Authors: Kim Hunter
piece of meat now, he said to Spagg. Thats exactly it, replied the Guthrumite. Just a lump of flesh. I told you, they aint interested in revenge. Only in booty. They had a good, crafty look at our stuff, while they was arguin away and we was packin. I watched em out of the corner of my eye. If theyd have seen anythin else they wanted, theyd have taken it quick enough. Still, were lucky to get off so light. Its only a whim with them. Another time theyre as like to chop us to bits and to hang with any promises of freedom. They put as much distance between themselves and the Hannacks as the daylight hours would allow. When nightfall came, which was much too soon, they found themselves outside a village on stilts. There was marshy ground beneath, now frozen solid and hard enough to ride on. Frozen rats and mice littered the frosted turf and iced-over reed beds. No doubt they had starved to death now that winter had hit the land so suddenly. They had had no warning of the coming harsh weather and had not fattened themselves in preparation, nor stored any food to carry them over the unexpected lean period which had come upon them. Behind the village of huts was a sheer face of obsidian rock, which looked so smooth as to be unclimbable. The rockface rose to the height of two hundred feet and ran forever on either side. Soldier wondered how on earth, since they obviously could not go around it, they were going to surmount this obstacle. It looked an impossible task. However, that was for the morning. When he wasnt so tired and could think more clearly. Soldier was determined to figure out a way to get over this glass cliff. What is this place? asked Soldier, pointing to the huts. Are there people here? No. Its a ghost village. Used to be a people called the Beerites marsh men but theyve all up an gone. They moved out, reluctantly, when the gods took up residence in the nearby mountains. They didnt speak about why they was moving of course, because they didnt believe in the existence of their new neighbours. One day they just got everything ready and travelled inland, into Guthrum proper. Once there they fell away in numbers until they finally all died out, every blasted one of them still utterly convinced there werent no such thing as a god, or a spirit, or an afterlife to go to once you were dead. O course, they went to the worst part of the Otherworld; as punishment. Some say you could hear them cursing each other on their way to hell. Soldier studied the village in the dusk. It was true that most of the thatched rooftops of the stilted huts were in a state of disrepair. They were full of holes and covered with nests. Some of the wooden walls of the huts were holed and broken too. There was an air of decay about the place. However, huts meant shelter, even if they were dilapidated. Soldier prepared to spend the night in the best of the high dwellings. Against the very rockface itself they found a hut which seemed more or less whole. The cliff had protected it from the worst of the weather. Scratched on the lintel above the doorway was a crude picture of a stork.. Waylanders hut, Spagg said. This is where were sposed to stay, anyway. Its for travellers. Thats the mark of a waylander, that stork. The horses were stabled below, in a battered tithe barn. The two men climbed a rickety ladder to the hut above. On entering they found it quite cosy inside. There was a strong smell of methane gas coming from the bog below, but apart from that the place was dry and wholesome. No dead rats, not even a cobweb. This should have put them on their guard, but it did not. They made a fire in the stone and metal hearth, in the centre of the hut, where there was a hole in the roof for the smoke. Spagg had killed a white hare with a slingshot from the saddle: a feat which had impressed Soldier a great deal. All Soldier had seen was a piece of snow detaching itself from the rest of the white landscape. Spagg had swiftly whirled a slingshot around his head and let loose the smooth pebble found in a stream. The missile hummed through the air, struck something soft, and then a small scarlet sunrise took place on the snow. Now they had dinner. Soldier was learning there were more skills to the market trader than he had first supposed. Late in the evening the raven arrived, with news from the now distant Zamerkand. I thought youd like to know, said the raven, that your wife is having lots of visits from Captain Kaff. He seems to hang around the Palace of Wildflowers until all hours of the night and morning. Of course, shes been out of her head most of the time, but not all of it. Some say she went away with the captain for a few days, but theres no proof of that. I need to know all this gossip, do I? snapped Soldier, not at all pleased by the news. I should have killed that captain when I had the chance. I wish Id run him through when I had him at my mercy. Soldier was quiet for a moment, but clearly still ruffled. He turned