3.

MOSSHEART

Stopmouth’s tattoo itched at him even now, five days later. It was well drawn, though, everybody said so. It showed his spear punching through the front of an Armourback and out the other side.

‘You’ll have a dozen soon enough!’ said Rockface, slapping him hard across the shoulders. Privately Stopmouth would have traded any tattoo to avoid the terror he’d been through. Even so, for the first time in his life boys his age showed him honour while Brighttooth, Treeneck and Cleareye all smiled at him without mockery. His tongue got in the way of his half-hearted flirting, but no matter; the woman he really wanted lived in his brother’s house now.

Rockface had emerged from the battle with his knife plastered in gore and Hopper blood dripping from his teeth. Stopmouth had even heard him laughing during the fight. He laughed more when the girls admired his tattoos. ‘I’ll be hunting again soon,’ he said.

‘Already?’ asked one.

‘For another wife!’ he shouted, and to everyone’s delight grabbed her up in a hug.

Stopmouth slipped away.

Three tenths later, as Rooflight was dimming, he carried a hunk of Hopper liver up onto the roof of the house he shared with his mother. The air was beginning to cool and the streets were quiet apart from a few Flyers perched on a deserted building. They squawked and tore dried-out flaps of brightly coloured skin from each other’s backs, huge dark eyes blinking quickly. Sometimes one would snap its long snout at another, hissing between a thousand pin-like teeth before settling back to the never-ending business of mutual grooming.

Stopmouth had noticed a lot of the creatures about lately. But he wasn’t too worried as they kept treaty with humans, who prized their moulted skin for decoration. Still, he watched them closely, remembering Wallbreaker’s advice to study beasts at every opportunity. For a while one of the creatures gazed back, studying him in return perhaps.

Mother poked her greying head up through the skylight.

‘Stopmouth?’ she said. ‘We have…you have a visitor. It’s Mossheart.’ She fixed him with a worried gaze, but he waved to show he’d be OK. She nodded, trusting him to keep his feelings to himself.

Mossheart came up quietly and didn’t hug him as she used to. When Stopmouth bit off a piece of liver for her, she refused it with a sad smile. ‘You know I’m married, Stopmouth.’

He knew it. But she didn’t seem to know it herself. Her round face looked drawn and her gaze lacked the sparkle that had thrilled him, even as a child. He pushed the piece of liver towards her again. ‘F-family,’ he said.

‘You’re right.’ She sounded relieved. ‘We’re family now.’ She took the flesh with trembling hands and ate it quickly. When he offered her more, she took that too until the whole liver was gone, leaving Stopmouth to lick the juice from his fingers. His heart ached as he watched her. How often had he imagined those slender hands entwined with his own? And her lips…He knew they were soft. He still cherished the day she’d grown overly excited about something and kissed him on the cheek. He’d never forgotten it.

‘Thank you, Stopmouth,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much. I think…I think I am with child.’

Stopmouth nodded and kept his eyes on the horizon. He should congratulate her. He hoped she’d think his stutter prevented him from doing so, but she knew him too well. She bowed her head and for a moment there was silence between them, each looking out over the city. Around them the Ways was settling down for the night. Buildings cooled, walls audibly creaking like the groans of a wounded hunter settling to the ground. Cook fires danced shadows along the four main streets that met at Centre Square, while delicious aromas hunted for noses through windows and up stairwells. Stopmouth’s tummy rumbled. Yet he felt no hunger.

‘You’re so like him,’ Mossheart said at last. ‘Only he talks more, of course. Always nattering about this or that. If he were here now–you know how he goes on! He’d be talking about the lights in the Roof or even this house. “Who made this city for us?” he’d say. “How did we come to live here?”’

Stopmouth smiled despite himself. His brother had asked those very questions many times and had invented any number of fantastical explanations. It was part of the reason he loved Wallbreaker so fiercely. It was why the Tribe needed him.

Mossheart tugged at her lovely hair, tied back now that she was a woman.

‘I wanted to ask you a favour,’ she said. ‘My husband…Well, I don’t know if he’s always been like this. I thought you might tell me…But he doesn’t sleep much now. Always pacing. Or if he does sleep, he wakes covered in sweat and he stares at me as if…as if he doesn’t know me.’

She began to cry. Stopmouth put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off like any other married woman would have done. And then, as the nearby Flyers finished their squabble and took off into the sky, she told him the terrible thing.

‘He hasn’t…Wallbreaker hasn’t hunted since our wedding.’

Stopmouth had guessed as much, but having Mossheart put words to his fears shook him badly. He worked it out. Twenty days. Hunting parties were needed all the time to keep the people fed. Tattoo or no tattoo, if Wallbreaker left it any longer, he’d be volunteered to the next beast delegation that came trading for flesh. His child–Mossheart’s child–would be an orphan and might even end up the same way as its father. Unless, of course, Mossheart were to remarry. For a moment Stopmouth gave in to the temptation of that thought. But he pulled himself out of it by smacking his fist into the parapet. Wallbreaker would be dead. In spite of the recent betrayal, Stopmouth couldn’t bear that. He knew Wallbreaker hadn’t done it to hurt him. All his life his brother had protected him from the bullies who’d mocked his speech. He’d kept Stopmouth alive through his first hunt, and when their father had volunteered to feed the Clawfolk, it was Wallbreaker who’d explained why it was such an honour for the family before bursting into tears himself.

