On (GollanczF.)

by Adam Roberts

  ‘It is a monster,’ said Ravielre, his voice fall of loathing. ‘Its spit is poison. We should wash it away.’

  ‘If it is poison,’ said Tighe, making sure to fix each of them in the eye with his glare as he spoke, ‘then it is already in his blood, and washing will do no good. If it is not poison but healthful, then we must leave it. We will carry him up.’

  ‘He is dying,’ said Ati. ‘We should leave him here and go on ourselves.’

  ‘He is not dying,’ said Tighe. ‘We will carry him.’

  ‘He has only one leg!’

  ‘He is not dying. We will carry him.’

  Ati grumbled and the others looked crossly at Tighe, but nobody defied him. They spent an hour by the spring, finding and eating what insects they could, although chancing upon none of the larger kind. Then Ravielre and Pelis took up the burden of Mulvaine.

  They made a slow and precarious way up from trunk to branch. At one stage they discovered a gouge in the worldwall that was backed with some manstone in slabs, and which ran diagonally upwards. It was heavily overgrown, but Tighe and Ati went first, clearing a path, and Ravielre and Pelis followed carrying Mulvaine.

  They decided to stay inside this ledge for the night and spent the rest of the light scavenging for insects. Tighe sat expectantly beside Mulvaine, thinking he might wake up at any moment, but he slept on uneasily.

  In the morning they were lucky enough to find a grey fat-worm nosing its way through the moss and bracken of the ledge, and they all enjoyed a good breakfast. ‘We must try and feed Mulvaine,’ said Tighe.

  ‘He is now an obsession of you, I think,’ said Ati sourly.

  But they all lent a hand, holding Mulvaine’s mouth open and popping in little gobbets of meat. ‘He is not swallowing,’ Ravielre pointed out.

  ‘Perhaps the meat will dissolve in his mouth,’ said Tighe. ‘Then the goodness can run down his throat like water. Come!’

  ‘I hate the way you say come!’ Ravielre growled. ‘As if we were pets. You are only a barbarian, a turd for brains, after all. I was born in the Imperial City.’

  Tighe looked hard at him. ‘Do you think it a good idea to move on now?’ he asked. ‘Or should we stay here all day?’

  Ravielre was silent for a time, glowering sullenly at Tighe. ‘Perhaps we should go on,’ he said, eventually.

  ‘Ravielre says come!’ Tighe announced loudly. ‘And so we must.’

  They hauled Mulvaine out of the trench and up through the forest. By ninety they reached a fairly broad ledge, hardly overhung at all. It marked a path away both east and west and the grass was well trodden. ‘I do not remember this ledge,’ said Pelis.

  ‘It is easier than making our way through Meshwood,’ said Ravielre. ‘We should walk along this ledge, perhaps to the far side of the Meshwood. Then we would be away from the claw-caterpils at least.’

  ‘For now’, said Tighe, ‘we can rest at any rate.’

  They deposited Mulvaine on the ledge, sitting up with his back to the wall, and sprawled themselves out. Ravielre and Pelis had undertaken the majority of the day’s carrying and were worn out.

  Ati lay on his stomach for a while, but soon grew restless. He paced up and down the ledge a little way, never going out of sight of the others but exploring as widely as he could. ‘I think’, he said, coming back to them, ‘that we might go west along this ledge. That is, back towards the Empire.’

  ‘We are on the eastern side of the Meshwood,’ said Pelis. ‘We are closer to the eastern side.’

  ‘But the east is controlled by the Otre.’

  ‘Perhaps the west is controlled by the Otre as well.’

  Ati bristled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pelis explained laboriously, ‘perhaps the Otre have conquered the whole Empire by now in war.’

  ‘Don’t say that! Don’t say so!’

  ‘I only mean that it would be better to get out of the Meshwood sooner rather than later. It would be better not to have to encounter any more of the claw-caterpils, that is all I mean.’

  ‘You are only a girl and you are scared,’ said Ati, puffing up his chest. ‘I am a warrior and I am not scared. Besides,’ he said, sagging down and sitting cross-legged on the ledge. ‘I want to go to my home and my home is westward not eastward.’

  Ravielre said, ‘I am hungry.’

  ‘Perhaps this ledge runs all the way through the Meshwood to the west,’ Ati continued. ‘Perhaps it would lead us easily and clearly out of the Meshwood to the west.’

