When dark roots hunt, p.23
When Dark Roots Hunt, page 23
Kib leans back, rests his bandaged hands on his legs. ‘You’re right, we don’t have the ideal physical strength. But we do have the knowledge. There’s an under-hatch, beneath the ship. Ah, confusion. A hatch is a door. You go through it into an airlock, which opens near the ship’s control room. If Sala can distract the Sendalg at the side hatch, um, door – make an offer on her mum’s behalf or something – I could sneak inside and release a cryogenic gas to put the Sendalg family to sleep.’
‘A what gas?’ Tuni asks.
‘Cryogenic. It works similar to your Midnight Balm. Once the family’s asleep, I’ll expel the gas so you can come in. It caught fire when I expelled it from the ship before,’ he glances skywards, ‘but now I know not to accidentally trigger the propulsion system at the same time.’
‘Your ship expelled a gas that caught fire, up there?’ Tuni mutters, thinking a moment. ‘So you were the comet?’
Kib frowns, confused.
‘There was a comet the night you arrived,’ she explains. ‘Some of us considered it an omen, got inspired to do a thing or two. So, after you expel this cryogenic gas?’
‘We leave the family somewhere safe to wake up, and we fly away. At least that was my plan before the patrols. Now, I’m not sure how close we’ll be able to get without being seen. Unless we use the tunnels,’ he says, looking at me. ‘Remember that tunnel we didn’t go down?’
‘Sala,’ Aten interrupts, ‘was in a tunnel?’
‘Long story,’ I tell him.
Aten’s eyes look to the ceiling, as they do when he’s thinking something through.
‘If we use that tunnel,’ Kib continues, ‘it should bring us out somewhere along Mutton’s southeast side. There’ll be patrols at its southern corner, but if there’s undergrowth we could use it to sneak to–’
‘Undergrowth?’ Tuni narrows her eyes in contempt. ‘You think Beata’s swampers won’t see you crouching behind a bunch of leaves?’
‘And,’ I add, ‘even if we make it to the ship, surely the only way underneath it is to swim. And if the Sendalg see you diving under, they won’t want to listen to anything I have to say at the side door, so you’d have to dive under from a distance away, maybe even from that corner. How long can you hold your breath?’
Tuni walks to the table. ‘Not as long as you can, Sala. Kib should be the one to distract the Sendalg at the side. They’d be more interested in him anyway. They’ll have heard enough from Beata. We all have.’
I ignore the taunt, though it presses anyway.
Tuni picks up Spyke’s bolt, taps it on her open palm. ‘And I have an idea for the patrols.’
Kib glares at the bolt. ‘No more killing. We’ve seen too much today.’
Aten looks at me, silently asking whether that’s true.
I give him a slight nod, and try to cast away the image that comes to me – of blood trailing from the corner of Vya’s mouth. Vya taught Aten too. I’ll have to tell him later.
‘Not kill,’ Tuni says, still thinking. ‘If we can get more Midnight Balm, I could shoot the patrols to sleep with my slingshot.’
‘Tuni used to be a stump-baller,’ Aten says with pride. ‘She was a champion.’
I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Keeping a small ball airborne, bouncing it off trunks and passing to teammates, isn’t the same as putting people to sleep with a slingshot.’
‘She did trail lap racing too.’
‘This tunnel of yours,’ Tuni asks Kib, ‘how close can it get us? A small dose on a tip won’t kill anyone.’ She wiggles the bolt.
He looks unsure.
‘The quicker we get your ship back,’ I tell him, ‘the quicker the fighting will stop.’
He nods, then taps his databand to bring up his tunnel map. He turns his wrist to show Aten and Tuni. ‘This is where the tunnel will exit on Mutton’s southeast side – there’ll be ivy growing across it, but we have an axe for that. Sala’s Mum killed a wyann at Mutton’s southern corner here, which the patrols will probably be using as an observation post. My ship is the flashing rhombus.’
Aten and Tuni don’t respond – they’re staring at the databand’s glowing light-surface in soundless amazement. Tuni leans against the table as if steadying her reaction. Yes, it’s impressive tech. Kib is impressive.
‘Um,’ Tuni says slowly, ‘I’m a good shot, but from that distance and angle, even if I had a crossbow, I couldn’t guarantee it. And if I tried and failed, it’d alert them. How much cover is there on that side?’
