Age of Iron (28 page)

Some of the crowd were cheering. Lowa was trying to stand but Farrell had an arm across her.

Channa stood and ran. The Monster sped up to a waddling jog after him.

Dug could do nothing but jog behind. He could
hear
his pain, blaring from his shoulder through his entire body. Every step made him want to scream, but even through his horror he was aware of the crowd – and Lowa – watching him, and he was keen not to look any more pathetic than he already did.

Finally Channa fell and the Monster stopped. Dug stood useless, wave after wave of hurt surging across his chest, searing through his legs, exploding in his balls even. Channa, apparently too terrified to stand or think, crawled to a wall and scrabbled at it uselessly. The Monster followed, pulling Dug. It reached Channa and raised its arm to whack him. Dug gritted his teeth and powered his left fist into the side of the Monster’s head.

The next thing he saw was the swirling sky. Must have passed out, he thought. Now, where the badgers’ tits— A whump drove the air from his chest, and there was the Monster, sitting on his stomach, pinning his arms to his sides with finger-like toes, beating its chest with its fists and screaming. Dug rocked, but he couldn’t move. The beast hooted wildly and looked down at him.

It didn’t look inquisitive any more. It looked properly fucking angry. It leaned forward, mouth gaping. Dug shook with all his strength, to no avail. The Monster bit into his chest, through cloth, skin, muscle and fat. Dug felt its teeth scrape ribs. The Monster pulled back. His blood dripped from its muzzle. It chewed his flesh messily. Morsels of his skin and fat fell back onto him. He tried to pull free. It was totally hopeless but he felt strangely calm, beyond pain, beyond horror.

The Monster swallowed, smiled at him with bloody lips and bent down for another bite.

L
owa squirmed on the bench in impotent fury. With her feet and hands bound by heavy chains, Farrell could keep her pinned with an arm across her chest and enrage her even more by gently squeezing her left tit.

The locals watched but, she saw through her own frustration, they did not look happy. Only the Wounders and a few others were getting off on Dug’s slow, gory death.

Down in the ring it looked like her new friendship – her new love? – was about to be cut short before it ever really began. Blood dripped from the Monster’s fangs as it dipped its round head for a second bite of Dug’s chest.

Channa was curled in a useless ball at the side of the arena. Dug flailed his legs, raised his head to try and butt the creature, but he couldn’t shake the weight from his chest. He was being eaten alive and he knew it She could only watch. The rage boiled over and she screamed in anger.

Farrell squeezed her tit again. “Nice,” he said. “Would you like me to call the Monster off?”

“I would.” Surely he wasn’t going to?

“OK. One condition.”

In the ring Dug roared. The second bite wasn’t as clean as the first. A ribbon of flesh the breadth of two fingers was still attached to his chest. The Monster yanked its head, lengthening the strip with every tug.

“What?” said Lowa. She could guess what it was.

“You stay here for five years as a retter, to replace Channa, who I’m not in the mood to save.”

That was a surprise. “Fine.”

“And you’ll be a sex slave for the Wounders and anyone else I allow to use you.”

There you go. “Also fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Call off your beast.”

The strip of flesh had torn free. It was quiet enough in the arena for them to hear the Monster slurp it up through rubbery lips.

“Call it off now. I’ll do whatever you want,” said Lowa.

A grin spread across Farrell’s wide face and he chuckled warmly, as if remembering a wonderful childhood summer. “Do you know, Lowa, I actually would love to keep you here. The things I’d do with you … but Zadar wants you, and what Zadar wants…”

“I’ll deal with Zadar. I could train an army, improve your hillfort. He wouldn’t be able to touch us while we gathered—” She was interrupted by a cry from the crowd as the Monster dipped for another bite. “We could defeat him. I know how to do it. I know his ways. You could be king of all his lands, and more. The whole island. Call off the beast.”

Farrell laughed again. “Oh Lowa, what a lovely idea. But no thanks. I’m not so greedy, and things are good as they are. And besides I already have lovely Ula.” He squeezed his wife’s thigh. She picked up his hand and returned it to him, shaking her head.

The Monster bent for a fourth bite.

Shit
thought Lowa. It was nearly over. She dug her fingernails into her palm. If
she
couldn’t do anything …

“Channa!” she shouted as the creature went in for another bite. Were those Dug’s ribs she could see? “Show some fucking character! Help him!”

