‘I said “clever”,’ sighed Borg.
‘Two boulders? One for Hammerhead.’
Borg rolled his eyes. ‘If we kill ’em both at once it’ll look too obvious. People will start asking questions. Unless . . .’ Borg stopped pacing the cave. An evil light entered his eyes.
‘Unless what?’ said Snark.
‘We get someone else to do it.’
Snark looked puzzled. ‘Who?’
‘Remember that tribe,’ said Borg, ‘the one that attacked us last winter?’
Snark turned pale. ‘You mean Nonecks? But they’re savages.’
‘Exactly,’ nodded Borg. ‘That’s why we’re going to pay them a visit.’
Chapter 3
Floaters and Sinkers
The next morning Iggy went in search of Hubba. Usually he turned up at Iggy’s cave the moment he saw the smoke from a fire, but today Iggy found him down the hill, sorting through his rock collection. Hubba collected rocks for the simple reason that they were easy to find – the hillside was littered with them. Feathers or shells might have been more interesting but they were a lot more effort. Iggy hadn’t had much chance to speak to his friend since the Naming Ceremony and there was something he wanted to show him.
‘Hey, Hubba – come to the river,’ he said.
Hubba didn’t look up. ‘Can’t. I’m busy.’
‘It’s a surprise. Come and see!’
Normally Hubba couldn’t resist a surprise but this time he gave a weary shrug. ‘Thought you’d be busy,’ he said.
‘Busy?’
‘You being High Chief an’ all. I expect you got big important stuff to do.’
Iggy stared at him. ‘What are you on about? It’s me – Iggy!’
‘I can see that. I aren’t stupid,’ said Hubba sulkily.
‘And I’m not Chief yet – Hammerhead could go on for years,’ Iggy pointed out. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t my idea. I didn’t ask to be chosen.’
Hubba went on sorting rocks into different colours: grey, light grey, dark grey . . .
‘Still, it’s different now, isn’t it?’ he mumbled.
‘Why?’
‘Like I said, you got meetings with elders and that. You don’t want to waste time messin’ around with me.’
Iggy crouched down beside him. ‘Of course I do, you noggerhead! You’re my best friend.’
Hubba squinted at him. ‘Who you calling noggerhead?’
‘You, noggerhead!’ Iggy pushed him over. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the river!’
They chased down the hill. Iggy arrived first, though Hubba claimed that he had a head start.
‘So where is it?’ asked Hubba, panting for breath. ‘The big surprise?’
‘Wait there – I’ll show you,’ said Iggy. He went haring off along the bank and disappeared through the trees. For a while Hubba heard nothing, then there was a loud splash as something hit the water. A moment later Iggy came into view, up to his waist in the river and pulling a strange-looking thing behind him. It was made out of woven twigs and bobbed along like a giant bird’s nest.
Hubba knitted his brows. ‘What is it?’
‘A boater. What do you think?’
‘Yeah – deadly,’ said Hubba uncertainly.
‘It’s made of twigs, leaves and mud. You know why?’
‘You run out of rocks?’ said Hubba.
‘No. They’re all things that float – apart from mud, of course, but that’s holding it together.’
‘So how’s it catch ’em exactly?’ asked Hubba.
‘What?’
‘The fishes.’
‘It’s not for fishing. It’s a boater,’ said Iggy. ‘You sit inside here and it carries you along the river.’
‘Ah. Right. Why?’
‘Because that’s the idea – you float.’
Hubba doubted this, but he didn’t want to sound critical. Most of Iggy’s ideas sounded crackpot at first – and one or two of them even worked.
‘Show us then,’ he said.
‘All right,’ said Iggy. ‘Come on – we’ll go for a trip.’
Hubba gaped at him. ‘What? In that?’
‘It’s quite safe. See, it floats!’
Hubba sighed heavily. He knew he was going to regret this.
