Arrrrgh! Slimosaur!

by Alan MacDonald

  ‘WOOOARGHHH!’

  To his amazement the slimosaur reared back, bellowing like a bull. The next moment it turned tail and charged through the trees, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

  Iggy stood still for a moment, breathing heavily and trembling all over. Then he remembered Hubba and went back to the sticky heap under the trees, hardly daring to look. It stirred and let out a groan.

  ‘Hubba? You all right?’ asked Iggy.

  Hubba stuck out a hand and pushed himself upright. He was covered from head to toe in a revolting slime that stank of bad eggs. It was a pale green snot colour and stuck to his hair like chewing gum. Gunk dripped from his nose and gummed up his eyes as he blinked like a newborn chick.

  ‘Gloop,’ he mumbled. ‘Glub . . . gonna . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gonna be . . .’

  Iggy leapt back just in time as Hubba vomited a purple torrent of yumberries.

  He wiped his mouth. ‘. . . sick,’ he panted.

  .

  On the way back they stopped at the river, where Hubba washed off as much of the foul-smelling slime as he could. Iggy watched him from the bank.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t it eat you?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t taste so good.’

  ‘Or maybe I frightened it off with the torch,’ suggested Iggy. ‘Maybe it’s scared of fire.’

  Hubba grunted. ‘Didn’t look scared to me.’ He waded to the bank and scrambled out. ‘Anyway. Thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For saving me.’

  Iggy shrugged. ‘Forget it. You would’ve done the same for me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Hubba. ‘Probably.’

  Iggy glanced up at the sky. Dawn was on the way. If they hurried, they could still make it back to the caves before anyone noticed they were missing.

  x

  The following night Chief Hammerhead called a meeting at the Standing Stone. All the tribe was there and Iggy sensed a mood of simmering discontent. It was weeks since anyone had set foot in the forest, and meat had become as rare as lavender-scented soap. The rows of faces listened in grim silence as Hammerhead outlined the seriousness of the situation. Everyone had heard the terrifying rumours about the beast in the forest.

  Once the hubbub had died down the Chief stood up and asked the elders for their advice. There was a good deal of head nodding, beard tugging and puzzled looks from one or two who hadn’t heard the question. Some of the elders were so old they had difficulty remembering their own names, let alone what they were meant to be discussing.

  ‘If you ask me, it’s nuts,’ began one elder.

  ‘I don’t see why,’ said Hammerhead.

  ‘No, nuts! We should all eat nuts.’

  ‘Berries are juicier,’ said a second elder. ‘I hasn’t tasted berries for weeks.’

  ‘But nuts are better for you,’ maintained the first. ‘Look at squirrels.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘No, they eat nuts.’

  ‘Or grubs. What about grubs?’ put in a third.

  This might have led to a long discussion of what the elders liked for breakfast, but it was interrupted by an axe blade thudding into the ground. It belonged to Borg, Chief of the Elders.

  ‘For the love of Urk!’ he thundered. ‘We hasn’t come here to talk about nuts and berries! There’s families starving, living on scraggy old bones.’

  There were low murmurs of agreement.

  ‘For weeks now we been cooped up like animals,’ said Borg. ‘We can’t hunt. We can’t even go to the forest. If this goes on, we’ll all be dead before winter’s out!’ Borg paused for effect and stepped forward into the firelight before continuing. ‘So let me ask a question. What’s our Chief going to do about it?’

  This was greeted with an angry roar, especially from some of the women. All eyes turned to Hammerhead, who looked a little startled. The truth was, he often drifted off during tribal meetings and he’d been thinking about whether he should cut his beard or let it grow to his waist. He had no idea what to do about the slimosaur, which was why he hoped the elders would come up with a solution. The best thing, of course, would be to kill it, but he wasn’t about to try that himself. A heavy silence hung over the gathering as Hammerhead rose slowly to his feet.

  ‘As you all know,’ he said, ‘I am your Chief. High Chief of the Urks. So I been giving this a good deal of thought.’ He stared into the fire for a while.

