James Barclay - Rise of the TaiGethen

‘Well, you don’t have to be scared, do you? One whiff of them and you can just fly off.’

Nuin turned to him, his features still hidden but this time by the gloom of the day. Jeral could just about see his mouth move and the dark gleam of his eyes.

‘You really think I’d abandon you?’

‘I would,’ said Jeral.

‘You worry too much.’

‘Really?’

Jeral gestured beyond the stern of the barge. They were anchored midstream, flanked on either side by similar barges. A net was strung between the vessels, holding back the growing mass of logs harvested from the forest. This stretch of the River Ix had been chosen for its particularly sluggish flow but, even so, the mass of wood floating in the water worried Jeral.

On land a working party of a hundred and five Sharps felled timber as slowly as the whips and threats of their guards allowed. The Sharps never spoke. Their eyes, though, spoke enough. A crime was being perpetrated here and they were complicit in it. Jeral didn’t get it. Big forest, countless trees; a few hundred less was like taking a single drip from the Southern Ocean, and he was bored to tears by their endless bloody praying.

‘Yes, really,’ said Nuin. ‘Three days, no sightings. They don’t know we’re here.’

‘They don’t know we’re here yet.’

‘You’re such a pessimist.’

‘And you’re just an idiot. By your reckoning, the longer we stay here, the more likely it is they’ll never find us. Me, I believe the opposite. That’s why I fucking hate it here. Not because of the rain, but because anytime, anytime, they could appear and slaughter us all.’

‘But they don’t, do they?’ said Nuin. ‘They just watch. It’s been like that for decades. Since-’

‘I am well aware of Ystormun’s interesting reprisal rules, thank you. But you feel something’s changed, don’t you?’

Nuin shook his head. ‘Frankly, no. It’ll be like every other time. They’ll show up, posture a bit and we’ll pack up and move on when the Sharps get too twitchy. It’s a big forest and it’s a very, very long river.’

The rain thrashed across the deck of the barge. Jeral stared at the Sharps again and for a moment he was in sympathy with their mournful expressions. The sounds of axes hammering at the base of another trunk fell into rhythm with his heartbeat, or so it seemed. It was mesmeric. Then an order was barked out by one of his men, followed by a shout of warning.

With attendant cracking, splintering, rustling and rushing, the great tree fell, toppling to land with its crown in the water. The thump of the trunk hitting the ground reverberated across the river, spray flew up in a shroud and ripples rocked the barges at anchor. A team of Sharps moved to divest the tree of unwanted greenery. The sound of multiple small axes striking wood filled the air.

One more down. One more towards the moment they could leave. Jeral shuddered. Even then their safety was hardly guaranteed. It was a long slow trip to the logging station built to the south of Ysundeneth, at least two days on the river — and all the while prey to the TaiGethen should they choose to break their decades-long abstinence from slaughter.

‘Never mind prey, think I might just pray,’ muttered Jeral.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing, my magical friend. Just a hilarious play on words designed to kill the merest fraction of time.’ Jeral stared into the sodden gloom of the rainforest. ‘I just fucking hate this.’

The sky darkened further. The rain intensified. Jeral closed his eyes while the water slapped onto his skull and poured down his face. He shook his head, wondering if it could really get any worse. He opened his eyes again to see Nuin’s pained expression. He found it lifted his mood just a tiny bit.

‘Guess how close I got to ten, that time,’ said Nuin.

‘Amaze me,’ said Jeral and found himself smiling.

A shadow flashed across his vision and Nuin was gone. Jeral stumbled back a couple of paces, registering the panther’s roar. Nuin had been carried right into the middle of the deck. The panther was on top of him. Jeral saw its claws rake and its jaws bite down hard. Blood spurted from Nuin’s neck.

Jeral shouted to distract the animal, drawing his sword and advancing across the deck though he knew he was too late. The panther turned its head towards him, bared its fangs and sprang away. Jeral tracked its movement, watching it skip across the treacherous log jam and back to the river bank.

Jeral looked back at Nuin. ‘Why you?’

The river bank was cluttered with humans and elves. All easier, closer targets, none of whom seemed to know what had just happened. And Nuin had just been, well, executed for want of a better word.

Jeral looked back towards the panther. The animal had stopped at the edge of the forest not fifty yards away, where the trees met the river on the border of the cleared land. An elf stood there, at least Jeral assumed he was an elf.

His face was painted half white. The other half was covered in piercings and tattoos. His ears and nose were pierced, his teeth filed to points as were his fingernails. His body, naked but for a loincloth, was densely stitched with tattoos.

Jeral, rain beating on his head and leathers, shivered. The elf opened his mouth and uttered a guttural cry. It was taken up across the forest surrounding the clearing and the roars of panthers joined it. As one, the Sharps downed tools and gathered together, kneeling in prayer.

Jeral went cold. He began to run, vaulting over the rail and onto the treacherous logs, which rolled and sank beneath his feet, heading for the river bank. That panther had taken Nuin out because he was a mage, and because he’d been separated from the others. It was a ridiculous notion but he could find no other explanation.

‘It’s an attack! Guard the mages. Get to barge one now!’

Tall, white-painted and tattooed elves melted out of the forest. Each had a panther by his side. At a single call, they began to run. Fast. Impossibly fast, to Jeral’s eyes. He watched them break, elves and panthers streaking towards their targets.

‘It can’t be,’ he breathed. ‘It can’t be.’

Jeral’s feet hit the river bank.

‘Barge one. Run!’ he yelled, sprinting along the shore towards the muster point. ‘Get the mages behind you.’

His message wasn’t getting through above the tumult of the downpour. No one else could see it: the panthers and elves were working together. It was like they could read each other’s minds. Jeral ran past the barge towards a knot of soldiers surrounding two mages. They were standing still.

‘Move! Back away,’ he ordered. ‘To me.’

A panther roared and attacked from the right. It leapt at the head of one warrior, bearing him back into the knot of men. Three went down, three still stood, disoriented. Two of them were mages. A second panther was coming from the left flanked by two elves.

‘Cast something, damn you,’ Jeral roared.

The first elf stepped in and lashed his hand across the face of one mage, tearing four gashes in his cheek, ripping his nose to shreds and skewering an eye. The mage screamed and raised his hands. The elf dragged his fingers clear, moments before the second panther tore the mage’s throat out.

Jeral shuddered and slowed. He was only ten paces from them and he was already far too late. The three on the ground were already dead. A second elf grabbed the surviving mage by the sides of his head. As the mage wailed, begging for mercy, the elf tipped his head back and buried his teeth in the exposed neck. Blood fountained into the dark sky.

Jeral cried out, he couldn’t help it. He cast around for more survivors. He saw a mage and warrior running towards the forest, chased by an elf and panther pair. He had to watch, couldn’t drag his eyes away, as the panther pounced on the warrior, jaws grabbing the base of his skull and front paws thudding into his shoulders. The elf ran on another pace and leapt into the air. He cycled his legs, reached out with one long arm and lashed his needle-sharp nails down the back of his victim’s neck. The mage fell face first into the mud, twitching momentarily, and it was over.