PULL ME UNDER - Leaf And Stream - Six

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Six

“Give’er, Tanner! Come on! Give’er!” Lauren as spurs, her words of encouragement at his back.

They called them horses, but they handled like a motorcycle—having grown up on them, it helped Tanner get the knack for control faster than the others thought he would, all surprised and Tanner smug. No flesh like a real horse, but solid, yet fluid, to turn he leaned and flexed his thighs, the reins were more to hold than to guide the horse, like he imagined a real horse worked, never having ridden one. They were silent and cold, heating with action, yet they reacted to the slightest pressure, his movements below the waist his clutch and throttle. Where they touched his skin there was a tickling, maybe a tiny motor inside, vibrating with energy as the ground blurred beneath him and the wind flapped his jacket with loud cracks, racing at full gallop to the cliff.

Feathers at the bridle whistled, his heart pounded, breath through his teeth, the crest approaching fast. He dug the balls of his feet into the stirrup to lift himself off the saddle, shot his arms up with an exultant holler as the horse leapt over the crest—his stomach in his throat as the beast caught air, and for a heart-numb moment Tanner was flying and the world around him was slow and still and silent at the peak of his leap.

Meeting the ground was like landing on a tough balloon, solid-yet-fluid horse pressed and released—though physics still had a bone to pick with him, brain smacked into skull, wind crushed out of his lungs “fffuck” but he felt so alive, so alive! it didn’t bother him. The horse turned and he righted himself in the saddle, to watch as Lauren and Ddun at the crest peered over.

“Did you break your neck?” Ddun called down.

“Sorry you lost your bet!” Then he flexed his thighs and spun the horse with a whoop and crow and rounded the hill to meet them.

Tanner had gained some weight, muscles building quickly in fighting practise (and that’s all the warrior men of the clan ever did—trained to kill) and far less anaemic on their hearty diet of fermented dairy and meat and roots—and beer. His skin was clearing, darkening with the prairie sun—it was still there, that nagging inside him that life would be that much better if he were stoned, but the distractions were plenty enough, the cravings only loudening when miffed that they still didn’t take him on raids—shame did that to him, too, when he failed their expectations, when they teased, though he hid it. If only he could capture restful sleep the way Lauren could. Might quiet the urge he couldn’t fulfil.

“I need my own horse, Ddun, I’ve got to,” a reluctant step off the horse, fingercombing his hair back into his braid as best he could, heart still pounding.

“No mask, no horse.”

“Come on, man, what’s Orman’s horse up to lately? Nothing. Give me his horse.”

“No mask,” he lifted Lauren up onto the saddle, sideways and ladylike. “No horse.”

“How can I earn a mask if you don’t let me!”

“Not up to me,” Ddun shrugged, walking alongside his horse with Lauren giggling and Tanner’s fists waggling impotently in the air over his head.

“It’s a you problem, bud,” Lauren winked.

“And what are you doing? You don’t have to prove shit!” He stomped behind them, wanting to steal the thing from under her and ride it over the hill again, salivating at the thought. The rush of adrenaline helped him forget all his regrets. Just one more jump.

“I milk a million udders every day, thank you.”

“Is that what they call it now?”

She gave him the finger. In truth, she was keeping very chaste, but he couldn’t resist the joke. None of the men dared go near her, only Ddun had the guts, and even he didn’t touch her, not in that way. Tanner almost felt bad—his mouth full of Ansa’s prime tribal tits every night, and Lauren went to bed in her own tent alone. Most other women shared one large tent, but she got a small conical spit all to herself, just as he did. Maybe she preferred it that way. He never asked.

Getting lost in the tunnel was the best thing that ever happened to him. It was a great idea.

***

He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning under scratchy wool, legs restless with dull muscle spasms all down their length. He kicked the blanket off and rolled again, flexing his calves and thighs until they burned, but still they twitched. Tortured to move, he had to oblige them, ripping open the tent flap to the crisp night air to walk under the stars. Everyone was asleep, soft snoring and hungry babies the only sounds but for his feet in the dirt. The moon was new, no light beyond whatever lamps still flickered from posts. Men on watch at the edges of the camp were the only other ones awake, but he didn’t want to see them. Antsy, and he had an idea for something to do.

Sneaking to the horses, he stuck to the shadows, creeping low to the ground behind tarps, not a single bleat or whine from the animals.

At the stable, Orman’s horse seemed to kneel, eager for a ride—at least, that’s how Tanner imagined it, still not sure if the things were alive or not. It had been a while since the beast had a rider. There was no saddle, so Tanner opted to hop on bareback, the body solidified under his weight. He just wanted to ride, saddle or no, it didn’t matter. He kept low out of the stable, silent, away from all the tents and watchmen, and sought out the hill by starlight.