‘We don’t know.’
Tuni thinks a moment. ‘I do know someone else who could make that shot, who wouldn’t care why, as long as it’s for a fair trade. What have we got other than an oil pouch?’ She still has my oil pouch? ‘We had an unbroken adult keei scale, but that’s gone now.’
I scan Mum’s shelves. My scale isn’t there. ‘Someone took it?’
‘They did.’
‘We have a motorised canoe?’ Kib suggests. ‘We won’t need it once we have my ship.’
‘And,’ I remember, ‘if we’re going back in the tunnels, they’re full of relics. I couldn’t stop stubbing my toes on them. But who’d value a canoe and relics, and not care why they’re earning them? Oh…’ As soon as I ask the question, I answer it. A clear picture materialises in my head – of a canoe full of relics, an unethical man with a crossbow. ‘Not him,’ I mumble.
Want some hair trimmed off that head? Ryll said, after shooting a tree cat from a moving canoe, around the heads of three people. His canoe was full of gweela, otters, rats, even a scuria. Nothing personal, you understand; just business is all. He would have released us if we’d had something to trade. Happy to, if you make it worth my while.
‘Then again, he’d probably do anything for money. There’s security in that.’
‘Yeah,’ Tuni gives her arm a rub, where it’s bandaged from Ryll’s bolt shot. ‘That’s what I was thinking. And he did walk past us last night, gave me a roasted gweela wing, said he hoped I understood it was business, not personal. He’d have darts, and Midnight Balm.’ She huffs a noise that sounds like defeat. ‘If I were him, I’d have traded me in too.’ She straightens. ‘So, I can get past it if you can.’ Not waiting for an answer, she turns and trudges up the steps to the boardwalk. ‘He’ll be staying with Joud; I know where. I’ll make an offer, no details, see what he says.’
‘Promise him relics, plus the canoe. In exchange, he has to put to sleep whoever we want, no questions asked.’
She pauses in the doorway. ‘Your mum won’t be back any time soon?’
‘Certainly not tonight.’
‘Good.’ She turns right, heading towards the stump cabin.
So that’s it? That’s our plan?
Is it a good one?
For a moment there’s silence, the type that allows ideas to settle, to tap around the mind testing for discomfort; before leaning against a wall and waiting for someone to speak. Our ideas are so newly formed though, no one says a word. Maybe we need more time? Or we’re too tired. What else is there, anyway, but this?
I could take my dinghy, paddle Spyke back to Itta – I know now how to navigate the wyann, go through the Summerhill Levee… Then what? For as long as anyone has Kib’s ship, there would be no going back to the way things were – they’d have too much power.
So, this is our plan.
As if knowing this, the lateness of night seeps in around us. It’s been a long day. The distillery is silent. Aten, Kib and I are all physically hurt. We sit and rub our temples or our eyes, stretch limbs or check sores.
Claws scurry over nearby wyann bark. Night birds and plunging bats hoot and screech. There’s nothing to do but listen to them and be drawn into exhaustion. As Spyke dozes soundly beside me, I watch the rise and fall of his fur.
Kib rests his head on his armchair back.
Aten closes his eyes.
I let the evening enclose me in the safe embrace of solid walls and a settlement close to sleep. For a time, that’s all there is, and all I want there to be.
Eventually Aten breaks from the pull of it, stands and hobbles to Mum’s bed, leans over and picks up my oil pouch.
‘Here.’ He brings it to me. ‘I traded with Tuni again: her lighter back for your oil, not that she needed it anymore,’ he says with the satisfaction of someone proven right. ‘And, I threaded this for you.’ From behind the pouch, he produces my keei scale, now threaded onto an adjustable red-leather neck cord, through a bony ridge on the scale’s underside.
I sit up and stare at the scale, taking a moment to comprehend. Red with golden flecks in a butterfly pattern – this is my scale, but… ‘Tuni said someone took it.’
‘They did. I did. I had it strung as an apology for taking your oil.’ He hooks my pouch over the daybed’s backrest, then holds out the cord until I lift my hair so he can fasten it around my neck. ‘I’m sorry, Sala. A good friend wouldn’t have done what I did.’
