by Angus Watson
He felt a million pigeon heads bob in agreement. He was the leader. No, he wasn’t a leader, he was one of them. He was them, they were him. They were all the leader and they were all the led. It didn’t matter. The important thing was that they were on their way to find a bigger flock.
Was there another reason to go? Something about friends being in danger? Nah. That must have been a dream. Coo coo! Danger? There was no danger. They were looking for the big flock and he knew where it was, that was all that mattered.
The Plains Strider lurched, then rose two paces. Luby Zephyr pushed another moose rider from the rails with her pole, then risked a look.
The Wootah man Finnbogi was standing at the prow, flapping his arms. Beyond the man who would have looked like an idiot in almost any other situation, the vast flock of crowd pigeons had risen from the plain, lifting the Plains Sprinter by barely visible strings tied to the prow and the legs of each bird.
Planks and struts creaked, squeaked and even screamed, but they held. The wolves that lifted the rear howled, walked, then trotted, then ran.
Ten heartbeats after Luby Zephyr had realised they were moving, they were heading away from the Badlands massif, at the pace of a running wolf. She held onto the rail, bending her knees with the rise and fall of the craft. It was very much like floating down easy rapids on a giant canoe.
The Owsla woman looked about. For the moment, nobody was trying to kill them, which was nice. The moose riders were still galloping alongside, but all their efforts were spent on keeping up.
The Sprinter was still accelerating, directly towards a steep-sided pinnacle of yellow-red rock.
“Left, Finn. Finn, left. LEFT!” Erik the Angry shouted at his head-bobbing, arm-flapping son.
Just when it seemed that collision was inevitable, the craft swung left, missed the pinnacle by an axe’s breadth and rolled on.
The moose riders on the right all had to veer away to go around the rock. When they appeared on the other side, they were twenty paces back, and not gaining.
“Which is faster, Sitsi,” Luby asked, “wolf or moose?”
“Wolf, but not by a great deal, and only over short distances, and these ones are carrying us and a lot of wood.”
“But the moose are all carrying people.”
“True. I guess we’ll see.”
“Why don’t you shoot some more of the Badlanders?”
“I’ve only got five arrows left.”
“Ah. And can you see Sofi coming?”
Sitsi scanned the massif. “I can see Pronghorn running back up the cliff that we came down, but no sign of Sofi. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll … oh crap.”
“What?”
“Can you see them, on the road to the east?”
Tiny human figures were streaming down the main track into the Badlands massif.
“I can see some people, but I can’t—”
“It’s the Badland Owsla. Nine of them anyway, Beaver Man isn’t with them. They’re going a great deal faster than wolves or moose. That guy with bighorn horns is in the lead and … oh no!”
“What?”
“There are Empty Children on bighorn sheep coming down the cliff. If they take control of the pigeons, we’re sunk.”
“But bighorn sheep can’t be as fast as wolves.”
“They’re not meant to be, but neither are they meant to carry freaky bald kids who can control animals. I guess we’ll see.”
The Badland Owsla had already reached the base of the massif and were heading across the plain towards them. The children on bighorns were not far behind.
“Right, Finn,” shouted Erik in the prow. “Right. RIGHT!”
Sofi knew the ridge was behind her. She could hear water dripping from the grass that fringed its edge.
It was a delight to be alive, with her hearing and powers of analysis restored. It was even more of a delight to have a second chance against the only person who’d ever beaten her in a fight.
Rappa Hoga tried to mask his moves. He knew how her power worked. It gave him some advantage, maybe, but, now she was back at full strength, not nearly enough. He could feint and dissemble until the buffalo came home, she could still dodge every attack as if he’d announced what he was about to do and then moved with exaggerated slowness.
He was never going to hit her and it was a joy to see his expression change as he realised it.
Now he knew he was in trouble, he wasn’t toying or trying to wear her down, he was trying to end the fight with every blow. She jinked left, right, back, then ducked as the axe flashed over her head, and prepared to jump to the left to avoid the kick that was coming in a heartbeat.
