Under Fragile Stone

by Oisin McGann

  ‘I can save it,’ she affirmed. ‘It’ll take some work, but the leg’s still good. Keep him still.’

  She took a long thin knife and parted the edges of the wound. Cullum roared again. He slumped back onto the table and gave her a baleful glare.

  ‘Could you possibly make it hurt any worse?’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes, darlin’, if that’s what you want,’ she replied in clipped tones. ‘Though at the moment I’m intent on savin’ you from havin’ to hop around for the rest of your life. Here, eat this.’

  She handed him a piece of bread covered in a blue mould.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Eat it or I pour on some more of this fine blindwater.’

  He hastily chewed down the mouldy bread, his face twisted in disgust. Pobe, her nephew, brought in a jar of live maggots and Cullum jolted upright again, wrestling against the grip of his friends.

  ‘What are they for?’

  ‘I’m just goin’ to pop a few in the wound, darlin’.’

  ‘Over my dead body! What kind of quack are you? Maggots?! Not bloody likely …’

  Shindles reached behind his neck as he protested, feeling around his spine with her fingertips. She apparently found what she was looking for and pinched his flesh just above his shoulders. His voice wound down and he collapsed back onto the table, unconscious.

  ‘I’ll have to get you to show me how to do that,’ Emos quipped.

  ‘Bring me some more of that bexemot bone and I’ll trade yuh.’ She arched her straggly eyebrows at him. ‘This is goin’ ta take a while. You all might as well wait outside.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the maggots?’ Khassiel asked suspiciously. ‘It doesn’t sound right to me.’

  ‘That’s ’cause you’re a learnin’-starved footsoldier with no education,’ Shindles retorted. ‘The maggots eat the dead flesh in the wound, but don’t eat the livin’. They can clean a wound out better than any hand ever could. Now get out o’ my operatin’ room and let me work.’

  Emos gestured to the others and they filed out, collecting outside where they sat down in the shade on the steps of the house. Jube filled and lit his pipe and puffed contemplatively on it, while Khassiel opened a tin of corned beef. They heard a soft singing float out from the back room and Emos saw the other two peer into the house.

  ‘She sings to the injury,’ he told them. ‘The same way that some people talk to plants. She thinks it encourages the flesh to heal itself.’

  ‘I think she’s a few warts short of a toad,’ Khassiel declared, around a mouthful of beef.

  ‘Maybe so, but I’ll wager that Cullum will walk out of this house.’

  They sat in silence, each alone with their own thoughts. They were uneasy, stopping and exposing themselves like this, but there was no way around it. Emos was tired, but his impatience eventually got the better of him and he pulled his pack in front of him and unrolled his tools to shape himself into an aukluk again. Just as he did, two burly Reisenicks walked through the gate. Jube and Khassiel were about to stand up, when Emos told them that these two were not from Ludditch’s clan. It would be better to wait and see where they stood before doing anything that might start a fight.

  The two men saw the trucks parked in the shadows of the trees on one side of the yard and looked at them suspiciously. Then they saw the three strangers on the steps. Their stance changed, hands dropping to the long knives sheathed on their belts. They strode up to the house.

  ‘Afternoon, folks,’ the bigger one said. ‘You got business with Mrs Vidditch?’

  ‘We do,’ Emos replied. ‘She kin of yours?’

  ‘Cousin’s aunt,’ the other answered, sniffing back a runny nose. ‘You’re a Myunan, aren’t you?’

  Emos had hidden his tribal markings, but the young man had obviously recognised the brand on his face.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right there, Vuntz,’ the first one nodded. ‘That’s their plague sign. You got the Myunan plague, boy?’

  ‘No,’ Emos replied. ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Likely story. That’s why you’re here, no doubt. Lookin’ for a cure off of Mrs Vidditch. Damned Myunan scum should keep your diseases to yourselves.’ He spat on the ground at Emos’s feet. ‘Vuntz, go get Pobe and let’s do us some huntin’.’

  Vuntz trod up the steps and went inside, while his friend Macob walked over to the corral where the grunchegs were sleeping out the humid heat of the afternoon.