Without stirrups to plant his feet, Ddun’s wager echoed—dismissed. No getting dissuaded by that negativity, Ddun was a dick. A good guy, but a dick. Tanner kept his body low and urged the horse on, impulse to twist a throttle that wasn’t there, an aggressive, racing stance. The wind was cold on his face and his eyes watered, but he was off, the crest of the hill coming up quick.

Tiny lights flickered in the distance as the horizon peaked over the ridge—his heart stopped, halting sideways on a dime, a slip and a hard fall, back flat to the grass, lights dancing behind his eyelids. He coughed, head swimming—lucky he didn’t break his damn neck. The horse trotted off away from the ledge.

Tanner crawled on his stomach to see the fires in the distance. Torches, he tried counting the bodies around them but it was hard to tell… Two, four, six… Thirty distinct silhouettes, maybe more. They weren’t wearing masks. “Fuck.” Were these the… Stenya? There were whispers about other folks in the prairie, nothing positive.

The shadows made their way toward camp. If they didn’t want to be seen, they’d go in pitch dark—they intended on using that fire. Those whispers, encroaching on Dvarri territory, to settle on it—and they hated the Dvarri like they were a plague. This was no clan rivalry, no one was coming through to abscond with the livestock. Imagined blood in the air already.

Mouth dry—Lauren was in danger. He had been training… Maybe this was what he had been training for.

Archers, he saw the long curves held out, tiny glints off arrowheads. The rest hidden by tall grass flowing like seaweed in a pond as the men passed through. They stopped, signalled for something.

Tanner ran for Orman’s horse and tried to think through his fear. No weapon but his pocket knife—but he could draw those men away from the camp…

Heart thumping against breastbone and ached head with every hard pulse to the bruise at the back of his skull. Ignore it. Two fingers in his mouth gave the loudest whistle he could, bounced back in a dozen echoes. The watchmen at the camp started hollering and arrows from the men in the distance whistled past his ear. “Fuck!” Another arrow ripped his jacket sleeve, grazing his skin, head emptied but for violence.

Down the hill and around to the other side, away from the camp. A shallow stream leapt, and on toward the torches, little knife in hand, through tall grass—bitegrass, with their barbed leaf blades—legs whipped so hard the fabric was left in tatters.

The whites of their eyes glowed orange, turned to shoot but his horse was too slick, running one down as an arrow went into the neck and sprayed out metal particles in lieu of blood. He slid off the rump, on his feet charging, drunk with thrill. The archers pulled out their own blades and he was certain he was going to die, howling like a madman with nothing to keep his body whole.

One went down with Tanner’s knife stuck under jawbone, hot blood gushing over Tanner’s fist—body stuttered a wave of nausea, look what you did—a sting at his jaw as he dodged a strike. Tanner pried a dagger from the dead man in time to block another, his whole arm shuddering with the impact and he praised the invention of the crossguard. He kneed the man hard in the guts and they grappled in the dark, a sickening mix of terror and bloodlust like he had never felt before, plunging dagger into spleen. His vision glowed.

No hallucination, no tricks of the light. Everything was bright, heat all around him, blazing grassland and he was blind. In a gust of wind it was impossible to see through the smoke. He hacked wracking coughs and stayed low, not sure where the horse had gone, or the archers—maybe they ran off, more afraid of burning alive. Voices in the distance, wet cries of men dying, and soon a horse came near enough for the rider to offer a hand. It was Ddun, and Tanner had never been so happy to see the prick. Up on the saddle, Ddun gave his sabre. Ddun in front guiding the beast with spear in hand, and Tanner at Ddun’s back, ready to cleave any skull he didn’t recognize.

***

“Lauren! Hurry, we have to run!”

“What?” She rolled over, groggy, Ansa at the tent with a bundle in her arms.

“Only take what you’re unwilling to lose. The grass is on fire. Hurry!”

Lauren bolted upright. “Where’s Tanner?”

Ansa shook her head. “Not in his tent. There’s no time!” Ansa kept talking as Lauren grabbed her bag. “There are Stenya in the field, there might be more. They’ll kill us, Lauren, come on!”

The clan worked together with breathless urgency, helping everyone to get away from the wind that tunneled the flames, and with the heat the wind blew stronger. Choking smoke and twisting glow hid the stars. The very young and very old were herded onto carts and Lauren could barely think for worry—Tanner, where the hell are you? Some were falling with arrows in their backs, strangers choking and bleeding, fighting men stumbling, neither Ddun nor Tanner among them. Her guts went cold, only moving because Ansa had her by the elbow.