by Peter Newman
Several times through the night he’d woken, sweaty, sure that the remaining Red Brothers were standing over him. But they were merely phantoms, quickly blinked away.
The throbbing in his hand was real, however, as were the threats of vengeance. Sa-at knew that Crunch and Eyesore would come for him now, no matter the consequences. Either he would kill them or they would kill him. That was clear and undeniable. One night ago, his life had been simple. Now he had true enemies, and he had failed to keep his promise to Murderkind.
He wasn’t sure which of those things worried him more.
It was only when sunslight began to light up the canopy overhead that Sa-at realized Crowflies had gone. This in itself wasn’t unusual, the Birdkin often went off to pursue its own matters, but when he was hurt, it tended to stay close.
‘Crowflies?’
He sat up, propping himself with his left arm, keeping his right close to his body, and looked around.
There was no sign of it, but in a small divot next to him were several berries and a dead Wormkin. Sa-at ate them greedily, even though cold Wormkin was one of his least favourite things.
He wasn’t sure if they’d been left for him by Crowflies, some other creature of the Wild, or by the hill itself, so to be on the safe side he spoke a general thanks and then kissed his middle and index fingers, letting a little saliva catch on the tips before smearing it on the inside of the hollow.
Just as he was wondering what to do next, he heard clumsy feet scrambling up the hill. By the time they were passing overhead, he’d identified their owner, and smiled for the first time that day. ‘Hello, Tal.’
There was a squeal of surprise, and then: ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you? I can’t see you? Suns! Are you dead?’
‘No, I’m down here.’
The footsteps came closer, then Tal’s thick boots appeared, dangling over the edge of the hollow in front of Sa-at. He prodded the back of Tal’s leather-clad ankle. ‘Down here.’
‘Aargh! Don’t do that.’
‘Sorry.’
With a plop, Tal slipped down and landed. He was still clutching the stick Sa-at had given him, though the leaves tied to the top had long since gone out, leaving a bumpy black smudge behind. He stared at Sa-at and Sa-at stared back, both suddenly shy. Tal looked cold, the edges of his ears bright red, his nose pinched and sore. He cleared his throat. ‘Can I … can I sit with you?’
‘Yes.’
There wasn’t much room, but Tal managed to jam himself in. ‘Ah, that’s better. It’s so good to sit down.’ He rested his head against the earth behind them and closed his eyes. ‘And out of the breeze too. I thought I was going to … going to …’
Sa-at waited for Tal to finish his sentence but he didn’t. After a couple of minutes the other boy’s breathing became deeper, heavier, each exhalation ending in a sigh. Then, very slowly, his head began to loll sideways until it came to rest against Sa-at’s.
Somehow, things didn’t seem quite as bad as they were before. He was still scared. All of his problems remained, and yet his heart refused to stay heavy.
The other boy woke up with a start, lifting the stick as if to ward off attack. When it was clear there was no immediate threat, he lowered it again. ‘Did I go to sleep?’ Sa-at nodded and Tal looked appalled. ‘I’m so rubbish!’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re in the Wild! You’re never supposed to sleep in the Wild.’
‘I do.’
Tal’s eyes widened and his mouth made a small pale circle. ‘Are you a demon?’
‘No.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
He thought about that for a while and then seemed to slump. ‘I believe you. I probably shouldn’t but, well, I don’t have much choice do I? I, er, I wanted to thank you.’
‘Why?’
‘For saving me from those demons. They were the Red Brothers weren’t they?’
Sa-at shivered, the mention of their name making the threat real again. ‘Yes.’
Tal looked into his eyes. ‘Thank you for saving me from them. I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Except maybe that time when the Spiderkin got me. No, actually, this was worse because it went on for much longer. Anyway, thank you. I owe you my life.’
Some of the horror gripping Sa-at’s heart melted a little. It felt nice being thanked.
‘Is it okay if I stay with you?’ asked Tal. ‘Only I don’t know where else to go.’
