Motherstone (15 page)

The mountains and the forests climbed back inland. South the cape where the whirlpool lay jutted like a club of knotted wood into the sea. He thought that south again, dimly, he made out Susan’s island. He wasn’t sure; and not sure that a faint line in the haze, threading south, was Sheercliff. But ahead, he made out the lake where the Hotlanders had camped, and jungles north of that – Susan must have crossed them with Thief – and a paleness, a haziness, far north that was probably desert. And somewhere inland, towards the south, was the river he had sailed down on his tree. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see that again.

Yellowclaw and Sundercloud stopped climbing. They began their eastward glide and the sling dragged a little behind. Nick had a view of the two great Warrior Birds above him, and the rippling spread of their wings. At midday they crossed the coast. The reef where the Hotlanders had flung Aenlocht at the barge curved like a black claw in the sea. The lake ran inland, bent like a boomerang. They dropped in three long swoops and landed on a hilltop. The Birdfolk put the sling down and Nick jumped out and stretched his legs.

‘No Hotlanders?’

‘None close to us. We’re safe here for a while.’

‘Which way is Osro?’

‘North and east. See there, he tests his Weapon.’

Far away over the forest, smoke boiled up. It was so thick it seemed solid, and seemed to increase from inside itself. It was bulbous, smooth, pus-yellow – it was cancerous, Nick thought. Soon it stood in a manshape a kilometre high, bending to the south, and heavy at the top, as though it had a brain there and could think. Then its hard edge broke and smoke began to spread across the sky.

‘Every day it is the same,’ Yellowclaw said. ‘They fill the sky with their poison and the wind spreads it over O. Look south, Kenno answers.’

A second tower rose, in colour, shape, solidity, identical with the first. It seemed to puff itself up with rage; with poison, like a swaying snake, Nick thought. Then it too broke. There were many kilometres between the armies, many days of marching, yet it was not long before the smoke of their weapons was carried by conflicting winds into each other. They ran together like puddles of water.

Nick turned away. He could not watch. He could not eat when Snowflier offered him food. He seemed to feel filth dropping on him. Humans were doing this to O.

Sundercloud had flown away to scout. At mid-afternoon he returned. ‘They are camped on a plain at the edge of the forest. There is a hill close by where we can watch.’

Yellowclaw and Snowflier carried Nick. He lay face down and watched the jungle passing – rivers and gorges, hillsides, cliffs, chasms, trees like green puff-balls, black trees and brown. They went round to the north to avoid the smoke, and he saw the desert far away, with the steaming thermal waste of the Belt on its near side.

For the last part of the journey they flew low to avoid being seen against the sky. They skimmed down a valley and landed on a hill below the tree line. ‘Through the trees,’ Sundercloud said, ‘the hill slopes down to the plain. There are rocks to hide us, and no scouts up here. But take care. Hotlanders have sharp eyes.’

Nick climbed to the top of the hill and over the brow. He went down among the trees into the boulders, and crept among them until the plain opened up. It was yellow grassland but seemed to have grown a garden of red and blue flowers. They bloomed to the edges of the hills: Hotlander tents, Hotlander weapon-stacks. The warriors, men and women, moved in the alleys like a multitude of ants. The size of the army made him gasp, but he had no time to marvel at it, for the Weapon, Osro’s fire-gun, sat on its sledge by the largest tent, and once he had seen it he could not look away. It was squat and black, a pyramid with a flattened top. Its sides were plated with iron and a pagoda roof, spiked at the top, covered it like a lid. A dome rose from the pyramid, shining, silver, bald – a metal head; and from it poked an amputated snout, the gun itself. Nick shivered. His skin seemed to wither and turn dry.

Yellowclaw came to his side. ‘An ugly sight. An abomination.’

‘Yes,’ Nick whispered.

‘See, over there, where it has eaten.’

Nick looked along the line of hills at the south of the plain. One was bitten out. A crater smoked in its side. Another was gashed open, split like an apple. Melted stone shone like glass in the cleft. A third had a hole bored deep in its face, like a tunnel that a train might suddenly burst from.

‘It goes through to the other side,’ Yellowclaw said. ‘As though a giant worm had burrowed there.’

‘Osro’s line of eaten hills stretches back to the desert,’ Sundercloud said. ‘Another comes to meet it from the Temple in the south.’

‘There he is,’ Snowflier said, ‘standing by his tent. His face is like the carrion bird’s, sitting on its feast.’

