by Angus Watson
Sofi held up her hand.
Sassa Lipchewer gripped her piece of wood. When Sofi’s hand dropped, they were to slip Erik’s wooden disks between their necks and the spider boxes.
She felt shitty about being glad that her spiders were asleep, so she apparently had more of a chance of surviving this crazy move. She already loved the little human struggling to grow inside her more than she loved herself and her husband. It was unexpected, annoying and wonderful.
She watched Sofi Tornado’s hand, waiting for it to drop. She adjusted her grip on the wooden disk. She had to get it right, she had to …
“Sorry everyone,” said Sofi, keeping her hand in the air, “It’s off. We’ll try again another time.”
Sassa looked about to see what had happened, but it was a while before Chapa Wangwa ran into view around the corner, followed by a troop of Badlander warriors and some Empty Children on bighorn sheep. How had Sofi Tornado known that they were coming so long before the rest of them?
“Hello, hello, everybody!” cried Chapa Wangwa. Paloma Pronghorn peered at him through narrowed eyes. Her spiders were awake so chances were he’d just saved her life by appearing, but she wasn’t overly keen to hear what he had to say.
“Big day today!” The Badlander grinned like a depraved goat. “One died yesterday! Many more will die today! Many more!”
Owsla and Wootah looked at each other. Here we go, thought Paloma. Out of the about-to-be-bitten-by-spiders, into the snake arena.
“What, nobody going to make a joke? No wise words from Granny?” He thrust his skull-smiling face at Gunnhild. She looked away. “What a shame! It is almost like your spirits have been crushed by the death of only one of you. Never mind, I’m sure you will find them again in the arena. Not that spirit will help you much … Now, to business! Wulf the Fat and Chogolisa Earthquake, you will carry Bjarni Chickenhead.”
“He can’t fight,” Wulf said, his tone that of a hungover man asked to do one too many tasks.
“He’s not going to. He’s going to sit with Beaver Man. The boss likes to be near death, and Bjarni will die today.”
“How do you know?”
“His spiders told the Empty Children, the Empty Children told Beaver Man and Beaver Man told me. Am I not good, answering your questions? I shall miss my duties looking after you. Although you shouldn’t think that you’re special. You’re not! I’m sure I shall enjoy my next charges just a much. So. Wulf the Fat and Chogolisa are to carry the dead man. Sofi Tornado, Paloma Pronghorn, Erik the Angry, Keef the Berserker, Thyri Treelegs and Ottar the Moaner will also come with me. Bring your weapons. You’re going to need them!”
“You missed me,” said Sitsi Kestrel.
“I did not mean to include you,” smiled Chapa Wangwa.
“You can swap with me if you like,” Paloma offered.
“No, she cannot,” said the warlock. “Sitsi will stay here. But please don’t worry, Kestrel girl, your time will come. And what fun it will be, waiting here to see who, if anyone, comes back! Very exciting. Lucky little you.”
Sitsi looked seriously put out not to be included in what was clearly a fighters’ group.
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it, Sitsi,” said Paloma.
“Yeah, I’m staying behind,” said Finnbogi, “and I beat two rattlecondas.”
“Oh, I do mean something by it,” said Chapa Wangwa, “I’m taking only the best fighters. You didn’t beat two rattlecondas, Finnbogi Boggy, they went back down their holes because you’re so boring. Morningstar and Keef killed two yesterday. But Morningstar fell against a reverser! How embarrassing.”
Sitsi reddened and Finnbogi’s hand went to his stone axe.
“Oh do! Come at me, please!” Chapa Wangwa jutted his chin at Finnbogi. “No? I thought not. You wouldn’t come at me if you didn’t have your spiders. You’re glad you have them as an excuse not to attack me, coward boy. That is why you are not in this group. Today is a fight for fighters. And Sitsi, you favour the bow. The bow is a tool that women use for collecting food. It is not a weapon and you are no warrior. Come, let us go.”
Paloma thought Sitsi’s head might actually burst.
