You Die When You Die

by Angus Watson

  “That’s an interesting idea,” said Wulf.

  “It’s our best chance. Without the old woman and the children we could go at three times the pace.”

  “Has Thyri agreed to it?” asked Sassa.

  Garth glowered. “She’ll change her mind if you two come.”

  “And Finnbogi and Bodil?”

  “She’s an idiot and he’s a weak idiot. They’re both dead weight. We stay with them, we die. On our own, we’ve got a chance.”

  “Do you remember,” said Wulf, “that game we used to play in Olaf’s Fresh Sea, when we’d throw a stone to each other, getting further and further apart?”

  “I do …”

  “We could have made that a lot easier by sitting on a log and handing the stone to each other. But then we wouldn’t have been playing the game. It’s the same deal here, Garth. We’re getting everyone to The Meadows, that’s the game. Take the ‘everyone’ away from that and the game’s ruined.”

  “We’ve lost that game. If we’d made it Hird only, and you, Sassa, from the start, then Ogmund would be alive, Gurd would be alive—Hrolf would probably be alive—and we’d be well clear of the Owsla by now.”

  Sassa felt a twinge of guilt that she didn’t feel guilty about killing Hrolf the Painter.

  “We wouldn’t know where to go without Ottar,” said Wulf.

  “We don’t know where we’re going with him, apart from west, which we could have done on our own. We may have evaded the Owsla for now, but they’ll catch up tomorrow or the next day and we don’t need to be around when that happens.”

  “We’ll be across the Water Mother tomorrow,” said Wulf, “they won’t follow us.”

  “Won’t they? Why not? And have you thought about how we’re going to cross? The river and both banks are teeming with Scraylings.”

  “They won’t follow us because Calnians don’t cross the Water Mother.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Everyone knows Calnians don’t cross the Water Mother.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And we’re going to cross in the boat that the Scraylings who live in the town to the north of here are going to lend us.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s shit. We know the Calnians sent runners telling all the Scraylings to kill us. Our only hope is to sneak down tonight and steal a boat.”

  “We need rest and Ottar says the Owsla are nowhere near.”

  “Gunnhild and the children need rest, we don’t. And I know the boy’s been right a couple of times, but can we really risk our lives so completely on his word? He didn’t know the tornado was coming. And why do you think the Scraylings by the river will help us? The Lakchans wanted to kill us. The Big Bone tribe were an exception. The chances of another tribe defying Calnia are zero. You cannot save all these people, Wulf. Our only chance of preserving anything of Hardwork—to continue our line—is to leave now, the four of us.”

  “Maybe I can’t save all this lot, but I think we can. I need you, Garth. You’re a good fighter and a better man. Sleep on it. Tomorrow we’ll be across the Water Mother and safe from the Owsla.”

  “We will attack the Mushroom Men’s camp the moment the sun rises tomorrow and kill them all,” said Dyas Bellvoo, chief of the Water Divided tribe.

  The tribe’s territory was the shifting islands of the Water Mother and its eastern and western banks—if it could be called their territory. They paid tribute to Calnia and did what Calnia told them, so really the land was Calnia’s and they were not much more than slaves, or, as Galenar would have put it, they were slaves.

  “Why not in the night?” asked Sinsinawa, head warlock.

  Massbak was amazed that anyone would question Chief Dyas Bellvoo. It would certainly never happen in public, but it seemed that everyone had their say in these leadership moots; everyone apart from him and Galenar, of course. They’d been asked along as a reward for spotting the Mushroom Men and tracking them to their camp, but they weren’t meant to speak, as had been made emphatically clear when Galenar had tried to make the case for letting the Mushroom Men live and Sinsinawa had invited him to shut up if he valued his life.

  Initially Chief Dyas Bellvoo had wanted to help the Mushroom Men, too, but the warlock Sinsinawa and the others had been against it. Their point was that the Calnians would exterminate them all and damn their souls to oblivion if they didn’t kill a small group of strangers. It wasn’t a bad point, Massbak had to admit.

  “I don’t like this at all, killing travellers. And killing children! Two children, was it, Massenar?” said Chief Dyas Bellvoo.

  “Yes, two,” said Massbak, chuffed that the chief knew half his name.

