22

There was shouting all the way across the camp, and beyond it Loud Thunder could hear a great human rumble that was the panic of the Plains refugees, who had run this far and now were made to run again.

In the first moments of waking, knowing only that the sentries he had set had failed and the enemy were already here, he could understand none of it. He Stepped instinctively, bellowing out at the world to try and scare it into making sense. There were more frightening things abroad than a woken bear, though. He caught a faint whiff of the Terror and knew it was the Plague warriors.

He blundered between camps, man and bear and man again, until he found Mother. Of course the dutiful son must make sure that she was not in danger, and nobody would know it was Kailovela he was looking for.

They were all together: Mother, Empty Skin, the Hawk woman and her little monster. Some chiefs and messengers were already rushing up with news, babbled and contradictory. Thunder watched Icefoot and the Owl’s Grey Herald and Seven Mending try to understand what was happening, each story coming in too late, while the unseen fight seemed to pluck at the edges of their camp like a swarm of flies.

Loud Thunder had just made up his mind to head east until he ran out of fires and see the enemy for himself, when two coyotes dashed past his ankles and then Stepped right in Mother’s shadow. Two Heads Talking was gasping for breath, wheezing as he tried to recover. He pushed his mate forwards, Quiet When Loud sitting down heavily and shielding her belly.

‘They’ve taken the Swift Backs,’ Two Heads got out, loud enough to draw all ears.

‘Taken how?’ Loud Thunder demanded.

‘Plague Men, come from the sky and killing. A dozen Swift Backs dead, and the rest taken by the Terror. The Plague Men hold their fire and strike out from it. I saw it with these eyes.’

‘And escaped the fear?’

‘Because I showed them a very fast pair of heels and sang Coyote songs in my head until I was clear of them,’ Two Heads spat. ‘I felt them scratching at the inside of my skull all the way.’ He shivered. ‘What will you do?’

Thunder rolled his shoulders. ‘Fight. What else?’ He made his voice sound as full and loud as he could, and hoped it didn’t sound hollow with fear to anyone else. He should give orders now – this tribe and that, chosen to go into the fire with him. Who would be best? Whose lives did he value less today? But he was not that kind of leader – the good kind. Instead he must do everything himself. ‘All of you, you warriors. Go get me a dozen, a score, whoever you can find. Bring spears and arrows and we will remind them of the Seal coast.’

Bold words from a big man. Will that substitute for courage? But they were on the move – Tigers, Wolves, Eyriemen, Boar, all rushing to get their friends because, if Loud Thunder said a thing, it meant they didn’t have to think about it.

Thunder went to get his axe. His armour he abandoned, because the darts of the Plague People didn’t seem to care about anything less than Wolf-iron, and precious little even about that. When he came from his tent, hefting the great weight of copper on its tree-branch haft, he found Kailovela standing there, fitful child in her arms and monster at her heels.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, as if surprised to find herself there. Thunder stared right back.

‘You asked me for my blessing once,’ she reminded him.

He nodded. That had been to guide him in the Godsland. The journey felt like a child’s toddle compared to the war he had enmeshed himself in now.

‘You have it.’ She leant forward, hand warm on his bare arm, face deadly serious. Not the wishes of a lover but the benediction of a priest. ‘Come back live and whole.’

The night was dark, and the sky shook with the cries and yells of all those who could not see a way out. But Loud Thunder felt as though he carried his own flame with him when he Stepped and lumbered off towards the Swift Back fire.

He had enough warriors at his back by the time he arrived there: the brave and the foolish and those few who knew what was going on and simply knew it had to be done. His great ally was the darkness; the Plague People warriors had no eyes for it. He had seen night or storm baffle them and spoil the reach of their killing rods. Even as he was crossing the abandoned group towards them, he saw another band who had the same idea. A dozen of the Tiger, all Stepped and racing through the dark that had always been theirs, were rushing the Swift Back fire. Loud Thunder saw them as no more than a sinuous suggestion of movement, while he saw the forms of the Plague People plain. There were a score of them caught clear in the firelight, the razor-edged hollowness of them outlined by the flames.

Even as he gathered himself to double his speed and back up the Tiger, something changed. One of the Plague People cast a stone towards the night sky; it flew there and lodged, and burned as though it was a false moon, shedding a cold white radiance across the camp. Thunder felt more than heard the stampede of panic behind him, anyone who had stayed anywhere near the Swift Back fire now bolting, and the Plague People’s Terror ravening at their heels to drag them down. The Tiger were caught in plain sight, frozen like striped shadows under that hostile light, and the Plague Men loosed their killing darts instantly, cutting them down. Some ran, some tried to charge the fire, but they all died before a drop of Plague blood was shed. Loud Thunder fell back instantly, Stepping so that his human bulk might find some hiding place his bear shape was too large for. Above them all, the false moon was falling slowly, drifting a little with the wind and fading.

