Nightpeople (10 page)

Somewhere, someone screamed, and through the pain Saria was vaguely surprised to realise it was her own voice.

And then it stopped as abruptly as it had started. Pale-Eyes stepped back and Saria felt her legs collapse from under her. If not for the person still gripping her from behind, she would have fallen onto the dirt.

Her vision blurred and danced, but the old man leaned right down into her face.

‘That's just a taste of what I can do if you don't behave. You understand?' His voice was strained and a single bead of sweat trickled across the dome of his skull, but otherwise he gave no outward signs of discomfort. When Saria didn't answer, he reached again for her throat.

‘I understand,' she managed to gasp and the old man smiled, a snake-like expression of victory.

‘You need to learn some respect for your elders, girl. From now on, you call me by my proper name. From now on, you call me Dreamer Baanti, okay?'

Saria nodded.

‘Say it.'

‘Yes.'

Dreamer Baanti reached towards her again, warningly.

‘Yes, Dreamer Baanti.'

‘Good girl. And you remember that I can do worse things inside your head than I can do outside of it.'

Then he straightened and spoke to the rest of the group. ‘Right, you lot. Let's get a move on. Wasted too much bloody time already.'

The same old woman who'd led the beasts out and supervised their loading stepped forward and said something to Dreamer Baanti. They both glanced in Saria's direction and the old man gave a nod. The woman stepped forward and took the end of Saria's leash.

‘Come on.' Saria was pulled towards the waiting animals. The woman tugged the thong firmly, but at least she didn't jerk it like Dreamer Baanti had.

Saria half-walked, half-staggered, still reeling from the pain of having her mind so unexpectedly violated. Only one beast was still kneeling, and as they approached it the old woman unslung a water-skin from across her back.

‘Here, drink.' She held the nozzle to Saria's mouth and directed a long spurt of warm liquid down the girl's throat. ‘Drink as much as you need, girl. We'll be in Olympic by tomorrow, so there's no need to save it.'

Saria did as she suggested, gulping down the smoky-tasting liquid until it settled like a solid lump in her stomach. Despite the taste and the temperature, the water had a slightly reviving effect. When she'd swallowed her final mouthful, the old woman stoppered the skin, then gestured at the crouching animal.

‘Get on.'

‘On?'

‘Its back. You're lucky today. Dreamer Baanti's in a hurry, so you get to ride.'

Saria considered the beast again, still apprehensive at being so close to something so large.

‘What is it?'

‘You never seen one?'

‘No.'

‘Camels.' The old woman paused. ‘Big buggers, but stupid. Useful, though.'

She thumped her palm hard on the camel's flank and a cloud of dust rose from it. The creature let out a long moan.

‘Don't worry about that. They do it all the time.'

In one quick movement the woman picked Saria up and slung her on top of the bundles lashed to the camel's back. Despite her age and apparent fragility, she did this with surprising ease. Then she tied the leash to the harness that linked this beast to the others, well forward of Saria's reach.

‘You should be right up there. Now, hold on, eh? HUP!'

Abruptly the camel jerked upwards, tilting forward so steeply that Saria had to grab a handful of the creature's fur to steady herself. Then the woman turned and walked forward along the line until she reached the lead beast. She gave it a slap on its rump and it jerked forwards, followed by the others.

Morning dragged into afternoon as the procession made its way across a hard-baked landscape. The old woman led the camels and the rest of the group walked on one side or the other. One man walked behind carrying a large bag and whenever one of the camels dumped a load of manure he would stop and scrape it into the bag before hurrying to catch up again.

A number of dogs trotted around too, occasionally darting between the camels or snapping at their legs, but drawing no response at all from the large beasts. The sandy-coloured one that she had reached into was among them, recognisable because it seemed scrawnier than the others. It trotted with no less stamina, though. Perhaps because she recognised it, Saria seemed to spot it more often than any of the others.

