothers with grandsons, sisters with sisters, great circles of men all joined by …”
“Dancing?” suggested Wulf.
Sofi nodded. “Something like that. And so, relaxed and happy, the city thrived for a couple of hundred years. Then a small but powerful group led by a couple of warlocks began to worship a celibate god. They claimed that there was no difference between men and women, and sought to prove it by lopping of their breasts and penises and shaving their heads and then, taking things a little too far as fanatics are wont to do, they used alchemy to sterilise the whole city, so that they’d stop … dancing the whole time.”
“I’m confused,” said Freydis.
“So they died out?” asked Gunnhild.
“The adults did, but their children didn’t. Neutered and doomed, but desperate to survive, they poured alchemy into their children. These kids developed in all sorts of weird ways, including becoming deeply linked with the animals that were the base of their alchemy, but the ageing elders succeeded in their main goal. When the last generation of children reached puberty, they stopped developing. They didn’t grow and their hair fell out.”
“The Empty Children!” cried Bodil, smiling and clapping like a happy chipmunk.
“Indeed,” said Sofi. “These children watched everybody else die, and then scraped by as their city decayed, living incredibly long lives. Some even say they’re immortal. Beaver Man led an expedition north through all that shitty land, and brought them all back to the Badlands.”
“To use them!” Gunnhild announced.
“Or save them,” said Sassa.
“Exactly,” said Sofi.
Tansy Burna had not enjoyed the last four days. As cat cavalry she wasn’t involved in the drudgery of herding captives or burning bodies, but the stench of death filled the air and dying Calnians were hammered up on the walls everywhere. They were even hanging in the dagger-tooth cavalry’s billet, including some poor woman nailed right next to Tansy’s doorway. She moaned through the night as her life seeped into the rock. It was tempting to put her out of her misery, or even help her escape, but the penalty for doing either of those was death, which, on balance, was too great a penalty to pay for a decent night’s sleep.
With a day off training, Tansy had escaped the hangers to watch the action in the arena. She guessed that the others felt the same, because when she’d made her usually fruitless rounds asking people to come with her, most of the cat cavalry had leapt at the chance. Even dreamy Rappa Hoga had deigned to join them.
It should have cheered her not to be on her mateless tod for once, but already the others’ ceaseless banter was irritating. Why couldn’t they shut up and enjoy the occasion? Rappa Hoga wasn’t chatting. The cat captain knew how to behave.
With so many fighters at their disposal, the action in the arena had started at dawn and they’d already seen a couple of excellent matches. Three Calnians armed with clubs had done really rather well against a couple of alchemically maddened black bears, and had the good grace to die spectacularly. One of them had even used the severed arm of his own friend in a final, spirited defence, whacking away even as one animal ripped his foot off and the other buried its snout in his guts.
She felt a pang of sadness for the people who died. It was a new sensation but not a surprise after her turn of remorse on the battlefield. It wasn’t too bad. She quite liked it, even. It added a new dash of poignancy to the whole viewing experience.
The match following the black bear fight promised to be even more of a cracker, since it featured two captives she sort of knew. Mercifully, her fellow cat riders quietened a little when Chapa Wangwa announced Morningstar the Calnian Owsla and Keef the Berserker, of the Wootah tribe, then left the two aliens standing in the middle of the arena.
If a god were to design a physically perfect woman, thought Tansy, then she’d l
ook pretty much like Morningstar. The play of shadows around her stomach muscles was exquisite and her bare shoulders and limbs shone with smooth-skinned vitality. When Morningstar glared at Beaver Man and the captured Calnian empress Ayanna, the defiantly smouldering thrust of her chin made Tansy gasp.
Keef the Berserker was as ugly as Morningstar was attractive, but he had a beautiful weapon. It was a long-handled axe-cum-spear, with a great curved blade as well as a long spearhead. Tansy wondered what it was made of—polished iron perhaps? Whatever it was, chances were Beaver Man would have it soon and have his weapon smiths copying it. He would probably want it that very morning, which did not bode well for Keef.
The first animals were released; a couple of rattlecondas. The crowd, most of whom weren’t regulars like Tansy, ooo-ed. Tansy looked to her left and right, eyebrows raised, to make sure everyone knew that she’d seen plenty of rattleconda fights before and this was nothing special for her.