  ‘More likely it peters out a little way in that direction,’ said Pelis, pointing west.

  ‘What shall we do, Tighe?’ asked Ati, tugging at Tighe’s raggedy sleeve. ‘Shall we go eastward or westward?’

  ‘We’ll rest for now,’ said Tighe, looking west along the ledge. The tangles of meshwood sprouting over the ledge hung down in weird patterns, casting interlocking shadows over the backing of the wall.

  ‘There,’ said Pelis, pointing eastward with her arm outstretched.

  Everybody looked. Half a dozen grey-suited figures were advancing up the ledge, all holding either a rifle or one of the short-barrelled rifles that looked a little like stubby knives.

  They were, very pointedly, looking directly at the four kite-pilots.

  ‘Otre,’ hissed Pelis.

  ‘Go!’ called Ati, hurling himself forward up to his feet and sprinting westward away down the ledge.

  Ravielre, Pelis and Tighe followed almost at once.

  ‘You there!’ called the nearest of the Otre soldiers, in a voice that carried powerfully. ‘Stop running, surrender. Surrender, or we shall shoot.’ His Imperial was heavily accented.

  Tighe’s groin-hurt was not bad, but he rapidly fell behind the others because of his bad foot. He limped with a desperate stride, pounding down with his right foot and trying to skim over the step of his left, as the first shot rang out.

  Pelis was directly ahead of him. There was a second shot and a hand-sized wet red mark splattered out of her shoulder. She stumbled and fell hard to the ground.

  Tighe had to leap awkwardly to avoid tripping over her. He skidded, span, and saw her lying face down on the ledge. Then, surrendering himself to the urge to run, he picked himself up and simply sprinted.

  ‘Down!’ he called ahead, at Ati and Ravielre. ‘Down into the Meshwood!’

  Ati looked back over his shoulder and Tighe signalled to him with an arm gesture. Down! They could lose themselves in the Meshwood and evade the Otre soldiers.

  Without slowing his pace Ati ducked to the left and slid off the ledge, landing easily on a broad meshwood trunk. He called out as he did this and Ravielre skidded to a halt. There was another rifle shot from the soldiers behind Tighe; he sensed the bullet whizzing past him.

  Ravielre was scrambling down after Ati. Tighe, sweating now, ducked as another bullet shot through the air. There was a scream from up ahead, although Tighe couldn’t be sure if it was Ravielre or Ati screaming.

  He pulled himself down and swung from a branch; on to a broad nexus of meshwood tree roots, all tangled in together. From there it was a series of easy hops down and away from the ledge through the leaves. He chanced one glimpse over his shoulder, but the ledge was invisible through the cloud of foliage overhead. He heard no more shots either.

  For a little while he concentrated on making his way as quietly as possible, moving cautiously from trunk to branch. After a while he decided it was time to hazard a cry; he called out to the others. ‘Ati! Ravielre!’

  There was a moan from close ahead. Tighe hopped awkwardly through the leaves and found Ravielre sitting astride a trunk clutching his head. Tighe’s heart sank. Blood was oozing from between his fingers.

  ‘Your head!’ he cried.

  Ravielre groaned again. ‘It’s my ear,’ he said. ‘They shot my ear! I felt the bottom of the ear hurt and now it’s all blood. The shit-eaters!’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Tighe. He pulled Ravielre’s hand away and examined th
e sticky wound. ‘You have most of your ear still,’ he announced.

  ‘It hurts,’ said Ravielre, sulkily. ‘It hurts and I am hungry.’

  ‘Where is Ati?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Tighe stood up. ‘Ati!’ he called. ‘Ati!’

  ‘Shush,’ whined Ravielre. ‘You will call the Otre to us.’

  ‘We are far from the ledge now, I think,’ said Tighe, ‘and they will have moved on.’

  ‘They shot me,’ said Ravielre, squirming with misery. ‘They shot my ear and they shot Pelis. Pelis and I were together. But my ear! It stings, it hurts!’

  ‘Come,’ said Tighe. ‘We will wrap your ear in cloth. Tear some from your shirt.’

  ‘Tear some from your shirt.’

  ‘It is your ear, after all. Ati!’ he called. ‘Ati!’

  ‘I am here,’ came a reply through the leaves.

