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Synopsis
Newly and uneasily allied, two tribes from different worlds set off across the Ocean of Grass. Their mission is to fulfil a prophecy and take Ottar the Moaner west of west, to save mankind.
In their way are the denizens of the Badlands, the most terrifying and powerful collection of murderers and monsters the world has ever seen.
Release date: September 11, 2018
Publisher: Orbit
Print pages: 528
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The Land You Never Leave
Angus Watson
Luby Zephyr was pretty sure that her nursemaid Caliska Coyote was going to kill her.
They hiked through fragrant woods busy with wildlife and across grassland abuzz with insects and shining with pink, blue and yellow flowers. The lovelier it was, the sourer Caliska’s mood became. She spoke only to insult Luby, left camp-building and cooking to her and seemed to have forgotten about the unguents that the warlock Yoki Choppa had given her to aid Luby’s recovery. When Caliska did deign to look at her patient, she gripped her throwing-axe handles and twisted her face like a parent whose child has walked fox shit into the hut for the third time that day.
Luby sympathised. Owsla captain Sofi Tornado had promised Caliska she’d be forgiven for her part in the attempted coup if she escorted the injured Luby back to Calnia unharmed. If Luby was harmed, Caliska was to be executed and have her soul destroyed by being eaten.
Sofi might officially forgive, but she wouldn’t ever forget Caliska’s plotting, so her place in the Owsla would never be comfortable again. Caliska would probably have a much better life if she abandoned Luby and set off south to hawk her alchemically enhanced fighting skills to some jungle emperor. Allowing Luby to live would leave a trail, so Luby had to die. It was what any stone cold killer would have done, and Caliska was about the stoniest and the coldest.
Now, six days after the Owsla mutineers had whacked her on the head with a stone axe during their short-lived attempt to assassinate Sofi Tornado, Luby had almost recovered. However, she was feigning sluggishness so Caliska would think she was an easier target. She was almost disappointed when her ruse worked. She’d fallen behind, as always, because Caliska did not have the patience to dally for the infirm. Rounding a corner on the woodland track, she found Caliska waiting for her, throwing axes in hand.
“I saw a bear.” Caliska was scanning the dark woods. “I think it went round there and—” she gasped. “Behind you!”
Luby span as if she really believed there was a bear behind her, and dropped. A throwing axe whizzed overhead. Luby dived off the path, came to her feet, checked as the second axe flashed past her face, then rolled, bounced and swerved away through the undergrowth, as silently as her zephyr namesake.
Caliska’s skill was the ability to throw with extraordinary power and accuracy. Luby Zephyr’s skill was stealth. Given a suitable environment, stealth beat throwing power every time. And the middle of the woods was about as suitable as it got. Caliska had missed her chance.
Luby wasn’t going to give her another one.
Caliska walked back to retrieve her axes, peering into the undergrowth. “Sofi doesn’t love you, you know!” she shouted. “She was using you. She’ll be with someone else by now. Probably Paloma Pronghorn. She’s much more beautiful and—”
There’s no need to shout, I’m much closer than you think, thought Luby as she dropped from a tree. Caliska turned. Luby slashed her first half-moon obsidian blade across her thick neck and the second blade across her exposed midriff, then dived back in the bushes and stole away silently as the dying Caliska stumbled after her.
Caliska had failed to follow Sofi’s orders, the punishment for which was meant to be execution and soul death. So Luby should have lit a fire with an Innowak crystal, cooked Caliska and eaten some of her flesh to kill her soul. However, Caliska had brought her this far.
So Luby built a normal fire, burnt Caliska’s body and, instead of eating part of it, shed a few tears.
Luby walked south, bow on her back, half-moon obsidian blades at her hips. Slung over one shoulder was a small leather bag containing a waterskin and the alchemical supplements and healing salves that Yoki Choppa the warlock had left with Caliska.
She walked a long way that day and further the next. She expected the rest of the Owsla warriors to catch up at any moment, returning south after dispatching the Mushroom Men, but there was no sign of them. She wondered what could have happened. Had they met a superior force or been tricked into their doom?
Worrying, however, detracted from her enjoyment of the walk, so she banned negative thoughts and decided that the Owsla’s mission must have taken them further than expected. Their quarry had probably fled west away from the lake. Sofi, Paloma Pronghorn, Sitsi Kestrel and the others had surely followed them, killed them, then taken a more westerly path back to Calnia where they’d be waiting for her.
The following morning she awoke and breakfasted. She stretched, felt her pre-injury power fizzing in every muscle, and knew that she’d be able to run back to Calnia that day if she wanted to.
But she didn’t want to.
In her years growing up in Calnia, then becoming Owsla, Luby Zephyr never had any time on her own. So she walked, slowly, taking detours to enjoy the view from small hills, to discover waterfalls and to investigate anything else that caught her interest. She told herself she was lingering to allow the rest of her squad to catch up, but knew it wasn’t true. She was as happy as she could remember being, wandering through the world alone.
She paced along, her head in the air and her feet on the ground. She inhaled the scents of the wood and moseyed along to the music of its creatures. When she started walking every day, worries flew in and batted at her mind, but soon it seemed that her troubling thoughts fluttered away, mingled with nature and returned, combined with the rhythms of the land and its animals. After a couple of miles she was just another creature making her way across the earth; a minuscule but valuable part of a huge, teeming system.
She hunted, foraged, ate, washed and slept, elated and cushioned by a peace so deep that she felt she could sink into it and stretch right out.
She arrived back in Calnia’s immediate territory fourteen days after she’d left and seven days after killing Caliska Coyote. She hadn’t realised how loud the background chatter of animals in the woods and grasslands had been until she emerged from the trees into Calnia’s farmland and the world fell eerily silent.
Luby Zephyr was fully recovered from her head wound and sad to be home.
Up ahead the Pyramid of the Sun shone high and gold. Farmers looked up from their work and hallooed cheerfully. She hallooed back, unsure if she’d met any of them before. After the Swan Empress Ayanna, the women of the Owsla were the best-known people in Calnia. Strangers would walk up and start conversations as if they were old friends. Some of the Owsla were seriously irked by this unsolicited chat. Morningstar, Caliska Coyote and Sadzi Wolf had all punched people for talking to them unbidden. It didn’t annoy Luby—she could have used her stealth skill to walk around unnoticed if it did—but it was disconcerting, because she had a bad memory and was never sure if her interlocutor was a childhood friend or a presumptuous unknown.