I’d like that, thought Sa-at. He was trying to work up the courage to say so but ended up nodding instead.
‘Good. So, we should get to know each other. You’re not supposed to travel with folk you don’t know. It’s bad luck.’ When Sa-at didn’t reply, he added. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Sa-at.’
Tal pulled a face. ‘That’s weird.’
It felt as if he’d been slapped in the face, though he could not articulate why. Was his name weird? He’d never thought so. It was simply who he was. Just like Crowflies was Crowflies and rocks were rocks.
‘Is it a Wildborn name?’
Sa-at shrugged, which was awkward in the confined space. Although Tal’s shoulder was pinning him against the side of the hollow, it was pleasingly warm, comforting, like his favourite tree but much, much better.
‘What does it mean,’ asked Tal, ‘your name?’
He shrugged again.
‘It must mean something. All Wildborn names do.’
‘Do they?’
Tal nodded, though Sa-at wasn’t sure he believed him. ‘Course they do, everyone knows that. Hey, have you got anything to eat?’
‘No.’ He checked the divot which was now mostly under Tal’s leg, just in case some food had miraculously appeared. It had not.
‘Do you know where to find some? I’m hungry, and I don’t know this part of the forest. I’m not sure what’s good to eat and what’s not.’
‘Yes.’
‘Great! Can we go now?’
Sa-at looked down at his hand and frowned. It was still sore and he felt exhausted from the events of the previous night.
‘You should wear gloves, like me,’ said Tal. ‘Don’t you worry about getting cut?’
He shook his head. Gatherers must be very clumsy to keep getting cut all the time. If they were more careful, like him, they wouldn’t need to wear so much.
‘Is it hurt bad? It’s not bleeding, is it?’
It was a good question. He hadn’t noticed any blood, but then, he hadn’t dared to look. He gave a miserable shrug.
‘Can I see? If it is there’s this sap Rin was talking about that could plug it. Course, I’m not sure which tree it comes from, but I’d know the sap if I saw it again. It’s more orangey than most, and really thick too. Do you know it?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm. Show it anyway? We can’t let it go bad, can we?’
Sa-at hesitantly offered his closed fist to Tal, who gently turned it over.
‘I don’t see any blood. That’s a good sign. Can you open it?’
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and held it, uncurling the fingers one by one. As he did so, he felt the skin of his palm move in a way he’d never known before, opening. It felt tender and the air tickled it differently, feeling especially cold, fresh and alive with information. He got a sudden waft of Tal’s scent. The musk of his sweat, the different tones of hair, skin and clothing, all so distinct, and then bile, also Tal’s, sharp, tingling in his nostrils. No, not his nostrils, his palm.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Tal, getting up and hurrying away.
Sa-at forced himself to open his eyes. He saw bruising that corresponded with the stiff pain, but it wasn’t as bad as he feared. However, that wasn’t what had disturbed Tal. For in the centre of his palm was an oval hole, or, more precisely, as it did not penetrate through to the back of his hand, a pit. Despite its shallowness, however, the hole was dark, unfathomable,
the sunslight unable to illuminate it fully.
When he looked up, he was surprised to see Tal’s stick pointing at his throat.
‘Tell me again that you’re not a demon.’
‘I’m not.’
Am I?
I know Crowflies is a demon.
I know Tal is a human.
But what am I? Why do I not have a human name? Why did Crunch call me Birdspawn? Was it just a name or is it what I am?
The stick wavered. ‘That was the price, wasn’t it? When you saved me.’
‘Yes.’
Tal sat down again, but further away this time, his back to the cold. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Badly?’
‘No.’
He wanted to cry and he wanted to be held, the way the wings used to hold him, or the arms that he barely remembered. He wanted it so badly. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask Tal, nor could he allow himself to cry. If he started, he might never stop.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Tal.
‘No.’
‘You can tell me about it, if you want.’
‘I wasn’t supposed to bargain with the Brothers for you,’ he held up his palm, ‘or for this. I was supposed to learn about the Scuttling Corpseman.’
