《The Amtrak Wars I : Cloud_Warrior》04

Cadillac took a tenative peek over the top.  'Where has it gone?"

'Towards the capo,' whispered Clearwater.  Holding the knife-stick in
her two hands, she rested her elbows on the edge of the gully, pointed
the knife blade towards the capo, put the butt of the shaft against her
forehead and closed her eyes.

'What are you doing?"  whispered Cadillac.

'Don't talk,' she hissed, closing her eyes even tighter.

'Load your crossbow and aim for the capo."

Cadillac slithered quickly along the gully, pushed the camouflaged
crossbow over the edge and wormed his way into a patch of long grass.

Reaching into the bag at his belt, he took out one of the barbed, ten
inch-long bolts and placed it against the taut bowstring, with one of
its four vanes in the slot cut in the barrel of the bow.  He parted the
grass cautiously.  The capo with its prized ten-point horns was about
two hundred yards away.  Well within the range of a Mute crossbow but
a difficult shot for a relatively untrained marksman like Cadillac.  He
rubbed his palms in the earth to wipe off the sweat.

The female fast-foot masking the capo started nervously and skittered
sideways as the rattler reached them.  The capo backed away, stamping
its right foreleg, nosing the ground, then tossing its great horns in
the air.  Cadillac came up on one knee and brought the crossbow hard
into his shoulder, the elbow of his left arm locked against his raised
thigh, hand supporting the barrel of the bow rock-steady.  He sighted
along the upright vane of the bolt, aiming at the chest of the capo,
allowing for the distance the bolt would drop on its way to the
target.

The big fast-foot lunged forward, caught the rattler on the forward
points of its horns and tossed it high into the air.  As the powerful
neck arched backwards, Cadillac fired at the base of the white
throat.

The capo staggered under the force of the impact, mouth open to the
sky, emitted a brief deep-throated roar of pain and alarm, staggered,
fell to its knees then toppled sideways, hitting the ground with a
great thud.

Cadillac leapt to his feet with a whooping cry of triumph as the rest
of the herd bounded away eastwards across the plain; the young males,
who had crossed the gully behind them, jinking crazily as they
passed.

Clearwater scrambled out of the gully carrying their knife-sticks.

Cadillac danced around her gleefully as she ran towards the fallen
capo.  'Did you ever see such a fine head?  Or such a fine shot?"

Clearwater knelt and examined the fast-foot as Cadillac strutted round
it, his face glowing with excitement.  The body of the deer quivered
spasmodically as the nervous system responded to the last confused
signals of the dying brain.

'Where did you aim?"  asked Clearwater.

'For the heart,' replied Cadillac.  'Where the throat joins the
chest."

He knelt beside the dead animal and ran his hand down its neck.  He
felt blood run between his fingers.  'See here - you can feel the end
of my shaft."

Clearwater nodded gravely then lifted her hand from the side of the
capo.  'Then whose bolt is this?"

Cadillac's mouth dropped open as he saw the vanes of a crossbow bolt
sticking out of the capo's chest just behind the right foreleg.  He
pulled his knife from its stick-shaft and cut the bolt out of the dead
buck.  Clearwater wiped the blood away with a handful of grass.  The
pattern scored on the shaft in front of the vanes were not those of the
M'Call clan.

'What is this, brothers?"  said a mocking voice.  'A coyote and a fox
that feeds off the meat of lions?"

Cadillac's and Clearwater's hearts faltered momentarily as four unknown
Mute warriors rose from the grass around them.  One of them who, to
guess by his adornments, was the gang-leader, carried a crossbow; the
others were armed with knife-sticks and stone flails.  The strangers
wore helmet masks of hardened buffalo hide onto which were sewn bones
and coloured pebbles.  They had stone-studded leather cuffs on their
forearms, and their patterned bodies were shielded with similar thigh,
chest and shoulder plates, hung with feathers and bones that had been
dipped in blood.

Cadillac and Clearwater rose slowly to their feet as the four Mutes
took a menacing step forward.  Cadillac slipped his knife into the
sheath tied to his waistbelt and turned to face the heavily-built
gang-leader.  The Mute tossed his crossbow to the warrior on his
right.

Cadillac offered the bolt to the gang-leader on his outstretched
palm.

