You Die When You Die

by Angus Watson

  “Well, no.”

  “So who’s the dumb one?”

  Loakie’s tits, thought Finnbogi.

  They saw more animals and birds that day than Finnbogi usually saw in a month, but, after his depressing lecture from Aunt Gunnhild, he didn’t pay them much attention. He didn’t see Thyri all day, apart from in his mind every moment of every hour. When he wasn’t imagining their new home at The Meadows, he was picturing himself besting Garth in an epic battle while Thyri watched.

  By the time they stopped to camp, Finnbogi’s Thyri-related fantasies had turned sour. He was imagining waking up and finding that she and Garth had run off together, or that they reached The Meadows and Garth and Thyri were king and queen and he had to be their servant. He cursed Gunnhild for putting such ridiculous ideas into his mind.

  But all was well. Thyri came bounding up as soon as she arrived in camp and insisted that she and Finnbogi began their weapons practice immediately.

  The training was an absolute bastard, especially after all the walking, and she made their exercises even harder, but he loved every moment. Being with her made his heart sing with joy, plus she didn’t hit him this time.

  When sleeping sack time came, he pressed against her and curled his arm around her before she asked him to. She said “Mmmm,” and, if anything, went to sleep even more quickly than she had the night before.

  Chapter 7

  Disarmament

  Sofi Tornado heard Yoki Choppa padding down to the stream, paused her washing and waited.

  “You know about Malilla?” he asked.

  “That she’s planning to kill me?”

  “With the help of Morningstar and Caliska.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. During Morningstar and Malilla’s watch.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Shall I—?”

  “No need. But thanks.”

  Yoki Choppa nodded and turned back up the hill.

  Malilla Leaper crept silently into the clearing where the women of the Owsla were sleeping, Morningstar at her side. She had her kill staff at the ready. Morningstar held her double-headed punch-club and had a shield strapped to her back.

  Noises always seemed louder at night, but they were even more amplified when your blood was hammering in your veins, the spirits of your ancestors were powering your limbs (Malilla liked to imagine that her distant ancestors had been nobler people than her shitty parents) and you had murder planned. The clamour of woodland insects was as loud as the baying crowd in the Plaza of Innowak, yet she could hear the soft snores of the women as if they were shouting in her ear. Loudest of all came from Chogolisa Earthquake, her silhouette on the far side of the sleeping group more like a recumbent humped bear’s than a woman’s. Quietest was Luby Zephyr’s, sleeping next to Sofi Tornado. Malilla hoped to avoid killing any other women, but if Luby or any of the others got in the way, they would die, too.

  A shape rose on the far side of the camp and waved an axe; Caliska Coyote, as planned. Malilla Leaper herself would slay Sofi, Morningstar would be on hand as backup and to keep others at bay. Caliska was wide cover, watching over the whole camp with her throwing axes at the ready.

  Malilla and Morningstar stole towards Sofi.

  The captain’s chest was rising and falling, so peaceful. Soon she would find a deeper peace.

  Malilla raised the kill staff and struck.

  Sofi rolled and tucked. Malilla’s staff cracked onto rock and jolted her arm, shocking her enough that she didn’t see Sofi’s kick coming. It struck her in the midriff and blasted her backwards.

  She drove a heel into the earth to regain her footing. Morningstar jogged in, punch-club swinging, but the captain twisted away and felled her attacker with a backhanded blow from the blunt edge of her stone axe.

  Caliska Coyote dived and threw an axe at Sofi, who caught it and said: “Stay where you are and I may let you live. Move and die.”

  Caliska did as she was told.

  Luby Zephyr ran at Malilla, but Malilla met her with an underarm blow to the head and the woman crumpled. Then she hesitated. There was little point in attacking further, now that Tornado had the initiative. But there was no point stopping, since she’d be executed and eaten for her treachery, especially now that she’d felled Luby Zephyr. It was almost a relief when she felt Chogolisa Earthquake’s unmistakably large hands grip her upper arms and the chance for making a decision was gone.

  The other women were awake, weapons in hands.

  The leader glanced at the prone woman, said, “Sadzi, tend to Luby,” and strode over to Malilla. “Hold her arms out.”

