The Waterstone (24 page)

Faintly, as if it were very far away, a voice began singing.

Come and be a king in the deep water. You will have a castle of coral and pearls and a throne of crystal and gold. You are of our kind, Sagamore, not theirs.

The singing swelled up, an enchanted cascade of indescribably beautiful sound. But somehow it had lost its power.
It
is
poison
, Tad thought.

Do you accept, Sagamore?

Accept! Accept! Accept!
The music urged him.

“No,” Tad said.

Ah
, the Nixie’s voice said.
Ah, I see. You miss your pond. That little driblet of water.

Scornful laughter like silver bubbles.

But I could spare it for you, Sagamore. Cease to trouble me and go home, and all will be as it was before. Your pond will fill.

“What about all the other ponds?” Tad said. “What about the forests? And the Diggers’ waterfall?”

The singing faded to a tuneful murmur.

What does it matter?
the Nixie whispered conspiratorially.
What will you see of it, Fisher? Stay at home by the banks of your pond and let the world beyond go by as it will. It is nothing to do with you.

“You mean go by as
you
will,” Tad retorted.

The singing rose again, piercingly sweet, but it bothered Tad no more than the buzzing of a honeybee.

Save yourself
, the Nixie murmured seductively.
You, Sagamore, you shall have water. Your tree will remain green. Go home.

“No,” Tad said again. “There’s water enough for all of us, Azabel. Give it back. Give up the Waterstone.”

For a long moment nothing happened.

Then die!

The masked Greller tipped back his head and gave a long howl of fury. Behind him Tad heard Pippit squawking hysterically and Ditani frantically shouting a warning. As if the howl had been a signal, the wooden gates of the Grellers’ fortress slammed open and a horde of armed warriors poured out, bows and spears at ready. The bowmen in the lead broke ranks, stepped smartly to the side, and dropped to one knee, taking aim.

“Tad! Will!” It was Birdie, shrieking. “Look out! Run!”

A bowman fired.

The arrow flashed through the air, but it never reached its intended target. There was a blow against Tad’s back as he was violently thrust aside, out of harm’s way. It was Will, shouting a warning — and Will, crying out and falling backward, a black-feathered arrow protruding from his shoulder.

AaaaOOOOaaaa!

From the edge of the forest came the wail of a snail-shell horn. A Fisher horn.

AaaaOOOOaaaa!

Tad looked up, astonished, from where he had dropped to his knees at Willem’s side. The roots of the great trees were suddenly alive with moving figures. There were Fishers in battle dress — vests and helmets awkwardly cobbled together from sheets of birch bark. They carried bows, fishing spears, and stone hatchets sharpened to a razor’s edge. Among them were the tense crouched forms of Hunters, their dark faces fierce with stripes of scarlet paint, bows and bone-handled knives in their hands.

The Greller army halted in its headlong rush down the shore. This was a far more formidable force than they had expected and they were no longer sure what to do. Soldiers in the rear — still charging blindly forward — crashed heavily into soldiers in front of them, who were suddenly charging backward. There was a flurry of contradictory orders. There were cries of “Forward, Grellers, forward!” and, at the same time, shouts of “Back, men, back!” Grellers in the very middle of the formation, who had been bumped into the hardest and from both sides, had turned angrily and started fighting with their neighbors.

In the resulting confusion, Fishers and Hunters attacked. They burst from the cover of the woods and raced toward the fort, shrieking at the tops of their lungs. “Water-thieving swamp pigs!”

“Eh, stand and fight, you fur-faced traitors!”

“For the ponds and forest!”

“For the Tribes! For the Tribes!”

In the midst of it all, the wail of the snail-shell horn sounded again.

AaaaOOOOaaaa!

Arrows filled the air.

Tad crouched at Willem’s side.

“I thought they weren’t coming,” he said.

Willem gave a ghost of a grin.