Getting into the boater proved harder than Iggy expected. It spun round, wobbling and bobbing away as if it was playing a game with them. Eventually Iggy managed to climb on board, but when Hubba tried to join him the boater tipped up alarmingly and water sloshed inside. There wasn’t a lot of room to get comfortable, but at last they got their legs untangled and were ready to set off.
‘Now what?’ asked Hubba, clinging to the sides.
‘Nothing. We sit back and the current takes us.’
Hubba looked blank.
‘The current,’ said Iggy. ‘The river sort of wibbles in one direction – haven’t you noticed?’
Hubba couldn’t say he had. You could paddle in water, or even swim in it if you really had to, but it wasn’t meant for bobbing and wibbling. His feet were cold already, not to mention his bottom. He shifted in his seat.
‘Iggy, it’s wet in here.’
‘Stop worrying. Enjoy it!’ said Iggy. ‘Look, we’re coming to Giant’s Rock!’
Hubba looked towards the bank, wishing that he had never left it. Despite spinning in circles they had drifted some way downstream where the river was deeper and the current stronger.
‘I’m wet!’ he grumbled. ‘My bottom’s leaking!’
‘Stop moaning!’ said Iggy, who was trying, without much success, to steer.
Hubba stood up suddenly, rocking them dangerously. ‘We’re sinking!’ he yelped.
‘Sit down. You’ll tip us over!’
‘But we are! Look!’
Iggy looked down at his feet. He was shocked to see how much dirty water had got into the boater. It sloshed around his ankles. It seemed to be trickling in through the tiny gaps between the woven twigs where the mud was – or used to be.
‘Quick,’ he cried. ‘Get it out!’ He knelt down, scooping up water in an attempt to bail it out. Hubba tried to help, but that made the boater rock more wildly. As fast as they threw water out, more seeped back in to take its place. They were sinking lower.
‘Do something, Iggy!’ wailed Hubba.
‘What?’
Hubba suddenly had an idea. The water was coming in so it followed they had to let it out – and quickly. There was one easy way to do that. Hubba raised his foot.
‘NO!’ cried Iggy. But he was too late, Hubba brought his heel down hard in the bottom of the boat.
A gaping hole appeared, and water immediately rushed in instead of going out as Hubba had expected. The boater went down with a final gloop and glug, taking its crew with it.
For a few seconds Iggy tried to hang on, but it was no use. The two of them thrashed around in the river, struggling towards the bank with ungainly strokes. Neither of them were strong swimmers, but luckily they didn’t have far to go before their feet touched squelchy mud.
Iggy stood up, coughing and dripping. It was a few moments before he noticed someone perched on a rock, grinning at him. It was Umily. Perfect, thought Iggy – she must have seen the whole disaster from start to finish.
‘How’s the water?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, very funny,’ replied Iggy, squelching on to the bank.
‘So what was you trying to do? I’m just interested.’
Iggy sighed, not in the mood for long explanations. ‘It’s a boater,’ he said. ‘It floats.’
Umily raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah. That’s why you’re so wet.’
‘It’s not perfect yet. Next time it’ll be better,’ said Iggy.
‘Why not? We’re not giving up now, are we, Hubba?’
Hubba gave him a withering look. If he wanted to drown himself in the river, next time he could do it by himself.
Iggy looked back at the spot where the boater had gone down. A few twigs and leaves were floating away. Still, great inventions don’t happen overnight, he reasoned. All the boater needed was a few adjustments – not so many holes, for one thing. Next time he would try using logs, rather than twigs. Four or five logs bound together might work. And no mud – mud was a mistake.
Umily had hung back to wait for him. ‘Coming?’ she said. ‘You’ll get cold standing there.’
They walked along the bank and began to climb uphill towards the caves. Suddenly they were shaken by a deafening noise like the sky cracking in two. At first Iggy thought it must be thunder or a woolly mammoth jumping out of a tree, but then he saw Umily staring in the direction of the mountains. High above the valley, Old Grumbly was spewing black clouds into the sky.
‘Great Urk!’ gasped Hubba. ‘What’s that?’
Iggy shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but I think we better get back.’
