Firesong (11 page)

Suddenly three men of the klin burst out through a side wall, smashing the timbers before them, and threw themselves, blades flashing, onto Rollo Shim. Rollo fell with an agonised cry, a long gash opening up down his back and thigh. Mumpo turned and struck, struck and danced and struck again, killing with each blow. He moved so effortlessly, seeming to melt before their swords, that they felt the hot cut of his blade before they saw him strike. Within moments all three were dying on the ground, and he was standing before the break in the wall holding back all who would follow.

Tanner Amos and Bek Shim seized Rollo by either arm and dragged him away towards the steps. Mumpo held the gap in the wall for a few minutes longer, but now other gaps were appearing, on all sides, and the men of the klin were pouring out. Some moved close to surround Mumpo, while others loaded their sling shots to pick off the Manth fighters as they ran.

Bowman saw the slingshots circling in the air, and concentrating all his mind’s strength, he tracked the stones as they flew, to send them glancing away against the rock walls.

The young women were on the steps now, the Manth men racing close behind. The brief advantage of surprise was gone, as more and more men of the klin came streaming out into the open. More and more stones were flying, and Bowman could feel his powers draining away, even as Sarel Amos passed him on the high shelf and gained the cover of the tunnel, with the others close behind.

Mumpo too was on the move now, but he was like a stag at bay, ringed by hounds. He leapt and struck, ducked and struck, slipped out of reach and sprang back to strike again, fighting the way he had been taught to fight in the dance of death called the manaxa. He offered himself to the blades only to spiral away, leaving bloody wounds in his wake. But even he could not escape the press of so many swords for long. A slash of searing pain across one shoulder, and he felt the warm slick of blood down his back. He moved out of range, but too slowly, and took a blade in the gut that made him gasp the breath out of his lungs. He turned and saw the steps, not far off now, and felt himself stumble. Dimly, from far off, he felt the pain of his wounds, felt himself growing weaker, knew he must fall –

Suddenly there was space opening up round him, and there was another fighting with him, a wild thing, a creature masked in blood. With one great howl of rage, Mumpo exploded through his tormentors, and sprang up the stone staircase, urged on by Bowman, followed by the wild one.

‘On, Mumpo! Run!’

Bowman cleared the way for Mumpo, and saw behind him the wild one who wore the bandits’ dress, climbing the steps backwards, fighting off his own people. He heard him shout, saw him turn his bloody head and shout –

‘Go, Bowman! Pull down the tunnel timbers behind you! Go!’

Bowman didn’t know who this stranger was who fought so hard for them. All he could see was a hideously disfigured face and a ferocious arm wielding a long serrated blade.

‘Come with us!’ he cried. ‘Hurry!’

Now the stranger was up on the ledge, pushing Bowman into the tunnel.

‘Go! I’ll hold them! Destroy the tunnel!’

It was the voice Bowman recognised at last.

‘Rufy! Rufy Blesh!’

‘Go!’

‘You’ll be killed!’

Rufy turned on him, his hollow eyes staring out of his smashed face.

‘I’m dead already, Bowman! Now go!’

Bowman turned and followed the others into the tunnel.

‘Pull down the timbers!’ he cried.

Jamming his sword blade between two of the support beams, he wrenched, and a beam came away. A tumble of loose stone fell, kicking up dust in the dark.

‘Pull down the timbers!’

Now the others understood. Miller Marish on one side, Sisi on the other, they attacked the beams, and dragged them down, running back as the rock above came crashing to the tunnel floor. Back and back they went, and the more the tunnel collapsed, the more they could feel the rolling thunder of the rock above, as it settled down once more to fill the little thread of space that men had made.

When they came out at last, choking and dust-grimed, into the place where the fissure opened to the air high above, they stopped to regain their breath and take stock. Behind them they could hear the continuing rumble as the immense weight of the land above settled, closing the one exit from the river rift, sealing the Barra klin forever in its own icy fortress.

Bowman searched the faces of the young women, trying to identify them in the darkness and dust.

‘All here? Do we have all of you?’

‘Yes,’ said Kestrel, almost crying. ‘All here.’

Mumpo was bent over, clutching his stomach.

‘Mumpo! Are you hurt?’

