Slow Turns The World (5 page)

Torrin eyed the way ahead, squinting towards the disc of sun, his watchful face stained blood red.

“There is no cover here and we cannot move unwatched, therefore Valhad shall have his way and walk ahead unarmed so that he may try the way of talking.  We shall follow, but an arrow’s flight behind.”

So they walked without concealment down the valley, casting long streaks of shadow behind them.  Valhad walked on, showing no fear, while the others followed at a distance, warily eyeing the land ahead. Both Dresse and Nasdal began to fit arrows to their bowstrings but Torrin shook his head.

“We have not come to fight but if it must be then swift legs will serve better than arrows.”

“You would have us run?” asked one of the young hunters.

“I would have you live,” said Torrin.

They walked past a tree stump where a great rianna had been felled.

“That is not the first we have passed,” said Queet.  “Not a tree stands in this valley but look and you will see that many were once here.”

“It is strange indeed,” said Torrin, “for some are freshly felled while others are older and have rotted.  It is as though this work has been long in the making.”

Valhad led the way towards the rising smoke, over a rise in the land and to a point where they could see its source.   They looked down on several buildings, some of wood but a few of stone, which clustered beside a broad lake.  It was the wooden roof of the largest stone structure that was burning.  In the valley beside the lake were many dark openings and pits surrounded by great mounds of earth and broken stone.  There were no trees but a forest of broken stumps extended as far as they could see.  And there were bodies; many lay sprawled upon the ground close to the burning building. Torrin looked warily upon the scene and spoke quietly to his companions.

“Dirg, Grelle and Dresse, make your way around the camp.  See that the way is safe.  The rest shall come with me. Have arrows ready for we do not know the way of things…”

They made their way down to the settlement and eyed the many dead. Torrin stood over one that had fallen and looked down into two misted hazel eyes.

“These are the Asgal that we met,” he said, scanning the grotesque masks of death strewn around them. “But I do not see any of the other tribe; they have fought only amongst themselves.”

The body at his feet clutched an arrow shaft that had pierced the heart.  Alongside lay another figure, facedown, a wound oozing between the shoulders.  The hands were stretched towards the clasped fist of another body as if it gripped some small but precious thing that, even at the moment of death, was sought with desperation.   Torrin stooped down and forced the rigid fingers apart to reveal a few metal discs.  He held them in the sunlight and examined them closely; each bore the imprinted mark of the triangle within the circle and on the other side the profile of a face.  There were characters inscribed around the perimeter that he could not read.  The discs glittered in the red light.

“Why kill a man for such as this?” he asked, but none beside him had an answer.

Dirg, Grelle and Dresse returned. They had found no living person, but a few more scattered bodies from which they had gathered swords, daggers, crossbows and quivers of bolts.   Dirg eagerly experimented with a crossbow.

 “See the leather loop at the bow end?  That must be made to put a foot through, like this, and then…”  

He grasped the bowstring and pulled it back, muscles bulging, while holding the bow-head to the ground with his foot.  He hooked the cord around two iron claws and then took a bolt from the quiver.

“Have a care where it points,” said Torrin, “for we have seen how easily it lets the arrow go.”

Dirg placed the bolt in position and aimed towards the nearest wooden building.  There was a click, hiss and sound of impact as the bolt buried deep into a timber beam.  

“And now look at the swords, Torrin.”  

The young hunter drew a long shimmering blade and swiped the air with it.

“I have already seen such a point closer than I wished.   I do not like these weapons, for they are not the tools of the hunter and were not made for the slaying of beasts.  But if we are to fight those who wield them we must bear them also.  Each of you arm yourselves well, then let us see what these walls conceal.”

“I did not know the Asgal made such houses,” said Queet.

“They do not, I am sure of that,” said Torrin.  “This is not the art of the hunting tribe but it is the way of those that plant and grow.  We have seen their villages as we travel; always empty, already overgrown, for they must move on before sunset comes.  Their journey is not like ours; they stay longer in one place and then must travel further.  But there are no crops planted here and I sense there is some other purpose…  But let us see.”