Thunder looked around. Some of his people had vanished away with this new development; others were with him, staring at him as though he had any answer for them. We need more, to rush them. And many would die when they made the attempt. He was struck with the understanding that these Plague warriors were acting differently – not oblivious to the world that they destroyed, these were hunters come to take human prey. Something had changed amongst them.

So we finally got them to notice us. Well done, us.

Thunder found a Deer hunter and a Hawk from amongst his followers. ‘Go bring more,’ he told them, because he was out of ideas that didn’t involve terrible bloodshed. We must drive them away. We can’t just flee every time they come, or what kind of war host are we? And yet he only had one success to his name, and it had come with surprise and favourable weather, and with all the advantages an attacker might devise or crave. Defence was an entirely different matter against an enemy as implacable as the Plague Men.

He felt their Terror, prowling around in that open space amongst the abandoned tents like something independent of the Plague People themselves.

More warriors were creeping in, one at a time, pairs or small bands. Soon there would not be hiding places enough. Thunder knew that the Plague People must grow tired of the Swift Backs fire soon enough, and then they would not lack for enemies to hunt. So we attack and become the hunters. But that ground between him and the foe was littered with dead Tigers, was strewn with more Wolves than he cared to think about, so many of his host just exterminated before anyone knew what was going on.

He Stepped, and it was the sign for all of them to ready themselves. We are enough, or if we are not enough, we are all there are.

He led from the front because that way he wouldn’t have to see all those who wouldn’t follow. He saw the Plague People in motion, and surely that ghastly light would leap up again to guide their aim. Thunder charged into their Terror like plunging into icy water, feeling it slow his limbs and sap his strength. His soul shied away from them, and he wished he could do the same.

Then there arose a sound that came to him through his feet and chest, not his ears. It was a keening, lonely cry, filled with centuries of bitterness and loss, and it left him cold and forlorn but the effect on the Plague Men was far greater. It struck them like a great wave, scattering them across the ground and up into the sky. It seemed to madden them; Thunder saw them clutch their heads and call out desperately to each other, their implacable order broken. The Terror broke too, in the echo of that unheard sound, and Thunder was abruptly at top speed, plunging forwards with a stampede of beasts at his heels.

The shivering sound came again, and now the stars were being swallowed by great web-veined wings as the Bat Society made their arrival known. Thunder saw the Plague warriors break, and for a moment they were utterly undone, prey for anyone who chose to cast a spear. Then they regained some semblance of themselves, pointing their rods at the wings above and spitting death randomly across the constellations. A moment later they fled, taking to their own wings and skimming across the ground, beyond Thunder’s ability to make them out.

But how far will they go, and how many more are there? Thunder knew that this attack on his war host was only a part of the whole. This was no random blunder into their camp, but an assault backed by an intent the Plague People had previously lacked. Now they know it’s war.

Kailovela wanted to fly, but her child weighed her down, and the night sky was full of terrifying sounds. The northern war host was still coming to order – some tribes had sent off their hunters without knowing what was going on. Others had already begun packing their tents determinedly, assuming the worst had happened. Kailovela could only stand in the shadow of Mother’s sled, and hope that some stampeding tide of fear didn’t come to tear her loose from it.

She had Empty Skin and the little monster with her, virtually hiding in her skirts. Mother herself stood atop the sled and stared out into the dark, occasionally barking out an order at any Bear unwise enough to be seen.

If my arms were empty, I would go away, she told herself. She was not sure if it was true. She did not love Loud Thunder, but his huge dog-like earnestness, his confusion, all the strength he was so careful about using, it was wearing her down. He would make a good friend if he was only content to stay at just that distance.

Abruptly new faces were pushing their way towards Mother, with a half-dozen of the Bear looming from the darkness to intercept them. Kailovela flinched back – the Plague People! But in truth that was her second fear. The first name that came to her mind was Yellow Claw. Her former mate had not forgotten her, of that she was sure.

The next heartbeat showed her they were neither Eyriemen nor the hollow creatures of the Plague. Mother’s sharp voice hauled back her people, though she did not dismiss them. ‘What do the Sons of the River want here?’ she demanded.

Kailovela pressed close, seeing lean dark men and women wearing armour of ridged hide and padded cloth, wielding spears and swords edged with stone teeth. At their head was a youth – surely the youngest amongst them, and yet he had a presence to him she knew well from others: some Champion of the south.

The dark youth looked from Bear to Bear, in their great shadows yet fearing none of them. ‘I seek Loud Thunder.’

Mother hunched forward. ‘He is doing his duty. Probably. You are the boy who came to the Stone Place and made peace with our gods. Asmander, the Serpent called you?’

‘Asman now, Mother.’ The Champion plainly re-evaluated who he was talking to. ‘Mother, that same Serpent sends me to seek sanctuary here for a guest, a strange guest. May we have the hospitality of your fire?’

