All gathered went quiet once more. Oroth-en turned to regard him, and even his gaze was now suspicious. ‘Why did you not reveal this before?’ he asked, quite coldly.
‘Because only now can I do so.’ He gestured to Sour. ‘My partner and I are what we call mages. You understand mages? Yes?’
Oroth-en edged backwards, eyed him and Sour anew. ‘You are shaduwam?’
Shaduwam? Ah – shaman
. ‘Yes … of a kind. You have your own shaduwam, yes?’
The warriors exchanged uneasy glances, but none said anything.
So. Something here. Something they won’t reveal. Fine. None of my business
. He addressed Oroth-en. ‘We are lost and hungry here in this jungle. We ask your aid. Aid in returning home. And food – whatever you can spare.’
Oroth-en turned to his warriors. ‘You see? They come as guests asking our help. Are we so heartless as to turn them away?’
The large female warrior scowled her displeasure. Her hair was a great mass of locks about her head and shoulders, and her cured leather shirt, her armour, strained to contain her chest. She planted the butt of her spear and tossed her heavy mane. ‘So might the snake beg entry to the hut.’
‘Then keep an eye upon them, Ursa.’
‘I shall!’ and she fixed her critical gaze on Murk.
It seemed to him that Oroth-en hid a quirk of a smile as he half turned away. ‘Very good. Come, guests, sit and eat with us,’ and he gestured to the largest of the huts, the main house, perhaps.
The meal was the oddest one Murk had ever had, or failed to have, as he actually ate almost none of it. They sat in a great circle on a raised floor of woven mats over slim wooden poles. He and Sour translated for Yusen, as Sour wasn’t about to attempt to raise his Warren again. Food was carried in and served round on broad leaves that went from hand to hand. One ate with the right hand and received the leaf with the left. Children tottered about in between, begging titbits from everyone, but only peering fascinated at the strangers.
He wondered how to get any of this food to their companions now squatting in the jungle, waiting. From the lean figures of these natives he could guess that there was hardly enough to go round as it was. How could they possibly take on fifty additional mouths? They’d probably have to completely despoil the surrounding acres to manage it. And then there’d be nothing left.
Yet he was reluctant even to name what came across his lap as ‘food’, let alone try it. Some leaves arrived heaped with what looked like inoffensive mashed plant matter, pulped roots perhaps, yet smelled vile, or crawled with ants. He thought the ants nothing more than an unavoidable nuisance until a leaf arrived with a great steaming heap of them cooked in some sort of a sticky sauce. Much worse was to come. Leaves covered in beetles and fat white grubs, still writhing, that the locals popped down like candies. Then more of the vegetable mush which they gathered up in their fingers like porridge. Murk didn’t know what was more disgusting: the idea of eating these dishes, or the sight of Sour eagerly sampling each and every one that came by.
Eventually, he could stand it no longer and he sent a dark scowl of disgust Sour’s way. ‘Gods, man,’ he hissed, ‘do you really have to?’
The skinny fellow cocked one walleye, half a black beetle pinched in his fingers, chewing. ‘Wha’?’
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘Eat, man. This …
stuff
.’
Sour popped in the last of the huge beetle. ‘Stuff?’ he said around his mouthful. ‘It’s food. This is what they eat!’
Murk flinched away, wincing his distaste. ‘Yeah … but how
can
you?’
‘Food’s food, friend.’ He tapped a dirty finger to his temple. ‘It’s all in the mind.’
From where he sat down the circle Yusen raised a hand in the sign for
manners
, then turned to Oroth-en who sat next to him. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ he said, loudly. ‘It is greatly appreciated.’
Oroth-en translated for everyone and they all smiled and nodded, then proceeded to push more of the heaped leaves on them. Sour sat up and spoke to Oroth-en: ‘May I go to thank those cooking?’
The elder appeared quite bemused by the request but waved his agreement. ‘Of course.’
Sour ambled off. Watching him go, Murk frowned his confusion.
What in the name of all the gods is he doing?