As if responding to her thoughts, an elderly farmer-looking fellow walking in the other direction stopped and opened his arms: “Luby Zephyr! Well I never. What are you doing out here in north Calnia? How are you? Do you need anything?”
“Hi, I’m fine. How are you?” Why were his arms open like that? Did he expect a hug? She settled for opening her own arms in a sort of wa-hey! greeting.
“Mustn’t grumble,” he said, closing his arms, apparently satisfied.
Did she recognise him?
“I suppose not,” she said. “Unless you’ve got something to grumble about?” She peered at him and tried to look as if she wasn’t. He did look a little familiar.
“You’ll hear no complaint from me.”
“Good. Any news in Calnia?” she asked.
“How long have you been away?”
“Two weeks.”
“Well well, yes, I should say there’s some news. A lot of news!”
“Such as …?”
“Empress Ayanna had a baby yesterday. A boy!”
“A boy? That’s great.” Was it great? What were you meant to say? She wished she’d never left the woods.
“Yes, it nice to have some cheery news, given the war.”
“The war?”
“Oh, of course, two weeks away, you wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t know what?”
“We’re going to war. With the Badlanders.”
“The Badlanders? Those sadists? Why?”
“Dunno. But they’re nearly ready to go. Biggest army ever, that’s what they’re saying. I’ve had to give a quarter of my stores. I was promised payment of gold and porcupine quills but I haven’t seen them yet and I’m not holding my breath.”
“Do you know where the rest of the Owsla are?”
“They’re not with you? Last I heard, which was yesterday, they were still missing. There are rumours. Some say they’ve joined the Badlanders.”
“And Yoki Choppa?”
“The warlock’s with the Owsla, so they say.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Of course you have! It’s been wonderful talking to you, Luby Zephyr.”
She ran towards the city wall and, after about twenty heartbeats, remembered who the farmer was.
Luby’s parents, a teacher and a wall engineer from Calnia, had been pretty clear about what they thought of Emperor Zaltan choosing their daughter for the Owsla. Like the rest of the Owsla, she’d been chosen for her looks at least as much as for her athletic ability. “We are ashamed of Calnia, and of you,” her mother had said as she’d left their hut with a small bundle containing all her possessions.
She hadn’t seen her mother or father, nor heard from them throughout the gruelling training. It had been an agonising few years, physically and mentally, and some parental input might have been a comfort.
Then the Owsla had won a few battles, defeated some powerful enemies and bolstered Calnia’s standing in the world. Opinion had turned. By the time the captive-killing displays began in the Plaza of the Sun, infamy had become fame. The people who hadn’t been able to say the word Owsla without spitting now thought that the ten-strong squad of alchemically enhanced women warriors were the greatest thing since mashed corn. Some would cheer as they walked by. Some would try and touch them—which resulted in more than a few broken fingers.
After years of silence, Luby’s parents reappeared and threw a party to declare their love and unflagging support. All their friends and extended family had turned up. Luby had gone along with a smile plastered on her face and had the most excruciating afternoon of her life. That was where she’d met the farmer before. His name was Eeyan and he was her mother’s cousin.
Cursing herself for not recognising Eeyan, Luby Zephyr ran to the Mountain of the Sun and bounded up the log steps. Behind her the Plaza of Innowak, the place where she and the other Owsla killed enemies to entertain the citizens of Calnia, was covered in collapsed skin tents, piles of spears, heaps of stone axes and other campaign provisions. The Low milled around, marshalled by the higher orders, enlarging ordnance piles and generally moving stuff about.
Luby had always relied on Sofi Tornado, captain of the Owsla, to tell her what was going on. The next person she’d have gone to was Yoki Choppa, then maybe Chamberlain Hatho. With the first two missing and Chamberlain Hatho killed in the Goachica attack that had been the cause of their mission to the north, the only option was to talk directly to Empress Ayanna, even if she had just given birth.
She walked across the top of the pyramid, nodding confidently to the guards. A couple took steps towards her then seemed to think better of it. She was Owsla. One did not mess.
As she passed the sweat lodge, a voice from the bathing pool called out: “Luby Zephyr!”
The voice belonged to a young woman—a girl—who was immersed in the cloudy, mineral-rich water of the steaming bathing pool, with only her head visible above the silky surface. Her hair was plastered to her small head as if she’d just risen from beneath the water. She had a pert nose and her eyes twinkled.
Who could the girl be? Only the empress was allowed in this pool. And why was there so much steam? It smelled herby, almost intoxicating.
“Who are you?” Luby asked when it became clear that the girl was just going to carry on smiling at her as if she knew all her secrets and found them amusing.
“You’d like to see the empress,” replied the girl. “She’s asleep with her baby. You’ve come a long way and you’re tired. Why don’t you slip off those dirty, worn clothes and wait in here? You can tell me all about your adventures while I soothe your weary feet.”
The girl was confident and persuasive and Luby really was tired now that she thought about it. And the steam smelled lovely. “Who are you?” she asked again.
“I’m Chippaminka. I’m the new head warlock.”
“What happened to Yoki Choppa?”
“He’s fine. He’s just not here. You were separated from the Owsla nearly two weeks ago and cannot know what happened to the rest of them.”
“Yes, but how do you …?”
“I’m a warlock. Take off your clothes and step in. I promise you’ll see the empress as soon as possible, ahead of all the other people who’ve been waiting a good deal longer than you.”
Luby Zephyr did as she was told. She removed her clothing and lowered herself onto the submerged wooden bench opposite Chippaminka. She sighed. The hot water was wonderful.
“Give me your foot.”
She lifted her leg. The girl clasped the Owsla woman’s foot and directed it gently but firmly onto her slick lap. She squeezed her thumbs into its road-beaten sole and kneaded. Luby could not help but sigh again. The girl’s touch was even more soothing than the water.
“Do you know,” Luby asked, “where the rest of the Owsla are and why we’re about to march on the Badlands?”
“I do,” said the girl, with a smile that made the breath catch in Luby’s throat. “But why don’t you relax for now?”
“Isaw a tornado once, over Olaf’s Fresh Sea,” panted the Mushroom Woman, lolloping up to Sofi Tornado at the head of the procession. A gang of glossy blue and white swallows skimmed past southwards over the shifting green sea. High above, flotillas of brilliant clouds traversed the overarching blue.
The woman was Bodil Gooseface, Sofi knew, even though she didn’t care about their ridiculous names. Her resolve to slaughter all the Mushroom Men the moment this fool’s mission was over stiffened every time one of them spoke to her.
