The Inferior (3 page)

‘We should take those pups now and run for it,’ said Waterjumper.

Rockface laughed at him. ‘And what if one of the Hairbeasts saw us, Little Chief? Are you going to put the treaty back together when nobody can even speak to them?’ The hunter with the scarred nose sniggered too. Waterjumper blushed.

The booming sounds of Hairbeasts drew closer. Two large males ran past them. One of the creatures had blood streaming from its fur. They ignored the humans completely.

A few minutes later the hunters entered one side of a small square at about the same time as four brown-shelled Armourbacks entered the other, their red eyes glittering. Both parties came to a halt. Five human warriors versus four Armourbacks put the odds only slightly in the beasts’ favour. Normally two well-matched groups would leave each other alone. Better to hunt weaker prey than risk heavy casualties, only to end up with more flesh than they could carry home.

However, something strange was happening in the Hairbeast district that day, and all the hunters knew it.

Fear grew in Stopmouth’s belly. Only luck had saved him in his last encounter with these creatures and he didn’t want to fight them again. But it shouldn’t come to that. The Armourbacks probably wouldn’t recognize the volunteers as non-combatants and would think themselves heavily outnumbered. They might run away. But, to Stopmouth’s dismay, Rockface lacked the ability to see things from a beast’s point of view.

‘Volunteers!’ he said. ‘Stay back, hey? Go into the laneway we just left. Stopmouth and Waterjumper, take the edges. Linebrow, Burnthouse, keep with me. Aim for the joints. If you get behind one, strike at the base of the neck. They hate that.’

The hunters formed themselves into a line and stepped across to the middle of the square, where their longer reach could be used to best advantage. The four beasts got their backs to a wall, but instead of edging away, as Stopmouth had hoped, they gripped their spears and charged, concentrating their attack on the centre of the human formation.

Linebrow’s spear snapped against Armourback shell. He had no such defence of his own and he cried out in terror and then pain, folding onto the ground like a dropped blanket. Rockface’s weapon broke too, but he swayed aside at the last moment and used his knife to slice his attacker’s throat.

At the edges of the line Stopmouth and Waterjumper escaped the charge by leaping away and keeping their distance. But when the three surviving enemies pulled back, Linebrow was beyond help and Burnthouse’s right arm dangled at his side. He fell onto his behind, staring at his useless limb.

Rockface patted him on the back and took his spear for himself. ‘We can win, boys,’ he said. He had a manic grin on his face. He knelt next to the Armourback he’d killed and popped an eyeball free. He waved it at the enemy before eating it. ‘I’ll eat you too!’ he shouted, and to Stopmouth’s amazement, he laughed. The pause in the fighting had given the young man’s terror a chance to grow. His palms sweated on the shaft of his spear. He knew that if they stayed here, they’d die, and that he himself could escape only if he ran.

Too late. The Armourbacks were charging again. Stopmouth braced his spear against the ground and tried to aim the tip towards the neck joint of his attacker. His weapon hit armour instead. To his surprise, it crunched straight through the beast’s shell and stopped it dead. The creature’s arms twitched so fast they seemed to blur. And then it dropped, taking his spear with it. He tried to pull it free and panicked when the shaft came loose without the tip. But the other beasts seemed to have forgotten about him. Nearby, Waterjumper sat with bloody hands over his stomach and a look of surprise on his face. Only Rockface was still fighting. The two remaining Armourbacks had backed him into a corner and jabbed at him almost playfully.

With shaking hands, Stopmouth unhooked his sling and grabbed a few stones. He aimed for the base of the neck.
Crack!
A perfect hit! One of the creatures dropped soundlessly. His next missile hit shell instead, but now the last Armourback knew he was there, and when it half turned towards him, Rockface shoved a dagger deep into its neck.

‘Good boy!’ he shouted. ‘They hate someone at their backs! They hate it!’ Then he saw the first Armourback, which Stopmouth had killed by punching straight through its armour.

‘How?’ he asked.

‘Th-the s-spear-p-p-point. Sh-sh-shell.’

‘Speak plainly, boy.’

‘Ar-Armourback sh-shell. I m-made it f-f-from—’

‘Never mind,’ said Rockface. ‘You can tell me later.’

Rockface walked over to the wall where Waterjumper and Burnthouse sat side by side in the dust. Waterjumper groaned and held his hands over his belly.

‘Let’s have a look there, Little Chief,’ said Rockface. He tried to pry Waterjumper’s hands away from the wound. The boy resisted but had no strength. ‘It’s not as bad as you think, Little Chief. Don’t look at it, hey? I want you to watch the Roof while I bind it. Tell us if you see any Globes.’

Without warning Rockface plunged his knife into Waterjumper’s left eye. The boy twitched once and relaxed.