“I guess they weren’t so cowardly after all,” he said faintly. “I thought that Hunter in the red pants — the one who gave you such a hard time, Tad — was looking pretty ashamed of himself at not offering to help. Some of the others were too.”

He gave a gasp of pain. “Some of them believed in you,” he said. “Don’t think they didn’t, Tad. They just had to hammer it out a bit, that’s all. Like the story of what’s-his-name, Birdie’s Magic Mudbug.”

Tad laid a hand on his arm.

“They’ll have brought healers with them,” he said. “People who can help you. I’ll go find one of them, Will.”

Willem shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You have to go now, Tad. It’s a diversion they’ve made for you, don’t you see? It’s your chance to get to the lake. But you have to go
now.
Take the breathing tubes.”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Tad said.

Another voice, a remembered fur-soft voice, now choked and twisted with pain, spoke in his ear.

Go now and do as you must, old friend, and we will meet again around a campfire in Great Rune’s garden.

Tad’s eyes filled with hot tears. Burris. And now Willem. The tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks.

“I’ll stay with him, Tad.” It was Birdie. “I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

Ditani stood behind her, arms awkwardly filled with metal tubes and dangling hoses. “And I’ll go with you,” Ditani said, struggling with the tangled breathing tubes. “I have no powers like yours, but I am of the Blood, and mayhap you’ll have need of a good Hunter spear.” She wrenched at the tubes, pulling one set free. “Here, put this thing on.”

“Do it, Tad,” said Willem.

Tad reluctantly buckled the odd-shaped goggles behind his ears, settled the air hoses, and strapped the air canister over his shoulder, while Ditani did the same.
We sure don’t look like warriors
, Tad thought ruefully.
We look like a pair of bulgy-faced waterbugs.

Ditani kicked off her leather boots.

“I’m ready,” she said.

The shouting grew louder near the gates of the fortress, where Fishers, Hunters, and Grellers clashed in battle. The dusty ground was scattered now with crumpled bodies.

“I wish the Diggers had come,” Willem said weakly. “I would have liked to have seen a true rally of the Tribes, like they had in the olden days. You’ll have to tell them about this, Tad, back at Stone Mountain. Tell them what happened.”

“You can tell them yourself,” Tad said.

The corners of Willem’s mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile.

“You look like a couple of big bugs,” he said. “Put the mouthpieces on.”

Tad and Ditani did as they were told.

Birdie suddenly flung her arms around them both in a crushing hug. “You’re braver than Bog the Weaselkiller,” she said huskily. “Both of you.”

She stepped back quickly and made Great Rune’s sign — a circle in the air in front of her face. “Great Rune keep you safe,” she said.

“He won’t have a chance to if they don’t get going,” Will said.

He tried to lift his head, but fell back, grimacing with pain. Tad winced in sympathy.

Hall-ooo!

A shrill metallic call rang out above the commotion of the battle. A black-clad trumpeter stood on the battlements above the palisade, sounding an alarm. As if in answer to a command, a group of Greller soldiers broke loose from the throng and began to trot purposefully toward the children, spears threateningly lowered.

“Go!” Birdie shouted.

Tad and Ditani turned toward the black water. The troop of Grellers picked up its pace. A spear whistled over Tad’s head. The trumpet sounded once more, and the gates of the fortress crashed open, revealing a mass of Grellers hauling on thick ropes. A massive catapult lumbered ponderously into view. Its great wooden throwing arm was bent back, loaded, and ready to fire.

Tad and Ditani seized hands and began to run. The trotting Grellers, moving as one, veered to pursue them. They were coming even faster now. Tad’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. He and Ditani sped toward the water, the Grellers pounding at their heels. He stubbed his toe on something unspeakable. Ditani stumbled and almost fell, pulling him awkwardly with her. The Grellers came on.