  ‘And?’ said Borg impatiently.

  ‘Never think too much,’ said Hammerhead wisely. ‘If you think too much, then you think thinks that you thought you thought but you . . . um only thought them.’

  People were looking confused. Hammerhead was a bit confused himself. Luckily Gaga the Wise stood up at this point and came to his rescue.

  ‘I think I see what the Chief is trying to say.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Hammerhead, astonished.

  ‘Yes. What we should be asking is, why has the beast returned?’

  ‘Returned?’ said Borg. ‘You mean this weren’t the first time?’

  Gaga shook his silvery head. ‘It happened before, many moons ago. A few of you here may remember.’

  Most of the Urks looked blank, but some older heads, including that of Iggy’s grumma, were nodding gravely.

  ‘What did you do then?’ demanded Borg.

  ‘Do? We did nothing,’ replied Gaga the Wise. ‘And many Urks were taken. That is why this time we mustn’t make the same mistake. We must be bold and take action.’

  ‘Just what I were about to say,’ agreed Hammerhead.

  ‘What action?’ asked Borg.

  ‘The beast is hungry. It thirsts for blood,’ said Gaga the Wise. ‘Very well, then give it blood. Choose one of our tribe to offer as a sacrifice.’

  ‘S-sacrifice?’ stammered Hammerhead.

  ‘Yes, to the Spirits of the Ancestors. They will protect us and drive the beast away.’

  Hammerhead had gone rather pale.

  ‘So what you’re saying is . . . take someone to the forest and leave ’em? To be eaten?’

  Gaga the Wise nodded. ‘I fear it’s our only hope.’

  Hammerhead cleared his throat and looked at the rows of startled faces. Everyone had fallen deathly silent.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his hands, ‘any volunteers?’

  x

  Chapter 6

  A Bone to Pick

  ‘But I don’t want to be eaten!’ wailed Snark. ‘Shut up, boy. No one’s gonna eat you,’ snapped Borg.

  ‘How do you know? What if I’m chosen?’

  They were sitting near the mouth of their cave. Borg was examining a collection of fish bones by the light of a low fire. He was the one who had suggested that the sacrificial victim should be chosen by the ancient Urk practice of ‘picking bones’ – whoever drew the shortest bone (known as the Dark Bone) would die a horrible death.

  All male Urks were to take part in the ceremony, which explained why Snark was in a state of panic. He didn’t want to die young and he certainly didn’t want to be sacrificed to a flesh-eating monster. His dad however didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. Borg was busy working at one of the fish bones, using a small flint cutter.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Snark.

  ‘Making sure there’s no mistake.’

  Snark looked puzzled. ‘I thought it were luck,’ he said. ‘Whoever draws the Dark Bone gets chosen.’

  ‘Luck has nothing to do with it,’ snapped Borg. He held the fish bone up to the light, revealing a small groove running across its centre.

  ‘See that? The Dark Bone. That’s so I can tell her apart.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Snark.

/>   ‘So the right person gets it. Understand?’

  Snark wasn’t sure he did. ‘But, Dad, anyone could choose that bone. I could!’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Borg, ‘because someone holds the bones while you pick. And that someone’ll be me.’ He held the fish bone closer to the fire, letting it catch the light. ‘This little beauty is for our Chief.’

  Snark frowned. ‘What if he don’t pick that one?’

  ‘Oh, he will,’ said Borg. ‘I’ll make sure.’

  ‘Then . . . he’ll be the sacrifice? The Chief is going to die?’

  Borg smiled a wolfish smile.

  Of course, thought Snark. It all made sense. For years his father had been scheming to become High Chief, and with Hammerhead out of the way there would be no one to stop him. He had to admit it was a brilliant plan. No one would suspect foul play, because they would all witness their Chief draw the Dark Bone himself. Hammerhead would die because the Spirits of the Ancestors had chosen him. It was tragic but it couldn’t be helped.

  .