  “Yes, a shame. Reluctantly, I do see the sense in it. But it is a bad business and we will not slay them in the night like murderers. We will kill them in the day, and give them the chance to die like warriors with the sun on their skins.” Dyas Bellvoo blinked his piercing eyes and looked at them all over his heron-bill nose.

  “But some of us might be killed,” said Sinsinawa.

  “By people called Mushroom Men? I hardly think so. If some of us are unfortunate enough to fall, it is the price we will pay to maintain our pride. Anything less, I could not live with.”

  Sinsinawa had raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Massbak wondered if he was thinking what he himself was thinking. Dyas Bellvoo wouldn’t be one of the attackers, so was being free with others’ lives to satisfy his own principles. He looked forward to Galenar’s opinion of Dyas Bellvoo’s vicarious sacrifice.

  “You said they were seven adults as well as the two children?” Chief Dyas Bellvoo asked Massbak.

  “Yes. An older woman and six of fighting age. Two of the men and two of the women looked like warriors. The others did not,” Massbak answered, trying to sound tough and wise and a good candidate for becoming a permanent member of the leadership circle. That would impress Sabula Derinda. He hadn’t told even Galenar, but he was very much in love with Sabula Derinda, even if she was with Big Keller.

  “To ensure none of ours are killed, we will send twenty-one warriors. Massenar, you will tell the warriors where to find their camp.”

  “I could lead them?”

  “No. You’ll only get in the way and get yourself, or, worse, someone else, killed.”

  Massbak looked at Galenar, who nodded and pressed his fingers to his pursed lips as if he made plans with the chief every day.

  “And will we give these Mushroom Men to the Water Mother?” asked Sinsinawa.

  Good question, thought Massbak. All the Water Divided tribe’s dead were tied to posts and lowered into the river so that fish might eat them and return their spirits to the Water Mother. Enemies of the Water Divided tribe—plus rapists, murderers, child molesters and people who took offence on behalf of others—were burnt, so that their souls wouldn’t sully the sacred waters. By Sinsinawa’s tone, he did not think the Mushroom Men deserved the watery option.

  “We will give them to the Water Mother and I will mourn them as if they were my own second cousins,” declared the chief. “We do not know these people. We are killing them to save our children. I only hope the Water Mother will forgive us.”

  “They have the skin and hair of demons. Should they really go to the Water Mother?” Sinsinawa snapped.

  Dyas Bellvoo looked down his long nose. “It is natural and enjoyable to demonise those who look and act differently from us, Sinsinawa, but also ignorant and juvenile. I am surprised that you haven’t grown out of it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cliff

  “Where’s Garth?” asked Wulf.

  “He left in the night,” Thyri replied.

  Wulf nodded as if he’d been expecting it.

  “What do you mean, left?” asked Finnbogi.

  “Get yourself ready to go, Finnbogi,” said Wulf, “and help Freydis and Ottar once you’re sorted.”

  Finnbogi nodded and went back to his kit, wide-eyed
with happy wondering. Had Garth gone gone? He hardly dared to even begin to believe it. Could Garth have buggered off for ever? Could this be the best day of his life?

  “Ottar says twenty-one people are coming to kill us,” announced Freydis. “They’ll be here very soon.”

  Perhaps not the best day.

  “Any idea which direction they’re coming from, Ottar?” asked Wulf.

  Freydis looked at her brother, then pointed to the north along the cliff line. “From that way.” Then she pointed south. “And that way.”

  “Knob in a robin,” said Sassa.

  “They’re very nearly here,” added Freydis.

  Wulf looked about. Their campsite was next to a cliff-top path that ran south to north, or north to south depending on your perspective. To the west was a promontory and a rocky certain-death drop down to the Water Mother’s flood plain, to the east was scrub-choked woodland.

  “Can you ask Ottar for an earlier warning next time?” asked Wulf.

  “He’s only just woken up.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “So we go down the cliff,” said Thyri.

  “Not an option.”

  “Into the woods?” asked Sassa.

  “That will split us up, slow us down and they’ll be able to hunt us one by one. Nope, this one’s a fighter. Thyri and Finn, cover the south path. I’ll take the north, Sassa, back there, cover both entrances to the clearing with your bow. Gunnhild, over there with Sassa. Brain anyone that comes for her. Bodil, you’re with Freydis and Ottar, behind Sassa and Gunnhild.”