‘I don’t need any help like that,’ said Burnthouse weakly. He’d pulled moss from the wall of the building behind him to stem the bleeding in his arm.

‘You’ll hunt again, Burnthouse. Your wife will keep marking your Tally so long as we can get you home. What are you doing, Stopmouth? Get over here, boy.’

‘A m-minute.’ Stopmouth had been slicing fragments of shell from dead Armourbacks. He wrapped all he could carry in Linebrow’s loincloth. The poor man wouldn’t be needing it now.

Just then the hunters heard sounds of running feet. Before they could react, a dozen Hairbeasts loped into the square. They carried clubs with rocks tied to the ends–a good weapon for fighting Armourbacks if you were as large as they. Blood matted their fur. They boomed and hooted at the humans. One of them approached Rockface, bellowing their word for flesh. It butted him out of the way with its chest. Then it threw Waterjumper’s body over its shoulder and loped off. Others stepped forward to claim Linebrow and, shockingly, the Armourback corpses too. Then they were gone again, running down the alleyway from which the humans had emerged.

‘It seems,’ said Burnthouse, ‘the Hairbeasts are no longer at peace with the Armourbacks.’

‘Or with us,’ said Rockface. ‘They took our kills too. Let’s get out of here.’

‘Wait,’ said Burnthouse as Stopmouth helped him to his feet. ‘We need to know what’s going on. The Hairbeasts didn’t seem too worried about the treaty. That’s not like them.’

‘S-scared,’ said Stopmouth.

‘What are you scared of, boy?’ asked Rockface. ‘We won, didn’t we?’

‘N-n-no, th-th—’

‘He means the Hairbeasts,’ said Burnthouse. His arm seemed to be causing him great pain. ‘Those big hairies were terrified. And so am I! I’ve changed my mind about finding the cause. Just get me home.’

They went back to the alleyway where they’d left the volunteers, but found only blood and signs of a struggle. They could easily have tracked the trail leading away from the scene but knew that it was too late for the volunteers now anyway. The Tribe had to be told what was going on.

In the distance the men could hear a roar, as if giant hunting parties were clashing with each other. They ran until they came to a crossroads less than five hundred paces from the empty zone between human and Hairbeast territory. At the end of one of the roads they saw a group of Armourbacks and grey-furred Hoppers surround some Hairbeasts and spear them to death. The three men had heard rumours of this. But who could believe such a thing? It was as if two distinct races, Armourbacks and Hoppers, had found a way to talk to one another and had planned an invasion of the district together. Impossible and shocking.

The humans hurried on, hoping they hadn’t been seen. They reached no-man’s-land near the crossing over the Wetlane. A guard waved frantically at them from the first tower. Stopmouth turned to look. Two hundred paces behind them, a troop of Hoppers burst from between buildings and approached at great speed. Powerful hind legs drove the creatures forward at twice the length of a man with every leap. Grey fur streamed behind them and long arms were constantly moving to keep them balanced. They were not strong, these beasts, but no faster creature lived in the city and few were more dangerous on open ground. Frantically Stopmouth and Rockface reached for weapons while the injured Burnthouse stumbled on alone. ‘Sling first!’ said Rockface over the high, excited cries of their enemies. ‘We’ll get a shot in!’ And they did, both stones finding their mark on the lead Hopper, which fell back. Its fall tripped two others while the rest leaped over the pile-up and came on at speed. Their human-like hands held short stabbing spears; their little eyes glinted.

Stopmouth heard a horn blowing back at the guard tower. Shouts told him his people were coming. Too late, too late! Rockface flung his spear when the Hoppers were no more than twenty paces away. He wounded one and knocked another off balance so that its next hop took it into the Wetlane. It screamed in a high voice as the water around it thrashed and turned red. Another Hopper leaped at Stopmouth. He managed to push its spear aside with one hand while the creature’s momentum carried it onto his dagger. The impact knocked him from his feet and pinned him under his enemy. He felt its hot breath wet against his face and heard thuds as more of its companions landed on the bridge.

I’m dead, thought Stopmouth. This time I’m dead. Nearby he heard laughter, then shouts and running feet.

The Hopper’s corpse was lifted away. He blinked up at the face of Chief Speareye.

‘Where’s Waterjumper?’ said the chief. ‘Where’s my son?’

3.

MOSSHEART

S
topmouth’s tattoo itched at him even now, five days later. It was well drawn, though, everybody said so. It showed his spear punching through the front of an Armourback and out the other side.

‘You’ll have a dozen soon enough!’ said Rockface, slapping him hard across the shoulders. Privately Stopmouth would have traded any tattoo to avoid the terror he’d been through. Even so, for the first time in his life boys his age showed him honour while Brighttooth, Treeneck and Cleareye all smiled at him without mockery. His tongue got in the way of his half-hearted flirting, but no matter; the woman he really wanted lived in his brother’s house now.

