The Ruthless. Peter Newman
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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