During the early evening they rested for a few minutes and Saria was untied from the camel and allowed to stretch her legs and buttocks. Then she was remounted and retied, and the procession of people, dogs and camels swayed away into the desert night.

For the second time in only a few days, Saria found herself staring at the town of Olympic in the pale pre-dawn light. It was still early when the procession crested a rise in the sand and came in sight of the ramshackle collection of huts sprawled behind the thorny barrier.

Unlike the other morning, this time there was no need to creep up. The old woman led the camels openly towards the town.

Saria craned her neck to try and see more of Olympic than on her last visit, but they were still some way off when Dreamer Baanti called the procession to a halt. Immediately, the old woman walked back down the line and pulled Saria's camel to the ground, helping Saria to dismount. Her legs were stiff and numb and fell out from under her, and the woman had to catch her weight, giving a grunt as she did so.

‘You should wriggle your toes around a bit when you're riding,' she muttered.

She eased Saria gently to the ground and set about rubbing her feet and calves vigorously. After a couple of seconds the prickle of returning sensation sent a shiver up Saria's back.

Dreamer Baanti had gathered the rest of the group together. Most had collapsed gratefully onto the dirt, their exhaustion obvious in the droop of their shoulders and the way they rubbed at their lower backs and thighs.

‘Right, listen up,' Dreamer Baanti snapped. ‘When we get back into town, I don't want any of you mouthing off about her.' He jerked a thumb at Saria. ‘Alright?'

There were a few mutters and grumbles.

‘I'm not kidding. This is important. Look at the size of her, eh? Dreamer Wanji's had her hidden away somewhere out there for a bloody long time. Think about it. All that time we coulda talked with the Nightpeople. All that time we coulda made a deal with them for water, or metal, or anythin' else we wanted. All that time we been livin' like wild dogs because Dreamer Wanji's got some bloody imaginary dream, and he reckons he's got the right to chase it for all of us. Every day that's gone by with her tucked away is a day you and me mighta had without searching for food. Without drinking that rubbish that comes out of the well. Without having to eat bloody rock-hoppers.'

‘If she's the last child, then she's gonna get all that for us anyway,' somebody objected.

‘Too right she is,' Dreamer Baanti replied. ‘But why've we had to wait all this time for it, eh? You all know how much the Nightpeople wanted this one. They been lookin' for her almost as long as she's been missing. They even offered rewards, were willing to deal, an' they never done that with any other kid.'

A couple of people sitting in the circle nodded.

‘So why didn't Dreamer Wanji make that deal? How come he waited, eh? Why'd he let everyone think she was born dead? A bunch of lies. And even when people wondered, he just lied some more. You heard the rumours. We all did. Hell, the council even asked him directly about it in the chamber.
Was she really born dead?
We asked him that to his face. And you know what he did? Right there on the council stones, in the belly of the Earthmother, Dreamer Wanji sat and lied his head off. Told the council she was stillborn. Told us she was missing her arms. And even though people – honest people, like old Dreamer Karri from Mooka – even though they'd heard otherwise, Wanji still lied about it.'

Now there was no nodding, only mute acceptance of Baanti's words.

‘So why'd he do it? That's what I want to know. That old bastard's been lying to the whole Darklands, ever since the night she came along, and I wanna know why. He calls himself the leader of the council, but he's been takin' us in for as long as I can remember. What sort of leader is that, eh? What does he know about her that's so important he can't even trust the council with it?'

He paused for a moment and a babble of conversation broke out among the group. Before it could gather too much momentum, Dreamer Baanti held up a hand for silence.

‘That's why I don't want anyone else in Olympic knowing about her until I've had a chance to do a bit more digging. I don't want you lot rushin' in there and shooting your mouths off, because there's gotta be more to this than meets the eye. If there's one thing I do know about Dreamer Wanji, it's that he might be a devious bastard but he's a clever one, too. He woudn't risk annoying the entire Darklands unless there was something in it for him. That girl over there might be worth a whole lot more than just some water and tin, but unless we find out exactly what and why, she's less than useless to us. She's a danger. And if that mob in town find out about all of this, we know what'll happen next: they'll be stormin' over to Woormra, spoiling for a fight, and we'll spend the rest of our lives kicking the hell out of one another for no good reason.'