Rockface had emerged from the battle with his knife plastered in gore and Hopper blood dripping from his teeth. Stopmouth had even heard him laughing during the fight. He laughed more when the girls admired his tattoos. ‘I’ll be hunting again soon,’ he said.

‘Already?’ asked one.

‘For another wife!’ he shouted, and to everyone’s delight grabbed her up in a hug.

Stopmouth slipped away.

Three tenths later, as Rooflight was dimming, he carried a hunk of Hopper liver up onto the roof of the house he shared with his mother. The air was beginning to cool and the streets were quiet apart from a few Flyers perched on a deserted building. They squawked and tore dried-out flaps of brightly coloured skin from each other’s backs, huge dark eyes blinking quickly. Sometimes one would snap its long snout at another, hissing between a thousand pin-like teeth before settling back to the never-ending business of mutual grooming.

Stopmouth had noticed a lot of the creatures about lately. But he wasn’t too worried as they kept treaty with humans, who prized their moulted skin for decoration. Still, he watched them closely, remembering Wallbreaker’s advice to study beasts at every opportunity. For a while one of the creatures gazed back, studying him in return perhaps.

Mother poked her greying head up through the skylight.

‘Stopmouth?’ she said. ‘We have…you have a visitor. It’s Mossheart.’ She fixed him with a worried gaze, but he waved to show he’d be OK. She nodded, trusting him to keep his feelings to himself.

Mossheart came up quietly and didn’t hug him as she used to. When Stopmouth bit off a piece of liver for her, she refused it with a sad smile. ‘You know I’m married, Stopmouth.’

He knew it. But she didn’t seem to know it herself. Her round face looked drawn and her gaze lacked the sparkle that had thrilled him, even as a child. He pushed the piece of liver towards her again. ‘F-family,’ he said.

‘You’re right.’ She sounded relieved. ‘We’re family now.’ She took the flesh with trembling hands and ate it quickly. When he offered her more, she took that too until the whole liver was gone, leaving Stopmouth to lick the juice from his fingers. His heart ached as he watched her. How often had he imagined those slender hands entwined with his own? And her lips…He knew they were soft. He still cherished the day she’d grown overly excited about something and kissed him on the cheek. He’d never forgotten it.

‘Thank you, Stopmouth,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much. I think…I think I am with child.’

Stopmouth nodded and kept his eyes on the horizon. He should congratulate her. He hoped she’d think his stutter prevented him from doing so, but she knew him too well. She bowed her head and for a moment there was silence between them, each looking out over the city. Around them the Ways was settling down for the night. Buildings cooled, walls audibly creaking like the groans of a wounded hunter settling to the ground. Cook fires danced shadows along the four main streets that met at Centre Square, while delicious aromas hunted for noses through windows and up stairwells. Stopmouth’s tummy rumbled. Yet he felt no hunger.

‘You’re so like him,’ Mossheart said at last. ‘Only he talks more, of course. Always nattering about this or that. If he were here now–you know how he goes on! He’d be talking about the lights in the Roof or even this house. “Who made this city for us?” he’d say. “How did we come to live here?”’

Stopmouth smiled despite himself. His brother had asked those very questions many times and had invented any number of fantastical explanations. It was part of the reason he loved Wallbreaker so fiercely. It was why the Tribe needed him.

Mossheart tugged at her lovely hair, tied back now that she was a woman.

‘I wanted to ask you a favour,’ she said. ‘My husband…Well, I don’t know if he’s always been like this. I thought you might tell me…But he doesn’t sleep much now. Always pacing. Or if he does sleep, he wakes covered in sweat and he stares at me as if…as if he doesn’t know me.’

She began to cry. Stopmouth put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off like any other married woman would have done. And then, as the nearby Flyers finished their squabble and took off into the sky, she told him the terrible thing.

‘He hasn’t…Wallbreaker hasn’t hunted since our wedding.’

Stopmouth had guessed as much, but having Mossheart put words to his fears shook him badly. He worked it out.
Twenty days
. Hunting parties were needed all the time to keep the people fed. Tattoo or no tattoo, if Wallbreaker left it any longer, he’d be volunteered to the next beast delegation that came trading for flesh. His child–Mossheart’s child–would be an orphan and might even end up the same way as its father. Unless, of course, Mossheart were to remarry. For a moment Stopmouth gave in to the temptation of that thought. But he pulled himself out of it by smacking his fist into the parapet. Wallbreaker would be dead. In spite of the recent betrayal, Stopmouth couldn’t bear that. He knew Wallbreaker hadn’t done it to hurt him. All his life his brother had protected him from the bullies who’d mocked his speech. He’d kept Stopmouth alive through his first hunt, and when their father had volunteered to feed the Clawfolk, it was Wallbreaker who’d explained why it was such an honour for the family before bursting into tears himself.