  Chogolisa Earthquake did as she was bid. Malilla Leaper tried to pull free but had no hope. The giant’s hands slipped from her biceps to her wrists, holding her arms wide, no give in the granite grip.

  Sofi Tornado held her stone axe aloft.

  “Don’t you want to know why?” Malilla had a tale ready, a plot involving the empress, that just might buy her life or at least enough time to escape.

  “I know why.” A flash, and the axe was buried in Malilla’s shoulder. Sofi wrenched it free and smashed it into the other shoulder. Stone cleaved flesh and crushed bone. Malilla felt surprise, but no pain.

  “Pull her arms off,” said Sofi.

  Chogolisa wrenched. Malilla felt muscles pull and pop, sinews strain and snap, flesh stretch and tear as the giant ripped her arms from their sockets.

  Her right arm came free with a sucking smack. Her vivisector flung her arm away, high into the trees. Malilla almost fell from the force still pulling her left arm, but Chogolisa gripped her by the back of the neck and wrenched her left arm free, too, hurling this one into the trees on the other side of the camp.

  Still Malilla felt no pain. She saw the whole scene as if she were a bird watching from a branch. Perhaps she was a bird on a branch? Perhaps she was already dead and her soul had occupied the bird’s body?

  She stood, armless. Everyone was watching. She felt light-headed and lighter all over. She took a step. The longest journey begins with one step. She took another. How far was it to Calnia? If she carried on like this and didn’t trip, then surely she’d make it home? She was a good deal lighter without her arms. That would help.

  Malilla Leaper walked five steps then fell, to leap no more.

  Chapter 8

  Rimilla and Potsi

  “Birch bark is best,” explained Keef the Berserker, although Sassa Lipchewer didn’t know why. All she’d done was remark on how light Keef’s boat must be for Chnob to carry it with such ease, but Keef seemed to have thought she’d said: “Please tell me everything about your boat and the construction of boats in general. Don’t skip anything. If I look bored at any point, consider that a sign that I couldn’t be more fascinated and would love you to go back over what you’ve already said in even more excruciating detail.”

  “If you can’t get birch, you can use elm, spruce or animal hides for the hull,” Keef continued, “but birch wins because it’s awesome.”

  “How is it awesome?” Sassa heard herself asking. She and Wulf had made love again that morning and she was certain she was pregnant this time, so she was happy enough to humour Keef.

  “How is birch not awesome? It doesn’t stretch or shrink. It’s a regular grain without knots. It peels off the tree in good wide strips. See?” He nipped forward to where Chnob was carrying the canoe and tapped it.

  “I do see. Is it all made of birch?”

  “All birch? Are you mad?”

  “I must be.”

  “Oaden spare me from simple women! You need cedar for the frame, because it splits easily and it’s light. You want maple for the paddles and the cross pieces because … here, I’ll show you. Chnob, put the boat down a minute.”

  Chnob the White did as he was told, and Sassa saw that his gigantic beard, the one he seemed so proud of, had lost some of its length.

  “What happened to your beard, Chnob?” asked Keef.

  “What do
you think happened? I got too hot carrying your stupid boat so I cut some off.”

  Keef raised an eyebrow. “You look a bit more normal now. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Ha ha ha.”

  “So, Sassa, compare the colour and grain of the frame to the struts and you’ll see—”

  Sassa stopped listening and wondered what she and Wulf would call their child. Maybe Vifil, after her brother, if it was a boy and Wulf agreed. Not Chnob or Keef, that was for sure.

  Towards the middle of the day they caught up with the advance guard, who had stopped because they’d met some people.

  It was a Scrayling woman around Sassa’s age and a boy who was perhaps two years old. The woman looked nervous, as well she might with Wulf, Bjarni and Garth hulking over her. She was dressed both normally and weirdly; normally, in that she was wearing the sort of Scrayling dress that a Goachica woman might have worn, simple but prettily decorated with porcupine quill flowers and gathered at the waist by a leather belt; and weirdly, in that she had ears made of rabbit fur poking up from her head and six buffalo leather strips with the fur left on hanging from her belt. The little boy was wearing a leather smock and rabbit ears.

