by Peter Newman
Tal scrambled to his feet and tried to get away, but Eyesore caught his arm and swung him towards Crunch.
‘Right,’ said Crunch, catching Tal and pushing him towards Pits. ‘Who gets first chunk?’
Sa-at bit his lip. He was afraid of the Brothers. He was afraid of speaking and giving himself away. He was afraid of doing nothing. He was afraid of failing his friends.
The Brothers closed in, their bodies three walls of meat, their arms, six bars of a fleshy cage. They challenged each other to be the first to sample Tal’s flesh by striking each other’s fists. There was a crack as the Brother’s knuckles rapped together, hard enough to hurt, once, twice, and Pits withdrew his hands, three times, four, and Crunch raised his. ‘Eyesore it is! Then me, then Pits, then we split what’s left.’
Eyesore clapped, delighted. He took one of Tal’s arms and began to slowly twist.
Safe on his branch, Sa-at began to shake.
‘That’s it!’ said Crunch. ‘Pop a bit out and give me a taste, I’ll soften the bones and meat to paste.’
Pits clapped.
Tal screamed.
Eyesore continued to twist.
‘W-Wait!’ shouted Sa-at.
The twisting and the clapping and the screaming stopped. Three eyes, one nostril, and six ears all attended to him.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’
Sa-at jumped down and took a step towards them. He didn’t dare take a second, any closer and he’d be in reach of their long arms. ‘You can’t have him.’
Crunch laughed. ‘We do have him. We have him first. Find your own morsel, Birdspawn.’
‘No. Look again. I marked him.’
Pits began to sniff, Eyesore began to glare. First one eye narrowed, then the other, then the third. He guided his brother’s hands to the edges of Tal’s ears.
‘See?’ asked Sa-at.
‘He’s been nibbled!’
‘Yes. I did that. He’s mine.’
Crunch shrugged, making his ropey head-skin sway. ‘Was yours. Ours now. Nibblings is over.’
The Brothers turned away, dismissing him.
‘Wait!’ They turned back and he had to swallow a few times to get his throat working. ‘You …’ his voice trailed off to a whisper.
‘What? We what?’
‘Owe me. You owe me.’
The three brothers shook their heads. ‘No.’
‘Yes.’ He held up his hand so that Eyesore could see his missing finger. ‘You took a bite from me and you have to pay for it. I want …’
This was the moment. He already knew what he was going to do, the decision made in his heart some time ago, he just needed his courage to catch up. ‘I want you to release my friend.’
Pits sniffed at him, suspicious, then the brothers reached out to each other, fingers dancing in one another’s palms, conferring. ‘We remember you now,’ said Crunch when they had finished. ‘You used to be much better. Much more tender.’ He sighed. ‘Shame. Anyway, I only had a taste and Pits only had a scrap. It was nothing.’ The Brothers hands moved together again, and Crunch made an unhappy grumble. ‘But fair is fair. We’ll give you a toe, if you want.’
‘I don’t want his toe!’
‘You can have his toe or you can have nothing.’
‘I choose nothing.’ And as he said those words, a terrible idea blossomed in his mind. The kind that once there, could not be ignored.
‘Done!’ said Crunch, ‘The deal is done,’ and the three of them turned back to Tal who began to wail.
‘Give it to me then!’ demanded Sa-at.
Crunch slapped a hand over Tal’s mouth to silence him. ‘Go away, or I might forget we’re not supposed to eat you.’
‘Pay my price and I’ll go.’
The three brothers quickly conferred, then shook their heads as one, confused. ‘We agreed we owe you nothing.’
‘Yes,’ replied Sa-at, and pointed. ‘That’s the nothing I want.’ As Eyesore followed his finger he felt the fear inside up its tempo, transforming into a kind of manic energy.
Three eyes widened in shock as they realized what it was Sa-at was pointing at: the hole in the middle of Pits’ face.
Crunch tried to protest, Eyesore gave him a pleading look, and Pits clasped his hands together, begging, but it was no use. The forest was watching, the deal was done, and all knew the rules. There was no going back.