“And we saw another tornado just a few days ago.”
The captain of the Owsla didn’t show the dimmest flicker of interest. Gooseface blathered on regardless: “It lifted Chnob the White up and up and up and he didn’t come down. Is that why you’re called Sofi Tornado? Do you throw people into the air? Is that your special power?”
The fiercest warrior in the most fearsome fighting squad in the world deigned to turn her head. Bodil’s eyes were wide and her mouth hung open like a head-whacked fish. She actually expected a reply.
Sofi sighed. This was the sixth day walking west with the Mushroom Men. She was buggered by a bear if she was going to call them the Wootah tribe as their leader Wulf the Fat kept insisting (Wulf the Fat, for the love of Innowak. What was wrong with them?).
“Yes, I’m called Tornado because I spin round and throw people into the air. I also destroy huts, flatten crops and when I’m done I disappear into the clouds.”
“Do you?” The woman wasn’t much brighter than a goose. Was that how she’d got her name? Sofi didn’t care.
“Yes. Most often I attack when I’m walking point and listening out for trouble and I’m interrupted by—”
“My mum used to call me Bodil the Loquacious. I think it means that I’m a good swimmer because I am.” Sofi was not used to being interrupted. She may not have consumed her power animal for a few days, but even without alchemical powers she’d be able to kill this woman and slaughter the rest of them before they’d realised she was attacking. Her fingers tightened around the shaft of the weapon that she’d taken from one of the Mushroom Men; an astonishing piece of metal called a sword.
“I used to swim in Olaf’s Fresh Sea every day. I’d go quite a long way out but not too far because—”
The warlock Yoki Choppa had stopped feeding the Owsla their power animals and destroyed his supplies on purpose to weaken them. He’d justified his actions, but there was no escaping the truth, that if he hadn’t sabotaged their powers, they’d have caught and killed the Mushroom Men on the east of the Water Mother, back in Calnian territory. They wouldn’t have needed to cross the Water Mother and Talisa White-tail wouldn’t have drowned.
No matter how justifiable his reasons, Yoki Choppa had acted without consulting Sofi and his actions had led directly to Talisa’s death.
Despite her anger at Talisa’s death, Sofi believed that letting the Mushroom Men live and escorting them west was the right thing to do; not because she just knew or any crap like that, but because Yoki Choppa said it was. He was the most intelligent, reasonable person she knew, free from ego and ulterior motives, as near to infallible as made no odds. If he said that guarding these freaks was the right thing to do, then, annoyingly, it was.
One of the Mushroom Men was a boy with a damaged mind called Ottar the Moaner. Yoki Choppa had seen that this boy would destroy a force far, far to the west at a place called The Meadows. They knew little about this force, other than that it was bent on destroying the world. If they didn’t escort Ottar there, every man, woman, child and animal on earth would be killed. Sofi didn’t give the tiniest of craps about most men, women, children or animals, but saving them all did seem like the right thing to do.
First of all, however, if she was going to get this gang of idiots through the horrors that no doubt lay ahead, she’d have to replace the power animals that Yoki Choppa had destroyed.
The warlock had tracked down some caribou meat in the Water Divided tribe’s market, so they had their stamina back, but they were still missing the diamondback rattlesnake and tarantula hawk wasp which gave them speed, strength and other qualities.
As well as the three power animals that all the Owsla were conditioned to eat, each of the women had her own special animal from which her distinct skill was derived. Sofi Tornado’s was the burrowing owl.
Apparently burrowing owls were easy enough to catch, but you had to be in their territory and that territory was a few hundred miles to the west. Already her hearing had suffered greatly. At the pace they were going it might be as long as a moon before they found her power animal. Without it, she felt disarmed and nervy. These were two entirely new sensations that she was not enjoying.
On the brighter side, they’d already found Chogolisa Earthquake’s strength-giving dung beetle, Morningstar’s punch-powering mantis shrimp and Paloma Pronghorn’s speed-fuelling pronghorn, so those three women’s special powers were almost back to normal.
Without the diamondback rattlesnake and tarantula hawk wasp, however, they were all weaker and slower than before. Moreover, as well as Sofi Tornado’s own power animal, they were still missing Sitsi Kestrel’s chuckwalla, which gave her extraordinary eyesight and ability with the bow. The chuckwalla came from the Desert That You Don’t Walk Out Of, on the far side of the Shining Mountains. They were headed there, but, at best, given the snail pace of the Mushroom Men, it would take them weeks or even a few moons.
If they got there.
The Owsla were still a stunningly effective fighting squad but as well as being weakened, they were reduced from ten to five. If the Badlanders found them then—
Someone was running up behind. Bodil’s constant blather—it seemed the woman used the musician’s technique of circular breathing to speak continuously—had almost masked the sound.
Sofi’s hand went for her weapon, but it was only Gunnhild Kristlover, oldest and possibly most useless of the useless Mushroom Men.
“Bodil, shush for a moment,” said Gunnhild, “I’d like to talk to Sofi.”
Bodil stopped talking mid-word, unoffended.
“And do try to remember, Bodil, Listeners learn, talkers stay stupid.”
Bodil nodded and fell behind, no doubt to find someone else to talk at.
Gunnhild strode along, keeping level as Sofi’s pace accelerated.
“I saw you sewing last night,” said Gunnhild.
Sofi didn’t reply. She had been sewing, a frustrating business. She was not a good sewer, but she was not interested in sewing and did not require a lecture on how to improve.
“You were making small bags. I guess they’re for your women to store their power animals, in case Yoki Choppa loses his supplies again.”
Sofi shook her head. How did Gunnhild know about their power animals? She should have banned her women from talking to the Wootah. Paloma, Chogolisa and Sitsi were all far too friendly. Morningstar got it right. Don’t talk to them and don’t answer if they talk to you.
Gunnhild wasn’t going to go away, however, so eventually Sofi said: “I made two bags.”
“And you tossed those on the fire this morning because they weren’t good enough?”
Sofi nodded.
“How many do you need? Five? One for each of the Owsla?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make them for you. Rabbit leather will be better than the fawn you were using. You’ll want them light and waterproof?”
“That would be … useful.”
“I’ll leave you to yourself now, Sofi,” said Gunnhild, “but please remember, enemies are people whose tales you don’t know.”
“No, Gunnhild. Enemies are the people that my empress orders me to kill.”
“Rulers order. Sheep follow. Lions question.”
Sofi remained silent. She didn’t want to encourage the woman.