  ‘By the gods,’ Jube commented, rolling his acorn necklace between his fingers. ‘Don’t you ever just want to pile into people like that?’

  ‘I’ve better ways to spend my time,’ Emos replied.

  * * * *

  Taya gasped as Crissabel, their gruncheg, plunged down a steep drop in the path and bathed them in fog. The excitement of the ride had left her breathless and she cried out in delight when the animal arched back up again and climbed another slope with hardly any change in speed. Behind her, Lorkrin hooted as he was thrown back into the straps of his saddle, the pain in his shoulder forgotten.

  ‘I … I … could do with a … rest!’ she called back to her brother. ‘This is wearing me out!’

  ‘I’m hungry too,’ he replied. ‘Maybe we could stop for a break.’

  ‘How can you be thinking of food?’ Taya grimaced. ‘My stomach’s all over the place.’

  ‘I didn’t get any breakfast!’ her brother protested.

  ‘What have we got, anyway?’

  Lorkrin reached back into a pouch on his pack and pulled out one of the packages wrapped in leaves that the storyhouse’s landlady had given them. He unfolded it and frowned.

  ‘Dried fish,’ he said. ‘Smells like you wouldn’t believe, but it looks all right.’

  ‘It’ll have to do,’ Taya sighed. ‘I’ll have to wait until we stop, though.’

  Her brother took a bite and nearly choked on it as they were tipped back into another climb.

  They were seated near the middle of the gruncheg’s back. Draegar was up the front, visible between the first pair of sails, sitting just behind Crissabel’s head. Taya was about to shout to him when she saw a movement out to their left and slightly ahead. It caught her eye because it was bigger than the birds they had been disturbing all morning and larger even than the other creatures which occupied the strange world above the forest. It was a gruncheg. Then she saw another, and another – three of the long, winding mounts, each with its own rider. She frowned. The three figures were headed in their direction.

  Rug was holding onto the pommel for dear life. Trankelfrith was yelling encouragement, beating the side of the animal with a riding crop as they hurtled over the treetops. Rug heard Draegar shouting behind him and looked back. The Parsinor was pointing, and Rug looked over his other side to see what he was pointing at. There were three figures on grunchegs, approaching fast from the west.

  ‘Mr Trankelfrith!’ he called to the Gutsnape. ‘Mr Trankelfrith! Grunchegs! I mean, other grunchegs! With men on them!’

  At first he didn’t think the Gutsnape had heard him, but then Trankelfrith dropped down into his saddle and bent hard over the pommel. A piece of the chewed weed was propelled out of his throat and into the trees below. He sat up and coughed, then looked out to where the other riders could be seen, rising up and down over the slopes of a path that was going to intersect with theirs.

  ‘Highwaymen!’ he shouted, and pulled a blowpipe from a sheath in his saddle. He put a dart in his mouth, raised the blowpipe and took aim. He fired just as the nearest rider disappeared into a dip. Rug thought the Gutsnape had misjudged the shot, but then the rider appeared again at the top of the rise and the dart struck him in the thigh. He cried out and plucked the projectile from his leg. Trankelfrith loaded another dart into his mouth and raised the blowpipe again, but a dart embedded itself in Plessebel’s neck and the gruncheg flinched, causing the Gutsnape to pull the weapon away or risk breaking his teeth. Another dart hit
his arm and the pipe dropped from his nerveless fingers. Trankelfrith yanked the dart out as quickly as he could, but Rug could see the toxin was already taking effect. The Gutsnape countered one drug with another, biting off some more of his hajam weed and shouting a battle-cry. He turned Plessebel towards the attackers and hung down on her side to avoid the flying darts. Rug tried to follow his example. Unable to dangle off the side like the Gutsnape, he hugged the back of the gruncheg and kept as low as possible. Darts flew past him and more than one struck the side of the gruncheg. He wondered how many it took to knock out an animal this size.