Nick could see only a group of figures. None stood out from the rest. He wished for eyes as sharp as the Birdfolk’s, but shivered at the thought of seeing Osro again.

‘They see us,’ Yellowclaw said. ‘They run to aim their Weapon. Climb on the boulder, Nick.’

He scrambled up, trying to watch the Weapon at the same time. Men were running to it. A door opened in its side and they climbed in. The Birdfolk had run free of the boulders. They leaped into the air, and Yellowclaw swung back for Nick. The silver head of the Weapon turned.

‘Take my legs. Hold tight,’ Yellowclaw cried. He hovered over Nick, his legs in reach, and Nick made a jump and locked his hands on them. Yellowclaw beat upwards at the same time and they rose and lumbered back over the hill, so low that Nick’s feet trailed in the tops of trees. He had no chance to look at the Weapon again. Sundercloud and Snowflier were keeping parallel, and when the hill hid them the three Birdfolk turned and glided at an angle down its face. They came to the river and flew along its bed. Nick heard a gobbling, a hissing, a roar, and a vicious light flashed across his eyes.

‘They have burned the top off the hill. Don’t look, it will blind you.’

They flew on, the river turned, and turned again, and at last Yellowclaw put Nick down on the shingle. He landed beside him, heaving for breath.

‘See. The smoke.’ The monster towered, bulbous, yellow, hard. He seemed to lean to see them in the valley.

‘Let’s get out.’

‘In a moment. We’re safe here. That is the Weapon. You have seen it.’

‘Osro won’t give it up.’

‘Do you still want to try?’

‘Yes, I’ll try. He might as well know what it is he’s doing.’

‘A man like Osro,’ Yellowclaw said, ‘might destroy a world out of malice. Or for his pleasure, even though it brings his own death too.’

That was more than Nick could understand. ‘I’ll talk to him. I’ll try and make him see. Hadn’t we better go? The Hotlanders will be coming.’

They flew on down the river, with Nick in the sling. Dark was falling when they turned south, and it was night as they made a great sweep and came towards Osro’s camp from the east. Fires were burning in front of the tents, spread out on the dark plain like stars in the sky. A huge fire, a mountain of fire, blazed by Osro’s tent, lighting the red walls and blue roof, and the Weapon squatting on its sledge. The silver head and bare snout gleamed.

Warriors sat round the fires cooking their meal. The smell of roasting meat rose into the air, mixed with wood smoke. Sundercloud and Snowflier carried Nick. They began a smooth circling high over the central fire. Even at the height of a hundred metres, Nick felt the heat.

‘Now,’ Yellowclaw said, ‘I will fetch out Osro.’

He half folded his wings and began a dive out towards the hills. Nick saw him sweep round, a dim shape, and angle back. He came in like a bat over the fire, and gave a great beat of his wings that sent him climbing out of the light, and sent a sheet of flame licking Osro’s tent. The warriors yelled. Several hurled spears, but Yellowclaw was gone. His voice came booming from the dark.

‘Osro! Come out, Osro. Listen to the message we have brought.’

Warriors hurled branches on the fire, making it flare, lighting Yellowclaw as he hung over the tent. But he was out of range and the Hotlanders did not waste their spears. Several ran to the Weapon and climbed in. Others turned a winch, sliding back a panel in the roof.

‘Osro, come out.’

There was no movement from the tent, though warriors made a wall across the door.

‘He’s not going to come,’ Snowflier said. ‘A bowman could pick him off from here.’

Yellowclaw flew up. ‘We must watch the Weapon. Nick, give your message. He will hear.’

Nick felt naked. He felt the heat of the fire on his face, and saw the light playing on the underside of the Birdfolk’s wings. But he had the message rehearsed and he drew breath to begin; and was glad his voice had broken in the last year. It would be embarrassing to shout in a falsetto.

‘Osro, I am Nicholas Quinn. Your hunters didn’t kill me. Listen to the message. It comes from Freeman Wells.’

That brought Osro out. He came striding from the tent, broke through his guards, stood in the light, a tall figure, thin as a mantis, with spiky-looking limbs and crooked face and eyes that shone like hot points of light. Nick saw him standing clear for a moment, before his guards ran forward and hid him under a roof of shields.

‘Osro, Freeman Wells found the Weapon. He found it more than a hundred turns ago. Before the time of the Halfmen. Before Otis Claw and the Priests of Ferris. He found it and destroyed it, because he understood what it would do.’

