The Ruthless

by Peter Newman

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Pari.

  The great stone door groaned as it opened, spilling light into the chamber. She caught a glimpse of Priyamvada’s silhouette shaking its head, and then she was alone.

  There were three exits from all Rebirthing Chambers. One for the Bringers, a second for the Deathless, and a third for abominations. This last one was set into the floor at the far end of the chamber, and led to a sudden drop from the bottom of her floating castle all the way down to the chasm below.

  She had used the third once before, in the castle of Lord Rochant Sapphire, and sworn never to again. Even so, it was with great reluctance that she stepped through the second door. She had a feeling that whatever was coming would be far from pleasant.

  Sa-at hunched down within the branches, making himself as small as possible. He did not want the people below to see him because he knew they would be scared and run away.

  It was rare to see Gatherers from Sagan this far off the path. There were eight of them, doing their best to fill their heavy bags with berries, nuts and yellow funghi. They always travelled in groups and they always moved quickly, nervous faces darting, jumping to every sound. Unlike Sa-at they wore thick clothing and heavy gloves to protect themselves from scrapes and cuts. Even in the daytime it only took the slightest scent of blood to wake the things of the Wild.

  The dense canopy hid the suns from sight but by the glow of the leaves, he could tell it was moving from afternoon to evening, and that Vexation, the stronger of the red suns, was dominant.

  ‘Come on,’ said one. ‘We should be getting back.’

  ‘Just a bit further,’ said another.

  ‘We got a good haul,’ said the first. ‘Why risk it?’

  ‘See this?’ One of the hooded figures pointed to something on the floor and Sa-at leaned out from his hiding place for a better view. Branches shifted under his stomach to support his weight, the leaves stretching to form a veil between him and the group below. Sa-at had made many pacts with the nearby trees. He fed them whispers and little pieces of his kills, and in return they sheltered him.

  Not every part of the forest was his ally, in fact many of the trees hated him, but even they tended to leave him alone.

  Sa-at did not know why.

  From his new position, he could see a little better but the thing the group were looking at still eluded him.

  ‘It’s a creeper,’ continued the speaker. ‘If we follow it, it’ll take us right to the mother plant and we can bleed it for Tack.’

  There was a brief debate which Sa-at observed with interest. Because of its rarity, Tack was extremely valuable. Usually, the hunters were the only ones that dared go deep enough to find it.

  ‘Think of it!’ said the one leading the argument. ‘One haul would keep us all for a year. We could repair the fences, or we could buy a tame Dogkin to pull our barrow. Or …’

  The opposition’s point was simple. They could get lost if they went deeper. They could die, or worse.

  One of the group had a habit of waving a hand as she talked, making little circular motions like a whirling leaf when it fell to the ground. Another clasped their hands in front of them, as if they had just caught a baby Flykin and wanted to shake it to death. They spoke too fast for him to follow all of the words, but he could see that some were worried and some were greedy, and that the majority wanted to press on. He also enjoyed copying their gestures.

  When the Gatherers had moved away, Sa-at sprung from the branches, flinging out his arms so that his coat of feathers flew out behind him. For the few seconds it took to land, his face was split by a joyous grin, then he rolled across the floor to come to a stop where the group had chewed up the ground with their heavy boots.

  The creeper vine sat there like a bulbous tongue stretching from the dark of the trees. He stayed in a crouch, folding his arms behind his back as he inspected it. The skin of the creeper was pale, suggesting it had not yet fed. It had not inflated either, laying flat and lumpy where it should be firm and round.

  As he pondered this, a Birdkin flew down to join him. At least, it looked like a Birdkin. Its body was only slightly smaller than his head, and covered in feathers of the same black as those that made Sa-at’s coat. He knew it was also a demon, and that this made people afraid.

  Sa-at did not know why.

  ‘Crowflies!’ he said.

  ‘Sa-aat!’ it screeched back.

  He pointed at the creeper with his nose. ‘Wrong?’ he asked.