'I am Cadillac, of the clan M'CalI, from the bloodline of the
She-Kargo, first-born of the Plainfolk.  We have stalked this fast-foot
since the sun was at the head of the sky.  The bolt I fired lies in its
heart."  He gestured to the dead capo.  'Cut it free and you will see I
speak the truth.

Yours was aimed too high to kill."  He tossed the bolt towards the Mute
- who snatched it out of the air with an angry gesture.

Clearwater's heart quailed at Cadillac's recklessness.

One of the other warriors knelt and examined the wound in the breast of
the dead buck.  He nodded to his leader as if to confirm Cadillac's
claim.

'It does not matter,' said the gang-leader.  'I fired first.  It is our
meat."

Cadillac flushed angrily.  'He was already dead when your bolt
struck!"

He tapped his chest.  'I made the kill!"  The gang-leader filled his
deep chest, flexed his shoulders and treated Cadillac to a mocking
smile.  'You have a big mouth, coyote.  But your tail will soon be
between your legs."

Cadillac stood his ground.  'A coyote does not fear the cawing of
carrion crows with no name."

The gang-leader swaggered forward until his nose was almost touching
Cadillac's and folded his arms - a gesture indicating his total
indifference to any possible danger from his opponent.  'Listen well,
coyote - while you still have ears.

I am Shakatak, of the Clan D'Vine, from the bloodline of the D'Troit,
mightiest of the Plainfolk."  He indicated his companions.  'These are
my brother Lion-Hearts Torpedo, Cannonball and Freeway.  We have chewed
bone, coyote.  A full head-pole marks the door to our pad.  Your skull
will sit well upon the second."

His three companions laughed, and mocked Cadillac by yelping like
frightened coyotes.

Clearwater moved to Cadillac's side and addressed Shakatak without any
sign of fear.  'By what right do you take the life of a soul-brother?

Are we not all of the Plainfolk?  Do we not breathe the same air?  Let
us divide the fast-foot between us and share the triumph of the
kill."

Shakatak uncrossed his arms, holding his fists clenched against his
thighs.  'The D'Troit are not soul-brothers of the She-Kargo."  He spat
on the ground in front of them.  'Your name is dirt in our mouth.  We
share nothing with those who invade our turf and steal the meat from
our knives."

Clearwater could not restrain her anger at the insult.

'This is no-man's land!  Your clan have put down no markers I' Shakatak
flung out his left arm towards Cannonball and snapped his fingers.

Cannonball reached down into the grass and picked up a claim stick - an
eight-foot pole hung with feathers, and plaques of sculptured wood
coloured with dyes that Mute clans used to mark the boundaries of their
turL Grasping the long pole with two hands, Cannonball lifted it high
into the air and drove the point deep into the ground.

'We have now,' growled Shakatak.  He turned to Cadillac.

'So, coyote - if you would take meat back to the stinking yellow cubs
you call clan-brothers, you will have to show me how sharp your teeth
are."

Cadillac stepped in front of Clearwater.  'Sharp enough to tear your
liver out,' he snarled.

Shakatak smiled.  'Hot words, coyote.  Does your knife speak as
boldly?"  He pulled out his long blade and sprang back, dropping into
the crouching, wide-legged stance of a knife-fighter.

Cadillac fumbled for his blade and stepped back, adopting the same
fighting pose.  His throat was dry.  He had fought mock duels, wrestled
and undergone trials of strength with his clan-brothers; his body was
lithe and well-mus.cled, his reflexes sharp, his mind alert, but up to
this moment, he had never faced anything more lethal than a sheathed
blade.  Now he found himself staring at a weaving eight-inch blade with
a vicious, dished top cutting edge and suddenly realised that he was
about to get himself killed very painfully.  He imagined Shakatak's
blade sinking into his groin and ripping upwards through his bowels.

His stomach became a ball of ice; the skin on the back of his neck
quivered.  If only he had stayed on the far side of the river.  If only
Once again Clearwater moved between them, thrusting a raised hand at
the fearsome Shakatak.  'Put up your blade!

There is no standing in this fight.  This is not a warrior you seek to
kill, but a wordsmith!"  Shakatak paused, clearly surprised by the
news.

'Are the Lion-Hearts of the D'Vine so weak that they must hunt down
those who have not chewed bone?"

Clearwater laughed, but there was a note of desperation in her voice.