  “Rimilla and Potsi, this is my wife Sassa Lipchewer,” said Wulf. Sassa nodded hello.

  The woman smiled timidly and the boy looked up with huge eyes. “Sappa Lip-La,” he said.

  “Close enough.” She winked. He giggled and hid behind his hands.

  “And Sassa Lipchewer, this is Rimilla and her son Potsi.”

  “Hello, Rimilla and Potsi,” said Sassa.

  “Rimilla was just saying that she’s from the Lakchan tribe,” said Wulf. “Their main village is about five miles that way.” Wulf pointed south. “And her rabbit ears and spider legs—the furry strips are the legs—represent Rabbit Girl and Spider Mother, two of the Lakchans’ gods.”

  “They’re not really gods,” said Rimilla. Her accent was similar to a Goachica woman’s. “But in a way they are. It’s simplest for visitors to think of them as gods. The important point is that they represent people’s dual character.”

  “Good and evil?” asked Sassa, looking from Wulf to Garth.

  “Sort of, but it’s not that simple. Potsi here has rabbit ears and no spider’s legs. It doesn’t mean he’s all good, he can be mischievous and wilful, but his misdeeds are innocent. So he can do things that might be considered evil, but he hasn’t yet developed Spider Mother’s premeditated wickedness and self-serving spitefulness. When he does we’ll put some spider legs on him and give him a new name. It’s a day that every Lakchan parent dreads.”

  “Vices and virtues mingle in the breasts of mortal men; no one is so good that no failing attends him, nor so bad as to be good for nothing,” chipped in Gunnhild Kristlover.

  “Indeed,” said Rimilla.

  “Babbit Girl,” said Potsi, pointing inaccurately at his decorative ears.

  The woman still seemed scared, not helped greatly by Gurd Girlchaser and Fisk the Fish arriving and joining Garth to form a “looming over and staring menacingly at the little woman and her toddler” gang.

  “Why don’t you join us for lunch?” asked Sassa, trying to make it sound like an invitation and not a threat. “You can tell us all about the Lakchans. We’re from Hardwork.”

  “I know who you are,” said the woman.

  “What do you mean by that?” Garth took a step towards her.

  The Lakchan woman stood her ground, pulled Potsi to her hip and looked up at the Hardworker. He was around twice her height. “We trade with the Goachica. They tell us things. It was fairly big news when aliens arrived a hundred years ago and we keep an eye on you. What’s interesting is that you don’t seem to know about us, even though our territory borders yours. Not a particularly inquisitive bunch, are we?”

  “We haven’t been,” said Sassa, steering the woman away from the Garth gang. “But we’re changing. So why don’t you tell me all about the Lakchans while Wulf and I get lunch ready?”

  They ate well and Sassa learnt about the Lakchans. Rimilla was about the most intelligent, level-headed woman that Sassa had met, and she seemed to have a real sense of fun. There was one odd thing, though. Sassa didn’t tell her about the massacre at Hardwork or any reason for them leaving home, and Rimilla didn’t ask what they were doing in Lakchan territory. Sassa guessed that she was being polite.

  As they were finishing up, Rimilla asked:

  “Why are you called Wulf the Fat? You are not fat.”

  “I have a fat cock,” Wulf said, straight-faced.

  Rimilla looked at him in shock for a moment, then laughed melodiously.

  “It’s because he was a fat child,” said Sassa.

  “With a fat cock,” Wulf winked.

  “But he’s got a lot slimmer since. All over.”

  Rimilla laughed so much at that Sassa thought she was going to choke.

  Sassa left the Lakchan woman talking to Wulf and joined Freydis and Ottar playing with Potsi. The boy liked rudimentary hiding games best, it seemed. Sassa joined in, self-consciously at first because Gurd, Fisk and Garth were looking on disapprovingly, but soon all four of them were running around a tree and laughing, followed by the two yipping racoon cubs.

  Wulf came over, dragging a reluctant Finnbogi with him. They had races on all fours, each adult with a child on their back, racoons running alongside. By the way they laughed and screamed happily, the children seemed to think this was the most marvellous thing that had ever happened. The normally sour-faced Finnbogi laughed more that afternoon than Sassa had seen him laugh in all his life, although the laughter became a little more measured and manly when Thyri joined in.