Farrell chuckled. “Not many men are brave when push comes to being shoved into the maw of a ravenous animal. The Monster hasn’t eaten for three days, by the way. Your old friend is fat, but the Monster’s hungry and he’s going to reach something vital very soon.”

“Channa!” shouted Ula, more like a captain bellowing at troops than the demure queen that Lowa had thought she was. “Help him!” Lowa and Farrell looked at her.

“Shut the fuck up!” Farrell tried to backhand his wife, but she caught his arm.

“Channa!” Lowa and Ula shouted together.

“Come on, Channa!” roared Ula, standing up.

“Shut up and sit down, you mad fucking bitch!” Farrell made a grab for Ula. She swung her arm back, her heavy glass bracelet crunched into Farrell’s nose and he crumpled. The crowd was silent, ignoring the man being eaten alive in the ring to stare at their felled leader and his wife.

“We have had enough!” shouted Ula. “Dug is a good man. He has done nothing to us! Nothing! Do you all want to watch him die on the whim of a distant king who brings us nothing but horror and shame?”
And riches
, thought Lowa, but she stayed quiet. “I do not,” Ula continued. “Come on, Channa! Help Dug! Come on, everyone. Encourage Channa! It is time for us to say no to Farrell and his horrible reign.”

“Channa! Channa! Come on, Channa! Get up!” yelled several people in the crowd. The Wounders jabbed their spears at a few of them, but there were too many to control. More and more joined in, until almost everyone was shouting at Channa.

The Monster sat up straight and looked around at the noise. It hooted angrily.

Dug lay prone, bright red blood oozing from his chest and soaking into the packed earth.

“Channa! Channa! Channa!” Now almost all the crowd were on their feet. Lowa shouted along, willing, praying, pleading for the man to help Dug. The Wounders looked about themselves. They looked at Farrell. He was moaning and holding his broken nose. A few of the crowd made to rush the ring, but the Wounders threatened them with spears.

“Does anyone have a weapon?” Lowa shouted.

Two men wrestled a spear off a Wounder and hurled it into the ring.

Channa seemed to hear it land. He uncurled from his ball, wiped his face, walked over and picked it up.

The crowd went quiet. All eyes were fixed on Channa, apart from Lowa’s. She was looking at Dug. He wasn’t moving. She peered harder. It didn’t look like he was breathing.

The Monster, who’d been watching Channa with interest, seemed to realise the danger. It clambered off Dug and walked towards the retter.

Dug lifted an arm. Lowa let out her breath in a rush.

Channa raised the weapon, cracked his neck from side to side, bounced from heel to heel and raised the spear as if to throw it.

“Don’t throw it!” shouted Lowa. If he threw it and missed, the fight would be over.

The monster was two paces from Channa. Channa jabbed. The Monster batted the spear aside and howled.

Behind it Dug pushed himself into a sitting position, one-armed. Lowa gripped her chained fists and shook them with joy and hope.

Channa jabbed again, and the Monster circled on its little legs, keeping its distance. It understood the weapon’s threat.

Dug struggled to his feet. The Monster looked round and saw him. Channa saw his moment. He lunged with the spear.

The Monster dodged the blow and leaped at Channa. It grabbed his spear hand, clamped its jaws onto his wrist and shook its head savagely from side to side. Channa’s hand detached from his arm. He staggered back, blood squirting in pulses from his severed wrist, saliva and horror bubbling from his lips.

The crowd gasped.

Farrell, holding his bloody nose, chuckled.

The creature ran to the other side of the ring with its grim trophy held aloft. It howled, then threw Channa’s hand back at him. The bloody missile went wide and thudded soggily into the arena wall. Channa slumped and hit the ground at the same time as his severed appendage.

Across the ring, Dug had managed to stand. His face was a mess of blood. His shirt was mostly gone. One shoulder drooped horribly. Blood ran down and through his linen trousers and dripped onto the arena floor.

He looked at the Monster. The Monster looked at him. The crowd – Wounders, Farrell and Lowa included – held its breath. Dug walked towards the creature. The creature walked towards him.

“Come on, Dug!” someone shouted.

“Quiet!” Dug held up his good arm. Hush returned to the ring.