The nearest building was a long timber shed with a tall stone chimney rising from its far end.  The doors stood open and the band entered; there was a strange smell in the air of pungent vapours.  There were many barrels and stone pitchers, some stacked in piles, others lying open and empty.   Torrin pulled a stopper from one vessel and sniffed at the contents.  He recoiled at once rubbing his nose and eyes.  Then they passed large stone vats, some empty but others still half full of a foul dark liquid.   Beyond, the floor was clear from wall to wall but had been covered with a thick bed of sand disturbed by many footfalls.  Against the far wall was a great hearth connected to huge leather bellows.  There were many crucibles, set upon long handles, left in a tangled pile.

“I have seen this before and know what is made here,” said Torrin. “When I was young there was another tribe camped near who had the art of metal making.   I saw how they dug for a special rock which they heated upon a fire of coals until it turned to liquid.  They made the shape of a blade in clay and poured the metal in.   I offered them my knife, which was my father's, in barter for a metal blade, and they laughed at me.  For who would choose a blade of bone, be it finely carved or not, when there is a better, sharper edge.”

“So is that the purpose of this place, to make swords?” asked Nasdal.

“What tribe would need so many blades?” said Queet.

“I do not think weapons were made here,” said Valhad. “Do you see this?”

He held a wooden pole, fixed to one end was a block of wood that was most carefully worked; its edges were rounded and it had been crafted into a precise oblong tablet.

“Look,” said Valhad as he pushed the wooden block down into the sand and then withdrew it.

“See the hollow that is left?   That is the shape of the metal that was poured here.  There is no sign of any mould that would make a blade.”

“Maybe this metal does not make blades,” said Torrin and held up one of the glittering discs he had taken from the dead fingers.

“Perhaps,” he said, “it is not the shape that matters, but the metal itself…”

Torrin held what he had taken from the dead man in his open palm.  The others looked to him with puzzled faces, except for Valhad who nodded slowly.    Torrin slipped the coins carefully into a hidden pouch within his belt so that he might show Perrith what had been fought over so savagely.

The hunters emerged again into the sunlight and walked to the lake.  The water was dark and smelled faintly like the air in the shed.

“Do not drink from this,” said Torrin, “there is a sickness within it.”

They entered another wooden building and found a long room that had been used for another purpose; there were tables, benches and sleeping litters strewn with straw and skins, leather tunics lay here and there; a rack upon the wall held several crossbows.  Another smaller shed was piled high with grain and hung with salted meats.  They moved on to the large stone building whose roof had now collapsed and lay smouldering within the soot-charred walls.  Sculpted into the stone above the entrance portal was the triangle within the circle.  Torrin peered within and saw the remains of a finely carved table, half buried by blackened roof timbers.

Walking on towards the black cave mouths in the valley side, they found more bodies.  These figures were ragged and skeletal; they seemed to have died from wasting or disease, save one which was bound to a post and whose skin was streaked with cruel whip marks.  The dead were of many different tribes, some fair, others dark.  Most were men and full grown, but not all.  The hunters stopped at one tunnel entrance and saw a dark passage leading inwards, propped with timbers.

They turned to look at settlement with its smoking fire, dead lake, and strewn corpses.  

“The work that has been done here,” said Torrin,  “must have begun when the sun rose and has continued until now, when darkness nears.  The hardest toil has been by those who were enslaved, starved and beaten.  Overseeing this work has been the Asgal, and before them, I would guess, other tribes that passed and were persuaded.   Within the stone house dwelt those who ordered this way of things.  And they have gone now, for their work is over until the sun rises here again. Perhaps when the time of leaving came and the masters departed, those that were left squabbled and fought.”

“I have met the Asgal many times,” said Queet, “and never thought them evil.”

“But,” said Valhad, “when young hunters are offered suits of fine leather, weapons such as we have seen, full bellies and the power of life or death over others… Then evil may pass from man to man like sickness.”

Queet looked sadly at the valley.