‘Not too badly.’ He looked up and forced a smile. ‘You should have left me there. I would have killed them all.’

Rollo Shim’s back and leg were bleeding copiously. They did what they could to bind the gash. There was no light to do more, and they wanted to move, to run, to be far from this terrible place.

‘Can you walk, Rollo?’

‘Yes. I’m ready.’

‘Then let’s go!’ cried Bowman.

‘Rufy!’ Kestrel was hunting among the faces in the dark. ‘Where’s Rufy?’

‘He held the gate for us,’ said Bowman.

‘They’ll kill him!’

She saw Bowman’s answering look and understood, and spoke no more.

They set off back down the maze of cracks and fissures, moving as fast as they could. Above them there came the mewling cry of the cat, stalking the edges of the fissures, guiding them on their way. From time to time the cat seemed to cross overhead, in slow impossible leaps: but Kestrel had no energy left to wonder at such things. The night was dark, and the labyrinth was long.

As first light began to seep into the sky, the rock walls on either side grew lower, and the descending moon reached further down to lay the last of its silver light at their feet. Then there came the moment when the guiding cat was no longer high above, but was waiting ahead, on the same path they trod: and they knew that at the end of this long last slope lay the open land.

Exhausted, panting, drenched in sweat for all the chill of the night, they came out of the labyrinth and stood still, gazing at the sudden great distances reaching to the dark horizon. It was like a return to life after burial in the tomb. Endless space, brightening sky, the fresh sting of the wind.

Not far off, flying high above a ridge, they saw the white flag of their people.

Pinto was awake, and had been for some time. She was too young to share the watch, but she knew she would not go back to sleep, so she chose to sit here, under the flagpole, and look out over the labyrinth. Somewhere out there were her brother and sister, and Mumpo who she loved more than either of them.

It seemed to her a whole lifetime since they’d gone away, but it was only one long night. Her father and the others had buried Harman Warmish under a cairn of stones, and she had helped. With every stone she had laid she had thought about Kestrel and the others, and Ashar Warmish, who was only a few years older than herself.

The capture of the young women had had a strange effect on Pinto. It had frightened her terribly, and she still shivered as she thought about what might be happening to them. Her mother had told her they had been taken to be wives. But how could anyone be forced to be a wife? Pinto tried to imagine one of the scarf-masked bandits forcing her to be his wife, and it just didn’t make any sense. It was like forcing someone to be your friend. It couldn’t be done.

The absence of Kestrel and the other young women had brought about a change within their group that Pinto felt acutely. Somehow she and Fin and Jet Marish, none of them more than eight years old, had become young women. No one had said this: it was just how it felt. As if in any group of people there must be some who were the young women, and now she was one of them.

After the burial they had all set to work clearing the rock fall that blocked their way. She had worked with the rest, glad to be occupied. They had made a fire, and cooked the meat from the dead cow. Then somebody had said something, something about weeping. What was it?

Mrs Chirish had given her some of the meat to take to Creoth, and he had refused to eat it, because he was sorrowing for the cow’s death. Mrs Chirish had not been at all sympathetic. She had said to the grieving cowman,

‘It’s bad about your cow, but things have a way of dying. People weep for a while, and then they stop.’

Pinto sat under the flag in the faint light that preceded dawn and wondered if that was true. Mrs Chirish had given Creoth no reason to feel better, but her words had seemed to help him.

People weep for a while, and then they stop . . .

If they never come back, thought Pinto, if Bowman and Kestrel and Mumpo never come back, I’ll weep and I won’t stop. I’ll cry myself to death.

She heard a faint sound behind her, and turned to see who was coming. There was nobody. The other lookouts were a little way away from her along the ridge. The rest of her people were sleeping under and around the wagon. Then she felt a brief tickle at her neck, and reached up to scratch it. There came a lurching feeling inside her, that for a few moments made her feel she was going to be sick, followed by an entirely different feeling, a feeling that she could do anything she wanted in the entire world.

She stood up, and reached her arms high, and pranced up and down for sheer joy.

I can do anything! I can have everything!

All at once she caught a movement in the dark land; and another. Figures were appearing in the distance. She strained her eyes, and made out the familiar shape of her brother, and behind him, taller, shoulders slightly hunched, Mumpo.