  Ottar was leaping about and pointing.

  “Ottar wants to know where Hugin and Munin should go?” said Freydis.

  “Good question,” said Wulf, scratching his chin. “Ottar, send your racoons into the forest. They’re in charge of biting any Scraylings that try to escape.”

  The boy shooed his racoons away. The animals fled with unseemly haste, making no attempt to hide their relief at being excused from the fight.

  Finnbogi stood by Thyri at the edge of the clearing, where the path emerged from the woodland. It’s funny how things can change so quickly, he thought. A minute ago he’d been the happiest man in the world because Garth had gone. Now he wished that Garth was still with them. His dad, Bjarni, Keef and his dad’s bear would be pretty handy, too.

  “We stay two paces away from each other at all times,” Thyri Treelegs told him out of the corner of her mouth, sax drawn, shield in the other hand, eyes fixed on the path, “so we don’t hamper or hit each other. Try not to move from your spot too much; we can’t let any through. If you have to move to avoid dying, do. Hopefully Lipchewer will plug any that get past us.”

  “Okay.” Finnbogi was breathing hard. His sword Foe Slicer was heavy. It wasn’t his sword, of course. It was Jarl Brodir’s and it wasn’t really his either, it was Olaf the Worldfinder’s. Point was, he didn’t know how to use it. He shouldn’t have a sword. Fighting wasn’t his thing and he was going to die.

  “You’ll be fine, Finn,” said Thyri. “Remember the blocks I taught you last night. If you get a very clear opening, go for it, but other than that don’t worry too much about killing them, I can do that. Block and stay alive.”

  “Shame we didn’t get to the hitting lesson.”

  “We’ll do that next time.”

  “If there’s a next time.”

  “There will be. Relax. Tor is with us. You’ll be fine. Don’t get yourself too wound up before they get here. Try to think about something else.”

  There was only one other thing he could think about. “What’s going on with you and Garth?” he asked.

  She gave him a look that would have made Tor himself flee the field, and did, happily, make him forget the approaching enemy for a moment.

  “Here, take this.” Sassa Lipchewer handed Bodil her iron knife. Bodil looked at it as if it were a week-dead fish. “If the Scraylings get past all of us, you have to protect the children.”

  “Right-o,” said Bodil.

  Sassa wasn’t sure that she’d understood, but surely she’d work it out once they were under attack.

  It was strangely quiet at the top of the cliff. Njord the Wind God was still asleep. Sassa looked down and across the vast valley. Tendrils of smoke rose straight up from cook fires on islands, and on both sides of the river. Funny to think, she thought, that while she’d been waking and breakfasting and living her life in Hardwork, these people had been doing the same, without knowing or caring about her. After she was gone they’d carry on, as if she didn’t matter at all …

  She tried to focus on the coming fight. Wulf stood ready on one side, Thyri and Finnbogi on the other. Assuming the attacking force was evenly split, they’d have to face ten warriors on each side. Oh well, she thought, no point getting worked up about it. You die when you die.

  The first two Scraylings appeared silently at Wulf’s entrance to the clearing. One moment it was leaves and twigs, the next there were two Scraylings in warrior garb, brandishing stone hand axes. They stood clear of her husband’s hammer’s reach, hopping warily from foot to foot. They’d probably never seen such a large man, let alone one armed with a great lump of metal on a stick. Sassa took aim.

  “What do you fellows want?” asked Wulf.

  They didn’t say anything.

  “Only I don’t want to kill you if you’re here to welcome us to the area with a basket of cakes.”

  “Sorry, mate,” said the nearer one, a small man with a squashed, pointy, narrow-eyed face. “It’s not cakes.” He whipped his axe into a swift strike. Wulf parried. The Scrayling weapon’s stone head shattered on Hardworker iron. Wulf swept his hammer up and into the face of the second man, who fell.

  The first Scrayling leapt back, scrabbling for his belt knife. Wulf glanced back to Sassa and nodded, then stood out of the way. She loosed an arrow at his chest. It hit. The man looked down at the arrow, then up at Sassa. His horrified eyes reminded her of Hrolf’s, when she’d killed him. For a second she thought she might be sick, then she recovered.