Dug and the creature stopped and faced each other, two paces apart.

Dug sat down.

The creature screamed and rushed forward, arms held aloft.

Dug bowed his head and didn’t move. The creature stopped and lowered its arms. It leaned forward, sniffed the top of Dug’s head, then leaned back with a long inquisitive hoot. It raised both arms to strike, then slowly lowered them.

It walked away, turned and looked at Dug. Dug stayed seated, head down. It walked back. It bent over to look into Dug’s eyes, but he lowered his head further.
Fingers into windpipe!
thought Lowa, but Dug didn’t move. The creature seemed fascinated by the top of his head. It began to pick at Dug’s scalp like a mother plucking dirt and leaves out of a child’s hair. The crowd watched in silence. The creature stood back again and looked at Dug. The northerner slowly raised his left arm, finger pointed, and jabbed his injured right shoulder.

“Ow,” he said.

The creature peered at Dug’s shoulder. It leaned forward, pursing its pink lips, and kissed the bruised flesh. Cooing a gentle trill, it raised a hand to stroke his injured chest. It sounded to Lowa as if it was ooo-oooing an apology. She looked around. Everyone, villagers and Wounders alike, was rapt, staring silently as if the world’s best bard was telling the world’s best tale.

Dug raised his head, looked the Monster in the eyes and nodded, smiling. The Monster hooted like a bereaved owl. It sat. Dug reached out and stroked its head. The Monster started at his touch and the crowd gasped, but it immediately relaxed and slumped forward into Dug’s lap like an exhibitionist boy throwing himself onto his bed after an exhausting day.

The Warrior looked up at the Kanawan people. “It’s no monster,” he said. “It’s an animal that’s been treated badly. By him.” He pointed at Farrell, who glared back, still holding his bloody nose. Silent tears flowed down Ula’s face.

“Farrell Finda is the monster here. And, just like he has with this poor creature, he’s made you monsters. You’ve become murderers and slavers. Is that what you wanted?” Dug looked around, stroking the furry creature. “When you were children, did you think, When I grow up, I want to be the most repellent bastard that I can be? Did you think, I want my ancestors in the Otherworld to wish they’d never lived so that I hadn’t? Do you want your children and their children to hang their heads in shame when your name is mentioned? In exchange for an easy life, you have become monsters. Even if you’re not directly involved, you’re supporting those who are, feeding and clothing them and making sure it can all happen, even though if you think about it for half a heartbeat you know it’s wrong.”

None of the crowd would meet Dug’s eye. “It’s not too late. You do not have to do what you’re told any more. Farrell is only one man. These Wounder idiots, there are only ten of them. Maybe eight or nine now, after they messed with Lowa. And she was in chains, so they’re not so tough. Tell them no. Tell them you’ve had enough.”

There was silence apart from one man clapping, slowly. Farrell.

“Eloquent words, old man. But can you give these people the riches and stability that I do? Can you—”
Thwock!
Farrell fell back.

Lowa looked for the shooter. Spring stood on the arena wall, fitting another stone into her sling. Around her the schoolgirls clambered up onto the outer wall and filed along. All held loaded slings. The spectators stared at them goggle-eyed.

Spring looked down into the ring. Her face morphed from cockiness to horror.

“What have you done!” She ran down the arena steps, leaped the wall, thudded onto the earth and ran over to Dug. “What have you done to him?”

The Monster glared up at her, but she ignored it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Never better,” Dug replied quietly. He closed his eyes and fell back, head thudding onto the bloody earth floor.

D
rustan woke and coughed up yellow-green, blood-flecked mucus. He apologised, asked how long he’d been asleep, said he’d need another few hours and passed out again.

Shortly afterwards, Ragnall had tidied the camp again and mended the hole in one of their leather saddlebags. For lack of anything else to do, he decided to make a horse litter to carry Drustan, even though he’d been told not to. He couldn’t just sit there looking at his mentor hoping for him to get better.

He wandered down to the riverbank. A couple of swans stood up, arses waggling like elderly washerwomen’s. They gave Ragnall a
We’re not scared of you, in fact you should be scared of us, but we were leaving anyway
look, launched themselves into the river and drifted off downstream. You didn’t often see swans in populous southern Britain those days because people tended to eat them. Ragnall took the sighting as a good omen.