They raced up the hill. The rest of the Urks had felt the ground shake too and had come running out of their caves to see what was happening. They stood gazing up at the distant mountains in fear. The sky was full of birds and winged lizards screeching as they swooped by. Iggy found his mum and dad outside their cave, looking pale and worried.
‘What is it, Dad?’ he asked.
‘Old Grumbly,’ replied Dad. ‘Her’s never done this before.’
‘Will we be all right?’
‘’Course we will,’ said Mum, putting a big arm round him. ‘Your uncle will know what to do.’
They looked around, searching for Chief Hammerhead, but he was nowhere to be seen. At the first thundering rumble, he had fled into his cave and hadn’t come out.
Chapter 4
Looking for Nonecks
Meanwhile, many miles to the north, two weary figures were trudging through a dismal landscape of fog and bog. The fog made it impossible to see where they were going and the bogs made every step dangerous. It was all too easy to blunder into one and find yourself sinking up to your neck in oozing brown mud.
Snark couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live in this bog-ridden wilderness. There were no hills, no rivers or forests, and no caves to shelter from the clammy cold. The fog played tricks on his imagination. Just now, for instance, he’d imagined that he’d seen someone, but when he looked again there was nothing there. He leaned on his spear to rest. They’d been travelling for three days and all they’d found was this miserable swamp that gave him the collywobbles. All around were eerie sucking sounds, mud flupping and flopping as if it were alive.
‘What are we doing here?’ he sighed. ‘Can’t us go back now?’
‘I told you, not till we find ’em,’ snapped Borg.
‘They can’t live here, Dad. No one does.’
Borg peered into the swirling mist. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘maybe not. Maybe them are watching us right now.’
The hairs prickled on the back of Snark’s neck. He would have turned and run if he hadn’t been terrified of falling into a bog. He’d never actually seen a Noneck, except in his nightmares, but he knew that they were cruel, savage creatures, tall as giants and ten times as ugly. For a brief moment the fog cleared and he caught his breath.
‘Dad,’ he said in a trembling voice, ‘there’s something there.’
‘Where?’
‘There!’ He pointed ahead. Borg grasped his spear tightly, peering into the fog. He could see nothing but more fog.
‘You’re imagining things,’ he muttered.
‘I’m not! It were there. Let’s go back, please!’
Borg shivered with the cold. He was beginning to wonder if coming to the Farlands was such a good idea after all. What if the Nonecks didn’t like the sound of his plan or murdered them before he even had a chance to explain it? Still, it was a bit late to think of turning back now. He called out.
‘Hello? Anyone there?’
Silence. Suddenly something hummed through the air, narrowly missing his ear. It was a spear with a jagged point. Borg decided it was never too late to admit you might have made a mistake.
‘Run!’ he cried. ‘RUN, you fool!’
They turned and ran. Harsh shouts rang out, coming from all sides. Another spear went zipping overhead. They tore blindly through the fog, splashing through marshy puddles and slipping in the mud. Borg ducked his head trying to make himself a smaller target. He overtook Snark and leapt a big clump of reeds. Too late he saw what lay on the other side.
THLUUUUUUPPP!
He sank up to his knees in the bog. A moment later Snark landed beside him.
‘AARGH! IT’S A BOG!’ wailed Snark needlessly.
‘I know. Get off me!’
‘But Dad, I’m sinking!’
‘So am I, you big lump, and you’re making it worse!’
Borg looked around. Tall figures loomed out of the fog like ghosts. They stood at the edge of the bog, leaning on their spears and sticks, watching. Borg took in their flat ugly faces, stooped shoulders and impressively hairy chests. Nonecks. The one with a string of dirty yellow bones round his neck spoke or grunted something.
‘Urgs!’
Borg twisted his head round. ‘Please help us! We’re sinking!’
Krakkk, Chief of the Noneck tribe, nodded, showing his jagged teeth.
‘Yes, you stinking. HA HA HA!’