‘I w-will take him h-hunting,’ said Stopmouth.

Mossheart smiled at last and wiped her tears away. ‘Thank you, dear Stopmouth. I know you cannot take him to the Hairbeast district with all the strange goings-on there. But a hunting party is setting out for Clawfolk territory the day after tomorrow. They would be glad to have two heroes join them.’

Stopmouth blushed.

‘It would do you no harm either to start building up a bride price for yourself.’

He bit his lip.

‘No, listen, Stopmouth. You can’t stay a boy for ever. I had a friend when I was unmarried. Brighttooth. You know Brighttooth, don’t you?’

Stopmouth knew her and she wasn’t Mossheart. He shook his head and guided Mossheart firmly to the stairway. He assured her before she left that he’d take Wallbreaker hunting with the others in two days’ time.

Afterwards he paced around the roof for an hour. Then he took out some Armourback shell and set to work replacing the spear he’d left behind in Hairbeast-Ways.

Stopmouth went to watch some of the tattooed men–some of the
other
tattooed men!–sparring in Centre Square. Their feet shuffled clouds of dust into the air which plastered itself to their sweaty skin. He saw Wallbreaker twirling his spear twice before tapping Roughnose–a man with seven tattoos–on the leg. As he skipped free, he caught his opponent again on the neck. Roughnose laughed and Stopmouth found himself smiling too. No one ever got near his brother. No one ever had. He had muscles faster than slingstones and a mind agile enough to use them. People said he’d finish his life with so many tattoos they’d need to put some on his tongue to find room.

In thirty hunts, no creature had so much as scratched him. Not until the Armourbacks caught him that day in the Hairbeast district.

The men punched shoulders after their bout. Both smiled, but Wallbreaker’s joy died on seeing Stopmouth. He approached anyway.

‘Come to my house, brother.’

They walked in silence down a mossy path between buildings where Clawfolk chittered as they finished off a wounded Flyer. Normally the men would have stayed to watch. Instead, they stepped into a sturdy little house jammed between larger buildings. Wallbreaker and his wife had it all to themselves.

‘Mossheart’s off pounding moss with the other married women,’ said Wallbreaker.

He didn’t offer Stopmouth any refreshment, nor did he invite him onto the roof. Instead, he kicked a few Flim hides into the far corner of the room beside a pair of Tally sticks. One of them must have been Wallbreaker’s own, where his age was marked for him every day by a faithful and loving wife. Trophies of every kind–skulls, bones, shells–stared down from the walls. Best of all was the complete head of a Bloodskin dipped in berry juice to preserve it. Wallbreaker had won all these himself, but none recently. When he turned to face Stopmouth, his eyes were hard.

‘Mossheart confessed.’

‘C-con—?’

‘We don’t need your charity, Stopmouth. You’re supposed to take care of Mother now.’

‘I c-can t-take—’

‘And you need to start raising a bride price so you can get a wife.’ He paused to look Stopmouth in the eye. ‘Your own wife.’

Stopmouth felt his mouth go dry. The two brothers, who discussed everything, had never argued over Mossheart. They both wanted her, but knew there could only ever be one winner and who that winner must be. Wallbreaker had never been triumphalist about it before now, or cruel. So it took a dozen heartbeats for his words to sink in. Then Stopmouth nodded and turned to go.

‘Wait!’

Stopmouth felt hands on his shoulders. He tried to shrug them off, but Wallbreaker was stronger and he pulled Stopmouth into an embrace.

‘I’m sorry. So sorry, brother.’ The embrace grew firmer. ‘I don’t know why I left you that day. All I could think of was their spears in my back–the thought of their beaks in my skin, tearing me apart while I lived.’ Stopmouth felt his brother shudder. ‘I fled. I didn’t see they’d chased you and…I’m sorry–I didn’t care; I–I wasn’t
able
to care. I just ran and didn’t stop shaking for two tenths after I got home. I’d never abandon you, Stopmouth. Never. I swear it.’

Stopmouth felt the hug grow tighter and eventually he let his body grow limp. He knew he had his brother back and the world made sense again. When he could trust himself to speak, he said, ‘You n-need to h-hunt.’

Wallbreaker took a deep breath. ‘We’ll discuss this next time, brother.’ He no longer seemed so keen to keep Stopmouth from leaving, but the younger brother wouldn’t be put off.

‘D-day after t-t-tomorrow. W-we’re g-going.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Wallbreaker.

Stopmouth shook his head. ‘D-day after tomorrow or v-v-volunteer.’

Wallbreaker stared at Stopmouth as if the thought had never occurred to him that the great Wallbreaker, future hero of the Tribe, could be asked to volunteer. Finally he nodded, but the terror in his eyes was unmistakable.