“My father's father told me of this place,” he said. “How he came here as a child.  That it was fair and bright with many birds and animals living in the woodlands.  And that there were fish to catch within the lake…   Have you heard a bird sing since we came here?  Or seen the burrowing animals dashing to their holes?   There is a stink upon the air and even the grass is brown and withered.”

“Then be glad that we shall not linger here,” said Torrin.   “We have seen that this way can be passed and must bear this news back.  It is most likely now that the Ummakil stand between our people and us.  To find a path around them will not be easy, so let us arm ourselves well.”

Each returned to the cliff top with crossbows and swords.  They looked down into the great shadow-filled plain below but no fire or smoke could now be seen.  The icy wind still blew in jagged gusts as they began the scramble down.

“Are we sure the Ummakil will not pass this way?” asked Grelle as they climbed.

“Rasgan says they will not,” said Torrin.  “For he has seen their signs are carved upon the other way leading to the sea and there is no tale of them being seen upon this path.”

“So they must pass the water, and whatever dwells within,” said Valhad.  “If this wisdom could be shared both tribes might cross safely.”

“Valhad, the Ummakil know nothing of sharing,” said Torrin.

Reaching the forest again the band crouched in whispered council.

“They are less in numbers than our tribe,” said Torrin, “If we can slip past them, and then lead our people along the high valley side, then, with our bows, old and new, we could hold them off without much loss.”

“There is another way,” said Queet.  “Let us surprise them, for we can do much harm with these new bows.”

“No.”    Valhad surprised them all with the firmness of his words.  “No.  We shall not kill any of their kind in such a way.  If they are as cruel and fierce as the stories tell, then let them show it first.”

“I do not doubt that they will,” said Torrin.

So they crept on cautiously through the trees watching and listening.  They walked until their feet became too weary and then took turns to sleep and watch.  Their empty bellies rumbled, but they could at least drink from the many streams of pure water that tumbled from the mountain slopes.   As they walked on again they saw no sign of the dreaded other tribe.  Torrin began to fear that the Ummakil had moved quickly to the sea and if that were so…  If that were so there would be, at best, a battle with many killed; at worst, it would be a massacre.  With just one final walk to reach the sea they crept onwards through denser woodland and then, without warning, the forest bristled with spears.  

From ahead and to both sides the Ummakil emerged; many of them; much more than could be fought.  Their hair was long and dark, their beards too, but their skin was pale, for seldom did the sun ever shine upon them.  It was the eyes that were most strange and marked them apart from all other tribes, for they were dark and round, like those of owls.  They moved slowly towards the hunters, silently smiling, and ready with spear or flint tipped arrow.   Then came a sound that cut the silence apart, of steel drawing from leather as the Vasagi slid free their new swords.  But the Ummakil, seeing the metal blades, only smiled more broadly, and continued their slow advance.

“We do not come to fight.”  It was Valhad who spoke; strongly and without fear, as he stepped forward without any weapon and walked to meet the Ummakil.   There was one with the appearance of a chieftain, for he wore a headdress and had a great necklace of carved bones.  Valhad walked towards him, raising his hands in a gesture of truce.

“Let our tribes live in peace, for we have seen that the world changes, and that new men come who would keep us from our ancient paths.”

The chieftain came face to face with Valhad and eyed him curiously.  Then he struck with his fist, sending a single savage blow to the belly.  Valhad doubled and crumpled to the ground where he lay gasping.  The chieftain looked down with mild disgust and motioned to another who stood beside him.  The gesture said ‘deal with this thing that is not worthy of a chieftain's blade’.   The second Ummakil stood forward over Valhad, raising his spear to strike down through the heart.  He looked down into Valhad’s blue eyes savouring the power of the moment that comes before the kill.  But the blow did not come; only a trickle of warm blood which splashed upon Valhad’s face.  The man above him stood, eyes blank, swaying slightly, with a crossbow bolt piercing his skull, before he fell back, thudding to the ground, empty eyes staring up to the red-flecked clouds.