on the raven. You enjoy this role, dont you? The unwelcome messenger? Sometimes I get the idea you make most of it up, just to upset me. Youre a malicious tattle-tale. The raven ruffled its feathers. Please yourself. I wont tell you about her in future. Soldier calmed his thoughts and sighed deeply, knowing that he had to know, even if the news was bad. Im sorry. Of course you must tell me. Spagg was looking open-mouthed, back and forth from one speaker to the other. He was obviously astounded by the conversation, or rather, by one of the speakers. He finally fixed his stare on the black-feathered raven. He said, Whats this? A gabby bird? Soldier said, Hes my raven. The raven said, Im not anybodys raven. We met on a cold hillside when he awoke from a bad dream. He killed a snake that was about to eat me and Ive been looking after him ever since. Somebody has to. Without me, hed perish. Witchcraft! muttered Spagg, darkly, turning his back on the pair to stoke the fire. Dont have anythin to do with witchcraft. Thats it, cried the raven, contemptuously, put your head in a box, dont confront what you dont understand. I understand it all right. I just dont want to have nothin to do with it. The raven left them after a while, flying out through the open window into the winter night. Soldier watched him go. Once he was in the blackness he vanished amongst the stars. It was a clear night in the heavens, encrusted with constellations Soldier did not recognise. Surely, he thought to himself, my poor memory would not hide such things. I know what a tree is. I can recognise an oak from an elm and the names sit comfortably on my tongue. Why dont I know the star patterns then? Are they new to me? Is this not my world at all? Perhaps some things here are familiar and others are strangers to me? What are you dreamin about? asked Spagg. Your little princess? Soldier turned on him. Dont you ever mention my wife in that tone of voice again. Ill slice out your heart without a second thought ... He was cut short by a song coming from his scabbard. Once more the magical scabbard was warning its master of a possible threat. Spagg looked startled. Soldier had the presence of mind to draw his sword and face the door, ready to fight. At that moment a figure appeared in the doorway to the hut. Soldier jumped back and Spagg gave out a little cry. It was a little old man, wizened and bent, supporting himself on a crooked staff. He glared at the two occupants of the room, before taking a few faltering steps inside. The old man was dressed from head to toe in a long, dark, ragged cloak, filthy at the hem where it dragged on the ground. When his toes poked out from underneath as he stepped across the room, Soldier saw that he had thick red socks on under his sandals. They looked stiff and damp from walking in the snow. On his head was a floppy broad-brimmed hat of the kind temple monks wore when they went travelling abroad. The hand which grasped the staff was thin and claw-like, with silver rings around the joints of the fingers. His other hand clutched at his gown, as if he were supporting his weight on it. The old man stared at Soldier, as he grasped and twisted the end of a long white beard which looked frozen stiff. It seemed he was trying to warm the icy beard by working it back and forth. Still he said nothing. Then the end of the brittle beard snapped off in his fingers. He looked down at the goatee in disgust. He threw the broken end in the fire, where it sizzled and sent out that unmistakable smell of singeing fibres. Gut his heart out will you? he chimed in the metallic accents of a mechanical clock. You might regret that remark, a little later on. He shuffled across the floor and sat in the corner of the room, well away from the fire, while the other two men simply stared at him. Finally, still with sword in hand, Soldier asked, Who are you? Why are you hostile? Hostile? came the chimed reply. Ah, you have some magical device which warns you of potential harm. I had one myself once, when I needed it. In answer to your question, I am hostile by nature. The whole world is a dangerous place. I must be prepared for conflict. My attitude is to strike first. The old man laid down his staff and rubbed his hands, making a clicking sound with the rings. How are you called? asked Soldier. Call me the Weatherteller. I go in and out, you know, through doors in the sky. I have no influence, of course, but I can direct men to a safer haven when a storm is brewing. Im a sage, forespeaker, a soothsayer if you will. Trees talk to me. Grasses sing to me. I hear their voices. Youll find me in the lull before the great wind tears down your house. A wind is coming? said Spagg. Here? Tonight? Not now, chimed the old man, with some contempt in his ringing tones. When necessary. You said theres a storm coming, Soldier told him. No. I said I knew when one might be coming. I feel it in my bones. Oppression fills my head. My scalp tingles with electricity. I