Movement on his other side distracted him and he turned. He almost jumped to see that now sitting next to him was the considerable bulk of the woman warrior, Ursa. Gone was the thick leather shirt, the skirting and the weapons. The woman now wore a simple cloth wrap tied at her immense breast. She glowered down at him.
He decided that he ought to take Yusen’s warning to heart and so nodded a polite greeting. ‘Yes?’
‘You are not eating,’ she accused him.
Smiling and giggling, women round him held out the leaves of insects and pulped plant matter.
He struggled for a time, desperate to find a reason, only to finish, lamely, ‘I am not hungry.’
‘You will need your strength for the trial ahead, little man.’
Murk felt his brows climb. ‘Oh? Why?’
‘Why? Have you not guessed?’ The women nearby hid smiles behind their hands. He eyed them all. A terrifying possibility began to form in his mind.
‘You are the first foreigner sorcerer male I have met,’ the woman continued, undeterred. ‘I have heard all sorts of rumours about your kind. That your members are so tiny you can only bugger boys. That those sorcerers to the west have sworn off all mating whatsoever. And that the shaduwam to the south slice them off entirely!’ She made a cutting motion with her fingers across Murk’s lap. He flinched away, almost slapping his hands down to cover his crotch. The women, young and old, giggled anew.
‘So which is it?’ she demanded.
‘Which what?’
‘Which are you?’
‘Me?’ He peered round and caught Yusen’s amused gaze. He
glared
in response then turned to Ursa. ‘I’m quite healthy in that – area, thank you. No need to wonder.’
She looked him up and down, as one might a horse at auction. ‘I will decide that, foreigner. Now, come with me.’
‘Come with … you?’
She stood to peer down at him from over the wide shelf of her bosom. ‘Yes! Come. Let us see how much of a man you are.’
Well – how could he let such a challenge go unanswered?
He stood also, and bowed his farewell to Oroth-en who answered with a nod, the same small smile at his lips as had been there before.
He’d known all evening
. Next to the elder, Yusen used the marine sign-language to send:
onward!
Murk gave his own emphatic sign to the captain then followed the big woman out.
Much later he was thoroughly exhausted, content and dreaming when the very floor of the hut seemed to rise up and throw him aside. He sat up, dazed, to see Ursa tying on her wrap.
‘I heard something,’ she whispered, snatching her spear. ‘Something I’ve never heard before.’
‘What?’
‘Quiet,’ she hissed.
Then he heard it, a bright sharp blare; and knew what it was. He fumbled for his linen trousers and stumbled down from the hut into the starlit central clearing. Here the villagers gathered, peering about, quite terrified. Hopping to slip on his boots, Murk found Yusen and Sour. ‘The rally horn!’ he called.
Yusen nodded, grim. ‘They’re under attack.’
Oroth-en came pushing his way through the clamouring crowd. ‘What is this noise?’ he demanded.
‘Our friends are being attacked.’
‘Attacked?’ the elder repeated, quite surprised.
‘Will you guide us back, please?’
Oroth-en instantly set aside his confusion to nod his agreement. ‘Of course. Collect your weapons.’
Yusen gave a quick bow of thanks. He turned to Sour and Murk. ‘Get your gear then return here.’ Both turned and ran. At the hut Murk found Ursa pulling on her thick leather skirting and shirt. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded as he sorted through their commingled gear, all tossed down together in the heat of their first round of lovemaking.
‘I am going.’
Murk pulled on his laced shirt. ‘No, you’re not. Stay here. It’ll be dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ The woman let out a great braying laugh and slapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. ‘You have no idea how dangerous it is out there, foreigner.’ She hefted her spear. ‘Come!’ and she leaped from the hut.
Oroth-en and a portion of the village’s warriors guided them through the woods. The moment Murk slipped under the surrounding jungle edge he entered a deep shadowed darkness. He gestured, summoning Meanas, and cast a Shadow-derived mage vision over Sour and Yusen, who signed back indicating that they had it. He then hurried to Oroth-en’s side.