He'd convinced them now, and he knew it. It was clear in the way that most of the group had started sitting up, and in the little murmurs of agreement that occasionally floated through the still morning air.

‘So what I want you all to do is this. Get back into town. Unpack the supplies and put the hoppers in the meat store. Then go home and sleep. Don't mention her to anyone. Talk about the hunting if you want, but don't mention the girl. I'll put her somewhere safe, and then see what I can find out, but quietly, alright? It's about time we had a few secrets of our own.'

‘For how long?' a man's voice interjected. ‘Seems to me that Dreamer Wanji and his bunch over at Woormra musta known about this, an' if they've been planning to cut us out of whatever she's worth, I reckon we gotta act sooner rather than later.'

‘And that's exactly why I don't want you spreadin' all kinds of rumours through the town,' Dreamer Baanti cut in. ‘If everyone starts thinkin' that way, we'll end up doin' something stupid. We play this right, and we could end up getting a whole lot more for ourselves than if we go rushing across there half-cocked.'

‘Like what?'

Dreamer Baanti smiled. His pointed teeth gleamed in the sunlight.

‘Like Woormra.'

That answer provoked another excited buzz of conversation. This time he let it go a couple of minutes, until it subsided of its own accord.

‘You all understand, then? Good. Now go, and don't forget what I've told you.'

Dismissed, the group rose and wearily dispersed, wandering towards the town in twos and threes. A couple of men lingered behind to talk to Baanti, and while they did so the old woman returned to massaging Saria's legs. She'd paused while the meeting had been going on, but now she fell to it again with an angry vigour that had been lacking earlier.

She went at it in silence for a couple of moments, then surprisingly she whispered, ‘Listen, girl. Whatever happens in there, you hold onto yourself, okay? Don't tell Dreamer Baanti anything at all. You did good makin' him think Dariand was a long way off, so just keep bein' like that, right?'

‘You know Dariand?' Saria's heart leaped.

‘Shh!' the woman hissed. ‘Keep your bloody voice down.'

The last of the men left and Dreamer Baanti strolled over to them.

‘You hear all that?' he asked the old woman.

‘Yeah.'

‘You agree?'

‘You won't get any argument from me. Or any conversation, either. I don't talk to people unless I have to.'

Dreamer Baanti grinned. ‘That's right, you don't. I forget that a secret's safer with you than in my own head.'

‘Whatever. You want me to get the camels into town?'

‘Yeah. Go and get them unloaded while there are still a few blokes around to help. Catch ‘em before the slack bastards all take off to sleep.'

‘What about her?' She nodded at Saria.

‘Don't worry about her. I got somewhere she'll be safe.'

For a second Saria thought the woman was going speak again. But then she simply shrugged her scrawny shoulders and handed the leash over before turning back to the lead camel. It rose from the sand at a click of her tongue, and within moments all five animals were rolling steadily away towards the town.

‘Now.' Dreamer Baanti waited until the woman was well out of earshot. ‘You follow me, right? You don't speak, you don't make a single sound. You just do what I say, and come nice and quiet.'

He pursed his lips and gave a quick whistle. Immediately, the dog materialised beside him, as if from nowhere.

‘Watch her,' Dreamer Baanti growled, and the dog hunched itself to the ground in front of her while the old man dug around in a hide bag under his arm. From it, he pulled a grubby sack made of rough woven material.

Without speaking, he reached to place the sack over her head, and when she tried to twist away she was rewarded with a savage slap across her face.

‘Next time it'll be more than a slap, understand?' he growled.