His foot came at her knee, followed by a jab with his left fist and a downward diagonal swipe with the axe. It would have been a great move, if Sofi hadn’t seen it coming as clearly as a flaming buffalo galloping towards her at night.
She heard the ridge getting closer and closer behind her. She heard Rappa Hoga’s breath change. He was about to use the advantage of the ridge and swing a mighty blow that she’d have to jump backwards to avoid. But she knew he knew that’s what she was listening for. He was trying to trick her into dropping to the ground to avoid it. Again, a clever move. When she’d been owl-less for a while it would have worked. But now she could hear the skin of his arm shift against his torso in preparation for a different strike.
So she leapt. As Rappa Hoga’s axe swished below her, Sofi cracked her stone axe into his temple.
He was stunned for a heartbeat. Here was her chance.
Sofi landed on the ridge and leapt again, powering every muscle and loading all her weight into possibly the hardest kick that she’d ever delivered. Her foot whacked into the side of his head and he fell.
She landed and looked to the cat cavalry. They were watching open-mouthed.
“No pursuit before noon!” she shouted, then ran for the edge of the Badlands massif and freedom.
Part Three
To the Shining Mountains
Chapter 1
Chain Running
“Hello,” said Sofi Tornado, as Paloma Pronghorn appeared in the gap at the edge of the massif. Paloma’s eyebrows jumped like caterpillars on a flicked blanket as she squeaked and leapt lissomly backwards. Then she tried to mask her surprise. “You were taking your time, so—”
Sofi held up a finger and surveyed the plain below.
A huge flock of crowd pigeons was pulling the Plains Sprinter south, leaving behind a couple of dozen pursuing moose cavalry. Sofi almost smiled. She hadn’t expected Erik to manage it.
To the east, however, there was plenty to stop her smiling.
Sprinting at an unnatural pace from the massif were nine Badlander Owsla and six Empty Children on bighorn sheep. She’d seen the Badlands’ Owsla leap about the land with an athleticism that only Paloma could match. She’d heard that they’d ripped the Calnian army apart as least as effectively as her own Owsla would have done. Now they were running towards the Plains Sprinter faster, she was pretty sure, than she herself could run. And there were nine of them, against five Owsla. On the bright side, there would have been ten of them had Luby Zephyr not killed one, so they were vulnerable.
The bighorn sheep were keeping pace with the naked Badlanders with ease, which was odd, but way down in the league of odd things that she’d seen since they’d left Calnia.
Beyond them all, running away to the south-east in a great loping stride, was a large, hairy human figure, which had to be the squatch from the arena.
“Let’s go, fast as we can.”
“Shall we?” Paloma held out her palms and looked at her questioningly.
“Let’s.”
Paloma turned and reached her arms backwards. Sofi gripped the runner’s wrists. Paloma gripped Sofi’s wrists, then ran off the edge.
It felt like Sofi’s arms must surely rip from their sockets, then she was flying. Paloma sprinted down the near-vertical slope with Sofi bouncing behind her, touching the groun
d once for maybe every twenty of Paloma’s paces. It was faster than falling. They’d reached the bottom before Sofi remembered to breathe.
“Are you all right?” yelled Paloma as they tore across the plain.
“Never better!” shouted Sofi, and it wasn’t far from the truth. Were they going at half Paloma’s speed? Maybe not even that fast. But it was perhaps ten times as fast as Sofi could run herself and it felt fantastic. If Sofi could have spent a day as anyone else in the world, it would have been Paloma.
The Badland Owsla fell behind them to the east. The moose cavalry and Plains Sprinter were closer and closer. They ran through the moose cavalry, who didn’t have time to do anything other than look surprised. They passed the snapping, springing wolves harnessed in a line to the Sprinter’s stern, then Paloma slowed as they came alongside.