With a strange solemnity, Eyesore and Crunch planted their burning sticks in the ground and walked slowly towards Pits, who, realizing what was about to happen, began to back away. He made two steps before being snared in the undergrowth. He twisted and turned, but his great strength did nothing against that of the forest, and soon he was obscured by the bodies of his brothers.
Sa-at knew that he should be moving but neither he nor Tal did, both captivated by the spectacle. Despite their bulk, there was a gentle grace about the way the Brothers moved. They worked in silence, the only sounds were those of Pits thrashing against them, of his breath coming fast and hot, misting the air above their heads. The sound of that breathing became strained, and the clouds of mist became plumes, then threads, then nothing. Something had happened. Something permanent. Somehow, the hole in his face, the one that he sensed with, that he breathed with, had gone.
Pits began to convulse in a different way but his brothers continued to hold him, firmly, tenderly, until the movements calmed, slowed, stopped, dead.
Sa-at would have stood there longer had the spell not been broken by an impatient beak tapping his shoulder. Moving as quietly as he could, he pulled one of the burning sticks from the ground and glanced at the Brothers to find them laying Pits out, heads bowed. He crept over to where Tal sat and took his arm. This time, there was no protest, and Sa-at was able to get him on his feet.
Using the weak light from the glowing leaves, Sa-at guided Tal, getting him to place each footstep so as not to disturb the forest floor.
They were just putting a few trees between them and the Brothers, when Crunch spoke. ‘Don’t leave without your price.’
Sa-at froze.
Tal tried to pull at his arm. ‘Run for it!’
But Sa-at did not move, could not move. He was bound by the rules as surely as the Brothers were. There was no point trying to escape, it would only make things worse. The weight of that knowledge fell heavy on his heart and feet. ‘Here,’ he said, and gave Tal the stick. The light wouldn’t last for long, but the scent would linger, keeping other predators at bay.
‘Don’t go,’ said Tal.
‘I’ll find you, if I can.’
‘Please don’t go.’
There was nothing else to say, so Sa-at turned and walked back to the Brothers. Pits was still at their feet, his face a smooth triangle of red, flat and featureless.
Sa-at held out his hands and Eyesore slapped away his left while grabbing his right. He felt a pain as Eyesore pressed something into his palm, a pain so exquisite and so immediate that he did not even have time to call out.
The next thing he knew he was on his knees, clutching his hand to his chest, the pain like a living thing writhing in his palm. He felt his skin opening as the aperture that had been in Pits’ face burrowed inside, settling into its new home.
‘We will get you,’ said Crunch. ‘We will grind your feet and eat them. We will vomit you and make you eat it. We will grind your hands and eat them. We will vomit you and make you eat it. We will grind your shins and eat them …’
Somehow, Sa-at managed to get up. He was aware that tears were running in rivers down Eyesore’s face and that Crunch was moaning as he talked. Crowflies was shrieking, plucking at his sleeve. Somehow, he managed to stagger away, while Crunch shouted after him.
‘… We will grind your hips and eat them. We will vomit you and make you eat it. We will grind your wrists …’
Sa-at kept going and the words followed, carried in whispers by the trees.
The drum beats were like those of his own castle during a hunt, but the
y were not his drums. The drummers were different too, as was the size and construction of the castle, not to mention that the rubies in the walls had a different resonance to the sapphire he was used to, and they clustered in strange ways. All of these things combined to make a sharp but subtle dissonance in Vasin’s heart. He knew the rituals, but felt as if he was a pace behind, each beat and change seeming to come too fast.
Worries nibbled at his thoughts, about his ability to lead the hunt, about the changing Wild, about the state of his house and the fate of his mother, following him as he entered the Chrysalis Chamber. It was only when the crystal plates of his armour were against his skin that they began to fade. As he rose up on his Sky-legs, he also rose beyond all other concerns.
I can do this. I will do this.
In his own castle, the glass that formed three of the walls would open onto a balcony where he could address his people. Here, he was forced to ascend wing-width stairs painted to resemble a cloud-touched sky. As he took them three at a time, he began to have a new sense of unease. Usually, a hunt began with an address, something to set the tone and bond the crowd, such that their shouts and song would empower the hunters’ wings when they took flight. But he did not know these people well, nor had he hunted with Lakshin or Quasim before. A good speech came from the heart, but his was full of misgivings.