  Some of the Hardworkers looked on with smiles. Garth and his cronies kept up the scowling. Screw them, thought Sassa. Only the dimmest and dullest adults can’t let themselves behave like children every now and then.

  When the time came to part, Potsi wailed as if someone was tearing his arms off. Ottar was snivelling and even brave little Freydis was red-eyed.

  Sassa turned to wave one last time, and Rimilla shouted: “Wait, wait!” The little woman hauled Potsi onto her hip and jogged towards them.

  Sassa walked back to her, along with Wulf and Garth.

  Rimilla flicked a nervous look at Garth, seemed to resolve something and said: “The Calnians have ordered your deaths.”

  “We know that,” said Garth. “They’ve already killed most of us.”

  “Yes, but you survivors are in terrible danger. The Calnians have commanded all tribes to kill any Mushroom Men on sight or face death themselves.”

  Sassa felt her stomach sink.

  “Mushroom Men?” said Wulf.

  “That’s what the Calnians call you.”

  Garth stepped towards her. “So you’ll go back and tell your tribe where you saw us and which direction we’re headed in?”

  “No! On Potsi’s life I won’t tell a soul. You must travel carefully. In a perfect world you’d stay off the paths, but the woods are impenetrable to all but those who know them best, so stay on the path but use scouts. If you see someone, make sure they don’t see you. But if you head north-west from this clearing, you shouldn’t meet anybody.”

  “Until the next tribe.” Garth’s hands, Sassa noticed, were on his axes again. She looked to Wulf. He’d noticed, too.

  “Well, yes. But now you are warned and can be more wary. Hopefully that will be some protection.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” asked Wulf.

  “Because I was afraid you’d kill me to stop me telling the tribe about you.”

  “And you were right!” Garth swung an axe at Rimilla. Wulf’s hammer shot up, knocking Garth’s weapon aside. Rimilla fell back, clutching her son. Sassa stood away, took her bow from her back, bent it on the ground to string it, then slotted an arrow, all in a moment. She’d practised the move the night before and was pleased that she didn’t muck it up under pressure.

  Garth and Wulf squared
up. Garth had an axe in each hand. Wulf’s weighty, ancient hammer Thunderbolt was dull in the midday sun, as if it was too serious an item to do something so superficial as reflect light.

  Garth spoke first. “This is what we were talking about. A difficult decision for a leader. Difficult morally, anyway. Intellectually, it’s easy. She has to die, Wulf, for our safety.”

  “She has given her word and I trust her.”

  “You are weak.”

  “Come at me. Find my weakness.”

  Garth shook his head, spun around and strode off up the hill, axes still in his hands.

  “Go now,” Wulf said to Rimilla, his eyes on Garth, “and go quickly.”

  Rimilla gathered up Potsi and ran for the trees. Sassa and Wulf followed Garth Anvilchin up the hill.

  “What are you going to do about Garth?” asked Sassa.

  “We’ll see,” said Wulf.

  Up ahead, Garth caught up with Fisk the Fish and Gurd Girlchaser. All three men looked back at Wulf, then at the fleeing woman.

  Wulf halted the march and told everyone what they’d learnt from Rimilla.

  “Can we trust her?” asked Gurd Girlchaser, eyes bright blue in his doughy face. “She’s clearly as thick as day-old gravy, and so is the rest of her tribe.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Wulf.

  “She said those six leather strips were meant to represent spider’s legs.”

  “Yes?”

  “Spiders have eight legs.”

  “And how many do people have?” asked Wulf.

  “… Two.”

  “And two plus six is?”

  “It’s … oh.”

  “So the point is,” Wulf continued, “look out for Scraylings and don’t let them see you.”

  “And if you do see a Scrayling, man, woman or child,” said Garth, “kill them.”

  “No, do not,” said Wulf. “Use your judgement. If a Scrayling sees you and immediately flees, then, yes, stop them. But much better for us all to tread carefully and stay hidden. There will be no more talking as we walk. At night we will use small, sheltered cooking fires and no large campfire.”