The snakes slithered towards their prey with a noise like sacks being dragged swiftly across sand. They were a particularly large pair, slowed by their heaviness, but probably the more formidable for it.
The Wootah man kept them at bay with his axe while the Calnian jumped clear of their strikes. This went on for a while. The cat cavalry around Tansy started chatting again. One of the snakes turned to hiss at them, as if telling them to be quiet. Morningstar saw the gap, leapt like a deer and brained the serpent with one punch of a stout double-headed club.
As one rattleconda died, the other struck at the Wootah man. He leapt to avoid it. For a moment Tansy thought he’d made a mistake, as the giant snake redirected mid-strike, but he swept his axe and lopped its head off.
That shut her fellow cat cavalry up. Some of them clapped politely.
Next they faced a huge white bear.
It lumbered at them and reared to over twice the height of its opponents. It roared skywards displaying long fangs, paws spread to show claws that could eviscerate a buffalo with a gentle swipe.
Morningstar barked something at Keef. He chucked her his weapon and she hurled it into the bear’s neck, spear point first.
The bear fell, waved a paw weakly, and died.
A few people cheered, a few more booed.
Tansy looked at Beaver Man. He was wearing his usual bored expression. Beside him the Empress Ayanna sat stiff-backed and regal, her baby son on her lap. She was another good-looking woman. If you’d only seen the Owsla and the empress, thought Tansy, you could be forgiven for thinking that all the women in Calnia were ridiculously attractive. She’d seen their soldiers, though. They were mostly a ropey-looking lot.
Beaver Man made a two-fingered signal and Nam Cigam leapt up from his place a few seats down and capered towards the centre of the ring, waving a spear around his head.
Oh dear, this was a bit desperate. Clearly the white bear had been meant to last for a while. They only brought on the comedy when the next battle wasn’t ready.
The reverser warlock approached Morningstar and Keef, dancing and thrusting his spear. Morningstar handed Keef’s axe back to him and Keef pranced towards Nam Cigam, making similar exaggerated moves.
“Be careful, Keef,” she heard Morningstar say.
The two men leapt about, sweeping their long weapons in exaggerated arcs that were never meant as strikes. Many of the crowd lost interest—the cat riders started to chat again—but Tansy thought it was rather lovely, like a new form of dance.
Morningstar stood and watched the men like an unimpressed mother watching weird children, then turned to head for Beaver Man and Ayanna.
Behind her, Nam Cigam suddenly leapt away from Keef and thrust his spear into Morningstar’s lower back. He had surprising strength for such a slight man. The spear’s bloodied tip protruded a forearm’s length from Morningstar’s beautiful stomach.
The crowd gasped. Everyone who’d been talking shut up and stared.
Keef the Berserker roared and chopped his axe through Nam Cigam’s head. Wow, that blade is sharp, Tansy thought as half of Nam Cigam’s skull fell to the ground, followed by the rest of him.
Morningstar turned, spear protruding fore and aft. She looked down at the dead reverser, then back at Keef, nodding. Was she going to be okay? wondered Tansy, surprised that she wanted her to be. Beaver Man had survived worse wounds. These alchemical warriors were tougher than your average.
The Wootah man dropped his blade and ran to the Calnian, but she held up a hand for him to stay back. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead vomited a gout of blood. She choked, shook her head as if marvelling at the stupidity of it all, and fell.
Shortly after Yoki Choppa had begun to prepare lunch, Keef returned to the Wootah camp on his own, followed by a solitary Empty Child. Finnbogi ran with everyone else to meet him.
He was carrying Arse Splitter at his side, walking, not prancing. He didn’t look up when everyone crowded around. Finnbogi had never seen him like this. He noticed that the axe head was bloodied.
“Morningstar’s dead,” Keef said.
Chogolisa Earthquake choked out a sob and walked away.
“Tell me what happened,” said Sofi Tornado, her face stone.
Chapter 10
An Escape Attempt
Erik the Angry woke from a dream about driving off giant snakes by shouting profanities at them and remembered that Morningstar had been killed the day before.