Chogolisa and Wulf carried Bjarni from his tent on his bed, his sword laid alongside him. Those chosen by Chapa Wangwa bade a variety of farewells. Wulf held Sassa while a solitary tear flowed down her cheek.
Then they were off. Hugin and Munin the racoons tried to follow, but Ottar shooed them back. Paloma found the boy’s goodbye to his pets more moving that Wulf’s farewell to Sassa.
Perched on the highest point of the spiky crescent, hidden under a cape the same colour as the crumbly rock, Luby Zephyr watched her friends and their weird new Wootah companions file from the camp. This was an annoying setback. She’d been awake all night dreading the enactment of Sofi’s plans, and now that dread would be prolonged, or, even worse, they’d never get the chance to put the plans into practice.
To the south, the sky was the purple-black of the increasingly common storms. This one looked even more powerful than the last one. If it came north, it might help their escape. If enough of the warriors survived the arena to make escape possible, of course.
Chapter 11
A Battle in the Arena
The arena was packed. Paloma Pronghorn thought the Badlander citizens looked irritatingly similar to Calnians gathered to watch the Owsla slaughter captives in the Plaza of the Sun. Not so polished, perhaps—there was less quill decoration, fewer outlandish hairstyles and their clothing was generally more brown—but they were all dressed more elaborately than they needed to be and the average facial expression was the same as your standard Calnian gawper. They wanted to see blood. They wanted to goggle at muscle, sinew and brains. They wanted to grip their friend by the arm and marvel at mysterious bits of innard left lying on the arena floor.
Beaver Man watched with buffalo eyes from his arena-side seat. Next to him was the Swan Empress of Calnia, Ayanna, holding a bundle which had to be her baby son. She had a spider box, too. She didn’t acknowledge her Owsla, she simply stared at them, looking about as pissed off as it’s possible to be. Paloma knew the feeling.
Chapa Wangwa ushered them to the edge of the arena. “Chogolisa, sit Bjarni next to Beaver Man and the woman who was an empress. The rest of you stand over here. If you move, your spiders will bite and you will die. That would actually be the best option for most of you right now, but please stay put. I promise that one, maybe two have a reasonable chance of surviving today.”
Badlanders jeered, but none of them spat. The Calnian spectators had gone through a phase of spitting at the Owsla’s victims. Sofi Tornado had put an end to it by dragging a large spitter into the ring, pulling his trousers off and spanking him so hard that she’d split an arse cheek. There’d been no spitting after that.
How Paloma missed Calnia. What larks they’d had.
Sitsi Kestrel paced the edge of their small zone of confinement, looking over the spiky and lumpy landscape that her friends had vanished into. She could see their footprints disappearing into a gully a hundred paces away. She could see ants investigating the footprints. But she couldn’t do anything.
She pursed her lips, clenching and unclenching the grip on her bow. A tool that women used for collecting food! She’d show him. She’d put an arrow between his eyes from a mile away.
Eating chuckwalla again was like mud being washed from her eyes. She now saw how insects differed here, how the plumage of the birds varied, how the very air was a different shade. She felt ready to take on the world. But she was stuck, trapped by the accursed spiders.
She plucked an arrow from her quiver, one of Sassa’s iron-headed beauties. Yes, she thought, this one will look very good slotted between Chapa Wangwa’s eyes. A tool for women …
She twirled the arrow in her fingers and looked at the Empty Children. They returned her gaze, empty-eyed and watching. They were always watching. They weren’t totally bald, she could see now, they had wispy
white hairs all over their egg-like skulls. Their eyes were white, too, no sign of an iris. How did they see?
As they’d discussed their escape plans, Erik the Angry had insisted several times that nobody was to kill the Empty Children. She agreed. Even though they’d make her spiders bite and kill her if she took a step beyond the perimeter line, it would be wrong to shoot people who’d themselves been so cruelly treated.
A wave of sadness made Sitsi blink and lose focus on the spinning arrow. It flicked from her grip and landed in the grass a good few paces over the perimeter line. Fifteen red-brown ants and three orange and black dung beetles scurried for cover, then returned, presumably to see whether her arrow was a stricken animal, a dropped turd or anything else they could eat.