“If I see Bodil pestering you again I’ll come and get her.” Gunnhild fell back.
The captain of the Owsla strode on, scowling.
Grass, grass and more boring grass.
Finnbogi the Boggy trudged along, glowering at Foe Slicer, his sword, bouncing on Sofi Tornado’s astonishing thigh. Finnbogi had been attracted to strong women for as many of his nineteen years as he could remember. When he was tiny, he’d wanted to please and impress them. For the last couple of years, Wootah women like Thyri Treelegs and Sassa Lipchewer had left him confused, as horny as a goat and doomed, it seemed, never to do anything about his passion other than stare at them and dream.
So, teaming up with five magic-powered female super-warriors who’d been selected for their good looks from an entire empire should have been the pinnacle of Finnbogi’s fantasies. But it hadn’t worked out like that. Six days with them and not one of the Owsla had even acknowledged his existence, let alone talked to him, and he was far too awe- and lust-struck to approach one of them.
Their leader had taken Foe Slicer that first night, without even looking at him, let alone asking for it. The sword wasn’t really his; it had been looted from the grave of Olaf the Worldfinder, and it wasn’t as if he knew how to wield it, and a magic-powered super-warrior would definitely get more use out of it. But, still, she could have asked … But she’d just taken it and tossed her crappy little stone axe at his feet and made him look like an idiot in front of Thyri Treelegs and the others.
Finnbogi had been going to let it go without saying anything because he was a coward, but Wulf the Fat had intervened because he was a hero, and demanded she return it. It had looked nasty for a moment, until the warlock Yoki Choppa had asked Wulf to take a short walk with him.
The Wootah leader had returned a minute later, looking glum. “Keep the sword, Sofi Tornado. Sorry, Finn.”
Sofi Tornado had glanced at Wulf as if to say whatever, I don’t need your permission, and that had been that.
And now Finnbogi couldn’t stop looking at Sofi. Like all the Owsla, she wore what looked like leather socks up to her knees, a short breechcloth and a jerkin that left her arms and midriff bare. He wasn’t looking lustfully, he told himself, as he eyed her again from head to toe. Thyri Treelegs was the only woman for him. He simply contemplated the Owsla women’s figures in the same detached but appreciative manner that he might regard a healthy-looking lion or a sunset reflecting in a lake, that was all. He loved Thyri. He admired the Owsla simply as peaks of physical perfection and there was nothing wrong with that, he told himself again and again.
Behind Finnbogi, Sassa Lipchewer and Paloma Pronghorn were chatting away like gossipy sisters who hadn’t seen each other for a year. He was glad that Sassa was getting on with the Owsla, of course, but surely she could ask him to join her conversation? He wanted to talk to Paloma Pronghorn even more than he wanted to talk to the other warrior goddesses. Because she looked the most interesting, that was all. He could objectively observe that she was the most beautiful too, but that wasn’t why he wanted to talk to her so much.
A dozen yards behind Sassa and Paloma Pronghorn, his newly discovered father Erik the Angry walked along next to the giantess Chogolisa Earthquake. Erik had Ottar the Moaner on his shoulders and Chogolisa was carrying Freydis the Annoying. Erik was tallest and broadest of the generally tall and broad Wootah tribe, but he looked tiny next to the colossal woman. Despite her size, Chogolisa wore a sweet smile on her incongruously pretty, girlish face and was jigging lightly to the song that Freydis was making up as they walked along. Most of the time Finnbogi couldn’t see Ottar’s two young racoons, Hugin and Munin, because of the long grass, but he could hear their yickering and see their tails every now and then.
The four humans and two racoons looked happy and bonded, like a family to which Finnbogi did not belong.
He looked back to try to catch Thyri Treelegs’ eye. She was walking on her own, too. She nodded at him in a way that wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, but did manage to convey the message “keep walking, Boggy, I do not want to chat.”
They’d resumed their evening training sessions, but Thyri had been frosty. She still thought he’d caused Garth Anvilchin’s death. Finnbogi was aching to tell her that Sassa had shot Garth when the evil lunk had tried to murder him, so she’d see that her former lover was a bellend and then fall into Finnbogi’s arms. But he couldn’t. Telling tales was a serious taboo for Hardworkers, or Wootah as they were now called, possibly worse than murder itself. It was so unfair!
Thyri hadn’t spoken to the Owsla either, as far as he knew. While he yearned to talk to them and didn’t because he was spineless, he knew that she wasn’t talking to them because she didn’t want to. Thyri was two years younger than him and about fifty times as cool.
Finnbogi walked on, along the track worn into the plain by centuries of people walking the same route. Or possibly animals. He didn’t know who’d made the path and he didn’t care. All of the rest of it, animals and people, all fitted together, uniting in some greater pattern that he wasn’t part of.
Sitsi Kestrel and Morningstar were on watch that evening, standing back to back on a hummock some hundred paces from the Wootah and Calnian camp, looking out over the endless plain. Washed with a golden fringe by the low sun, the wind-swished Ocean of Grass became ever hazier until it blended into the pale horizon.
It was nine days since Sitsi had last eaten her personal power animal, the chuckwalla lizard, but she could still see a good deal further than any other human they were likely to meet. There was nothing threatening on the plain, only innumerable buffalo, eagles, cranes, wolves, coyotes, a few bears, a lion or two, a variety of deer and other plain-dwelling birds and beasts. There’d be several dozen types of smaller animal going about their business hidden by the long grass, and countless more if you started worrying about the smaller scurrying and buzzing creatures.
A long way off was a cloud that she suspected was a millions-strong flock of crowd pigeons, milling near what she guessed was an unusually straight-sided outcrop of rock. Had she had her chuckwalla that morning, she would have been able to see the individual birds and cracks in the rock. The loss of her ability filled her with fear. She’d always known that she was the least brave of the Owsla, with the possible exception of Luby Zephyr, but the limb-weakening dread caused by the decline in her power was new to her. Was this how old people felt as their strength waned, she wondered? That would explain why so many of them looked so miserable.
Yoki Choppa, the cause of her angst, was nearby, searching for burrowing owls or tarantula hawk wasps that may have strayed eastward from their traditional territory. There was no chance of a chuckwalla this far from its home in the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of.
“What do you think about our new friends?” Sitsi asked Morningstar, without turning. She took guard duty seriously.
“The Mushroom Men?”
“Who else?”
“I’m looking forward to punching them to death. I cannot believe that Sofi Tornado agreed to nursemaid them. They look bad, they smell worse. We should have killed them when we met them.”
