The Ruthless
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 knew 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.
A shaft of Vexation’s light, richly red, punched through.
‘Look there!’ called one of the Gatherers.
They rushed to the gap and Sa-at held himself still, hoping not to be noticed. ‘It’s worse than I thought,’ said Hil. ‘By the angle of sunslight, I’d say we only got a few hours. We’re further off than I thought too.’ She blew out a long breath through her lips.
‘Think we can make it?’ asked Rin.
‘Be tight.’
Rin nodded. ‘Will be if you take the wrong way again, you great idiot.’
There was a warmth to the words that took away their sting. Instead of getting cross, Hil squeezed his arm, changed direction and started walking.
The group followed her on the ground, and Sa-at followed them in the trees, walking the tangled pathway of branches. Whenever Hil seemed to be going off course, he pushed the leaves aside to let Vexation’s light guide them.
For hours they trudged. Fear kept them at a good pace, and soon, Sa-at was struggling to get ahead of them. But keep ahead he did, until they reached a part of the Wild where the trees thinned a little and his help was no longer needed. He watched them from a high branch. Though most wore similar clothes, he could easily tell them apart. As each one passed by he gave a little wave. None of them saw.
Fortune’s Eye and Wrath’s Tear had already set, and Vexation was low in the sky. Hil looked up – straight past Sa-at – took a quick bearing, and hurried on. Nobody said anything. They could all feel the change in the air. Soon, night would fall and the Wild would stir in earnest. Grim-faced and determined, the Gatherers kept going, all of their attention on the floor at their feet. The forest had not started to move yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Perhaps that was why they did not notice that only six of the group were still following Hil. Sa-at noticed. He had been counting them as they went. He turned on his perch, scanning the nearby area for any signs of the eighth Gatherer.
There! He saw that one of the group had stopped further back, like a lone reed swaying in the breeze.
He slipped silently from the tree and circled round so that he could approach from behind. Their breathing sounded laboured and they were making unhappy noises with each exhalation, as if in discomfort.
Sa-at was just trying to decide whether to risk talking to them when they fell over.
He watched them for a few moments, and when it was clear that the Gatherer wasn’t going to move, he crouched down nearby and rolled them onto their back.
It was Tal, the one he’d helped before. There were no obvious injuries, no reason why he had stopped. Maybe he’s tired? Sa-at sniffed. Something didn’t smell right. Another sniff and he had located the source. He lifted Tal’s arm so he could get his hand into the man’s armpit. The stink of fear-sweat made him wrinkle his nose. Did all people smell this bad? His own armpits made a smell sometimes but it was nothing like this. In fact, Sa-at quite enjoyed smelling himself at the end of the day.
He found the hole in Tal’s jacket and worked it wide until he could get his hands in for a feel. In the middle of Tal’s armpit, he found a stud of scar tissue, about the size of his middle finger, which was also the same size as the tip of a Spiderkin’s leg. Tal groaned when he pressed it.
On the other side of the scar tissue would be a tiny strand of web. Attached to the web would be an egg, floating inside Tal’s body. When night fell, the egg would hatch and the baby Spiderkin would call to its queen to collect it. Sa-at ran a hand through his hair. He did not want Tal to die.
With a flutter of wings, Crowflies landed next to him and pushed his hands aside with its beak for a closer look.
‘Can you get it out?’
Sa-at held his breath while Crowflies inspected the entry point. After a few moments, it nodded.
‘Will you?’
Crowflies looked from Sa-at to Tal and back again as it considered the question. Eventually it hopped over and tapped Tal’s thumb with its beak.
‘No. He needs his thumb.’
Sa-at watched the beak hover, then tap an index finger.
‘No.’
This time the beak came to rest on Tal’s eyelid.
‘No!’ Sa-at tugged at Tal’s earlobe. ‘This bit?’
Crowflies shook its head.
‘What about both of them?’
There was a pause, then Crowflies nodded. It worked its head into the hole in Tal’s jacket, paused, then stabbed into his armpit. Sa-at saw the Birdkin’s throat swell as its proboscis thrust out.
Tal called out in pain and tried to twist away but Sa-at held him down while Crowflies worked.
The red-tinged sky faded to grey and then Crowflies pulled back, something trapped and wriggling within its beak. The Birdkin regarded the thing’s tiny legs with interest. There was a crunch and a small but audible pop, and the wriggling stopped. Crowflies tipped its head up and swallowed.
‘Did you stop the blood?’ asked Sa-at.
Crowflies gave him a look.
‘Thank you.’
He turned away while Crowflies took its due, only turning back when the wounds were pinched closed. Both earlobes were gone, snipped away so smoothly it was as if they were never there. Tal was groaning and muttering to himself, though his eyes were only half-open. It seemed as if his body were awake but his mind still lurked in some dream. He allowed Sa-at to pull him up and lead him stumbling the way the group had gone.