Sitsi looked from arrow to Empty Children. She could feel their wagging fingers in her mind, no no no, they said, cross that line to retrieve your arrow and your spiders will BITE.
“All of you wait here until I say you can move,” said Chapa Wangwa. “You,” he added, pointing at Ottar the Moaner, “follow me.”
The Badlander marched to the far side of the arena with Ottar tripping along behind him. Sofi Tornado, Wulf the Fat, Chogolisa Earthquake, Paloma Pronghorn, Erik the Angry, Keef the Berserker and Thyri Treelegs watched them go.
Erik nearly screamed with rage. Bide your time, he told himself, bide your time. But how much time did they have to bide? What if Chapa Wangwa whipped out a knife and killed Ottar while they stood like deer watching a mountain lion eat their fawn?
“Right!” shouted Chapa Wangwa, walking away from Ottar, leaving him alone at the far side of the bare rock expanse. The boy stared up at ranks of baying spectators. “Now stay, and …” a dagger-tooth cat padded out onto the arena from a gap between two of the bench-cut rocky outcrops. It was maybe three or four times the size of the biggest lion, not much smaller than Astrid the bear.
It roared, sniffed the air and turned to Ottar as if it had been looking for him. Erik tried to reach out to the cat’s mind, but was blocked by a boiling barrier of confusion and fury.
“Owsla and Wootah, you may move when the cat goes for the boy, which will be any—”
The dagger-tooth charged at Ottar.
They all ran, but compared to Paloma Pronghorn the rest of them were hardly moving.
The cat sprang. Ottar squeaked and hid under his own arms.
The cat descended, front paws raised, mouth open.
Paloma dived.
She was too late, Erik was sure. The animal landed hard, sending up a cloud of dust.
Paloma darted around the cloud, Ottar in her arms, and sprinted back towards the others. The cat followed.
Sofi Tornado was out in front, Finnbogi’s sword Foe Slicer aloft. The cat, fixed on its pursuit of Paloma, didn’t see Sofi. The Owsla captain raised her sword, reversed it at the last moment and cracked the cat on the head with the hilt.
The dagger-tooth stopped, dazed. Calnians and Wootah came to a halt around it. The cat lashed out half-heartedly, but Thyri Treelegs wapped its paw with the flat of her sax.
“Chogolisa, hold it,” said Sofi.
Thyri shouted and waved her arms to distract the dagger-tooth. The big woman jumped onto its back. Limbs splayed and the cat crashed down, trapped under Chogolisa.
Paloma handed Ottar to Erik. Erik hugged the eight-year-old, realised he was trembling, and hugged him all the more.
“Do you want your cat back?” Sofi called to Chapa Wangwa.
The Badlander nodded.
“Then have your bald gophers calm it down and send it home.”
“Empty Children, the cat will return to her lair.”
Sofi looked askance at Erik. He felt for the cat’s mind and found it. The fury was gone. It wanted to hide. He nodded.
“Climb off it, Chogolisa, careful as you go,” said the Owsla captain.
“Well done, well done.” Beaver Man strolled across the arena, shining with vim. “I love teamwork. The only thing I prefer is sacrifice. So that will be the theme of your next challenge. Your young man Finnbogi the Boggy did well in his sacrifice challenge.”
“He sacrificed his dignity by boring some snakes into giving up?” asked Keef.
Beaver Man gave Keef a long look, face melancholy as usual but eyes shining with something like joy. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Didn’t tell us what?”
“Good for him. There is more to that young man than perhaps anyone allows. I offered him a choice between likely death for him and Freydis the Annoying, or freedom for Freydis and certain death for him. He chose the latter.”
“Certain death? How come he didn’t die?” Keef sounded almost disappointed.
“He defeated two rattlecondas, unarmed. He is the first to do that.”
“He sacrificed himself for Freydis?” asked Thyri Treelegs.
“He intended to. Then he used his guile to win a seemingly unwinnable fight; a greater victory than if he’d brutishly sliced their heads off with an axe.”
Keef shrugged. “Yeah, right.”