How can I speak truth here?
The stairs brought him out into a long and narrow courtyard. The suns were only just clearing the walls, the gold light of Fortune’s Eye splayed through the crenellations, making finger-beams overhead. He was used to standing above the crowd but in the Ruby castle, the crowd were lining battlements, packing stairways and standing on boxes, all looking down on him.
In the middle of the space stood another Deathless, garbed in glittering green. Elaborate flutes of peridot twisted away from his elbows, shoulders, and the sides of his helmet, making it look as if jets of water had been frozen mid-motion. His wings were smaller than any Vasin had seen before, providing extra manoeuvrability at the cost of power. It would take great skill to use such wings well.
Let us hope Lord Quasim Peridot possesses such skill.
Quasim had obviously been enjoying the sole attention of the crowd. As Vasin emerged into the light, the Peridot Deathless was bantering with the hunters in a loud voice. ‘… Perhaps so, but mine is bigger, and a more interesting shape!’
The laugh of the crowd was raucous, the kind of thing he’d expect at a feast, not a hunt. It was disrespectful, wrong, and worse than that, dangerous. What is Quasim thinking!
He was so outraged that for a while he couldn’t find the words to speak. Perhaps something of his feeling communicated itself however, for laughter faded and died, and all eyes gradually turned to him. It was time for the speech, but traditionally, all had to be present before he started, and they were missing a Deathless. Where is Lakshin?
In two bounding steps, Quasim crossed from the hunters to stand in front of him. ‘Greetings, Vasin, lone hunter of the Sapphire Everlasting. Greetings, Vasin, Bane of the Scuttling Corpseman. And thrice greetings.’
Quasim offered an arm and they clasped wrists. Lone hunter was a not very subtle barb but he didn’t dare rise to it. ‘Greetings to you Quasim, child of the Peridot Everlasting, your stout heart and strong arm are always welcome in my company.’
They raised their hands together and the crowd cheered, though not as loudly as they might. They feel Anuja’s absence keenly, as do we all.
He took a moment to appraise the three groups of hunters that would fly with them. Quasim’s were a seasoned block, hard of face and muscular, while Lakshin’s were a mix of old and new, some barely more than apprentices, others veterans of the sky. The ones that Anuja had provided for him to lead were all young, their faces flitting from pride to terror. He could see the training written in their bodies however, and was heartened to see that despite being rushed, their wings appeared sturdy. He wouldn’t know their worth for sure until they were in the sky.
When it will be too late.
‘Aha!’ boomed Quasim. ‘Here is our beloved Opal.’
Lakshin came out to greet them more stiffly, speaking quietly rather than to the crowd. The warmth he and Quasim shared made the cold regard Vasin received even more pointed. Like them, Lakshin was fully armoured. His Gardener-smiths had carved feathers onto the chest, back and legs, giving Lakshin the appearance of some giant bird. The work was exquisite but made the armour and its wearer seem more vulnerable somehow. Lakshin’s spear was shorter and lighter than Vasin’s, designed more for throwing than thrusting. A short crystal blade was fastened at his belt, curved like the wings they wore. Vasin found himself wishing for one of his own.
It was time to begin his speech but as he was taking breath, Quasim cut across him, almost as if he believed himself to be in charge.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked the hunters.
‘Aye!’ they replied together.
‘And are you ready?’ he asked the crowd.
‘Aye!’ they shouted.
Quasim clicked his gauntleted fingers and a servant struggled over under the weight of a giant sword cut from a single chunk of peridot. It was almost as big as her, and at one point obscured her entirely, giving Vasin the impression it was floating across the courtyard in accordance with Quasim’s will. He took it from her as if it weighed nothing and pointed it towards the sky. ‘I too am ready!’
Clearly, the blade was lighter than it appeared, but it still looked unwieldy, as unwelcome an addition as Quasim’s impromptu address, which had further ruined the rhythm of his preparations.