Chogolisa Earthquake grabbed Sofi by the arm and hauled her aboard. Paloma leapt and landed on the wooden deck in a crouch, one hand flat on the ground in front of her and one fanned on a straight arm behind her in an unnecessarily flamboyant display.
They’d made it.
Finnbogi stood at the prow on tiptoes, flapping his arms and nodding his head in an excellent impersonation of a crowd pigeon. Sofi staggered to her feet on the deck, and came as close to laughing out loud as she had in all her adult years. Next to Finnbogi, Erik shouted instructions. Ottar stood watching Finnbogi, laughing and clapping, as well he might.
The young Wootah man had done well.
Father and son had manoeuvred the craft into one of the broad buffalo roads, so there should be no sudden surprises like a big rock or a cliff in their path. They were currently heading slightly uphill, through a prairie dog city. Wave after wave of the little animals ran and dived into their burrows when they spotted the Sprinter bearing down on them.
The rest of the Owsla and Wootah were on the side rail, spreading their weight around the vessel. While they’d been planning the escape, Erik had spent far too long explaining why this would be necessary.
The Swan Empress Ayanna, sitting against the rail suckling her child, nodded to Sofi, who nodded back. Yoki Choppa dipped his head in greeting. Chogolisa and Luby beamed at her. The rest of her women were there, all looking pleased to see her. The only two who didn’t greet her were Sitsi Kestrel and Keef the Berserker. They were standing together at the back of the craft, watching their pursuers. Sitsi’s little finger was touching Keef’s where they were holding the rail. Was something happening there, wondered Sofi?
She went to join them, legs wide to counter the rolling of the Sprinter.
Twenty paces back, and falling further away every heartbeat, were two dozen moose cavalry.
Two hundred paces behind them, catching slowly but surely, were the naked nine of the Badlands Owsla and six Empty Children, whose bighorn sheep were still running a lot faster than bighorn sheep were meant to run.
There was no sign of the dagger-tooth cavalry. Sofi didn’t expect to see them. She was pretty sure that Rappa Hoga would rather die than break his word and pursue them before noon. If you could judge someone in a few heartbeats—and Sofi thought you could—the woman that Rappa Hoga had deputised seemed like the honourable sort, too. So whether Rappa Hoga came round or not, she did not expect to see the dagger-tooth cat cavalry.
“How many arrows left, Sitsi?” she asked.
“Five.”
“Hmmmm.”
Sofi began to plan how they’d fight the Badland Owsla, but was interrupted by screaming roars ringing out from the north-east. It was a sound that she recognised from five days before.
The fearful cries reverberated from the massif again and again, louder and louder.
The lizard kings were coming.
Chapter 2
Finnbogi the Pigeon
Tansy Burna stood with Rappa Hoga on the edge of the Badlands massif, their dagger-tooth mounts pacing about behind them, pissed off that there was nowhere dry to lie down.
They watched the moose cavalry and the Owsla stream after the Plains Sprinter. Far to the east, six thunder lizards had joined the chase.
“They’re doing well, the Wootah and Calnians,” said Tansy.
“The lizard kings will catch them.”
“They will, but they are survivors. If anyone can defeat the lizard kings, or at least escape them …”
Rappa Hoga turned to her. “It sounds like you want them to get away.”
“Of course not. They’re enemies of the Badlands. One of them nearly killed Beaver Man, or at least hurt him badly. I’d never …” she noticed the look on his face, “why … do you want them to get away?”
He looked down at her, eyes dark and deep. He held her gaze for a good long while. The wind blowing up from the plain below played with his long black hair.
“We are Badlanders,” he said eventually. “We are commanded to catch them and that’s what we will try to do.”
“So we head now?”
“No, we wait till noon, as I agreed.”
“They’ll head for the Black Mountains.”
“They will.”
“The Plains Sprinter will have to go south a good way around the massif before it can turn west for the mountains. If we were to head due west, then …”
“No. We will follow their track.”
“But we might be able to head them off. With the head start they’ll have we’ll never catch up if we simply—”
“I said we will follow their track.”