‘As a mage, a shaduwam, I can help you see in the night—’ he began, but the elder waved the offer aside.
‘No need. We have no difficulty.’
Indeed, now that Oroth-en said this, Murk realized that his warriors and scouts had all dodged ahead, slipping into the dark with ease. The fact of this now troubled him as he jogged along, struggling to keep up. Soon his breath came short – he was in poor shape after so many days of privation.
Blasts of munitions now echoed from the jungle far ahead. The shockwaves raised howls, cries and shrieks of protest from the many night-creatures. Swarms of bats churned overhead, disturbed from the highest reaches of the canopy.
Damn. Gettin’ serious. Who’s attacking? Another village?
Ursa emerged from the brush to come to his side. ‘What is this new noise like thunder, lover?’ she demanded.
‘Munitions – ah, powerful blasts, like magery.’ She grunted her half-understanding. ‘Watch out—’ but she was gone again, dodging into the thick fronds of the undergrowth.
Gods damn them! No one’s listening!
It began to rain. The advance was a nightmare of flashing bodies dodging between trees, slapping branches and dripping leaves. He turned his ankle on a fallen log and limped along as best he could. All around him the locals sent up war whoops and yipping challenges to the night. They clashed the hafts of their spears against the shells and lattices of sticks they wore woven over leather as armour.
Why are they making so damned much noise?
Then it came to him –
putting up a scare
. They were hoping drive off the attackers. He lent his own voice to the shouts.
Far too long later, long after the distant clash and eruptions of munitions had died away, Murk emerged into the meadow and
stepped
on to the torn mud of the aftermath of battle. Members of the company knelt with those fallen, wrapping wounds or comforting ones too far gone. He sought out Burastan. He found her with Yusen, her face slashed and the cloth and armour of her arm ragged and torn as if some sort of animal had been raging at it.
‘Who was it?’ he demanded, barging into their conversation.
‘Creatures,’ she answered, exhausted. ‘Half-human, half-monster.’
‘D’ivers? Soletaken?’
Her answer was an unknowing, utterly spent shrug.
Nearby, Oroth-en listened to reports from his scouts who slipped into the clearing, whispered to him, then sped off once more. His warriors helped guard the clearing’s perimeter.
‘You have a count?’ Yusen asked Burastan.
She nodded, wiped a bloodied sleeve across her face. ‘Some fifteen seriously wounded. Eight dead.’
Murk peered about for Sour and spotted him already tending to a wounded trooper. Good. The man wasn’t much of a bonesetter, but he was the best they had – gods help them. Strangely, two of the locals were kneeling there helping with the binding and treatment and they appeared to be debating techniques with him.
He then began hunting through the tall grass for the litter and its perilous burden. The troopers had obviously hidden it away, but the power of the object glowed like a dazzling ember in his mage-vision, guiding him. He found Dee and Ostler standing guard.
He asked Dee: ‘Did it … do … anything?’
The big swordsman eyed him as if he were an idiot. ‘Whaddya mean?’
He turned away. ‘Never mind.’
While he was walking off the swordsman called, ‘I will tell ya this, cadre. They wanted it. Them beasties wanted it.’
Murk offered a nod for the information – accurate or not. A thought came to him and he paused, considering. There was someone else he could question here regarding the attack. It – she – had been gone lately, and he was frankly quite happy to leave things at that. But perhaps …
‘
Celeste
…’ he called through Meanas. ‘Celeste … are you—’
He broke off because in his mage-vision he could see the faint jade glow of something approaching through the grasses. The image of a young girl. Nearby, Dee and Ostler acted as if nothing were happening; they were obviously completely unaware of its – her – presence. He moved off into the dense grasses for more privacy.
He was terrified to have to talk to this thing. Who knew what she
might
do? She might get annoyed by something he said and blast him from the face of the earth with the flick of a finger. Yet out of everyone here he was the one who ought to be doing this, and so he remembered his mage training and struggled to relax his mind into the state of ‘forced calm’.