Mother shrugged hugely. There was no fire there by the sled, after all – the northerners found the Plains air stifling and precious little cool had come this night. ‘If you must. Don’t wander.’ She sighed, shaking her head so that her long, tangled hair swayed like a grey curtain. ‘My idiot son plays war leader, of course. I will go shout until everyone has stopped running about like mice. Stay here.’

She slumped off the sled and Stepped. The sullen, shapeless strength of her bear shape sent the southerners back a step as she shambled off into the dark.

Asman looked about, and gave a handful of brief words to his people that had them setting down their weapons but keeping up their watch – a neatly diplomatic balance. They did have someone in their midst – a slight shape, hooded and cloaked – but to Kailovela’s eyes it seemed more prisoner than guest, and something more . . .

Empty Skin stepped out from behind her and skipped forwards, past the first of the southerners before anyone had seen her. Asman called her away, but in the next breath she was standing before that shrouded figure, reaching up to tug at the cloak. Kailovela heard her accusation: ‘I know you!’

One of the southerners reached for her, arrested by the growling of one of Mother’s people, who apparently felt possessive about the Seal girl. In that moment, Empty Skin had flicked back the stranger’s hood and the moonlight fell on a face that matched it for paleness.

Kailovela froze, for she saw past the face into that emptiness – the same that gnawed within the little monster, and yet somehow she had grown used to that. But here was one of the enemy, the very enemy themselves . . .

The Bears were reacting in shock – some Stepping to human forms with raised axes, others growling threats into the faces of the southern soldiers, who seemed none too happy themselves. Asman had his hands up, calling for calm, and then . . . and then . . .

The pale creature did something. Kailovela was watching her hollow face as it happened; she saw it as well as any pair of human eyes could see it.

It was a beautiful face. It had always been so, but the elegance of those white features had been destroyed by the hunger within. Now the beauty came to the fore, the emptiness masked and layered over until she really had to look for it, or she would pass it by. And the Bears’ growls became uncertain and the loathing they all felt for the creature’s emptiness ebbed. Love me, demanded the pale creature, and if they did not quite love her, still, it balanced out the hate a little.

Something moved within Kailovela, something resonating in empathy with whatever had been done.

In another moment, she would have said something. Any words would have been a mistake. Any kinship she claimed with this creature would have lessened her in the eyes of the world, and yet she felt it, just a sliver of it, as though some poisoned bolt had lodged in her at birth, and slowly festered into this.

Then Empty Skin had pushed forward, so heedless of the River spears that they did not know what to do with her. ‘Is it you?’ she asked, less certain now. ‘You took me in . . .’

‘I do not know you,’ the pale woman said, trying to back away but constrained by her guards. Her voice was another shock: weirdly accented, and yet true words coming from that hollow mouth.

Then the little monster spoke, high and desperate, and the pale woman’s eyes went wide as moons and she answered back in the same staccato language.

Kailovela felt a sudden access of jealousy, ridiculously. She is mine. Only I can understand her. But this pale creature knew all words, it seemed, one foot in two worlds. And on the back of that, a revelation that must have struck Empty Skin at exactly the same time. The Seal girl looked back at her, astounded. When their gazes met, Kailovela all but heard pieces closing together into a plan.

But then Thunder was back, bellowing orders. The Plague People were on the offensive. The Plainsfolk were already sallying forth to cover the exit of their wounded and helpless, and the Crown of the World would hear them. Those who would not fight must move. This land would be ceded to the Plague People by the morning, until a united front could be made to retake it.

Kailovela tried to speak – tried to force her voice high over the tumult at first, and then tried to bring that other force to bear, the way she had seen the pale woman do it. She had never had any mastery of it, though. It had always just acted through her, in spite of her, until she cursed it and cursed it without ever knowing that it was truly a thing apart from her, a magic in her blood that drew all eyes and hearts.

She could not do it. They would not listen to her. The Rivermen were moving off and yanking their guest-captive with them, leaving Empty Skin staring after them with hungry eyes. Kailovela shrank back against Mother’s sled, drawing the little monster with her.

‘You know, don’t you,’ she told it. A bare handful of words had passed between the creature and the pale woman, but there was an understanding there, a transfer of knowledge. That we can use? The hollow little thing stared at her, and Kailovela realized that it was as surprised as she was. Was the pale woman its kin, its ally or a familiar enemy? Plainly it had no idea.

As the camp began to disintegrate around them, all the warriors in the world rushing off into the night, Mother’s heavy hand fell on Kailovela’s shoulder.

‘We will talk of this later,’ the huge Bear woman rumbled. ‘I know what is in your mind.’

‘And?’ Kailovela asked her.

‘A fool’s idea,’ Mother told her flatly. ‘But perhaps the wise have used up all of theirs.’