‘I w-will take him h-hunting,’ said Stopmouth.

Mossheart smiled at last and wiped her tears away. ‘Thank you, dear Stopmouth. I know you cannot take him to the Hairbeast district with all the strange goings-on there. But a hunting party is setting out for Clawfolk territory the day after tomorrow. They would be glad to have two heroes join them.’

Stopmouth blushed.

‘It would do you no harm either to start building up a bride price for yourself.’

He bit his lip.

‘No, listen, Stopmouth. You can’t stay a boy for ever. I had a friend when I was unmarried. Brighttooth. You know Brighttooth, don’t you?’

Stopmouth knew her and she wasn’t Mossheart. He shook his head and guided Mossheart firmly to the stairway. He assured her before she left that he’d take Wallbreaker hunting with the others in two days’ time.

Afterwards he paced around the roof for an hour. Then he took out some Armourback shell and set to work replacing the spear he’d left behind in Hairbeast-Ways.

Stopmouth went to watch some of the tattooed men–some of the other tattooed men!–sparring in Centre Square. Their feet shuffled clouds of dust into the air which plastered itself to their sweaty skin. He saw Wallbreaker twirling his spear twice before tapping Roughnose–a man with seven tattoos–on the leg. As he skipped free, he caught his opponent again on the neck. Roughnose laughed and Stopmouth found himself smiling too. No one ever got near his brother. No one ever had. He had muscles faster than slingstones and a mind agile enough to use them. People said he’d finish his life with so many tattoos they’d need to put some on his tongue to find room.

In thirty hunts, no creature had so much as scratched him. Not until the Armourbacks caught him that day in the Hairbeast district.

The men punched shoulders after their bout. Both smiled, but Wallbreaker’s joy died on seeing Stopmouth. He approached anyway.

‘Come to my house, brother.’

They walked in silence down a mossy path between buildings where Clawfolk chittered as they finished off a wounded Flyer. Normally the men would have stayed to watch. Instead, they stepped into a sturdy little house jammed between larger buildings. Wallbreaker and his wife had it all to themselves.

‘Mossheart’s off pounding moss with the other married women,’ said Wallbreaker.

He didn’t offer Stopmouth any refreshment, nor did he invite him onto the roof. Instead, he kicked a few Flim hides into the far corner of the room beside a pair of Tally sticks. One of them must have been Wallbreaker’s own, where his age was marked for him every day by a faithful and loving wife. Trophies of every kind–skulls, bones, shells–stared down from the walls. Best of all was the complete head of a Bloodskin dipped in berry juice to preserve it. Wallbreaker had won all these himself, but none recently. When he turned to face Stopmouth, his eyes were hard.

‘Mossheart confessed.’

‘C-con—?’

‘We don’t need your charity, Stopmouth. You’re supposed to take care of Mother now.’

‘I c-can t-take—’

‘And you need to start raising a bride price so you can get a wife.’ He paused to look Stopmouth in the eye. ‘Your own wife.’

Stopmouth felt his mouth go dry. The two brothers, who discussed everything, had never argued over Mossheart. They both wanted her, but knew there could only ever be one winner and who that winner must be. Wallbreaker had never been triumphalist about it before now, or cruel. So it took a dozen heartbeats for his words to sink in. Then Stopmouth nodded and turned to go.

‘Wait!’

Stopmouth felt hands on his shoulders. He tried to shrug them off, but Wallbreaker was stronger and he pulled Stopmouth into an embrace.

‘I’m sorry. So sorry, brother.’ The embrace grew firmer. ‘I don’t know why I left you that day. All I could think of was their spears in my back–the thought of their beaks in my skin, tearing me apart while I lived.’ Stopmouth felt his brother shudder. ‘I fled. I didn’t see they’d chased you and…I’m sorry–I didn’t care; I–I wasn’t able to care. I just ran and didn’t stop shaking for two tenths after I got home. I’d never abandon you, Stopmouth. Never. I swear it.’

Stopmouth felt the hug grow tighter and eventually he let his body grow limp. He knew he had his brother back and the world made sense again. When he could trust himself to speak, he said, ‘You n-need to h-hunt.’

Wallbreaker took a deep breath. ‘We’ll discuss this next time, brother.’ He no longer seemed so keen to keep Stopmouth from leaving, but the younger brother wouldn’t be put off.

‘D-day after t-t-tomorrow. W-we’re g-going.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Wallbreaker.

Stopmouth shook his head. ‘D-day after tomorrow or v-v-volunteer.’

Wallbreaker stared at Stopmouth as if the thought had never occurred to him that the great Wallbreaker, future hero of the Tribe, could be asked to volunteer. Finally he nodded, but the terror in his eyes was unmistakable.