have thunder in my ears, lightning in my eyes, gales in my lungs. Chaos courses through my veins. I have secret ways I keep and turn and pass again. I read the cryptic messages in the heavens. To study the blizzards of space, the storms of the milky galaxies, the clinking of stars and comets as they strike each other in the great cauldron of the sky! Then the blast, as they fly from the pot like sparks from a farriers hammer striking a white-hot horseshoe. Its all one, to me. The natural cycles, the spinning swirls of the universe, the heave and roll of the majestic oceans, the lurching of a subterranean quake, the cascading flood, the toppling mountain ... Youre a male witch! cried Spagg in great fear. Dont let him stay here, Soldier. He speaks in riddles. He must be a wizard. Well wake up as toads if he stays. Soldier was confused. Is this true? Are you a witch? Or a temple priest? A monk? What are you? I am what I am, I can be no more, can I? Spagg wrung his hands anxiously and looked to Soldier for some guidance. Soldier did not know what to do. How could he turn an old man out into a winter night? Yet Spagg might be right. If they allowed him to stay, who could say that he might not take advantage of their hospitality? Their quest was too important to be jeopardised by a witch in disguise. Perhaps this was really a young man before him, in the guise of an ancient? One who could brave the night without failing? There were plenty of other huts. Let him stay in one of those. You must leave us, he told the old man. Go to one of the other houses. The old man said nothing in reply. Instead he reached into the folds of his cloak and took out a paper bag. The bag was heavy, with moving contents. At first Soldier thought there might be a small animal inside, a furry rodent perhaps? But then, as he watched, the movement in the bag seemed to have a regular rhythm. It was pulsing. What was more the bag began to stain with red at the bottom, as if the thing inside was leaking. Soldier could not imagine what the old man had in there. You heard me, he said. I asked you to leave. I know this is the waylanders hut, but I dont trust you. I have to stay here, said the sage. You dont understand, do you, how these things work? I dont care how they work. You must go, now. Soldier drew his sword and held it in a threatening manner, not intending to hurt the old man, but trying to show menace in order to get rid of him. Holding the paper bag open with his left hand the ancient of days reached inside with his right. He appeared to grasp what was inside the bag and squeeze it. Soldier dropped his sword instantly. It clattered on the wooden floor. His hand flew to his own chest as he felt the shock of a terrible pain within. It was enough to have him gasping, his eyes starting from his head. Another squeeze and the pain was even worse. It creased through him. Soldier went down on his knees and groaned in agony. Spagg stood up as if ready to run. I can destroy you now, if you like, chimed the old man, pleasantly. Look! He reached forward and showed the racked Soldier the contents of the bag. It was a live human heart, pumping rhythmically. The old man squeezed it as Soldier watched and the pain that shot through Soldiers chest was excruciating. Soldier let out an agonized scream and fell back on the floor, at Spaggs feet. He rolled over and over, trying to ease the terrible cramp in his chest. The sage had Soldiers heart in the bag, kneading it, squeezing it, squashing it with his strong bony fingers until the muscled walls of the organ ballooned between the old mans ringed knuckles. Having given Soldier pain for a few minutes the ancient of days put the bag on the floor and carefully placed his foot on it. Soldier was horrified. He felt he was about to die. No, he gasped. Dont burst it! Just a little pressure from my sole. In his minds eye Soldier witnessed his heart bursting, the blood spraying and sloshing inside the paper bag. He saw the consequent useless, flattened, flapping skin of the punctured organ as the old man tossed it away. These were very real images in his head. It was as if it had been done already. Dont do it. Im sorry. You can stay. The chimes rang out in merriment. Of course I can stay. I know I can stay. The question is, do I let you live? You insulted an old man. You lack hospitality. Such behaviour has to be punished. Surely you can see that? You cant be allowed to get away with such things. Are you sorry? I am! shouted Spagg, dropping to his knees as he stared at the heart in horror. Im very sorry. Thats because you know youre next. Ive reserved a very special torture for you. I thought we might draw your liver out through your nostrils? How does that sound? I I think you should be satisfied with what youve already done. The old man nodded. I might be at that. He took his foot from the paper bag and sat in the corner of the hut. Soldier eventually got to his feet. He picked the bag up and looked inside. There