  The Birdkin hopped closer and turned its head, regarding the creeper with one of its glistening compound eyes. It twitched one way, then the other, then opened its ivory beak.

  Sa-at reached out a hand. His little finger was missing, and sometimes the old wound became itchy. When that happened, or when he wanted to be close to Crowflies, he pressed the scarred knuckle into the Birdkin’s beak.

  Crowflies’ neck jerked, as if it were about to vomit, and then he felt the proboscis stir from inside, peeking out to prick his skin.

  A flurry of images brushed Sa-at’s mind – a vision of the world as Crowflies saw it, a fractured mosaic. The colours he saw were strange, the reds brighter, the greens darker, and shadows no longer matched the things that made them.

  The Gatherers’ footprints stood stark amid the dirt, and among the human ones Sa-at was now shown others that had been there recently, a succession of small round holes, as if someone had poked their fingertips into the dirt again and again.

  Spiderkin? wondered Sa-at.

  Crowflies gave a twitchy nod. They had dragged the creeper here as a lure. No doubt there was more than just the plant waiting for the Gatherers.

  Sa-at made a cage with his fingers. A trap?

  Another nod from the Birdkin.

  The people with the funny hands will be eaten?

  And another.

  Sa-at pulled a face. He didn’t like the idea of the people being eaten. He saw Spiderkin all the time but he rarely got to see people. He wanted to see more of them. Maybe there was a way to stop the Spiderkin’s trap …

  As soon as he’d had the thought, Crowflies stiffened, unhappy.

  ‘But,’ protested Sa-at, ‘they’ll die.’

  Crowflies gave a shrug of its wings.

  He pulled his hand free, sucking the end of it as he stood up.

  ‘Sa-aat!’

  He was being warned not to go.

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Sa-aat!’

  He paused for a moment. Crowflies was his friend, his only real friend in the Wild. The Birdkin had brought him food and drink until he was old enough to hunt. It nursed his injuries, watched his back, taught him. Everywhere Sa-at went, Crowflies was there like a winged shadow. Deep down, he knew it was trying to protect him.

  But then he thought of the Spiderkin wrapping the Gatherers in bladesilk. In a week or so he would come by this part of the forest again, and find eight skeletons stripped of everything save the hands and feet.

  If he waited another week, the hands and feet would be gone.

  The maimed skeletons would hang for a few more after that, and then vanish. Sometimes, much later, he’d see a fragment of bone attached to one of the trees like a trophy, and be certain that he’d seen it before.

  His stomach turned a few times and then he started running.

  Behind him he heard several squawks and felt the feelings behind them.

  ‘Sa-aat!’ (Annoyed.)

  ‘Sa-aat!’ (Go if you want, I’m staying here.)

  ‘Sa-aat!’ (Exasperated.)

  A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he skipped between a tangly mass of bushes. Despite it all, Crowflies would come. It always comes.

  The trees gathered closer in this part of the Wild, shutting out the day. Great strands of web ran taught between them. Where it rubbed against the branches, deep grooves were made, red fungus sprouting from it like raw skin. Fat shapes sat within the canopy, their legs bunched together to conceal their true size. Sa-at kne
w the signs and quickly guessed at their number.

  The Gatherers did not.

  A couple of them made a token effort to keep watch, though they had no light to penetrate the gloom, and were of little use. The others were clustered around a green trunk, as wide as a broad-shouldered man, with pale yellow veins running like marble across its surface. Several creeper vines were coiled at its base.

  As he got closer, a nervousness began to grow within Sa-at. He felt something he did not have a name for – a desire to impress. He skidded to a stop and paused. He had very rarely seen people and had never spoken to one before.

  One had spoken to him however, when he was tiny, a man called Devdan. Sa-at learned many words from him. He had been kind for a time, and then he had stopped being kind. Sa-at remembered the man’s hands on his throat, and then the threat of fire and sharp things. He had been tiny but the memory was vivid in his mind, like a body preserved in amber. These people seemed kind too, would they try and hurt him as well?