  Draegar had drawn his sword and was goading Crissabel into the fight. The other three grunchegs were males, bigger than the two females and more fearsome. The first to reach them squirmed into a knot around Plessebel. Lorkrin and Taya watched in dread as Trankelfrith pulled out his knife and climbed onto the attacking beast. Crissabel reared as one of the males crashed in towards her and gave a high squeal, before being muffled by the weight of its body crushing her head down into the branches of the tree beneath them. Draegar was rolled underneath, still held in his saddle by his straps.

  Lorkrin had pulled out his knife, but couldn’t decide what to do. The larger gruncheg carried on wrapping its bulk around Crissabel and suddenly the two Myunans found themselves caught between the two writhing bodies. Taya unbuckled herself and slipped down between them, hanging from a stirrup. One of Lorkrin’s buckles snagged on the pack on his back and he was caught. He cut the safety strap with his blade and rolled sideways off the gruncheg’s back. The branches beneath were two sparse to support him and he fell through, losing his grip on one limb, then another, but finally catching hold with an arm and a leg on the third branch he hit.

  Though Taya had managed to dismount quickly, she was still on the narrow path of interwoven branches and she felt the tenuous track begin to give way beneath the weight of the two massive animals. She dived out into the thinner branches even as the track gave way and the two animals crashed down through the trees.

  ‘Draegar!’

  It was Lorkrin’s voice. Taya looked down in despair; she had not seen her brother get off, and the Parsinor had still been strapped into his saddle when Crissabel had fallen. The two animals were visible further down, still thrashing against each other in a savage struggle. Neither Lorkrin, nor Draegar, nor the rider of the attacking gruncheg, were anywhere to be seen. She watched the fight, but it was hard to tell what was happening down in the foggy darkness. Eventually, she climbed out along the branches, looking for her brother and calling out to him. From somewhere below, she could just hear him shouting to her. He was barely visible in the shadows of the cobrush trees to one side of the new hole in the forest roof. He was dangling precariously over the void, his weight only just supported by the branch he had grabbed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she called.

  ‘Oh, you’re there,’ he said casually. ‘Yeah, fine. Don’t worry yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, but you do have the tools. Anyway, you don’t have to be snotty. I was afraid you’d fallen with Crissabel. Hang on. I’ll find something to pull you up. I’m fine too, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘Great,’ Lorkrin’s grip slipped slightly on the smooth wood and he looked down nervously. There was nothing close enough to catch hold of and it looked like a long fall to the bottom, interrupted by the occasional, hard tree limb.

  A vine snaked down to him and he seized it, testing his weight on it before letting go of the branch and pulling himself up to where his sister had tied the end of the vine to another, more sturdy limb.

  ‘Did you see what happened to Draegar?’ he asked her.

  ‘He was still strapped in. He’s down there somewhere.’

  They both peered down. The two animals had fallen further, the sounds of struggle growing weaker. The two Myunans were at a loss as to what to do. If they went down looking for Draegar, there was a good chance he might be climbing back up and they would miss him on the way down. They could wander around for ages trying to find each other. If, on the other hand, he was badly hurt, they were his only chance. But Rug was still up on the forest roof somewhere, and he could be in trouble too.

  ‘We have to climb down and try and find Draegar,’ Lorkrin decided finally. ‘Maybe he didn’t fall all the way. He could be caught in the trees somewhere.’

  ‘But what if he’s all right and he’s already climbing up, looking for us?’

  ‘What choice have we got?’

  ‘What if he’s already dead?’

  Lorkrin didn’t answer.

  ‘What about Rug?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s with Trankelfrith. Or at least he was. Anyway, Draegar’s got to come first. We saw him fall. We know he could be hurt.’

  Taya did not want to desert Rug, but she had to agree with her brother. Draegar could not have fallen so far without being injured. They had to find him. The trunk of the tree offered plenty of hand and footholds on the way down and the thick, tangled foliage was as much a support as an obstacle.

  As they began their descent, a noise from above made them freeze and they saw something coming down past them. It was the one of the other grunchegs that had attacked them, its rider, a young Reisenick, egging it on downwards. They disappeared into the mist and the Myunans heard the mewing of two of the creatures beneath them. Then the new gruncheg appeared again, with the other male. Between them, they carried Crissabel’s inert form using leather harnesses. The Myunans could not tell if she was alive or dead. Draegar and his saddle were gone. The gruncheg’s body was spirited up to the roof of the forest and hauled out of sight. Even more despondent than they had been before, Taya and Lorkrin continued their descent.