  ‘Come to us,’ Tighe called out. He bent down and picked at the stitching of Ravielre’s shirt to rip free a strip of cloth. Ravielre grumbled that now his stomach would be cold at night, but Tighe ignored him to strap the cloth around the bleeding ear and the top of Ravielre’s head, like a headscarf.

  Ati’s head popped up from below. He looked serious. ‘What happened?’ he said. ‘What happened to Pelis?’

  Ravielre grimaced. ‘I am hungry.’

  Tighe shook his head to warn Ati off the subject. Ati sat himself down and clutched his knees to his chest. ‘And Mulvaine,’ he said. ‘What about Mulvaine?’

  Tighe said, ‘Ravielre hurt his ear, but I have bandaged it now.’

  ‘With my shirt,’ grumbled Ravielre, ‘and I am hungry.’

  There was a rustling in the leaves, like a shower of dew falling early in the morning. The three boys fell silent, looking around them.

  ‘Otre soldiers?’ hissed Ati.

  ‘Or worse?’ said Ravielre. ‘Claw-caterpils perhaps?’

  Tighe looked about himself. ‘We must move. Come, we have started going west and we should continue to go west.’

  5

  They moved west. The way was not easy and all three of them were feeling the pain of hunger. An hour or so into their journey they chanced upon a grey fat-worm. With Ravielre chiming over and over how hungry he was, they started after the beast, but it slid away, half wriggling and half falling downwards. They had to drop from branch to branch a fair distance before they could catch up with it. Ravielre and Ati gripped it and held it between them. Then the three of them started biting pieces from its side whilst it still twined and struggled.

  ‘We should find a spring,’ Ravielre said, his mouth full so that he spat out fragments of half-chewed worm. ‘I want to wash my wound, my ear.’

  Tighe looked at him, wondering whether he had now made himself forget Pelis deliberately, or whether his mind genuinely had slipped away from that subject. It was similar to his attitude to Bel; he had barely said anything about her death. There was a blankness about his expression. ‘Wash your wound,’ he said. ‘That is a good thing.’

  ‘We should find a spring,’ said Ravielre. He took another bite.

  The tail of the fat-worm curled round and thrashed at the leaves. Tighe caught hold of it and pulled it back, but the thrashing of the leaves continued. The head of a claw-caterpil emerged rapidly from the foliage. Ati shrieked and Ravielre shied quickly backwards, loosing his grip on the worm.

  The claw-caterpil emerged fully and lunged forward at Ravielre.

  ‘Your blood!’ cried Tighe. ‘It smells your blood!’

  But the three of them were already scrambling up from branch to branch.

  Tighe fell to the rear again because of his bad foot. He had to tear his eyes from below to spy out handholds in the meshwood trees above; and the thought of the claw-caterpil drew his glance back down. ‘It smelt Ravielre’s blood,’ he muttered to himself. ‘It smelt his blood.’

  From above came a shriek and Tighe started climbing more rapidly. Almost at once a body came crashing through the branches, clipping Tighe as it passed and tumbling on. The jarring shock almost knocked Tighe loose, but he clung to his branch.

  From higher up came Ravielre’s high-pitched squeal of terror. ‘They’re all around! There’s hundreds! Hundreds!’

  Tighe hung, bruised and a little stunned. He could see Ati below him, come to rest in a net of branches; but he had consciously to command himself to start to climb down. The claw-caterpil was down there somewhere.

  ‘Ati?’ he said, coming down to him. ‘Ati? How are you?’

  ‘My shoulder,’ said Ati, in a dim voice. ‘My arm is numb and my shoulder hurts. And it hurts when I breathe.’

  Tighe looked at the shoulder, but could see nothing wrong, except that when he took hold of it Ati screamed with pain.

  Up above there was a ferocious rustling in the canopy of meshwood leaves.

  ‘Ati,’ he said, ‘we must climb up. Do you see? Come!’ He reached round to Ati’s good side and pulled him upright.

  ‘We can’t go up there,’ said Ati in a tight voice. ‘There are many claw-caterpils up there. They are all around up there – huge ones, hundreds of them.’

  Tighe looked up. The motion in the canopy was becoming more and more agitated. A leg appeared, and then the whole of Ravielre’s body; part falling, part clutching to the branches as he struggled to slow his descent.

  He collapsed into the network of branches that had broken Ati’s fall. Only then did the others see that a small claw-caterpil was fastened to the side of his head; the bandage was gone and the monster’s jaws were chewing at the wound.