'That would make a fine fire song!"  Shakatak growled angrily and
looked at his companions, uncertain of his next move.  Before he could
reply, Cadillac hurled Clearwater aside and slashed the air in front of
Shakatak's face with his knife.  'Even a wordsmith who has not chewed
bone is worth ten warriors from a clan like the D'Vine whose name is
dirt, and whose bravery can be recounted without the taking of a single
breath!"  He spat on the ground at Shakatak's feet.

Shakatak's eyes almost popped out of his head with rage.

He bared his teeth and jabbed a blunt forefinger at Cadillac.

'You are going to eat those words, coyote - along with your scrawny
little nut-bag.  Torpedo!  Draw the circle!"  Cannonball and Freeway
grabbed Clearwater by the neck and arms and dragged her to one side.

Torpedo put down Shakatak's crossbow, reversed his knife-stick and
quickly drew a fifteen-foot circle in the earth around Shakatak and
Cadillac.

Shakatak indicated the circle.  'Each time you step over that line,
Torpedo will take a slice off the fox.  Do you understand?"

Cadillac replied by making another slash at the air in front of
Shakatak's face.  Torpedo threw his knife-stick aside and helped pinion
Clearwater by the arms.

'Cut him slow?  yelled Freeway.

'Don't worry,' gloated Shakatak.  'I'm going to unpick this mother one
stitch at a time.  I'll leave his eyes till last so he can watch us
grease the tail of that fox -' His knife flashed from his right to his
left hand with frightening rapidity and slashed forward under
Cadillac's guard, slicing along Cadillac's rib cage with surgical
precision.

Clearwater's scream was choked off by Cannonball's hands on her mouth
and throat.

A spasm of pain shot up through Cadillac's chest as the blood welled
out of the wound in his side.  Shakatak's knife flicked forward again,
this time in his right hand, slashing open the skin on the other side
of Cadillac's ribs.  They were the first two strokes in the ritual of
wounding and dismemberment in single-handed fights to the death.

Cadillac had seen the pattern on the bodies of his clan-brothers and
marauding Mutes.  Next would come the cuts on the shoulders and upper
arms, weakening the opponent's knife thrusts.  The deep jabs into the
thighs would be followed by the cheek slashes, then the forehead
stroke, causing blood to pour into the eyes, the second horizontal
slice, across the belly, the upwards rip through the groin and then if
you were lucky - the plunging thrust into and across the throat that
preceded the severing of the head.

Those that were unlucky suffered further mutilation before choking to
death on their severed genitals.

Cadillac's terrifying vision of what lay ahead lent wings to his feet
as he bobbed and weaved around Shakatak.  He could not run, could not
abandon Clearwater, yet knew that if, by some miracle, he managed to
defeat Shakatak, his brother Lion-Hearts would take his place, either
singly or together.  He was going to die!  It was unthinkable that he
should but there was no way to escape.  He leapt backwards as
Shakatak's blade scythed through the air less than an inch from his
navel.

Shakatak's knife thrusts were terrifyingly fast but because of his
heavier body, he was slower on his feet.  After the two opening cuts on
his ribs, Cadillac's natural agility had kept him out of serious
trouble but this merely offered a temporary respite; it was no
solution.  He could not dance beyond the range of Shakatak's blade for
ever.  He had to find some way to get under his guard and inflict a
short, sharp disabling thrust.  But how?

Cadillac sidestepped as Shakatak lunged forward and ran behind him to
the far side of the circle where he stooped down and scooped up a
handful of dirt and pebbles.

Shakatak turned, his face creased with a knowing smile.  As Cadillac
advanced towards him warily, Shakatak flung out his arm towards the
three Mutes who held Clearwater, and snapped his fingers.  Holding onto
the struggling Clearwater with one hand, Torpedo unfastened the stone
flail looped through his belt and lobbed it towards Shakatak's
outstretched hand.  As his arm came up, Clearwater kicked at it
desperately, causing the flail to fall between Shakatak and Cadillac.

Shakatak stepped forward, switched his knife into his right hand, fixed
Cadillac with his glittering eyes and bent to pick up the flail.

Cadillac knew it was his one and only chance.  Hurling the handful of
dirt at S hakatak's face, he threw himself sideways into the air above
Shakatak's knife hand with a tremendous yell and kicked out at
Shakatak's head with both feet.  His heels connected with a force born
of desperation.  The knife flew from Shakatak's hand as his neck
snapped sideways.

