The Hyena and the Hawk by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Author:Adrian Tchaikovsky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

21

‘There were never four brothers,’ Hesprec said, after they had retreated to Asman’s camp. There were already a surprising number of River Lords in amongst the Plainsfolk. Many had come with caravans of grain hauled from the stores at Atahlan, a gesture of friendship that said more than any number of spears. And still it was not enough for all those who had been forced to flee their homes, leaving their harvests and their stores behind them.

Now, the little knot of them huddled in the tent they had given over hurriedly for their Kasrani’s use. Nobody had even asked the question, but Hesprec apparently felt the need to argue it.

‘The lie is that when the Plague People drove us from The Place Where We Were,’ she continued, ‘the Rat and its people stayed behind to fight, and that is why the Rat has no tribe now, no human bodies for its souls.’

‘I never heard this,’ Asman said diplomatically, and if he had not, certainly Maniye and Loud Thunder hadn’t. Only Shyri nodded, hearing a tale twice-told.

‘You never heard it because it is a lie,’ Hesprec said, her young face making her look sulky at having to speak the words, for all nobody was drawing them from her but herself. ‘The Rat has no tribe because the Rat devours all. When we first came to this land, so the story goes, the Rat seized on the fear and suffering of the people, refugees as we all were in those days, and grew fat and had many followers. And even now, nobody from the desert south to the icy north builds a house without keeping the stocks out of the reach of vermin – yes, and the sleeping places too, if they have any sense. Or did you think the mounds of the Wolf and the stilts of the Horse were just to make them look grander?’ Her face twisted, an old, old bitterness on such young features. ‘No, the Rat came close to ending us before we began on these shores, and the Rat has never gone away – a god without worshippers, but a god who whispers in every ear come times of hardship and privation. A god that answers desperate prayers.’

‘I . . .’ Maniye almost thought twice, but pressed on. ‘Years ago, when I was more of a child than I am now, I made an altar of rat bones. Because I was desperate, living under the hand of Stone River and Takes Iron. I was looking for something outside the tribe that could lend me strength.’

‘Some strengths nobody needs,’ Shyri murmured.

‘I . . . felt that something answered, when I made that thing. So I smashed it and scattered the pieces.’

Hesprec gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘And found your own path out of your difficulties, as the Wolf teaches. You owe the Rat nothing. But there is always someone to open that door. The Rat comes to the starving and sends them to taste the flesh of their kin.

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