‘They’re back!’ she yelled. ‘They’re back! They’re back!’

As Bowman led rescuers and rescued to the ridge, the Manth people woke and came scrambling up the far side. Running and cheering, they ran to take them in their arms. Rollo Shim, who was in more pain than he had admitted, collapsed in a faint. The cheer faded on the watching people’s lips. Ira Hath hurried forward, and kneeling, peeled away his blood-crusted shirt to expose the wounded flesh.

‘Water! Quickly!’

‘Mumpo’s hurt!’

Mumpo remained standing, but he staggered as he stood, and clutched his stomach. Pinto cried out in panic.

‘Mumpo! You’re not to be hurt! You’re not to die!’

Bowman spoke sharply above the mounting cries of fear.

‘We’re all alive. We’re all back.’

Branco Such held his daughter in his arms and sobbed aloud. Ashar Warmish hugged her mother, who was weeping uncontrollably. Hanno Hath embraced his son, and spoke to him low.

‘Are they still following you?’

‘No,’ said Bowman. ‘They’ll never hurt us again.’

Little Scooch set himself to cleaning and bandaging the wounds, helped by Lunki and Mrs Chirish. Lunki was impressed by Scooch’s neat dressings.

‘It’s very like pastry work,’ he said by way of explanation.

Kestrel satisfied herself that the wounded men were being well looked after, and then sought out her brother. For a long moment they stood in silence, arms round each other, feeling the fear retreat, and the knowledge that they were together again fill up the space it had occupied.

I knew you’d find me. I knew it.

‘Did you see Mumpo fight?’

‘And Rufy Blesh. We’d never have got away without them.’

A low mewling sound came from the cat.

‘And Mist. We’d never have got back without Mist.’

The cat turned his head aside, as if to show he needed no thanks. Nevertheless, he felt that what the boy said was no more than the truth. It was right that the others should know it.

Nearby, Lunki was now listening to Sisi’s account of their capture and escape, her eyes wide with terror.

‘Oh my pet! Oh my sweet one!’

‘I killed him, Lunki.’ Sisi’s eyes glowed at the memory. ‘The one who dared to call me his bride. I killed him.’

She looked up at the flag, still streaming in the night wind. She knew it well. It was her former wedding dress.

‘I’ll never be a bride now, Lunki. I’m a husband-killer now.’

Pinto, still in her strange state, stayed close by Mumpo, clinging to one of his arms. Mumpo stroked her hair, touched by her fierce loyalty.

‘You’re not badly hurt,’ she told him. ‘You’ll be alright soon.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I hope so.’

‘You will, because you’ve got to be.’

‘Then I will,’ he said, smiling.

‘When I’m older,’ she told him, whispering, ‘I’m going to marry you.’

She had never dared say it before. Now she dared anything.

‘Are you, Pinskin?’

This was his special name for her. She liked it that he had a special name for her, but at the same time she knew he didn’t think of her as a grown-up person like himself.

‘You’ll marry me, won’t you?’

‘You’ll not be marrying anybody for a long, long time.’

‘If anyone else tries to marry you, I’ll kill them. Even Kess. Especially Kess.’

She felt him pull away from her, but she held on tightly.

‘Don’t talk like that. You know you don’t mean it.’

‘I do! I’d kill Kess myself, I’d stab her with a knife until she was dead!’

Mumpo pushed her off him, angered.

‘What do you know of killing? I’ve just come from a place of killing. Never, never talk like that again.’

Pinto found she couldn’t stop herself.

‘I would! I’d kill her! I’d stab her and cut her and make her bleed –’

Mumpo took her by the shoulders and shook her to stop the stream of wild talk.

‘You say you love me, Pinto. If you love me, you love Kestrel. Do you understand? Say another unkind word about Kestrel, and I’ll never be your friend again.’

Pinto stared back at him, churning with hot prickly feelings all through her insides. She wanted with a fierce yearning to pour out all her hatred for Kestrel, but she was terrified of losing Mumpo’s love. The two passions fought within her with such violence that she felt faint and sick. Tears began to well up in her stinging eyes.

‘It’s not fair! It’s not fair!’