“They don’t smell bad, do they?”
“They look like they smell bad. They’re not from this land. They’re not meant to be here. They’re disgusting. Don’t you
They hiked through fragrant woods busy with wildlife and across grassland abuzz with insects and shining with pink, blue and yellow flowers. The lovelier it was, the sourer Caliska’s mood became. She spoke only to insult Luby, left camp-building and cooking to her and seemed to have forgotten about the unguents that the warlock Yoki Choppa had given her to aid Luby’s recovery. When Caliska did deign to look at her patient, she gripped her throwing-axe handles and twisted her face like a parent whose child has walked fox shit into the hut for the third time that day.
Luby sympathised. Owsla captain Sofi Tornado had promised Caliska she’d be forgiven for her part in the attempted coup if she escorted the injured Luby back to Calnia unharmed. If Luby was harmed, Caliska was to be executed and have her soul destroyed by being eaten.
Sofi might officially forgive, but she wouldn’t ever forget Caliska’s plotting, so her place in the Owsla would never be comfortable again. Caliska would probably have a much better life if she abandoned Luby and set off south to hawk her alchemically enhanced fighting skills to some jungle emperor. Allowing Luby to live would leave a trail, so Luby had to die. It was what any stone cold killer would have done, and Caliska was about the stoniest and the coldest.
Now, six days after the Owsla mutineers had whacked her on the head with a stone axe during their short-lived attempt to assassinate Sofi Tornado, Luby had almost recovered. However, she was feigning sluggishness so Caliska would think she was an easier target. She was almost disappointed when her ruse worked. She’d fallen behind, as always, because Caliska did not have the patience to dally for the infirm. Rounding a corner on the woodland track, she found Caliska waiting for her, throwing axes in hand.
“I saw a bear.” Caliska was scanning the dark woods. “I think it went round there and—” she gasped. “Behind you!”
Luby span as if she really believed there was a bear behind her, and dropped. A throwing axe whizzed overhead. Luby dived off the path, came to her feet, checked as the second axe flashed past her face, then rolled, bounced and swerved away through the undergrowth, as silently as her zephyr namesake.
Caliska’s skill was the ability to throw with extraordinary power and accuracy. Luby Zephyr’s skill was stealth. Given a suitable environment, stealth beat throwing power every time. And the middle of the woods was about as suitable as it got. Caliska had missed her chance.
Luby wasn’t going to give her another one.
Caliska walked back to retrieve her axes, peering into the undergrowth. “Sofi doesn’t love you, you know!” she shouted. “She was using you. She’ll be with someone else by now. Probably Paloma Pronghorn. She’s much more beautiful and—”
There’s no need to shout, I’m much closer than you think, thought Luby as she dropped from a tree. Caliska turned. Luby slashed her first half-moon obsidian blade across her thick neck and the second blade across her exposed midriff, then dived back in the bushes and stole away silently as the dying Caliska stumbled after her.
Caliska had failed to follow Sofi’s orders, the punishment for which was meant to be execution and soul death. So Luby should have lit a fire with an Innowak crystal, cooked Caliska and eaten some of her flesh to kill her soul. However, Caliska had brought her this far.
So Luby built a normal fire, burnt Caliska’s body and, instead of eating part of it, shed a few tears.
Luby walked south, bow on her back, half-moon obsidian blades at her hips. Slung over one shoulder was a small leather bag containing a waterskin and the alchemical supplements and healing salves that Yoki Choppa the warlock had left with Caliska.
She walked a long way that day and further the next. She expected the rest of the Owsla warriors to catch up at any moment, returning south after dispatching the Mushroom Men, but there was no sign of them. She wondered what could have happened. Had they met a superior force or been tricked into their doom?
Worrying, however, detracted from her enjoyment of the walk, so she banned negative thoughts and decided that the Owsla’s mission must have taken them further than expected. Their quarry had probably fled west away from the lake. Sofi, Paloma Pronghorn, Sitsi Kestrel and the others had surely followed them, killed them, then taken a more westerly path back to Calnia where they’d be waiting for her.
The following morning she awoke and breakfasted. She stretched, felt her pre-injury power fizzing in every muscle, and knew that she’d be able to run back to Calnia that day if she wanted to.
But she didn’t want to.
In her years growing up in Calnia, then becoming Owsla, Luby Zephyr never had any time on her own. So she walked, slowly, taking detours to enjoy the view from small hills, to discover waterfalls and to investigate anything else that caught her interest. She told herself she was lingering to allow the rest of her squad to catch up, but knew it wasn’t true. She was as happy as she could remember being, wandering through the world alone.
She paced along, her head in the air and her feet on the ground. She inhaled the scents of the wood and moseyed along to the music of its creatures. When she started walking every day, worries flew in and batted at her mind, but soon it seemed that her troubling thoughts fluttered away, mingled with nature and returned, combined with the rhythms of the land and its animals. After a couple of miles she was just another creature making her way across the earth; a minuscule but valuable part of a huge, teeming system.
She hunted, foraged, ate, washed and slept, elated and cushioned by a peace so deep that she felt she could sink into it and stretch right out.
She arrived back in Calnia’s immediate territory fourteen days after she’d left and seven days after killing Caliska Coyote. She hadn’t realised how loud the background chatter of animals in the woods and grasslands had been until she emerged from the trees into Calnia’s farmland and the world fell eerily silent.
Luby Zephyr was fully recovered from her head wound and sad to be home.
Up ahead the Pyramid of the Sun shone high and gold. Farmers looked up from their work and hallooed cheerfully. She hallooed back, unsure if she’d met any of them before. After the Swan Empress Ayanna, the women of the Owsla were the best-known people in Calnia. Strangers would walk up and start conversations as if they were old friends. Some of the Owsla were seriously irked by this unsolicited chat. Morningstar, Caliska Coyote and Sadzi Wolf had all punched people for talking to them unbidden. It didn’t annoy Luby—she could have used her stealth skill to walk around unnoticed if it did—but it was disconcerting, because she had a bad memory and was never sure if her interlocutor was a childhood friend or a presumptuous unknown.
As if responding to her thoughts, an elderly farmer-looking fellow walking in the other direction stopped and opened his arms: “Luby Zephyr! Well I never. What are you doing out here in north Calnia? How are you? Do you need anything?”
“Hi, I’m fine. How are you?” Why were his arms open like that? Did he expect a hug? She settled for opening her own arms in a sort of wa-hey! greeting.