‘Apology accepted.’ I angle the scale so its beautiful golden flecks glint in the lantern-light, tighten its ends until it dangles at the right height, then tuck it under my top. I love it – a part of the lake will always be with me now.
Although… if we had more time, we could have sold it to pay for more swampers with weapons – given we’re heading back into a war zone. We’re going to need all the help we can get.
‘Anxiety,’ Kib mutters, sensing me. ‘Is there any part of the plan we haven’t thought through, anything we can do to mitigate possible failures?’
My thoughts immediately go to Ryll.
‘Ryll?’ Aten says. ‘I was thinking before: what’s to stop him trying to take Kib’s ship, once he’s put any patrols to sleep? He could hold one of us hostage, force the others to do as he wished.’
‘Good point.’ Kib stands as Aten sits. His height makes the ceiling appear low. ‘We need to ensure he leaves after he’s done his job.’
‘Then we motivate him to leave,’ I think aloud. ‘Tuni will lead him through the tunnel, take her slingshot and protect him while he actually shoots. We’ll let him assume that, once he’s put the patrols to sleep, we’ll bring the canoe around for him. Really we’ll leave it at the northeast entrance – he’ll have to go back through the tunnels to retrieve it.’
Aten stretches out his neck as he does when thinking.
‘We shouldn’t take a noisy motor any closer anyway,’ I add. ‘This way, he’ll have a solid gain if he returns, only a risk if he tries for the ship.’
‘And if he tries,’ Aten adds, ‘after he has the canoe, Tuni and I will be in position at that corner. Tuni could put him to sleep if he comes close.’
‘What do you mean Tuni and I? You’ll be staying here with Spyke. He needs you.’ I stop myself from adding that Aten can’t be trusted physically, what with his concussion and injured leg.
‘If his ship,’ Aten points at Kib, ‘can get Itta clean water, I’m not staying here!’ The heel of his good leg taps repetitively against the floor. If he were standing, he’d no doubt shift from foot to foot as he does when restless. ‘The future is stupid, remember? This… this could solve everything. It could be the foundation of my Be’all project.’
‘Your what project?’ Kib asks.
‘Be’all – it’s Ittan philosophy,’ Aten tells him. ‘Principles we follow to extend contentment beyond ourselves. Besides, you’ll need Tuni and me as lookouts.’
Maybe he could be a lookout? There’s not much exertion in that.
‘And,’ he glances at my oil pouch hanging off the daybed, ‘while you’re diving and he’s talking, I could spread oil between the tunnel entrance and the corner? If anything goes wrong, we could light it, block off any attack so we can get inside the tunnel. Tuni could use her lighter and slingshot. A back up plan.’
A back up plan would also be good.
‘And,’ he adds, ‘Olam adores pointers – I’ll ask him to look after Spyke, as part of our deal for Opal.’ Aten moves towards the door, fast like his idea might bite him; then stops. ‘Although, I might wait for Spyke to wake up, make sure he’s okay.’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that? Because leaving my injured pointer with a banished swamper who’s leaving tomorrow is not ideal. What’s to stop Olam stealing him?’
‘Oh no, you should have heard him talking about hunter pure breeds, he loves them. He won’t risk Opal to steal a crossbreed. No offence, Spyke. We should get some food into him.’ Aten looks around the houseboat.
My stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten in so long. ‘I’ll get something ready.’ I stand, but put too much weight on my ankle and slip. My head sways.
Kib stands and shoos me to sit back down. ‘That ankle needs elevation. Put it up.’
‘Yeah,’ Aten adds, ‘you’ll need it to swim tomorrow.’
I edge closer to Spyke, raise my foot and rest it under his tail’s soft green feathers. His chest rises and falls against my thigh, stronger now.
‘Is this drinkable?’ Kib asks of Mum’s water dispenser, fetching down two mugs.
‘Yes.’ Aten follows him to Mum’s shelves, gets down plates and a jar of preserves, then pauses as if hearing something, glances at the doorway. When Tuni doesn’t reappear, he shrugs and continues to the cupboard.
With both mugs full of water, Kib brings them over, passing Aten on his way, and there’s a moment between them I don’t quite understand. They both straighten their backs and look each other up and down. Not in the obvious way Delan does. More as a fleeting curiosity, one that’s almost embarrassed to exist, like a warm breeze flurrying into a wind, only to settle into stillness a moment later. Just as fleeting, they both quickly look away again and carry on with their tasks.