‘Why? The only thing you need to know about the—about that demon is to stay away from it, and to never say its name!’
‘I don’t know but it’s important. And, I made a promise.’
‘Can you break it?’
Sa-at’s face began to crumple. ‘No.’
‘What would happen if you did?’
‘I promised Murderkind I’d learn what the Corpseman—’ Tal flinched at the word ‘—is doing and in return it helped me to find you and save you.’
‘So you’re saying that if you don’t learn the stuff you need to, something would happen to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Something bad?’
‘Yes.’
Tal touched his lobeless ears. ‘Worse than has already happened?’
Sa-at bit his lip. ‘Oh yes.’
‘Then we have to keep the promise. Together, yes?’
Sa-at nodded.
‘Okay then.’ Tal paused, frowned. ‘How are we going to do that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We could go to Sorn. Everyone says to keep away from it because the Corpseman is there. But if I needed to find it, that’s where I’d go.’
Yes, his friend was right. He should have thought of that himself. He made to stand up, and noticed Tal hadn’t moved. ‘Will you come?’
‘To Sorn? I … I’m not sure I can. The truth is I’m afraid. I mean, I’m afraid of the Wild, and I’m afraid of being alone but I think I’m even more afraid of the Scuttling Corpseman. How many times have I said its name now? You’re not supposed to say it more than three, or it appears. At least, I think it was three.’ He looked over his shoulder, just in case.
‘I’m afraid too,’ said Sa-at. ‘But …’ he trailed off.
‘But what?’
‘I’d be less afraid if you came with me.’
‘Well, I can’t go home, and I probably won’t last the day on my own, so … Okay, but only if you promise that we can forage on the way. I’m starving!’
‘I promise.’ Sa-at offered to help Tal up.
Tal lifted his hand but then seemed to notice Sa-at’s injury again and quickly lowered it, using his spear to lever himself upright. ‘Then it’s agreed. We’ll go to Sorn. Together.’
Vasin circled above Lord Quasim’s position, thoughts whirling. It had all gone wrong and the hunt had barely started. Yes, the Peridot Lord had found the first of the tributes, and yes, he had rushed to their side with impressive speed. But the tribute was dashing across a narrow strip of land surrounded by swamp. Any hunters that landed there would have a hard time taking flight again. Shapes moved within the swamp’s waters, most likely Murkers, but the mud-stirred surface was so dark that a variety of monsters could be concealed there.
If he brought the other two flights down to support Quasim, they’d be fighting for spaces to land, getting in each other’s way as much as helping. But if he didn’t, and the Wild was out in force, he’d be abandoning the Peridot at a time of need.
Vasin ground his teeth in frustration – he’d only know if he was right or wrong when it was too late.
High in the sky behind him, Lord Lakshin Opal and his hunters were still trying to keep up, a gleaming band of white, magnificent and useless. This could all be over by the time they arrive.
Not confident in his own flight of hunters, provided by Lady Anuja Ruby, he signalled for them to circle, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to maintain height for long, and dived down after Quasim.
The Peridot’s battle cry was rapturous, the kind made by a man without fear, totally given to the joy of the moment, and Vasin could not help but be impressed by the sight of the great crystal sword flashing down into the water again and again. Where the blade struck, miniature waves sprayed up either side and the hiding shapes beneath the surface ruptured and split, a mix of steam and blood spouting into the air.
Quasim’s hunters dropped down around him, two of them moving to protect the tribute, the others stretched out single file, their Sky-legs cutting too deep into the soft mud.
Quasim was laughing again, raising his sword in salute to Vasin. ‘Do you see me?’ he called. ‘Do you see how they fall?’
Vasin saw. He saw the bubbling water at Quasim’s feet testifying to the death throes of the things that lingered there, but he also saw other disturbances in the water moving to Quasim’s back, and still more rising up around the other hunters. They had a vaguely human shape, but with blubbery pale skin and white filmy eyes, and flesh spanning the gap between fingers and toes.