Thyri shook her head, smiling. “Well, you think you know someone …” Erik looked forward to telling his son about her reaction, assuming he lived to do so.
“Will any of you be as impressive, I wonder? Good luck.” Beaver Man spun on his heel and jogged back to take his seat next to Empress Ayanna and Bjarni Chickenhead. The former looked resigned and unhappy. The latter looked dead.
“Sacrifice time!” Chapa Wangwa was bouncing on the spot, rubbing his hands. “This is going to be fun.”
“What are you doing?” Bodil Gooseface asked Sitsi Kestrel.
“I’m not really sure. I’m waiting for the others to come back. I know it makes no difference standing here but I think that if—”
“Is that your arrow?”
“Yes, but—stop!”
Bodil stepped over the line, picked up the arrow, came back and handed it to Sitsi. “There you go.”
Sitsi looked at Bodil, then at the line across the path, then at the Empty Children. They looked unbothered, as always.
“How did you … your spiders?” she said, taking the proffered arrow.
“What spiders?” Bodil scanned the ground fearfully.
“The spiders in the box on your neck.”
“I hate spiders. Where have you seen them?”
“There are two, in a box, on your neck.”
“I thought those were ants?”
“They’re spiders.”
“I thought they were ants.”
“Ants or spiders, they should have bitten you just now and they didn’t. Do you know—”
“My mum was bitten by a spider on her leg. It swelled up like an egg.”
“Do you know why your spiders—”
“It got better quickly, though, and—”
Sitsi grabbed the taller Wootah woman’s shoulders and gripped hard. “Bodil, please shut up and listen.”
“Ow!”
“Sorry, but please just listen. Do you know why the spiders attached to your neck didn’t bite you just now?”
“I don’t want them to bite me.”
Sitsi sighed.
“But they couldn’t anyway.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think they can anyway. Can they bite through wood?”
“They cannot.”
“I hope they can’t. They were irritating me so much with their scurrying, so I put one of Erik’s little plates down the back of the box. Here, I’ll show you.”
Bodil reached to remove the plate.
“No! No. Leave it in. Please, don’t touch it.”
“But now the plate’s a bit annoying.” She gripped the plate.
Sitsi grabbed Bodil’s wrist and dug her nails into the tendons to make her fingers spring open.
“Ow! What?”
“You have to keep that plate there or you will die. Do you understand?”
“Get off!”
The archer grabbed both Bodil’s w
rists and pressed her thumbs into her tendons. It was mean, but times were desperate. Bodil blinked tears but, finally, it looked as if Sitsi had her attention.
“If you touch the bit of wood by your neck again, I will break your wrists and it will hurt. Do you understand?”
Bodil nodded, looking scared.
“Even if I’m not around, I’ll know, and I’ll break your wrists. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now listen, then answer the question. When did you put Erik’s plate behind your neck box?”
“Last night.”
“But what about this morning, when we were all going to slot in our plates on Sofi’s say-so?”
“I did wonder what that was about. I didn’t want to make a fuss. Everyone seemed so excited and usually if I try to get involved with something like that I get it wrong. There was this time in Hardwork when Vifil the Individual had stolen Garth Anvilchin’s trousers and—”
“Stop, shush. Crouch and stay still.”
Bodil did as she was told. Sitsi pressed her ear to the Wootah woman’s neck box. She could hear the spiders scratching maniacally at Erik’s wooden plate.
So, thought Sitsi, they must have tried to bite her when she stepped over the line and were now pissed off that they couldn’t. But the nearby Empty Children seemed unconcerned … So it looked like the Empty Children had given the order to the spiders to bite Bodil, but then not known or cared whether it was carried out.
They’d assumed that the Empty Children would know that the plates had been put in and spiders separated from skin, and alert Beaver Man or make the other peoples’ spiders bite, or something else equally prohibative. But they’d been wrong. In fact, if Sitsi was right, they didn’t need to all slot their plates in at the same time. Everyone just had to wait until their spiders were asleep. As soon as all the plates were in place—which wouldn’t take more than a day, since the spiders slept at least part of every day—they’d be able to choose their time and stroll out of the Badlands.