‘Lies!’ Osro shouted. ‘There was no Freeman Wells. He was a myth, a tale for women.
I
made the Weapon.
I
am first.’

‘Does it matter who was first? It’s the same Weapon. He saw that it would destroy the whole world. Listen, Osro. You’re a scientist. The smoke from the hills you burn is poisoning O. The trees are dying. The grass is sick. All the creeks and rivers are going bad. The fish will die. Everything will die. You can see it. Don’t pretend you can’t.’

Osro came breaking out of his guards. They sprang and covered him again. ‘Lies, Earth-boy. Go back where you belong. Leave O to O. Leave O to me. The war will be over before O is poisoned. And what do a few trees matter? And a few streams? Or a hundred streams? All the forests? It is a way of getting rid of the vermin who hide there. What matters is that Osro will rule O. And rule with the Weapon, and with the tribes. Do not come talking of trees and streams.’

The panel on the Weapon was open. The silver snout pointed up over the fire. But the Birdfolk had floated round to another quarter of the sky. Warriors spun a wheel to turn the pyramid, but it came at a creeping pace.

‘All right,’ Nick yelled, ‘that’s only the first part. Freeman Wells found out something else.’

‘There was no Freeman Wells.’

‘He lived. He made the Weapon. Listen, Osro. Just be a scientist for a few minutes, not a king. He saw that if one weapon fought with another, if the fires met, a chain reaction would start, men wouldn’t be in control any more. The whole of O would be eaten up.’

‘Lies! You try to frighten my tribes. Hotlanders do not frighten.’

‘I’m telling you the truth. The Freeman army has the Weapon too. If you fight, that’s the end.’

‘My Weapon is better. I will strike first. Mine will destroy theirs.’

‘Listen! Listen! Stop being mad and listen. It doesn’t matter who strikes first. If one burns up the other, that’s enough. You made the Weapon Osro, you can see it.’ He knew that Osro understood, and believed that if he could only find the right words he would persuade him. ‘You can stop it. You can save the world. You can be greater that way than by sitting on a throne.’

‘He preaches! This boy! He preaches at me as though
I
were the child. Osro! King! This – this
nothing
, dares to look down on me from the sky and tell me how I may be great.’

‘Osro, listen.’

‘Go, boy. Go to your friends. Make
them
lay the Weapon down. And tell them Osro comes to be their king. Say to them, turn back, leave the Weapon where it stands. That way I may let them live. Otherwise my Weapon shall burn theirs.’

‘But O will burn.’

‘So be it. The planet shall not outlive its king.’

‘You’re mad, Osro. You’re a maniac.’

‘Burn him! Make him dust! Make him nothing!’

The great burning ray leapt out. It was silent, instantaneous, thrusting into the sky. But it was only a show of power. The Birdfolk were away, beating for the hills. Nick cried, ‘Osro, stop. You’ll kill the whole world,’ but he heard how thin it was, the falsetto wail he had been afraid of; and he was silent, and watched the army shrink back into the dark, underneath the spear of light embedded in the sky. The Warrior Birds beat on and hills turned between them and Osro’s camp.

They flew into the night. No one spoke. There was nothing to say. It was midnight before they stopped. Yellowclaw found a hollow by a stream on an upland plain. They made a small fire and warmed some food. ‘We are halfway between the armies. This is where they will meet, on this plain.’

‘When?’

‘In four days. Five. Do you still want to talk to Kenno?’

‘I’ve got to.’

‘We’ll reach him late in the morning. Rest, Nick – if you can. This is a day that will fill our dreams with hideous shapes.’

But Nick did not dream, he was too exhausted. Only, towards morning, things began to move in the shadows of his mind, he sensed their bulk but could not make out their form – things huge and cumbersome and terrifying. He was glad he woke before they came into the light. He took off all his clothes and washed in the stream, though the shock of cold made him shout. He wondered how long it would be before this stream was poisoned. And he wondered how he and Susan could get to the cave and back to Earth before the battle – the last battle. There was no time.

In mid-morning, face down in the sling, he saw the river he had ridden down on his tree. The Birdfolk took him low. ‘There is where we found you,’ Yellowclaw cried. ‘Lying on the stone, half dead, flashing your knife in the sun.’

It seemed long ago. He saw the water splashing in the gorge. The pillar of rock seemed no climb at all, and the line of red bushes an easy path. But it had not been so. It was just that now, in this danger to the whole of O, every other thing was shrunken.