He wished he was still asleep. Despite captivity and looming horror, Erik had begun to enjoy hanging out at the camp, training like he was in the Hird again, eating Yoki Choppa’s weird but excellent food and talking to interesting people. Mostly he spoke to Chogolisa Earthquake. As well as the old how do we get these spiders off our necks? and what do the Badlanders want with us? chestnuts, they told each other about their lives. Hers had been about a thousand times more interesting—the Calnian Owsla had been on some extraordinary missions—but she listened to his stories about bees, bears and the Lakchan tribe intently, asked good questions and made suitable “no way!,” “oh no!” and “what a dick!” comments. It was a different scale, he mused, but perhaps he and Chogolisa got on because they’d always both been larger than everyone around them.
But Morningstar’s death had shaken them all. They’d been lucky, if you could put it like that, that the Badlanders had been too busy planning the massacre of the Calnians and dealing with its aftermath to pay them much attention since they’d arrived. However, it was clear that if they hung around any longer, they were all going to die, either in the arena or murdered on a whim by Beaver Man.
So today they would escape. Or at least try to.
Erik felt sick.
Probably half of them were going to be killed immediately. None of the great escapes in the sagas of the Hardworkers or the Lakchans began with half the escapees writhing on the ground and being mercy-killed by their friends. He could not help looking around, wondering who was going to make it, and, much as he tried not to, trying to work out who he wanted to make it.
Chogolisa? Definitely. Finnbogi? Certainly. Bodil? Well … Shut up! he told his mind.
The Calnians and Wootah went about their normal morning business, communicating with raised eyebrows and head movements so as not to alert the Empty Children. One of Sofi’s early versions of the plan had them killing the Empty Children, but Erik had put his foot down. There’d be no slaying of children, Empty or otherwise.
As he finished his breakfast, Sofi Tornado sat next to him and spoke clearly but very nearly silently. “Your spiders are asleep. So are Wulf’s, Sassa’s, Keef’s, Finnbogi’s, Thyri’s, Yoki Choppa’s, Sitsi’s and Chogolisa’s. Ottar’s are drowsy and will sleep soon.”
“Your spiders?”
“Awake as a pair of dancing lizards on a hot morning.”
Erik tried to raise a consoling hand to her shoulder, but she raised her own hand to block it.
“We knew the chances,” she said.
Erik nodded. You die when you die, he told himse
lf.
He waited and watched. Others joined him, sitting on the logs in the middle of the camp, each holding the small, slim, sanded wooden breakfast plates that he’d made for all of them. They’d been eating off them for the last few days. That morning’s meal had provided the final coating of grease to ease the slip behind their boxes, between spiders and neck.
He and Sofi had let the rumour spread that Yoki Choppa could use alchemy to determine which spiders were asleep. Sofi wanted her super-hearing to be kept a secret because, Erik guessed, it maintained her reputation of steely invincibility if people thought she could see a moment into the future, rather than hear their buttocks clench when they were about to leap at her.
Fair enough, thought Erik, but it didn’t matter because Sofi’s spiders were awake and she wasn’t going to escape. Possibly, since she was alchemically strengthened like Paloma, she’d have the same resistance. However, even if she did survive, she’d be out of action long enough that she’d be unable to run with the rest of them. They’d decided that anyone who was bitten, Owsla or otherwise, should be finished off by the others, to save them from whatever horrors the Badlanders would visit upon them if they remained alive but incapacitated.
Because Sofi and Gunnhild’s spiders were awake, Sofi Tornado had Ottar’s plate and Gunnhild had Freydis’s, to block off the children’s spiders before they attempted their own. Had Erik’s spiders been awake, he’d have had one of their roles.
He tried not to think about Bjarni Chickenhead, lying in his tent. The man had clung onto life like a deer tick dug onto a hairy arse. He was unconscious most of the time now and could hardly speak when he wasn’t. Yoki Choppa said he actually was dead, just refusing to accept it. So they’d left him out of their plans and they were going to kill him as they left. Wulf the Fat in particular hated this part of the plan, but, after making dozens of flawed suggestions, he’d eventually conceded that it was the only thing to do and said that he would be the one to do it.
From listening to the spiders wake when they were startled, Sofi reckoned that people with sleeping spiders on their necks had about a heartbeat before the spiders woke, realised that their cages were being tampered with and bit them. Those whose spiders were awake would also try to slot the piece of wood in between the little fuckers and their skin, but all of them, even Paloma Pronghorn, had around zero chance of completing the task before the spiders bit.