“You really don’t want to catch them, do you?”
“That’s enough, Tansy Burna.”
Sassa Lipchewer sat with her back against the left-hand rail, swaying with the rumbling pitch and yaw of the Plains Sprinter, one hand holding a wooden upright, the other on her stomach.
As she’d shot her final arrow at the moose cavalry, a sharp twinge had flared across one side of her torso. Now it was a dull ache that burst with pain when she moved. It was a muscle strain, she told herself. Just a muscle strain. The baby was fine. The baby’s life wasn’t ebbing away as she sat there, unable to do anything to help it …
No, it was no good! She knew her baby was dead! She’d killed it with all the stupid leaping about and all that fucking archery!
She crushed her eyes shut to squeeze back tears, then opened them and glared at the Swan Empress Ayanna, nursing her son on the other side of the Plains Sprinter.
Sassa should have been back in Hardwork, with her mother telling her that all was fine with the pregnancy, and to stop fussing. But, no, her mother was with the gods and she was adventuring across the land, her hair chopped into a silly ridge, being attacked by demons and monsters and the land itself and it was all because that woman over there had sent people to kill them all! And now, not only did Ayanna have the gall to carry on as if she hadn’t ordered the deaths of all their loved ones, she had the temerity to be showing off her happy, healthy baby all the fuck-a-duck time.
East of the Water Mother, Sassa had killed two people—murdered them. She’d killed more since, that very morning, but it couldn’t be called murder if they were trying to kill you, could it? And Garth’s death had been him or Finnbogi, so the gods would probably give her some leeway there. However, she had straight up murdered Hrolf the Painter. She’d justified it a million ways to herself since, but really, if she was honest, she’d killed him because she didn’t like the pervy way he looked at her, and because she was pretty certain she’d get away with it. If she’d been able to go back in time and retake the decision, she’d have killed the bastard again.
Point was, she’d murdered before and she’d forgiven herself. She’d told herself that that was all in her old life, back on the other side of the Water Mother. It was a new life now, all transgressions to the east of the Water Mother absolved.
However, it did look an awful lot like she was going to have to transgress really quite seriously again by killing Ayanna. They were running from monsters, the baby inside her was dead, her family was dead, and it was all Ayan
na’s fault. Punishment was due.
A stab of pain across her stomach made her jump. Deep throat a goat. Her baby!
She mustn’t dwell, she told herself, or she’d scream and wail and everyone would know. Besides, on the slim chance that the tiny growing person was still alive, she should try to stay calm.
She decided to focus on external problems, and stood to see how their escape was progressing.
It was not the most calming of decisions.
The Badland Owsla and the Empty Children had overtaken the moose cavalry and were maybe fifty paces behind the Plains Sprinter. A long way back, several hundred paces at least, came the gigantic thunder lizards. They were gaining slowly.
Sofi Tornado, Sitsi Kestrel, Keef and Wulf were standing at the back rail, between barrels full of the spiders that wove the pigeons’ tethers. Everybody else was where Erik had told them to be, spread around to balance the bizarre land boat.
“Beaver Man is riding the lead thunder lizard!” called out Sitsi Kestrel.
Sofi nodded. “Shoot five of the Empty Children with your remaining arrows.”
Sitsi strung her bow and raised it.
“No!” cried Erik, half running, half stumbling back down the rolling craft. “We do not kill the children.”
Sofi sighed. “They will be in range soon to control the pigeons. When they are, the Plains Sprinter will stop and you will be stamped to death by monsters, if you’re lucky enough to die that quickly.”
Sassa noticed that Sofi had said “you” and not “we.” Clearly the Owsla captain had no intention of sticking around to get killed herself. How bad would things have to get before the Calnians abandoned the Wootah to the Badlanders? Probably not much worse than they were …
“We cannot swap children’s lives for our own,” Erik insisted.
“There are six of them. There are eighteen of us. Six of them to save eighteen of us. It works for me, moral-wise.”