  That night the tribe gathered at the Standing Stone in sombre mood. The fire crackled and spat, casting an eerie red glow over the circle around it. People spoke in low voices. They were all brooding on the same unspoken fear, wondering if they would be chosen. Seated next to his dad, Iggy caught sight of Umily across the circle. He was surprised to see her beside the Chief, since girls normally didn’t take part in tribal ceremonies. Knowing Umily, she had probably insisted on taking her chances along with the men. He saw her smile shyly and turned his head to see Snark grinning at her like an ape. Iggy resisted a strong urge to throw a rock at him.

  The murmur of voices died away as Borg stepped into the middle of the circle. In his hand was a large sheaf of bones. He explained in a solemn voice how the ceremony would work. He would pass around the circle until every person had drawn a bone, beginning with those nearest the Standing Stone and ending with the Chief and the elders. There were a few rumbles of discontent and someone raised a hand.

  ‘What do we do with the bone once we got one?’

  ‘Just keep it till the end,’ replied Borg.

  ‘Can we suck it?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘What if we draw the Dark Bone?’ asked someone else. ‘Do we call out or put up a hand?’

  ‘Just keep the dung thing,’ sighed Borg wearily. ‘We’ll know who’s got it at the end. Any more stupid questions? Good, then let’s begin.’

  He held the fish bones bunched in his fist so only the tops were visible. No one (apart from him) would be able to tell which was the Dark Bone. Slowly Borg began to walk round the circle, stopping for each person to draw a bone from his hand. The silence stretched out longer than a rubber band. Iggy watched the faces, seeing fear in their eyes and then relief when they saw that they were safe. On and on went the ceremony as the number of bones in Borg’s hand grew smaller and smaller. Snark took his turn and triumphantly held up a long bone for everyone to see.

  Soon there were fewer than a dozen bones left. So far no one had drawn the Dark Bone, unless they were keeping very quiet about it. Iggy watched his dad draw, knowing it was his turn next. He closed his eyes and asked the Spirits of the Ancestors to guide him. Ideally he would have liked letters of fire spelling out: ‘Pick the one on the left’, but right now he’d settle for a bit of luck.

  Borg bent towards him, the fish bones in his fist sticking up like the quills of some tiny animal. Iggy’s heart thumped as he reached out to pick.

  Eeny meeny miny . . .

  ‘Get on with it!’ snapped Borg.

  Iggy chose. He let out a long breath as he saw the bone was long and thin. Borg moved on to Umily and the elders before coming to Hammerhead. No one noticed his hands come together for a moment like a magician’s. The Chief hesitated. One bone, bearing an almost invisible mark, was poking up from the rest of the bunch in Borg’s fist, making it look longer than the rest. Hammerhead grasped it.

  Iggy heard the gasp from those close enough to see. The Chief was staring in horror at the bone in his hand, which was jagged and shorter than a toothpick.

  ‘The Dark Bone,’ breathed Borg. ‘Oh, what a pity!’

  The blood had drained from Hammerhead’s face. ‘No! Wait . . .’ he mumbled. ‘For the love of Urk!’

  ‘There’s some mistake,’ said Iggy’s dad, rising to his feet.

  Borg shook his head. ‘No mistake. The Spirits have chosen. See for yourself.’

  He took the bone from Hammerhead’s trembling hand and held it up so the whole tribe could see.

  ‘Ahhhhhh!’ cried the Urks, craning their necks to get a better look.

  ‘Wait!’ called a loud voice. Heads turned to see who had spoken. Umily had left her place in the circle.

  ‘That’s not the Dark Bone,’ she said. ‘This is.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ snapped Borg. He took the bone from Umily and compared it with the one drawn by the Chief. There was no question that Umily’s bone was shorter.

  ‘But . . . But that’s not possible,’ stammered Borg.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Umily angrily. ‘Why shouldn’t the Spirits choose me – a Chief’s daughter? Who says I’m not worthy?’