  * * * *

  The gruncheg’s tremendous weight held Rug down firmly against the branches beneath him, the straps of the saddle preventing him from trying to slide out either side. The darts fired by the three hunters had taken effect and Plessebel had surrendered to the greater strength of the male gruncheg, rolling over onto her back. Trankelfrith had not surrendered. The other rider was already groggy with the effects of the dart and the Gutsnape clambered up behind him to finish the job. He took the knife he was holding between his teeth and drove it up under the other man’s ribs. Then he grabbed the reins and took control of the mount.

  Rug felt queasy at the sight of the dead man being pushed off the saddle and into the green depths and he looked away. He patted his pocket for comfort and discovered with a start that his nail was missing. He did not know why it was so important, but ever since he had picked it up, he had not been able to keep his mind off it, and had felt the need to constantly check on it. Now it was gone. It must have fallen out when Plessebel had rolled onto him. Rug panicked. It had to be close by. He twisted his head to try and peer down into the foliage beneath him, but could not see it. If it had fallen through there, he had lost if forever.

  He did find the tail of a dart protruding from his shoulder. He pulled it out and looked at it. Draegar had told him about these. The tips were normally dipped in either poison or sleeping draft. Rug went still, waiting for any signs of drowsiness or oncoming death. But he felt fine. Someone must have forgotten to dip their dart. He wriggled to try and get free of the saddle, straining to reach the buckles that were pressed between his body and the gruncheg’s back. As he did so, he felt something sharp stick into him and, expecting to find another dart, he pushed his hand in to get at it. It was his nail. Heaving a sigh of relief, he held it up, looking longingly at its beautiful, rust-coloured shape. On a whim, he held it out above his head where he could get his other hand to it and gently straightened the nail with his fingers. It was easier than he expected. He put it back in its pocket and buttoned the flap down carefully.

  Trankelfrith appeared suddenly beside him, giving him a fright.

  ‘We’ll be havin’ no more trouble from that filthy, gas-bloated pond-scum!’ he assured his passenger. ‘Let’s get you out from under there until ol’ Plessebel can
right herself, eh?’

  The Gutsnape used the captured animal to roll the unconscious gruncheg over enough for him to reach the buckles on the straps and free Rug. Then they sat on her belly and got their breath back.

  ‘Other one went after the one that fell down there with Crissabel,’ Trankelfrith told him sleepily, the toxin from the dart still doing battle with the hajam in his system. ‘Pox-riddled sons of a crack rash made off with her somewhere. We’ll have to go after ’em when Plessebel wakes up.’

  ‘What about Draegar and the children?’

  ‘They’re down in the underside somewhere.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and help?’ Rug asked.

  ‘Take too long to climb down, and longer to look for anybody. I got a gruncheg to fetch back,’ the Gutsnape replied simply, taking out his lump of weed. ‘Still, Plessebel’s got some sleepin’ to do. Let’s see who comes up in the meantime. Want some?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Rug gazed at the ragged hole in the forest roof, feeling a dull pain in his chest as he thought about the friends who were lost down there.

  He patted his pocket and made a decision.

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find them,’ he said.

  ‘Have it your own way.’ Trankelfrith spat out some green saliva. ‘But when Plessebel wakes up, I’m gone.’

  Rug nodded and slid off the belly of the sleeping gruncheg, treading carefully on the path that meandered over the top of the foliage.

  ‘You’d better crawl,’ the Gutsnape told him. ‘Path’s not strong enough unless you spread your weight some. And mind how yuh go. There’s plenty down in those woods that’ll hurt yuh, or kill yuh, or just plain eat yuh whole.’

  Rug raised a hand in a wave, got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards the hole in the forest.

  * * * *

  The forest floor was a long way below them and the climb down was slow and complicated. By the time the Myunans had reached the bottom, there was little daylight filtering through the mist and foliage and the grey gloom closed in on them with damp and quiet menace.