“Mustn’t grumble,” he said, closing his arms, apparently satisfied.
Did she recognise him?
“I suppose not,” she said. “Unless you’ve got something to grumble about?” She peered at him and tried to look as if she wasn’t. He did look a little familiar.
“You’ll hear no complaint from me.”
“Good. Any news in Calnia?” she asked.
“How long have you been away?”
“Two weeks.”
“Well well, yes, I should say there’s some news. A lot of news!”
“Such as …?”
“Empress Ayanna had a baby yesterday. A boy!”
“A boy? That’s great.” Was it great? What were you meant to say? She wished she’d never left the woods.
“Yes, it nice to have some cheery news, given the war.”
“The war?”
“Oh, of course, two weeks away, you wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t know what?”
“We’re going to war. With the Badlanders.”
“The Badlanders? Those sadists? Why?”
“Dunno. But they’re nearly ready to go. Biggest army ever, that’s what they’re saying. I’ve had to give a quarter of my stores. I was promised payment of gold and porcupine quills but I haven’t seen them yet and I’m not holding my breath.”
“Do you know where the rest of the Owsla are?”
“They’re not with you? Last I heard, which was yesterday, they were still missing. There are rumours. Some say they’ve joined the Badlanders.”
“And Yoki Choppa?”
“The warlock’s with the Owsla, so they say.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Of course you have! It’s been wonderful talking to you, Luby Zephyr.”
She ran towards the city wall and, after about twenty heartbeats, remembered who the farmer was.
Luby’s parents, a teacher and a wall engineer from Calnia, had been pretty clear about what they thought of Emperor Zaltan choosing their daughter for the Owsla. Like the rest of the Owsla, she’d been chosen for her looks at least as much as for her athletic ability. “We are ashamed of Calnia, and of you,” her mother had said as she’d left their hut with a small bundle containing all her possessions.
She hadn’t seen her mother or father, nor heard from them throughout the gruelling training. It had been an agonising few years, physically and mentally, and some parental input might have been a comfort.
Then the Owsla had won a few battles, defeated some powerful enemies and bolstered Calnia’s standing in the world. Opinion had turned. By the time the captive-killing displays began in the Plaza of the Sun, infamy had become fame. The people who hadn’t been able to say the word Owsla without spitting now thought that the ten-strong squad of alchemically enhanced women warriors were the greatest thing since mashed corn. Some would cheer as they walked by. Some would try and touch them—which resulted in more than a few broken fingers.
After years of silence, Luby’s parents reappeared and threw a party to declare their love and unflagging support. All their friends and extended family had turned up. Luby had gone along with a smile plastered on her face and had the most excruciating afternoon of her life. That was where she’d met the farmer before. His name was Eeyan and he was her mother’s cousin.
Cursing herself for not recognising Eeyan, Luby Zephyr ran to the Mountain of the Sun and bounded up the log steps. Behind her the Plaza of Innowak, the place where she and the other Owsla killed enemies to entertain the citizens of Calnia, was covered in collapsed skin tents, piles of spears, heaps of stone axes and other campaign provisions. The Low milled around, marshalled by the higher orders, enlarging ordnance piles and generally moving stuff about.
Luby had always relied on Sofi Tornado, captain of the Owsla, to tell her what was going on. The next person she’d have gone to was Yoki Choppa, then maybe Chamberlain Hatho. With the first two missing and Chamberlain Hatho killed in the Goachica attack that had been the cause of their mission to the north, the only option was to talk directly to Empress Ayanna, even if she had just given birth.
She walked across the top of the pyramid, nodding confidently to the guards. A couple took steps towards her then seemed to think better of it. She was Owsla. One did not mess.
As she passed the sweat lodge, a voice from the bathing pool called out: “Luby Zephyr!”
The voice belonged to a young woman—a girl—who was immersed in the cloudy, mineral-rich water of the steaming bathing pool, with only her head visible above the silky surface. Her hair was plastered to her small head as if she’d just risen from beneath the water. She had a pert nose and her eyes twinkled.
Who could the girl be? Only the empress was allowed in this pool. And why was there so much steam? It smelled herby, almost intoxicating.
“Who are you?” Luby asked when it became clear that the girl was just going to carry on smiling at her as if she knew all her secrets and found them amusing.
“You’d like to see the empress,” replied the girl. “She’s asleep with her baby. You’ve come a long way and you’re tired. Why don’t you slip off those dirty, worn clothes and wait in here? You can tell me all about your adventures while I soothe your weary feet.”
The girl was confident and persuasive and Luby really was tired now that she thought about it. And the steam smelled lovely. “Who are you?” she asked again.
“I’m Chippaminka. I’m the new head warlock.”
“What happened to Yoki Choppa?”
“He’s fine. He’s just not here. You were separated from the Owsla nearly two weeks ago and cannot know what happened to the rest of them.”
“Yes, but how do you …?”
“I’m a warlock. Take off your clothes and step in. I promise you’ll see the empress as soon as possible, ahead of all the other people who’ve been waiting a good deal longer than you.”
Luby Zephyr did as she was told. She removed her clothing and lowered herself onto the submerged wooden bench opposite Chippaminka. She sighed. The hot water was wonderful.
“Give me your foot.”
She lifted her leg. The girl clasped the Owsla woman’s foot and directed it gently but firmly onto her slick lap. She squeezed her thumbs into its road-beaten sole and kneaded. Luby could not help but sigh again. The girl’s touch was even more soothing than the water.
“Do you know,” Luby asked, “where the rest of the Owsla are and why we’re about to march on the Badlands?”
“I do,” said the girl, with a smile that made the breath catch in Luby’s throat. “But why don’t you relax for now?”
“Isaw a tornado once, over Olaf’s Fresh Sea,” panted the Mushroom Woman, lolloping up to Sofi Tornado at the head of the procession. A gang of glossy blue and white swallows skimmed past southwards over the shifting green sea. High above, flotillas of brilliant clouds traversed the overarching blue.
The woman was Bodil Gooseface, Sofi knew, even though she didn’t care about their ridiculous names. Her resolve to slaughter all the Mushroom Men the moment this fool’s mission was over stiffened every time one of them spoke to her.
“And we saw another tornado just a few days ago.”
The captain of the Owsla didn’t show the dimmest flicker of interest. Gooseface blathered on regardless: “It lifted Chnob the White up and up and up and he didn’t come down. Is that why you’re called Sofi Tornado? Do you throw people into the air? Is that your special power?”