Then from behind them and over their heads came a terrifying earsplitting screech. In spite of himself, Tad stopped and looked up. A rock the size of a rock bass was plummeting toward him, straight out of the sky. It was moving as fast as a Hunter’s arrow, faster than a Fisher’s spear. Ditani, muffled behind Will’s mouthpiece, gave a strangled scream. Tad stood frozen, staring in horror. He resigned himself to being squashed. At least it would be quick, he reflected, so it could hardly hurt much. One thwack and then dead.

The rock struck.

It landed with a tremendous thump on the lakeshore, just short of the water. The ground shook with the impact, and black mud splattered up in fountains. The rock had dropped with awful precision directly onto the troop of pursuing Grellers. Two or three of them were quite thoroughly gone —
Flat as lily pads
, Tad thought queasily — beneath the fallen rock, and the rest, babbling in terror and casting horrified looks at the empty sky, were in retreat, thundering back the way that they had come. Tad stared after them. Back at the entrance to the fortress, the Grellers of the catapult crew were shouting furiously and waving their fists in the air. One Greller, protesting, was pulled off the back of the machine and flung to the ground. The rest, still shouting, seemed to be stomping on him.

The battle was just beginning. Hunters scattered across the lakeshore, sheltering behind rocks and rubble, springing out suddenly to hurl short spears or — with deadly accuracy — to shoot red-feathered arrows from their bows. Fishers formed themselves in ranks, shoulder to shoulder, spears bristling outward, and advanced —
Moving like a pike
, Tad thought,
into a school of sticklebacks.

From behind the Greller fortress came a measured beating of skin drums. Tad felt Ditani, beside him, tense and raise her spear. It was the weasels. They paced forward, black heads darting to and fro like snakes, long sinuous bodies hugging the ground. Their riders sat motionless, frowning in concentration, controlling their steeds with prods of their metal-tipped whips. A ripple of fear ran through the gathered ranks before them. Suddenly one weasel broke loose from the pack and leaped forward, snarling. It arched its back, reared, and then fell upon a crouching Hunter. There was a flash of fangs and a shriek. The Hunter, flung to one side, lay crumpled and still. Two more weasels sprang forward and began prowling toward a little cluster of frightened Fishers. As the weasels, in unison, moved forward, the Fishers — in unison — moved back.

From behind them, a black streak rocketed from the forest — fangs bared, paws hardly seeming to touch the ground.

“They’re trapped!” Tad cried in horror. “Weasels on both sides of them . . . they’re trapped!”

Then, above the noise of the throng, he heard Birdie’s voice, shouting in excitement.

“It’s Blackberry!” Birdie cried. “It’s Blackberry!”

The new weasel sped toward the embattled Fishers. Now Tad could see that it had a rider clinging to its back. It was Voice, with a look of grim determination on his face. His flaming hair blew out behind him, and in one hand he brandished a spiked thornbush club. Blackberry soared over the backs of the startled Fishers and struck at the throat of the lead Greller’s mount. The two animals fell together, rolling, clawing, tearing. Voice vanished from sight. Another catapulted rock screamed overhead.

I have to help
, Tad thought, and he heard a chime of silver music echo:
Help.
He took a step back toward the battle, and then another.

Something else was happening too. Tad felt it before he saw it. It was moving toward them, threading like a dark shadow through thickets and between tree trunks. A wave of hatred swept before it, and an overpowering lust for blood. A gray wolf stepped out of the wood. It towered above the battle, lips peeled back to show pointed teeth, red tongue hanging down.

The wolf growled low in its throat, a long threatening reverberation like a hundred skin drums beating all at once. Tad’s blood ran cold.

A silver whisper slipped into his head.

Your friends need you, Sagamore. Would you abandon them? Go to them. Fight with them. Fight the Wulv.

Tad took another half step, tugging to undo the straps of his goggles. The wolf paced forward. Shrieking Grellers raced away before it. It clawed them aside, barely looking at them. Its hot red eyes were fixed on a little group of frightened Fishers. Its dark mind gave a heave of pleasure. Gloatingly, it licked its lips.

HOLD!
Tad’s mind bellowed a command.