  ‘I see something!’ said one of the Gatherers, and they all turned towards him. They carried simple weapons, knives and long poles of wood. One carried a sling, that they proceeded to load.

  Sa-at had never seen a sling before and was briefly distracted by the excitement of something new. The promise of the unknown made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

  ‘What is it?’ said a voice from the back.

  ‘Looks like a person.’

  ‘Ain’t no people here but us.’

  ‘Said we shouldn’t have come!’

  ‘Is it a demon?’

  Sa-at tried to think of something to say but the excitement and nerves had made him too fizzy, so instead he took a careful step forward.

  As one, the group stepped back.

  ‘Don’t look it in the eye!’

  ‘Don’t let it touch you!’

  Behind them all, moving smooth and slow, the first of the Spiderkin slid down until it was level with the Gatherers’ heads. Upside down, its legs opened like bony petals, tensing to strike.

  Sa-at finally found his voice. ‘Run.’

  ‘Did it say something?’ asked a Gatherer.

  ‘Don’t listen to it!’ said another. ‘Don’t let it get close!’

  A second Spiderkin slipped down next to the first, a third and fourth close behind. These were the scouts, the fast ones. Their job was to slow down the food for their queen.

  ‘Run!’ he repeated.

  ‘Don’t listen!’

  He did not understand why they were still standing there. The new Spiderkin flexed open as well, the little mouths tucked in their bellies oozing with drool. They were ready. He did not understand why it was so difficult to communicate with these people. Crowflies always understood what he said and all the meanings underneath.

  With arms spread wide, Sa-at let out a wild cry and ran towards the group, desperate to get them to move.

  The Gatherers cried out in alarm and the Spiderkin paused to assess the new threat. The sling spun round three times and a stone whizzed past Sa-at’s shoulder. He kept running.

  The Gatherers fell over themselves trying to retreat, stumbling directly into the Spiderkin.

  There was a flurry of legs and screams as the Gatherers tried to flee. They had finally realized the danger, but instead of running back towards the lighter area of the forest (which would have taken them past Sa-at), they ran away from everything, moving randomly off into the dark.

  Seven vanished into the forest, but one was grappled by a Spiderkin, his legs kicking wildly as it began to ascend.

  Sa-at used his momentum to leap, grabbing the Gatherer’s boot as it thudded into his chest. They swung, spinning on the end of the strand, the Gatherer dangling from the Spiderkin’s legs, Sa-at dangling from the Gatherer’s. Their arc took them into the path of other strands, tying all four together, and sending the other three Spiderkin into a frenzy.

  The Gatherer shrugged off his satchel, getting partially free. A last leg was hooked under his shoulder however, and he fought desperately to unhook it. A droplet of saliva fell past them to the floor. That meant the Spiderkin’s mouth armour had pulled back. All the Gatherer had to do was punch it there and he’d be let go.

  ‘Hit it now!’ urged Sa-at.

  However the Gatherer was too busy screaming to notice.

  As they swung towards a tree, Sa-at kicked off from it, spinning them faster. If the Gatherer had been caught by one of the big ones it wouldn’t have mattered, they would both have been taken to the lair. However their combined weight and motion was too much for it to hold, and the Spiderkin let go with a hiss.

  The next thing Sa-at knew he was on the floor. Before his thoughts could catch up, he was on his feet. The Gatherer was doing the same.

  ‘Run!’ Sa-at urged.

  This time, there was no hesitation. The Gatherer did as he was told.

  ‘No,’ Sa-at called after him. ‘Not that way!’

  But the Gatherer was too busy screaming to listen.

  After a moment’s frustration, Sa-at followed him, leaving the Spiderkin to stab at each other as they untangled themselves.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Gatherers had run blind, stumbling between the trees in a haphazard fashion. Each was guided, by twisting paths and prodding branches, until they had all been brought back together. Then, gradually, the Wild had funnelled them deeper into its heart, to places that even Sa-at avoided when the suns went down.

  When the first of them stopped to double over and pant, the others followed suit.