Murkers, lots of them. They usually like to hunt alone or in threes, but I count six at least.
‘Behind you!’ he yelled as the first set of webbed hands broke the surface, reaching for Quasim’s ankles. Another quickly followed. Both Murkers endured the aura radiating from Quasim’s armour; suffering, their pallid skin blistering, a sacrifice of flesh given to get close.
Another oddity. Murkers never seek out pain this way. Is this another change? Is something else forcing them? Vasin glanced about, but there was no sign of any greater demonic presence. Whatever had put the Murkers up to this was either far away or still in hiding.
The Peridot Deathless started to turn, but his Sky-legs were held fast in the mud. He wobbled, regathered his balance, and tried to lash out with his sword, but he could not turn far enough, and they were too close for him to bring the huge weapon to bear. One Murker wrapped a rubbery arm about his neck, while the other grabbed an ankle and began to try and drag Quasim back into the swamp.
‘Protect your lord!’ urged Vasin, but the Peridot hunters were suffering similar problems, some forced to fight, others reduced to a creep, stopping to haul their Sky-legs free every few paces.
Pulling up at the last minute, Vasin lined up the point of his spear with the lower of the two Murkers swarming over Quasim and pressed the trigger on the shaft. With an eager hiss, the sapphire head of the spear shot forward, burying itself between the Murker’s shoulder blades.
As it let out a high-pitched scream, Vasin passed by overhead, tilting back, heading skywards, raising the spear in front of him, two-handed. The slender cable running between shaft and head went taut. There was a jolt, a moment of resistance followed by a sudden decrease in momentum, and then Vasin was moving again, the Murker dangling below him like a fish on a hook.
The essence currents were thin here, and Vasin could feel the power in his wings fading fast with the additional weight. Even so, he rose thirty feet straight up, higher than the tops of the scattered trees, before coming to a stop in the air.
Above, he could see the Ruby hunters circling, watching him. He could almost taste their eagerness to join in. ‘Wait!’ he shouted, hoping that they woul
d understand. He couldn’t signal them, needing both hands to hold the spear. Tearing his gaze away, Vasin dived again, briefly passing the flailing Murker in the sky. It hovered there for a moment, skin wobbling on its bones like agitated jelly, before the cable went taut again, dragging it after him.
Vasin flew as low as he dared before pulling up, making the most of the weak currents to climb once more; the Murker swung below him on the end of the cable, describing a perfect curve as it arced towards its fellow Murkers engaging the Peridot hunters. Nodding to himself, Vasin twisted the shaft to free the spear head, and banked away, leaving the Murker to fly on, like a living stone cast from a catapult.
He wasn’t able to see the results of his labour, but there were a series of crunches followed by a very satisfying splash. When he was able to look again, Quasim was repeatedly punching the face of a Murker that was grappling him. Creatures of the Wild could not bear close proximity to their crystal armour and this Murker was no exception. It seemed to melt as much as fall away from the attacks of the Peridot Deathless. Meanwhile, his hunters were pinning down the Murkers that Vasin had floored in a cage of crisscrossing spears.
‘We have this tribute!’ shouted Quasim. ‘Find the other.’
You have this because of my intervention, thought Vasin bitterly. And I am the one leading the hunt, not you. But he did not voice these thoughts, instead nodding and flying on.
He soon spotted another torch nearby, which was good as Vasin would struggle to stay aloft much longer. He signalled for his hunters to follow and set off after the flickering light.
There was something alarming about the way the torch waved back and forth, as if the bearer was desperate, and the light seemed too low down. As Vasin sped closer he began to make out details: a young man waist deep in the swamp, face obscured by remnants of morning mist. In a moment of horror, he realized that the tribute had been caught and was being dragged under.
I’m too late.
But he swept down regardless, giving up the safety of the air in a last bid to reach them in time. He came down heavily, cutting two new channels through the wet mud as he skidded to a halt next to the young man.