Cadillac felt a terrible jarring pain as his feet slammed into the
stone-covered helmet.  There was a fleeting instant when time seemed to
suddenly stand still and he found himself praying he had not broken
his ankles - then Shakatak crashed to the ground with Cadillac
sprawling on top of him.

Cadillac kicked out wildly at Shakatak's face, knocking off his
helmet-mask at the same time as he stabbed viciously at the thick,
strongly-muscled legs that thrashed around his own head.  Shakatak
roared with pain like a crippled bull-buffalo.

Twisting round, Cadillac scrambled to his knees, fumbling to change his
grip on the bloodstained knife so that he could plunge it deep into
Shakatak's throat, or between the stone and leather chest plates
protecting his heart.

Before he could strike, Shakatak rolled into him then jerked upright,
his left hand flashing out to grasp Cadillac's wrist, staying the
knife.  Seemingly oblivious of any pain, or the blood pouring from the
deep slashes in his leg muscles, Shakatak smashed his right forearm,
with its leather and stone cuff against Cadillac's throat, knocking him
backwards onto the ground, haft-dazed and choking for breath.

Cadillac tried to roll aside.  Too late.  Shakatak still held his wrist
in a grip of iron.  Kicking out with his right heel, he hit both of
Cadillac's thighs with paralysing blows then threw his whole weight
upon him.  Cadillac squirmed wildly, arcing his body like a speared
fish, clawing at Shakatak's eyes but in a matter of seconds, Shakatak
was sitting astride his chest, with his knees pinning Cadillac's arms
to the ground, and with Cadillac's knife in his hand.

Shakatak grabbed Cadillac's hair, forcing his head back, and pressed
the sharp edge of the blade under Cadillac's left ear.  'You fight
well, wordsmith,' he gasped hoarsely.  'Well enough to have earned the
life I now hold in my hands.  The D'Vine have no tongues that can
pierce the mysteries of the world.  The past is darkness.  Our fire
songs are not remembered.  If you would weave them for us so that the
bright thread of our bravery endures, you and the fox shall have meat,
shelter and standing."

Cadillac struggled against the crushing weight on his chest and dragged
air down his battered throat.  'I would sooner have eagles tear out my
tongue than poison the air with your name,' he snarled, haft-choking on
the words.

'So be it, coyote,' said Shakatak.  'I have no past, you have no
future."  He raised the knife high into the air.  Cadillac saw the late
afternoon sunlight flash off the blade as it hung poised ready to
plunge into his throat.  He suddenly felt drained of fear; was filled
instead with a great sadness at leaving the world; at being parted from
Clearwater.  But it would not be for ever.  He would roam the sunset
islands in the sky until his spirit was poured into a new earth-mother,
re-entering the world in another skin to fulfill his destiny, sharing
the triumph of Talisman's ultimate victory.

In the split-second before the knife fell, Clearwater wrenched her head
free of Cannonball's grip and let out a piercing cry; a blood-curdling
half-scream, half-shout - the dreaded ululation that was the mark of a
summoner.

In'the same instant, Clearwater became the epicentre of a mini-tornado
which hurled her three captors from her in a shower of dust, stones and
uprooted grass.  The claim-stick wavered, was wrenched from' the
ground, spun wildly up into the air then drove itself through Torpedo's
chest as he tried to strike Clearwater with the stone flail.

Cannonball and Freeway crouched low, vainly trying to shield themselves
against the shower of stones that rained on them.

Cadillac was terrified too.  He covered his ears but the intensity of
the sound coming from Clearwater's throat grew, percing his brain.

An instant later, the spiralling wind enveloped him and Shakatak, still
seated on his chest, arm upraised.  The power that Clearwater had
unleashed seemed to imbue the knife he held with a life of its own.  It
vibrated wildly in Shakatak's fist but instead of breaking free of his
grip, the awesome force in the wind caused his fingers to lock tighter
round the handle.  Sensing the danger, the now-terrified warrior threw
up his other hand in a desperate effort to force the knife loose but as
he touched it, his fingers closed round those already gripping the
knife.  Shakatak let out a howl of fear.

The muscles on his neck and shoulders bulged as he strained to hold the
knife above his head.  The vortex of force increased in power, the
swirling &and howled, drowning out Clearwater's wavering, unearthly
cry.  With one swift, unstoppable movement, the knife in Shakatak's
hands curved downwards in front of Cadillac's horrified face and
buried itself up to the hilt in the warrior's solar plexus.