Vasin lifted his own spear to get their attention. There was a brief flip of nerves in his stomach as he drew breath to speak, and then they were gone, and the words, as always, were there.
‘The Wild has been especially cruel to House Ruby of late. So many hunts, so close together. In all my lifecycles I have never seen the like. We often talk of bravery and courage,’ he glanced towards Quasim as he said this, ‘but we rarely talk of fear or pain or loss. House Ruby has suffered and it has bled. It has suffered and bled to hold back the Wild. It has suffered and bled so that our lives might be that bit safer. It has suffered and bled for Opal, Peridot, Sapphire, Spinel, Tanzanite, and Jet.
‘Once when I came here, and I was in danger, Lady Anuja answered my call. When my wings failed, she was there to catch me, and you,’ he swept his spear across the crowd, ‘you were there to catch her.
‘House Ruby has never failed its friends, and I promise you that we will not fail you today. It is our turn to suffer and bleed for you.’ He paused for a moment to feel the thudding of the drums. All were playing now, the energy building, thrumming through the castle floor, making the crystal in their wings hum softly. ‘Now, tell me, in the name of Lady Anuja, she who speaks with House Ruby’s voice: who leads this hunt?’
‘Vasin, of the Sapphire Everlasting, leads this hunt,’ came the chorused reply.
‘And who hunts with him?’
‘I, Quasim, of the Peridot Everlasting.’
‘I, Lakshin, of the Opal Everlasting.’
‘And who hunts with us?’
‘We do!’ called the amassed hunters.
‘And who sings us on our way?’
The crowd roared at them, and he felt the pressure of their combined voice pressing on his wings, threatening to lift him off his Sky-legs. He took a deep breath, and shouted back at them, inviting Quasim and Lakshin and the hunters to join in. ‘I said who sings us on our way? Who sings us? Who?’
‘Who?’ chanted the hunters.
And then they began to run, the bellow of the crowd chasing behind.
The courtyard was long and narrow, funnelling them towards the main gates. Unlike his own castle there was no bridge here, and the arch opened out into empty air.
Drum beats kept them all in step, their Sky-legs bending with each stride before flinging them forward, the chorus at their backs flinging them forward, the very
air pulsing with the power of it.
In his own hunts he would drop down and the strength of his people would hold him. Here, they were propelled, getting faster and faster, until the running became flying, through the archway, over the edge, hurled from the castle like a flight of winged arrows.
Each one of them fought to control the currents at their backs, and to stay on course. Quasim was one of the first, darting ahead on his back so he could wave at everyone.
Show off, thought Vasin. In his first lifecycle he’d have been tempted to match the Peridot, but not this one. Though he was sure he could outperform Quasim in the sky, today was not about him as Vasin the hunter. It was about him as Vasin, High Lord in waiting, and it was about House Ruby. It was a day for being careful and sure.
As Quasim’s hunters scrambled to follow their lord, Vasin signalled Anuja’s flight, then banked slowly, giving them plenty of time to read and follow his actions. It was not the most efficient way to do things, but it was the most likely way to keep them in formation.
Satisfied that they were on course, he glanced back to see that Lakshin was following, but was further back than he’d expected. The Opal was struggling. It struck him that there was a similarity between Lakshin and his brother, Gada. Both were officious, and both used their stern front to hide their inadequacies. It was possible Lakshin had suffered an injury on the last hunt and not mentioned it, and like Vasin, he might be holding back to support an inexperienced hunter. It was also possible he was terrible in the air.
He was glad Anuja had played it safe with this hunt’s timing. Most began just before dawn, the tributes starting their run while it was dark to lure as many demons as possible. By the time the hunters arrived, the suns would be peeking over the horizon, dissuading other demons from joining in, and allowing everyone to travel home in the light.
Given how strange things had been, Anuja had opted to delay, allowing the suns to rise and maximize their chances of coming back alive.
The swamp spread out below them, peppered with islands and clumps of trees. Thick clouds of insects swirled above the dirty water, gathering to greet the first tribute as she burst into view. From this distance she was little more than a stick-figure with a firefly torch.