  Ravielre’s eyes were wide, stupid with terror. He struggled ineffectually, bringing his arms up and dropping them in spastic movements.

  Despite its relatively small size, this claw-caterpil was a horrifying creature. Tighe blenched and forced himself forward. He reached out with both hands and circled the thing’s abdomen. The bristles stung his skin, and past them he had the sense of touching something unspeakable, something mucus-slippery but dry, something profoundly and physically repulsive. The claw-caterpil took its jaws from Ravielre’s head and swung them round with alarming speed to snap at Tighe’s hands.

  Tighe let go with a yell and stepped back. The monster slipped, gripped at Ravielre’s body with its many legs and pulled itself back up.

  Ati was howling now; he had fallen back over and was struggling to wriggle clear; each motion that banged his shoulder made him cry out louder.

  The claw-caterpil began grazing again on the side of Ravielre’s head.

  Tighe looked around for a branch or stick he could use to pry the ghastly insect away from Ravielre, but all he saw was a weave of springy branches thick with leaves. There was no piece of meshwood he could rip free. In desperation he aimed a kick at the monster, but this involved standing on his bad foot and his ankle dissolved under his weight. He sprawled backwards, landing partly on Ati, who shouted with pain and surprise.

  Something large dropped from the canopy above. A blur of legs and bristles. It landed on the cradle of branches, its tail falling across Ati and Tighe, its head near Ravielre.

  This was a much larger claw-caterpil; twice as long as a man’s height, fat and taut around its midriff, its jaws glistening and black as plastic. It shimmied up to Ravielre, mounting his body and struggling on top of the other claw-caterpil. It began pinching its rival between its larger jaws. The smaller monster wriggled, turned and tried to bite back, but was so obviously outmatched that it gave up and rolled free.

  Ravielre was staring directly into Tighe’s eyes, his hands fluttering. He might have been trying to push the beast away, but the only action he was managing was to slap weakly against its underbelly, where its many legs fluttered. Tighe moved his eyes a little and saw the enormous jaws close in the mess of blood that was the side of Ravielre’s head. Ravielre’s whole body jerked and twisted and then went stiff.

  The smaller claw-caterpil curled and straightened like a finger, and then it lunged out at Tighe.
Tighe strained backwards, trying to push himself away from the thing, with Ati beneath him howling and screaming. The beast paused, curled back round and latched on to Ravielre’s exposed midriff. It scraped at Ravielre’s belly, raising blood, and then gouged in.

  Ravielre was still staring, unblinking, straight at Tighe and Ati. Tighe met his gaze again, and was held by the intensity of the look.

  It was a physical effort to break the connection of eye to eye.

  ‘Come,’ Tighe said, gaspingly. He struggled upright, and tried to haul Ati upright too.

  Another claw-caterpil was crawling down a trunk of meshwood in the direction of the feast.

  ‘We have to go now,’ said Tighe urgently. ‘We have to go now.’

  ‘Ravielre,’ said Ati, weakly. The colour had vanished from his face, and his lips were almost white.

  ‘We cannot help him,’ said Tighe. ‘We need to go. They smelt his blood. We’re not bleeding, so they will not smell our blood.’

  Ati looked at him.

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ he said. ‘I’m bleeding, look.’

  He used his good hand to hold up his numb one; it was cut deeply across the palm and blood was coming out.

  Tighe looked deeply into Ati’s eyes. Ati’s head was trembling with pain and terror.

  ‘We must go anyway,’ said Tighe. ‘Come.’

  They backed away from the tangle of claw-caterpils, Ravielre’s eyes following them the whole way. As the two of them retreated Ravielre swivelled his eyes to follow them. His body was entirely motionless now, stiff and straight. The smaller claw-caterpil had buried his jaws and eyes in a hole at Ravielre’s stomach. The skin around the wound was clean and torn; it looked like ripped cloth. The larger claw-caterpil lay alongside him like a shadow, its head almost exactly the same size as Ravielre’s, its jaws moving in a steady rhythm excavating the space.

  ‘Come,’ said Tighe, breaking the tether of Ravielre’s gaze by purposefully looking away. ‘This way.’

  They started along the trunk and Tighe made the jump to a second. Ati followed, but cried out with pain on landing. ‘My shoulder!’ he called. ‘The pain is too much.’