Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

It was a basic camp of lean-to shelters, rough hammocks strung between many of the trees for use in warmer times, a few animals grazing nearby. There were bats here too, but not as many as around the rim of the copse.

The Um Biyara settled their belongings, then gathered around one of the fires. Jebel did a quick count of the villagers — six men, thirteen women, and sixteen children. They were dressed in strange, leathery, furry clothes. It was only when one of the bats swooped and settled on a girl’s shoulder that Jebel realized the material was bat skin.

The villagers spoke a language of their own, but it was like some of the more rural Abu Saga dialects, so one of the Um Biyara — a woman who had grown up in these lands — was able to communicate with them. The village was called Gathaah, their word for bat . Apparently the bats had been here long before the humans.

“This is their home,” Uzza, the chief, explained through the translator. “We are just guests.”

“Why don’t you run them out?” Qasr Bint asked. “They’re disgusting vermin.”

“Run them out of their home?” Uzza chortled. “We wouldn’t dare. Besides, they provide for us. We make our clothes from their hides. We eat the flesh of the dead — many die in the winter colds — and use their claws and teeth as needles and cutting tools. Their guano nourishes the forest floor — we grow delicious fruit here — and they kill small pests. They also protect us from larger beasts.”

Qasr Bint asked if there were others in the clan, perhaps out hunting. Uzza said there were not. “We don’t hunt much,” he explained. “We mostly live off plants and our animals.”

“There’s not much meat on that lot,” Qasr Bint noted, eyeing an assortment of bony cows and goats.

“We don’t eat them!” Uzza exclaimed. “We drink their blood.” As he said this, a bat settled on a cow and sank its fangs into the beast’s haunches. The cow barely noticed. The bat fed for a few seconds, then flew off. A boy ran to the cow, put his mouth to the wound, and sucked. When he’d drunk his fill, he took a pouch from a string around his neck and sprinkled a layer of powder over the cut.

“That stops the bleeding,” Uzza said. “Bat saliva keeps wounds open. We gather the ingredients for the salve from flowers. We couldn’t survive without it.”

Qasr Bint moved on to the um Gathaah’s beliefs. This was difficult, as the translator found the concepts of the bat people hard to comprehend. Finally, when she had gathered all of the information that she could, she explained for the rest of the missionaries. The um Gathaah believed that bats were sacred representatives of the god of flight. They also believed that bats had been humans once. They were convinced that they would become bats when they died.

“What happens to them after that?” Qasr Bint snapped. “When they stop being a bat, what do these fools think happens then?”

Uzza laughed when the question was translated. “We become different bats,” he said. “We will be bats forever.”

Qasr Bint frowned. He could tell these heathens would be difficult to convert. He had learned from their previous encounters that people with nothing of substance were easy to win over, but those equipped to see out the harsh winters in comfort had no reason to heed the pain-fixated Um Biyara.

“They’re going to slaughter them,” Jebel whispered to Tel Hesani as Qasr Bint consulted his supporters.

“Yes,” Tel Hesani said. “I don’t think they’ll even try to convert them.” He saw one of the um Gathaah children playing with a bat, stroking its ears. His eyes narrowed, and he looked around at the trees full of the flying bloodsuckers.

“Do you remember the um Khathib?” he asked quietly.

“The alligator-worshippers,” said Jebel, nodding.

“They lived in harmony with nature,” Tel Hesani murmured. “The animals of their domain looked upon them as their own. What would have happened if anyone attacked their village?”

“Their foes wouldn’t have lasted long,” Jebel snorted. “The alligators and snakes would have…” He trailed off into silence.

“The Um Biyara are weary and irritable,” Tel Hesani said. “They’re confident after the last massacre and eager to kill. I think they’ll strike tonight.”

“But if the um Gathaah set the bats loose on them…” Jebel’s mouth went dry. “We’re no different from the others, as far as they’re concerned.”

Tel Hesani nodded. “We need to move to the edge of camp and be ready to run.”

“What about the storms?” Jebel asked. “How will we survive?”

Tel Hesani shrugged. “We can face that hurdle later. The only other solution is to warn the Um Biyara and give them the option of a peaceful retreat.”

“No,” Jebel said, his expression hardening. “They have this coming. Let’s take our chances with the snow and leave them to be ripped apart.”

“I normally wouldn’t advocate revenge,” Tel Hesani said, “but in this instance I agree with you. I hope their deaths are painful and slow.”

Jebel was surprised by the bitterness in Tel Hesani’s voice, but he welcomed it. This was no time for fair play. The Um Biyara were due vicious payback.

Jebel and Tel Hesani watched the Um Biyara discussing their plans. When Tel Hesani saw them draw their weapons, he nudged Jebel. The pair stood and edged towards the camp perimeter.

“Where are you going?” a guard challenged them.

“We can see what’s coming,” Tel Hesani said. “We don’t want to be part of it.”

“Stay here,” the guard growled. “You were told not to meddle.”

“We’re not meddling,” Tel Hesani snapped. “We’re getting out of your way.”

The guard squinted at them. “How do I know you won’t sneak out of camp?”

“And go where?” Tel Hesani replied witheringly.

The guard scowled. “Just stay where I can see you,” he barked.

“Of course,” said Tel Hesani, then he and Jebel walked to the edge of the clearing, where they stood, waiting.

At the center of the village, Qasr Bint was ready. He moved ahead of his people and had his proclamation translated for the um Gathaah, who were gathered in front of their guests, listening politely.

“My children, you are deluded,” he began. “You are a degenerate, pitiful, lost tribe. We try to help those who have strayed from the path of true worship, but you are too far removed from it. So, my poor, bat-brained friends, we must rid Makhras of your foul presence. Believe me,” he added as his followers advanced, weapons raised, “we are doing you a favor.”

The um Gathaah had listened with confusion, but when they saw the armed zealots closing in on them, their eyes blazed. As a group they took a step back, lifted their mouths, and whistled sharply, an ear-piercing shriek that echoed around the copse. The Um Biyara halted in surprise, then laughed and started forward again.

A second later, like a roll of thunder, thousands of wings flapped at the same time. Before the Um Biyara could strike, the bats were upon them. They descended in a cloud, hissing, spitting, scratching, biting, blinding. The Um Biyara lashed out at the flying menace, smashing many of the bats to the ground. But there were dozens more to replace each casualty, and they attacked without pause, turning the world around the Um Biyara into a black, red-streaked haze.

Jebel and Tel Hesani only caught the opening salvo. As soon as the bats hit, they ran, tearing through the trees, not pausing to look back. A few bats gave chase, but the majority focused on the Um Biyara. The pair of slaves were able to swat away the scattering of bats that attacked them, and burst out of the copse moments later with just a smattering of shallow bites and scratches.