The fiercest warrior in the most fearsome fighting squad in the world deigned to turn her head. Bodil’s eyes were wide and her mouth hung open like a head-whacked fish. She actually expected a reply.
Sofi sighed. This was the sixth day walking west with the Mushroom Men. She was buggered by a bear if she was going to call them the Wootah tribe as their leader Wulf the Fat kept insisting (Wulf the Fat, for the love of Innowak. What was wrong with them?).
“Yes, I’m called Tornado because I spin round and throw people into the air. I also destroy huts, flatten crops and when I’m done I disappear into the clouds.”
“Do you?” The woman wasn’t much brighter than a goose. Was that how she’d got her name? Sofi didn’t care.
“Yes. Most often I attack when I’m walking point and listening out for trouble and I’m interrupted by—”
“My mum used to call me Bodil the Loquacious. I think it means that I’m a good swimmer because I am.” Sofi was not used to being interrupted. She may not have consumed her power animal for a few days, but even without alchemical powers she’d be able to kill this woman and slaughter the rest of them before they’d realised she was attacking. Her fingers tightened around the shaft of the weapon that she’d taken from one of the Mushroom Men; an astonishing piece of metal called a sword.
“I used to swim in Olaf’s Fresh Sea every day. I’d go quite a long way out but not too far because—”
The warlock Yoki Choppa had stopped feeding the Owsla their power animals and destroyed his supplies on purpose to weaken them. He’d justified his actions, but there was no escaping the truth, that if he hadn’t sabotaged their powers, they’d have caught and killed the Mushroom Men on the east of the Water Mother, back in Calnian territory. They wouldn’t have needed to cross the Water Mother and Talisa White-tail wouldn’t have drowned.
No matter how justifiable his reasons, Yoki Choppa had acted without consulting Sofi and his actions had led directly to Talisa’s death.
Despite her anger at Talisa’s death, Sofi believed that letting the Mushroom Men live and escorting them west was the right thing to do; not because she just knew or any crap like that, but because Yoki Choppa said it was. He was the most intelligent, reasonable person she knew, free from ego and ulterior motives, as near to infallible as made no odds. If he said that guarding these freaks was the right thing to do, then, annoyingly, it was.
One of the Mushroom Men was a boy with a damaged mind called Ottar the Moaner. Yoki Choppa had seen that this boy would destroy a force far, far to the west at a place called The Meadows. They knew little about this force, other than that it was bent on destroying the world. If they didn’t escort Ottar there, every man, woman, child and animal on earth would be killed. Sofi didn’t give the tiniest of craps about most men, women, children or animals, but saving them all did seem like the right thing to do.
First of all, however, if she was going to get this gang of idiots through the horrors that no doubt lay ahead, she’d have to replace the power animals that Yoki Choppa had destroyed.
The warlock had tracked down some caribou meat in the Water Divided tribe’s market, so they had their stamina back, but they were still missing the diamondback rattlesnake and tarantula hawk wasp which gave them speed, strength and other qualities.
As well as the three power animals that all the Owsla were conditioned to eat, each of the women had her own special animal from which her distinct skill was derived. Sofi Tornado’s was the burrowing owl.
Apparently burrowing owls were easy enough to catch, but you had to be in their territory and that territory was a few hundred miles to the west. Already her hearing had suffered greatly. At the pace they were going it might be as long as a moon before they found her power animal. Without it, she felt disarmed and nervy. These were two entirely new sensations that she was not enjoying.
On the brighter side, they’d already found Chogolisa Earthquake’s strength-giving dung beetle, Morningstar’s punch-powering mantis shrimp and Paloma Pronghorn’s speed-fuelling pronghorn, so those three women’s special powers were almost back to normal.
Without the diamondback rattlesnake and tarantula hawk wasp, however, they were all weaker and slower than before. Moreover, as well as Sofi Tornado’s own power animal, they were still missing Sitsi Kestrel’s chuckwalla, which gave her extraordinary eyesight and ability with the bow. The chuckwalla came from the Desert That You Don’t Walk Out Of, on the far side of the Shining Mountains. They were headed there, but, at best, given the snail pace of the Mushroom Men, it would take them weeks or even a few moons.
If they got there.
The Owsla were still a stunningly effective fighting squad but as well as being weakened, they were reduced from ten to five. If the Badlanders found them then—
Someone was running up behind. Bodil’s constant blather—it seemed the woman used the musician’s technique of circular breathing to speak continuously—had almost masked the sound.
Sofi’s hand went for her weapon, but it was only Gunnhild Kristlover, oldest and possibly most useless of the useless Mushroom Men.
“Bodil, shush for a moment,” said Gunnhild, “I’d like to talk to Sofi.”
Bodil stopped talking mid-word, unoffended.
“And do try to remember, Bodil, Listeners learn, talkers stay stupid.”
Bodil nodded and fell behind, no doubt to find someone else to talk at.
Gunnhild strode along, keeping level as Sofi’s pace accelerated.
“I saw you sewing last night,” said Gunnhild.
Sofi didn’t reply. She had been sewing, a frustrating business. She was not a good sewer, but she was not interested in sewing and did not require a lecture on how to improve.
“You were making small bags. I guess they’re for your women to store their power animals, in case Yoki Choppa loses his supplies again.”
Sofi shook her head. How did Gunnhild know about their power animals? She should have banned her women from talking to the Wootah. Paloma, Chogolisa and Sitsi were all far too friendly. Morningstar got it right. Don’t talk to them and don’t answer if they talk to you.
Gunnhild wasn’t going to go away, however, so eventually Sofi said: “I made two bags.”
“And you tossed those on the fire this morning because they weren’t good enough?”
Sofi nodded.
“How many do you need? Five? One for each of the Owsla?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make them for you. Rabbit leather will be better than the fawn you were using. You’ll want them light and waterproof?”
“That would be … useful.”
“I’ll leave you to yourself now, Sofi,” said Gunnhild, “but please remember, enemies are people whose tales you don’t know.”
“No, Gunnhild. Enemies are the people that my empress orders me to kill.”
“Rulers order. Sheep follow. Lions question.”
Sofi remained silent. She didn’t want to encourage the woman.
“If I see Bodil pestering you again I’ll come and get her.” Gunnhild fell back.
The captain of the Owsla strode on, scowling.
Grass, grass and more boring grass.