A plank creaks outside.
This time, we all look to the door.
No Tuni, but another creak – past the doorway, near Mum’s powered cold-box. Is it so old now it makes its own noises?
No, there’s a whoosh like a swamp creature flying, then a long slim dart skims my shin, grazing it with a light sting before striking the back of Mum’s daybed. The upper feathers of Spyke’s green tail waft with the movement. I reach down to grasp at the wound, but it’s too far away. Everything is far away.
My head drifts backwards and all the tiredness of the day fills my mind until all I want to do is sleep. Sleep, because from the scents filling my nose – of lemon, chamomile, and talis root – I’ve clearly just been shot with Midnight Balm.
Aten and Kib run over. I hear them. I see them. Then don’t.
CHAPTER 28
On the tips of my toes, I reach up with a graphene-filtered watering tube to quench the top of my sunlit wall garden. The rotting stench of decomposing wyann leaves and miserable dark sludge has long left the fallen wind machine near Summerhill, shadowed now by the boardwalks I’ve built here. Glossy blue crabs still click underneath, racing into holes when Spyke chases them; though right now he’s curling around my legs. Sun-baked lake breezes tangle my hair and glide his green tail feathers against my skin. From our tiny hut, across waves carved by distant keei fins and splashing tails, I can still see Itta along the shore – exactly where I want it, distant yet present. Close enough for Father to visit sometimes.
‘Here.’ Kib strolls towards me, bare-chested, shadows curving around firm contours. He gazes into my eyes. ‘Let me help.’
With his height and strength, it makes sense to let him. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it. We’ve spoken about it many times now, just as we’ve spoken more of our families, the greed of chewers, the tranquillity of restrained purpose… so many things. He’s fascinated by my many inventions, amazed at how I conceived them with such limited tech. Even with his advanced knowledge, he can’t improve on them. He is, however, working on using his ship’s filters to purify oily sludge into clean soil to grow more food. Our discussions lift me, and something tells me they always will. It’s nice to have him here.
More than nice.
He takes the watering tube, douses the spinach and chickpeas, then rests a hand in the small of my back. For a moment it feels like a wavy green tentacled arm, because aliens are supposed to be green with multiple arms and legs, and Kib is an alien. But then it moves like a hand again and his touch is electrifying, sensual. When he bends to kiss my forehead, it sends a shiver through my body and I… wake.
I’m in my mum’s bed on the houseboat. It’s dark and silent and Kib is sleeping next to me. His hand – a normal human hand – rests against the small of my back. Weighted with size, his fingers reach towards my waist.
Feathers rest across my shins – Spyke sleeping along my legs. He feels me stir and nuzzles into my thigh. My shin is bandaged where the Midnight Balm dart sliced me. Scratches on my face and arms from the vines feel like they’ve been washed. I sit up and the smell of my own sweat is overwhelming. My head is bandaged too, a soaked square pressing into the split bruise under my hair. Aten must have found it after I passed out.
I peer through the darkness into the houseboat. The foreside shutters are closed now. The daybed’s silhouette suggests someone lying there – a head with tufty hair, another head without. An arm raised up, like it’s resting on something… on someone. Aten and Tuni, cuddling in their sleep.
I brace for a rush of irrational anger. It doesn’t come. Tuni is innocent. Someone on the council wanted her dead, yet now the council has set both her and Olam free. Something about that doesn’t make sense. I’m too tired to figure it out.
Kib’s soft sleep-breathing lulls me back down to rest on the pillow. My stomach wrings tight, but my eyes are already closed. I’ll sort everything out in the morning. With my head bruise aching, I turn on my side and face Kib. When I peek out, he’s right there. His hand is right there. I curl around it, not touching but close enough to feel its warmth, then fall back to sleep.
CHAPTER 29
Beyond my closed eyelids, a shadow darts in and out of dim light. Footsteps thud along the boardwalk outside. Moist dawn air is tainted with the tartness of lemon, sweetened with petal water, maybe herbs. Spyke’s tail feathers still rest on my legs, his body heavy against mine. He’s sitting up, kneeling his front leg-spikes on my shoulders, shaking me awake. I’m in Mum’s bed. I still smell of sweat.