Shakatak gave a harsh, gasping scream and fell forward across Cadillac,
his hands still clasped around the knife.

Cannonball and Freeway scrambled to their feet and took off across the
grass like stampeding fast-foot, closely followed by the howling
twister.  The sound coming from Clearwater's throat faded.  She fell to
her knees, eyes glazed as if in a trance.

Wriggling out from under Shakatak's lifeless body, Cadillac stumbled
across to Clearwater on his numbed legs and gathered her in his arms.

Her body felt cold; drained of life.  He laid her down gently and
caressed her face, not knowing what to do, completely overawed by the
deadly nature of the power that had come from within her.  A power he
had not suspected she possessed; that she had never given the slightest
hint of possessing.

After a few minutes, the grey veil lifted from her eyes.  He felt the
warmth flood back into her body.  She smiled at him, then a look of
alarm crossed her face.  She sat up quickly then relaxed as she
realised that they were both out of danger.

Cadillac stood up, walked over to the fallen Shakatak and turned his
body over.  As the dead warrior rolled onto his back, his hands fell
limply away from the handle of Cadillac's knife.  Clearwater joined him
and they walked to where Torpedo lay transfixed by the D'Vine
claim-stick.

Their eyes met over his lifeless body.

'Why did you not tell me you were a summoner?"

Clearwater shook her head in bewilderment.  'I did not know until
now.

It was only when you were about to die that the power came upon me.  It
was sent through me.  It used my voice to call the forces up from the
earth but I did not guide it."  She paused and looked back at
Shakatak's body, suddenly intimidated by the terrible violence she had
unleashed.  'I do not know if it will come again."

Cadillac nodded.  'The door in your mind has been opened.  If you call,
the power will enter.  Mr Snow will teach you how to guide it."

Clearwater shivered and rubbed her arms.  'It frightens me."

The too,' agreed Cadillac.  'But it is a good power.  Did you not save
my life?"

Clearwater shook her head.  'No.  Talisman saved it.  It was his
strength that flowed through me."  She gently brushed the wounds on
Cadillac's ribs with her fingertips.  'If I could have saved you with a
single cry I would have struck down Shakatak before he drew his
blade.

But it was not to be.

Talisman did not reveal his power until you revealed yours.

You fought bravely, like a great warrior and, at the point of death,
you refused to dishonour your clan.  You have standing.  You have the
heart and blood of a Bear and there shall be a fire song to mark this
day ' 'I shall choose the words myself,' said Cadillac, swelling with
pride at the prospect and his new-found ability to ignore the pain that
pulsed through his chest.

'- but only,' continued Clearwater firmly, 'ffyou hold fast to your
oath to Mr Snow.  Never to act rashly again.  Never put the gift of
words in danger."

Cadillac shrugged arrogantly.  'If it is my destiny to be a great
warrior ' 'Then the fire song I sing shall tell how these Lion-Hearts
truly died.

Not under the hand of a brave Bear they called coyote, but by a single
cry from the lips of a tame fox!"  'She-err!"  hissed Cadillac.  'For a
tame fox you have sharp teeth."

Clearwater slipped her arms around his neck.  'They bite softly enough
in the darkness of the moon."  She rubbed her nose against his cheeks
then kissed him on the mouth.

'Come - let us prepare the fast-foot."

They gutted the carcass of the capo and strung it to the eight-foot
claim-stick.  The weight of the dead beast made it sag dangerously and
they could only shoulder it with great difficulty.  To take it back
unaided would mean abandoning the dead Mutes and their weapons.

Cadillac shed his end of the load.  'You will have to get help.  I will
stay here and guard what we have won.  Take the Lion-Hearts'
crossbow."

He hauled back the lever with a gasp of pain, placed a bolt in the
barrel and offered it to her.

Clearwater did not take it.  She was looking past him across the plain
to the north; Home of the White Death.

'Running clouds,' she said.

Cadillac turned, following the direction of her pointing finger.  He
saw a low dust haze hanging in the air above a distant rise; a sign
that often meant a group of warriors on the move; running with the
characteristic, loping gait that enabled Mutes to cover long distances,
sometimes running for twenty-four hours without a break, sleeping on
their feet as birds do on the wing; guided by some mysterious internal
navigation system.

The running cloud drifted against the grey-blue shadowed land beyond,
burning with orange fire as it caught the slanting rays of the sun.