Finnbogi the Boggy trudged along, glowering at Foe Slicer, his sword, bouncing on Sofi Tornado’s astonishing thigh. Finnbogi had been attracted to strong women for as many of his nineteen years as he could remember. When he was tiny, he’d wanted to please and impress them. For the last couple of years, Wootah women like Thyri Treelegs and Sassa Lipchewer had left him confused, as horny as a goat and doomed, it seemed, never to do anything about his passion other than stare at them and dream.
So, teaming up with five magic-powered female super-warriors who’d been selected for their good looks from an entire empire should have been the pinnacle of Finnbogi’s fantasies. But it hadn’t worked out like that. Six days with them and not one of the Owsla had even acknowledged his existence, let alone talked to him, and he was far too awe- and lust-struck to approach one of them.
Their leader had taken Foe Slicer that first night, without even looking at him, let alone asking for it. The sword wasn’t really his; it had been looted from the grave of Olaf the Worldfinder, and it wasn’t as if he knew how to wield it, and a magic-powered super-warrior would definitely get more use out of it. But, still, she could have asked … But she’d just taken it and tossed her crappy little stone axe at his feet and made him look like an idiot in front of Thyri Treelegs and the others.
Finnbogi had been going to let it go without saying anything because he was a coward, but Wulf the Fat had intervened because he was a hero, and demanded she return it. It had looked nasty for a moment, until the warlock Yoki Choppa had asked Wulf to take a short walk with him.
The Wootah leader had returned a minute later, looking glum. “Keep the sword, Sofi Tornado. Sorry, Finn.”
Sofi Tornado had glanced at Wulf as if to say whatever, I don’t need your permission, and that had been that.
And now Finnbogi couldn’t stop looking at Sofi. Like all the Owsla, she wore what looked like leather socks up to her knees, a short breechcloth and a jerkin that left her arms and midriff bare. He wasn’t looking lustfully, he told himself, as he eyed her again from head to toe. Thyri Treelegs was the only woman for him. He simply contemplated the Owsla women’s figures in the same detached but appreciative manner that he might regard a healthy-looking lion or a sunset reflecting in a lake, that was all. He loved Thyri. He admired the Owsla simply as peaks of physical perfection and there was nothing wrong with that, he told himself again and again.
Behind Finnbogi, Sassa Lipchewer and Paloma Pronghorn were chatting away like gossipy sisters who hadn’t seen each other for a year. He was glad that Sassa was getting on with the Owsla, of course, but surely she could ask him to join her conversation? He wanted to talk to Paloma Pronghorn even more than he wanted to talk to the other warrior goddesses. Because she looked the most interesting, that was all. He could objectively observe that she was the most beautiful too, but that wasn’t why he wanted to talk to her so much.
A dozen yards behind Sassa and Paloma Pronghorn, his newly discovered father Erik the Angry walked along next to the giantess Chogolisa Earthquake. Erik had Ottar the Moaner on his shoulders and Chogolisa was carrying Freydis the Annoying. Erik was tallest and broadest of the generally tall and broad Wootah tribe, but he looked tiny next to the colossal woman. Despite her size, Chogolisa wore a sweet smile on her incongruously pretty, girlish face and was jigging lightly to the song that Freydis was making up as they walked along. Most of the time Finnbogi couldn’t see Ottar’s two young racoons, Hugin and Munin, because of the long grass, but he could hear their yickering and see their tails every now and then.
The four humans and two racoons looked happy and bonded, like a family to which Finnbogi did not belong.
He looked back to try to catch Thyri Treelegs’ eye. She was walking on her own, too. She nodded at him in a way that wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, but did manage to convey the message “keep walking, Boggy, I do not want to chat.”
They’d resumed their evening training sessions, but Thyri had been frosty. She still thought he’d caused Garth Anvilchin’s death. Finnbogi was aching to tell her that Sassa had shot Garth when the evil lunk had tried to murder him, so she’d see that her former lover was a bellend and then fall into Finnbogi’s arms. But he couldn’t. Telling tales was a serious taboo for Hardworkers, or Wootah as they were now called, possibly worse than murder itself. It was so unfair!
Thyri hadn’t spoken to the Owsla either, as far as he knew. While he yearned to talk to them and didn’t because he was spineless, he knew that she wasn’t talking to them because she didn’t want to. Thyri was two years younger than him and about fifty times as cool.
Finnbogi walked on, along the track worn into the plain by centuries of people walking the same route. Or possibly animals. He didn’t know who’d made the path and he didn’t care. All of the rest of it, animals and people, all fitted together, uniting in some greater pattern that he wasn’t part of.
Sitsi Kestrel and Morningstar were on watch that evening, standing back to back on a hummock some hundred paces from the Wootah and Calnian camp, looking out over the endless plain. Washed with a golden fringe by the low sun, the wind-swished Ocean of Grass became ever hazier until it blended into the pale horizon.
It was nine days since Sitsi had last eaten her personal power animal, the chuckwalla lizard, but she could still see a good deal further than any other human they were likely to meet. There was nothing threatening on the plain, only innumerable buffalo, eagles, cranes, wolves, coyotes, a few bears, a lion or two, a variety of deer and other plain-dwelling birds and beasts. There’d be several dozen types of smaller animal going about their business hidden by the long grass, and countless more if you started worrying about the smaller scurrying and buzzing creatures.
A long way off was a cloud that she suspected was a millions-strong flock of crowd pigeons, milling near what she guessed was an unusually straight-sided outcrop of rock. Had she had her chuckwalla that morning, she would have been able to see the individual birds and cracks in the rock. The loss of her ability filled her with fear. She’d always known that she was the least brave of the Owsla, with the possible exception of Luby Zephyr, but the limb-weakening dread caused by the decline in her power was new to her. Was this how old people felt as their strength waned, she wondered? That would explain why so many of them looked so miserable.
Yoki Choppa, the cause of her angst, was nearby, searching for burrowing owls or tarantula hawk wasps that may have strayed eastward from their traditional territory. There was no chance of a chuckwalla this far from its home in the Desert You Don’t Walk Out Of.
“What do you think about our new friends?” Sitsi asked Morningstar, without turning. She took guard duty seriously.
“The Mushroom Men?”
“Who else?”
“I’m looking forward to punching them to death. I cannot believe that Sofi Tornado agreed to nursemaid them. They look bad, they smell worse. We should have killed them when we met them.”
“They don’t smell bad, do they?”
“They look like they smell bad. They’re not from this land. They’re not meant to be here. They’re disgusting. Don’t you
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The Land You Never Leave
Angus Watson
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