  No one answered. When it came to choosing a sacrifice, the Urks felt Umily was just as worthy as any of them. The only person who disagreed was Hammmerhead, who felt it was a terrible waste of a good daughter.

  ‘No!’ he sobbed. ‘Not Umily! Take one of the elders – they’ll be dead soon anyway!’

  It was no use. Much as he begged and pleaded, there was nothing he could do. Umily had drawn the Dark Bone and tomorrow night she would be sacrificed to save the tribe.

  .

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Iggy as they climbed the hill to their caves.

  ‘No,’ agreed Hubba. ‘Don’t seem right.’

  ‘I mean, why Umily? She’s . . . she’s . . .’

  ‘A girl,’ said Hubba.

  ‘Yes! You can’t sacrifice her to a blood-sucking monster. It’s not right!’

  Hubba shook his head. ‘I know. Specially as she cheated.’

  Iggy stopped in his tracks. ‘What?’

  ‘She cheated. I were sitting right near her. She snapped her bone in half.’

  ‘You’re kidding? Why didn’t you say something before?’

  Hubba shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not much I could say. Everyone were yammering at once. Anyway, she knows what she’s doing.’

  Iggy stared. ‘No, she doesn’t! Don’t you see? She did it to save her father! Oh, Umily!’

  ‘Yes.’ Hubba sighed. ‘Umily, dumily . . . died for her fumily.’

  ‘HUBBA!’ shouted Iggy.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening? They’re going to sacrifice her! She’ll be eaten alive!’

  ‘Well, yes. But not if someone were to save her, like.’

  ‘Who’s going to do that?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘ME?’ cried Iggy.

  ‘Yes. You like her, don’t you?’

  Iggy went bright pink. His mouth opened and closed.

  ‘It’s simple,’ Hubba went on. ‘All you’ve got to do is kill the slimosaur. I reckon she’ll be pretty grateful.’

  x

  Chapter 7

  We All Have to Make Sacrifices

  The next morning was the day of the sacrifice and Iggy got up early to go in search of Umily. He eventually found her sitting all alone by the river. She looked paler than usual, as if she hadn’t slept much the previous night.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking up, ‘it’s you.’

  Iggy sat down beside her on the bank and for a while they watched the river go by in silence.

  ‘How’s the flying coming on?’ she as
ked.

  ‘I’m still working on it,’ said Iggy. ‘I’ve given up on dandelions.’

  ‘Pity.’

  The river went by some more.

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ said Iggy at last.

  Umily sighed and tore up a handful of grass. ‘Someone has to. And I were chosen.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. You weren’t, were you?’

  Umily looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know what you did. You cheated.’

  ‘Why on Urk would I do that?’

  ‘Hubba saw you. He told me.’

  Umily stared at the ground and tore up another handful of grass. At this rate there wouldn’t be any grass left.

  ‘So what you going to do? Tell on me?’ she said.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Iggy. ‘But if you go through with this, you’ll get yourself killed.’

  Umily winced. ‘What else could I do?’ she said. ‘They were going to send my dad.’

  ‘But he’s the Chief!’ said Iggy. ‘He’s a great warrior, a legend. Surely he can look after himself?’

  ‘Dad?’ Umily laughed bitterly. ‘You don’t know him. He’d be terrified.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ asked Iggy.

  Umily didn’t answer. She went back to destroying the grass.

  ‘You seen it, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘When you and your dad went hunting.’

  Iggy looked uncomfortable. He hadn’t told anyone about the night he and Hubba had been to the forest. It was probably better to keep it a secret.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘We only saw its tracks.’

  ‘What were they like?’

  ‘Big,’ said Iggy.

  ‘Oh,’ said Umily quietly.

  ‘I don’t think it swallows you straight away,’ said Iggy. ‘First it sort of slobbers over you – covers you in a disgusting dribble, all slimy and sticky so you’re half blind. That’s probably the worst part . . .’

  ‘Thanks, I get the idea.’ Umily had turned even paler than before.

  Iggy fumbled inside his furs. ‘I nearly forgot, I brought you something.’