Numbly, Saria nodded and let him slip the filthy bag over her. The inside smelled of something she couldn't identify; a pungent, stinging odour which made her eyes water. Only a little light was able to penetrate the coarse weave of the material, and it was impossible to see through it. Dreamer Baanti used another length of leather thonging to tie the bag securely around her neck and then allowed the rest of it to fall down her body so the opening dangled around her knees and her arms were constricted against her sides.

‘Right, come on. And remember, don't make a sound.'

Her wrists were still tied, the leash running down and out of the sack, and he jerked it hard, pulling her forwards. She stumbled blindly after him as he led her towards the town.

It was slow going. Unable to see where she was stepping, Saria regularly tripped, and each time she did Dreamer Baanti would curse and tug the leash savagely so the knots around her wrists bit deeper. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he stopped.

‘Dreamer.' A new voice greeted them. One of the watchmen, Saria guessed.

‘Morning, fellas.'

‘Good hunting?'

‘Not bad.'

‘Looks like you got more than just hoppers.' Even inside the bag, Saria could hear the curiosity in the watchman's voice.

‘Yeah. Silly bastard tried to nick a couple of hoppers from the camp last night.'

‘Where's he from?'

‘Mooka, I think. Won't say anything, so I can't be certain. Not yet, anyway.'

For some reason the men seemed to find this comment funny. Both chuckled.

‘Scrawny looking bugger,' one offered. ‘Even the dungbag looks too big for him.'

‘Yeah. No wonder he was hungry. Anyway,' Dreamer Baanti continued, ‘I'd best be getting him to Slander, eh?'

‘Yeah. Have fun.'

‘Will do. Oh, and fellas?'

‘Yeah?'

‘I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this bloke to anyone. I wanna find out how things are over at Mooka lately, and it'll be a lot easier if I don't have any curious pricks pokin' around wanting to have a go at him themselves, eh?'

‘No worries.'

‘Good.'

Her leash went taut again, and Saria was pulled forwards into Olympic.

For a couple of minutes they bumbled straight along, but then she felt herself pulled sideways, then turned again and again, and within moments she was completely disoriented. On and on they went, one corner after another until finally she sensed some change in the atmosphere around her. The tiny amount of light that managed to penetrate the sack was more gloomy and the air against her bare legs slightly cooler. They'd entered a hut, she guessed. Then Dreamer Baanti stopped her with a hard shove.

‘Stand there. And stay still,' he growled, his voice low.

‘This better be important, Baanti.' Another man's disembodied voice floated out of the darkness. ‘It's bloody early.'

‘It's important, Slander,' the Dreamer replied. ‘Close the shutters.'

‘Is that necessary?'

‘Yeah.'

Neither man spoke for a minute, and the only sounds were gentle thuds as shutters were fixed over the doors and windows. The sound brought back memories of Ma's hut, and of the old woman cursing as she caught a finger or dropped the door shutter on her foot. Saria's throat tightened at the memory, and she choked it back down, breathing as deeply as she dared inside the foetid sack.

The light dimmed still further.

‘Done. Now, what's this?'

‘Brought you a present.' Dreamer Baanti's soft, high voice contained more than a hint of amusement. ‘You wanna open it?'

‘This better not be just some idiot who tried to rob you.'

‘Take the bag off.'

Fingers fumbled at the cord around her throat, and the bag was pulled off her.

‘Night Spirits!' the man exclaimed.

The atmosphere inside the hut was smoky and close, and the dull fire-pit in the middle which was the only source of light gave off a stink that made the eyes water. After the confines of the dungbag, Saria's first instinct was to breathe in as deeply as she could. Dreamer Baanti still grasped the leash and beside him stood the man called Slander. Like everyone else she'd met, the first thing that struck Saria about him was his age, old, but younger than most of the others in Dreamer Baanti's group. He was probably somewhere between Dariand and Dreamer Gaardi. His hair was dark and wavy, with smudges of grey at each temple.