  Sa-at watched them from a distance, curious to see what they would do next. Crowflies had caught him up during the pursuit and had settled itself on a nearby branch.

  Each member of the group gave their name to prove they had survived the encounter, and each time the rest of the them would smile and reach over to touch the arm of the one who had spoken. Sa-at liked that. He wondered what it would be like to be smiled at in that way. As the last one announced themselves and was welcomed, he copied their smiles from his hiding place and reached out a hand in their direction. None saw, save for Crowflies, who did not care to comment.

  ‘Sa-at is here too,’ he whispered, and then, so as not to feel lonely, he touched his own arm.

  ‘I think we’re not far from …’ gasped one of the Gatherers. ‘Or maybe we’re near … I think … no. I don’t know where we are.’

  ‘We need to get home.’

  The others were quick to agree but none of them were sure which way home was. Another discussion started, quickly turning into an argument. Sa-at listened with interest, eagerly devouring the new words. He was particularly intrigued to know that some of the Gatherers had more than one name.

  That woman likes to turn her hands and speak.

  Her name is Hil.

  Hil’s other name is ‘Great Idiot’.

  The man who clasps his hands is Rin.

  Rin’s other name is ‘Dogkin’s Cock’.

  At one point it looked as if the group was going to split up, with one half going with Hil and the other with Rin. However, when Hil claimed to recognize a mossy chunk of rock, they stopped arguing. And when she said they were not far away from a path she knew, Rin told her to take the lead.

  She’s wrong, thought Sa-at. They’re going the wrong way again.

  Crowflies pointed at the group with a wing and made a derogatory noise.

  ‘You don’t like them?’

  He received one of Crowflies’ looks, where the Birdkin slowly tilted its head to one side as if Sa-at had said something ridiculous.

  He watched thousands of tiny reflections of himself shrug in the Birdkin’s eyes. ‘They’re funny. I don’t want them to die.’

  That earned him another look.

  The Gatherers were too tired to set off immediately. They agreed to take a short rest as it would be the last they could dare on the journey home.

  Sa-at pulled himself up onto a thick branch and settled next to Crowflies. What
would be the best way to help these people? He tucked his arms in and let his chin rest on his knees. This was a problem that would require thought. He knew they were afraid of him. Perhaps he could chase them out of the forest. However, it would be difficult to herd them over a long distance. And what if they scattered or decided to fight?

  While he pondered the problem, he listened to the Gatherers’ chatter.

  ‘Did you get the Tack, Rin?’

  ‘Right here.’

  There was a cheer, followed by a question, tentative: ‘You’re going to share it with us, right?’

  ‘Depends on whether you called me Dogkin’s Cock or not!’

  They all laughed at that. Sa-at was not sure why.

  ‘Rin?’ asked another. Sa-at realized it was the one he’d saved.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I lost me bag back there. I got nothing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Tal. Important thing is you’re alive.’ There was a chorus of agreement. ‘You and yours won’t starve neither. We’ll all share a bit of our take.’ Rin looked round at the rest of the group. ‘Won’t we?’

  There was a second round of agreement, though Sa-at thought it was less enthusiastic than before. ‘You checked yourself again yet, Tal? Still no blood?’

  Tal raised an arm and examined his armpit. ‘Don’t think so. It’s sore though.’ He pushed his finger through a new hole in his jacket and, after wiggling it around, showed it to Rin with relief. ‘No blood!’

  ‘No blood,’ Rin confirmed, and a sigh of relief passed round the group.

  ‘We better go,’ interrupted Hil. ‘Vexation’s the only strong sun in the sky today, and it isn’t going to wait for us.’

  An idea popped into Sa-at’s mind as the Gatherers stood up and put away their rations. He kissed the leaf of the nearest tree, leaving a little of his spit behind, and scrambled up the trunk. It did not fight him, though it did not help him either.

  Crowflies watched, bemused, as he heaved his way into the upper reaches of the tree. As soon as he arrived, he grabbed a branch and pulled it towards him, creating a breach in the canopy.