It was fully dark when they reached Sagan.
There was a space where there were no trees and the ground was scorched black by old fire, abandoned land that bridged the gap between the edge of the Wild and the fences and fields where Sagan began. Lights burned orange along the tops of the fences, and as Sa-at pushed Tal towards them, he heard people shouting.
‘Over here! I see Tal! I see Tal!’
More of the lights began to move, until they had picked Sa-at from the darkness. He squinted his eyes against the sudden glare and waved. Tal raised his hands over his face and groaned.
‘He’s in pain! And what’s that feathered thing next to him?’
Sa-at tried to think of something to say but, again, the words would not come.
Others were speaking though. ‘Something has him!’
‘Don’t let it take Tal!’
There was movement at the fence, though Sa-at couldn’t make out what it was. He wanted to say his name the way the Gatherers had back in the Wild. That he was Sa-at and he was safe. And then they would smile at him and touch his arm. He wanted it so badly but he could not find the words. It was as if all the breath for speaking had fled his body.
So instead he smiled and gave Tal a gentle push towards Sagan. The young man managed several awkward steps before tripping and falling over.
‘It’s killed Tal!’ shrieked a voice.
‘Get it!’ shouted another.
A stone landed in the dust by Sa-at’s feet. Then another. He held up his hands in surprise and felt something sharp smack into his palm. It stung and he cried out.
‘Good shot, Rin! Keep at it.’
He took a step back as another stone hit his shoulder. That stung too, and his eyes pricked with tears.
Fear overcame shock, making him turn and run. The stones and shouts followed him, back across the barren ground and into the dark of the Wild.
Satyendra strolled across the courtyard, slowing as he reached the centre. On cloudy days this was his favourite place in the castle. An open space as far from the oppressive walls and the hated crystals as it was possible to be.
It would be even better if there was nobody else here.
He was good with people, but they brought out the worst in him, and he often wished he had been born elsewhere. A quiet settlement on the edge of a Godroad, or one of the watchtowers on the border where he’d only have the landscape for company. Within the confines of Lord Rochant Sapphire’s floating castle, privacy was hard to come by.
Some of the apprentice hunters were playing ‘snare the demon’, a game in which one person was the titular demon and had to get from one side of the courtyard to the other. The other players were the hunters, and their job was to grab the demon. If three hunters got hold of the demon at once, they won.
When they saw Satyendra they called out to him, begging that he join them. It had always been like this. As the Honoured Vessel for Lord Rochant Sapphire’s next life, he was special, elevated above the others. Everyone wanted to sit next to him at mealtimes or pair up with him while training. He was an auspicious being, a lucky charm, and they loved him for it.
Almost as much as he loathed them in return.
Apparently, he had impressed even as a baby. He was born under the same alignment of the suns as the Sapphire High Lord, Yadavendra, and had impressed the man so much, that he had been gifted with a name of equal status and length as the other high lords. Clearly, Yadavendra had low standards. As best Satyendra could tell, he had been honoured for not crying. His mother always went on about how quiet and brave he was as a baby. How ridiculous. They praised me because I did nothing. That’s no achievement. Perhaps they’re hoping I’ll be just as quiet at the end, when I’m sacrificed for the good of the house.
And with the next proper alignment of the suns only a day away, the end seemed far too close for comfort. He had to find a way to postpone.
One of the apprentices moved into his path. Though he’d known them all for years, in his head he referred to them by feature rather than name. This apprentice was called Pik, but he had dubbed them Nose, for obvious reasons. ‘Want to play, Satyendra?’
He buried his irritation deep, and put on a mask of reluctance. ‘I’d love to but Story-singer Ban is expecting me.’
‘Just one game, please.’
‘Please!’ echoed the other apprentices.
‘I don’t know. He won’t like it if I’m late. Lord Rochant was known for his punctuality.’
His primary duty as an Honoured Vessel was to be like a mirror to Lord Rochant in thought and deed in order to enable an easy rebirth. It was implicitly understood that everyone in the castle was supposed to assist him in this, and for years Satyendra had been using it to his advantage.
As he expected, the apprentice hunters backed off, disappointment plain on their faces, and, for a delicious moment, their shared sadness washed over him, like the scent of cooking from another room, making his mouth water. A secret part of him stirred, and demanded to be fed.
I should move on, he thought. Ban hates it when I’m late, and if I play, I’ll need to win.
There was a terrible pressure in being Lord Rochant’s Honoured Vessel. For it seemed Rochant had been hatefully good at everything: flying, tactics, lawmaking, diplomacy, hunting, art. His legacy was like a shadow that dwarfed Satyendra’s achievements. How was he supposed to match somebody with lifetimes of experience? Somebody known for their wisdom. Who never lost.