The rest of his tribe joined in the laughter as if this was the best joke they’d heard in ages – which it probably was. (Nonecks are not famous for their sense of humour.)
‘Listen!’ pleaded Borg desperately. ‘I am Borg. This is my son. We just want to talk!’
Krakkk squatted down beside the bog. ‘Talk, Urg,’ he said.
‘But first pull us out – or we’ll die!’
The bog was swallowing them bit by bit. The thick brown sludge was up to Borg’s chest and every second it sucked him in deeper. Snark grabbed him round the neck.
‘DAD! HEEELP!’
‘Not now, boy,’ snapped Borg. ‘Listen,’ he begged Krakkk. ‘I can help you. I can give you Hammerhead!’
‘Hoggerhead? I never hear of him.’
‘Hammerhead, Chief of the Urks. You remember? He beat you.’
Krakkk’s face darkened. Last winter his tribe had captured a small boy called Iggy and forced him to lead them to the Valley of Urk. But Iggy had escaped and warned his tribe. The Urks had driven the Noneck invaders back, inflicting a humiliating defeat on them. Ever since that day Krakkk had sworn by all the gods he would be avenged.
‘Krakkk great warrior,’ he said. ‘Kill many Urg.’
‘Yes, I know,’ nodded Borg. ‘But I can help you beat Hammerhead for good.’
Krakkk frowned. ‘Why you help? You Urg.’
‘Because we want the same thing!’ panted Borg. ‘I want Hammerhead dead. Iggy too.’
‘Iggy?’ Krakkk’s eyes flickered with sudden interest.
‘Yes. He’s the next Chief.’
The mud was up to Borg’s neck. Snark was making strange noises like someone gargling porridge.
Krakkk stood up suddenly and barked an order to his men. They went running off and came back with a long branch. It slapped on to the bog close to Borg’s head. He seized hold of it for dear life and grabbed Snark by the hair with his other hand. The Nonecks heaved and grunted, pulling them out of the slime. They emerged with a horrible sound like a snail being sucked from its shell.
SHLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!
The two Urks lay on the bank, limp and panting, plastered with stin
king brown mud. Borg would have happily stayed there a bit longer, but rough hands dragged him in front of the Noneck Chief. Krakkk pressed an axe-blade to his throat by way of greeting.
‘Speak, Urg,’ he said. ‘Tell me this plan. Maybe I don’t keel you.’
Borg gulped. He began to talk fast, explaining the bargain he was offering. When he had finished Krakkk removed the axe from his throat and ran his finger over the blade thoughtfully.
‘You help Krakkk – against tribe of Urg?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Borg. ‘Hammerhead and Iggy are yours. Do what you want with them.’
Krakkk considered this. ‘And you, Urg, what you get?’
‘I become Chief – High Chief of the Urks,’ said Borg, wiping mud from his eyes. ‘You take any furs or flints you want, then you go.’
‘Go?’
‘Yes, go home – back where you came from,’ said Borg.
Krakkk narrowed his eyes. For a moment Borg thought he might throw them back in the bog. But he drew back his lips, showing his horrible teeth.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Krakkk do this.’
Borg heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Then we has a bargain,’ he said.
‘Bargin,’ nodded Krakkk. ‘Now we swear oath – in blood.’
‘Ah,’ said Borg, swallowing hard. He was hoping they could just shake hands.
Chapter 5
Wise Words
Back in the valley, the Urks had plenty of problems of their own. For two days and nights Old Grumbly had continued to boom and rumble, filling the sky with curtains of black smoke. Much of the time it was hard to tell if it was day or night. Bits of ash fell like snowflakes, getting in people’s eyes and turning their hair to grey. The Urks were used to rain, hail and blizzards, but this was much worse. Many of them hid in their caves, covering their ears to shut out the noises echoing through the valley. Sometimes Old Grumbly was silent, but that was almost worse. Then everyone was on edge, wondering when the next explosion would come and if it would crack the sky open like an egg. The wailing women went from cave to cave moaning that they were all going to die.
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