  Then the rest of the twenty rushed in, on both sides. Finnbogi went down almost immediately, his legs swept away by clever club work. Thyri slashed and sliced with her sax and blocked and whacked with her shield, keeping them at bay and sending a couple staggering back, bloodied. Finnbogi scrabbled to his feet. He swung his sword at a Scrayling—a woman who looked about Gunnhild’s age—but she sidestepped the blow and jabbed Finnbogi in the chin with a bony little fist. He staggered. She raised her axe for the death blow.

  Wulf had told Sassa not to shoot into groups of fighters, but a woman shouldn’t do everything her husband tells her. Her arrow took the Scrayling in the throat.

  “Block, Finnbogi, block!” shouted Treelegs, whacking her shield into another attacker.

  On the other side of the clearing, Wulf the Fat fought like Tor himself, leaping and swinging his hammer and roaring.

  But there were too many.

  Wulf was pressed back and back by three capable warriors, all of whom were careful to keep him between themselves and Sassa’s bow.

  Finnbogi was on the ground again and now Thyri too was forced back. Soon she was next to Wulf, just a few paces from Sassa, both defending more than attacking.

  Sassa sought a target, but it was so frantic and they were so close now that she didn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting Wulf or Treelegs.

  More Scraylings poured into the clearing.

  Gunnhild ran forward with a yell, swung her club and felled one, two, three attackers before a stone axe whacked into her temple with a crunch and she went down. Finnbogi was back on his feet but dazed and nobody was paying him much attention.

  An axe sliced into Wulf’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and he staggered, harried by two Scraylings. Thyri’s legs were taken from under her and she went over. She lay on her back, lashing out with shield and sax and kicking like an upended beetle.

  They’d done well. They’d killed or disabled half of the attackers, b
ut now half a dozen stood facing Sassa, breathing hard. She was all that stood between the Scraylings and the children and Bodil. She knew they’d charge the moment she raised her bow.

  To her left, Wulf finally fell. Thyri was still on her back kicking and slashing, but there were five of them circling her now.

  Sassa Lipchewer raised her bow.

  A Scrayling charged and she loosed an arrow at no range into his chest but there were already two more coming at her.

  Behind her, Bodil screamed so loudly that it hurt Sassa’s ears. Thanks, she had time to think, that’s really helpful.

  Erik the Angry, Keef the Berserker and Bjarni Chickenhead strode north before it was light, partly because they were keen to catch up with the others, but also because they were cold. They’d left their shirts behind on the decoys then waded a good way along the Heartberry River to put off their pursuers and never quite warmed up.

  Since they’d carried on well after dark the night before, it was only now as the sun rose that they saw the vast view over the Water Mother valley.

  Bjarni voiced his amazement.

  Erik, keen that the other two should remember that he’d been there before, said: “The river’s fuller than it was last time I was here.”

  “We’d be across it in no time if we’d kept my canoe,” Keef muttered.

  With the growing light, Erik was amazed all over again at how different the other two looked without their hair. It has taken a while to persuade them that they needed to be shorn, and even longer to persuade Keef that they had to leave his boat behind. However, going by the fact that they were alive, it seemed that his plan to fool the Owsla’s forward scout with decoys had worked, so they hadn’t lost their coifs or Keef’s craft in vain.

  But they did look very different.

  Bjarni Chickenhead, shorn of his cloud of curls, had become a good-looking man, clear-eyed and strong-jawed, but he looked a lot less interesting. With his big ball of curly hair, he’d looked appealingly approachable. Now he looked like just another guy.

  The effect on Keef the Berserker was less positive. The bandage over one eye and ear didn’t help, but, before, when Erik had looked at Keef, he’d thought, “there’s a man with long blond hair and a long blond beard.” Now, he thought, “there’s a man with a head that’s way too small for his body.” Blue eyes made most of the Hardworkers look more striking to Erik, especially after twenty years spent with the dark-eyed Scraylings. However, Keef’s little blue eyes—well, little blue eye now—deep-socketed and staring out of his little round head, simply made him look all the more like a nocturnal animal forced from its den at noon.