Over on Blueside, Starflower group were just starting to wake up. Meanwhile London, which was just inside of those two groups, were coming in from forest and getting their dinner on the go. Soon the smoky smell of roasting stonebuck was drifting through whole of Family.
I pulled a scrap of green fat off the woollybuck bone with my teeth and began to chew it. The air was warmer since last waking. The dip was ending. Cloud was coming back over sky like a big dark skin and only a little bit of Starry Swirl could still be clearly seen, way over by Alps. I looked round at our group’s little space among our redlantern and whitelantern trees, our circle of twenty little shelters made of bark laid over branches leaning against tree trunks. I looked at the glowing embers that we never let go out, the flutterbyes flipping and flapping around the lanternflowers, and at Old Roger snuffling and snoring on that skin he slept on out in the open because he didn’t believe in shelters. There were bones stacked in piles ready to be made into tools, and a little heap of blackglass (which Oldest called obsijan), and spears and axes and piles of logs and twigs for the fire. Over to one side was our old group boat that we sometimes used for fishing on Long Pool and Great Pool but we couldn’t use just now because the skins had begun to come off from one end of it and needed gluing on again. It all seemed small and boring after what I’d seen by the light of the woollybucks’ headlanterns. Whole Family seemed small and dreary and dull.
Redlantern grownups had decided I could have a no-work waking as a treat for doing for the leopard. The rest of the newhairs and men would go out foraging as usual but I could have whole waking to do whatever I wanted. What would I do with the time? I wondered as I chewed my breakfast off that bone. I wanted to go straight out into forest again and back to the edge of Dark. Or maybe down towards Exit Falls, that narrow gap between Blue Mountains and Rockies where Main River poured down all the water from all the streams in Circle Valley into whatever lay below. I was sort of interested in looking at it, because it was the only way out of Circle Valley apart from Snowy Dark. People of Old Roger’s age could just remember when it had been wider there, so that you could have climbed down from Circle Valley and found out for yourself what was below it. But no one did when they had the chance, and then there was a big rockfall. A great flat slab came sliding down on Rockieside of it, and now tons of water poured down between two sheer cliffs, and it wasn’t an exit at all.
But I’d only got one waking, and that wasn’t long enough to get to Exit Falls or anywhere else at the edge of the valley. And anyway I was sore sore and bruised in my chest from when the spear butt had hit me, so in the end I just stayed inside Family Fence.
I walked through Spiketree and over to Batwing. Batwing group woke before Redlantern and they were already on the go out there around their newly fallen tree, whacking at branches with blackglass axes. Glittery flutterbyes were flitting and flapping around the opening of the stump.
‘Hey John,’ called that strange smart boy Mehmet Batwing, with his thin face and his pointy beard, pausing with an axe in his hand. ‘Off to do for another leopard, eh?’
‘Think I’ll take a rest from leopard-killing for one two wakings, Mehmet. Leave a couple of them for the likes of you.’
‘Good candy?’ I asked a little clawfoot kid that was hanging round there.
He took a stick and banged it on the side of the stump to drive the flutterbyes away. Off they flittered, flashing their glittery wings.
‘Have a bit,’ he said, pleased to have a chance to give something to the big boy that did for the leopard, ‘see for yourself.’
I peered down into the stump. Its pipes had emptied themselves of sap in one last convulsion, and the soft pipeflesh had shrivelled up like it does when the sap has gone, so now there was nothing inside the hollow trunk but air, hot, moist, sickly-sweet air coming up from far below. I could feel the heat of it on my face. I picked up a small stone and dropped it in, putting my ear to the opening to hear it rattling down and down and down into the fiery caves of Underworld, where all life began: all life except our own.
‘Don’t you want any stumpcandy?’ the kid asked, banging the stump again to stop the flutterbyes from settling back down on it.
I looked back in. There were a few crystals of sugar forming inside, already smeared with flutterbye droppings and bat dung with bits of flutterbye wing in it. It wasn’t much of a candyfeast, not like you get with an old tree that’s fallen of its own accord. But I picked off a couple of crystals, wiped off the batcrap on my waistwrap and stuck them in my mouth to suck.
A wailing started up in one of the shelters. It was that little kid who’d got burnt when the sap spouted up. He’d been quiet for a little while — I supposed a time comes when you’re so exhausted that even pain doesn’t keep you awake — but now he was off again and I could feel whole Batwing group wincing around me. They were all worn out by it. They’d had enough. The little clawfoot kid beat his stick forlornly on the stump. The grownups and newhairs lowered their axes, looked up wearily, and then began hacking away even harder at the tree. The more noise they made, the less they’d have to hear that kid’s screams of pain.
Me, though, I didn’t have to be in Batwing at all, so I wandered off. But that screaming kid, it didn’t matter where in Family I was, I could still hear him. And even way over Blueside, as far away as you could get from Batwing and still be in Family, people were talking about it:
‘Boy called Paul, apparently, twelve wombs or so, burnt all down one side of his face and his chest. Sticky redlantern sap all over the place and those dumb Batwings didn’t even have a pot of water on hand to douse him down. You should always have cold water ready when you take down a hot tree.’
‘Yes, and wear skins all over, and keep kids out of harm’s way.’
‘Paul his name is. Nasty sap-burn. Batwings getting a bit careless lately, I reckon, a bit cocky and careless. They had something like that coming to them for a while, I’m sorry to say. Not that it was the kid’s fault of course. I blame the grownups.’
‘Tree coming down and no one keeping an eye on the kids! I ask you. But that’s Batwing for you, isn’t it? Not that the kid deserved it. Paul his name was, apparently.’
That was what Family was like. You couldn’t get away from other people’s feelings and thoughts about everything that happened. Gela’s tits, every bloody little thing that happened, in no time everyone in Family was talking talking about it and poring over it and prodding it and poking at it and clucking their tongues over it. Everyone was deciding who to give credit to and who to feel sorry for and who to blame, like these three boring questions were the only ones there were. I wished I’d just gone out bloody scavenging with all the rest and not even taken a no-work. At least then I would have been outside Family.
Still, I made the best of it. I got given some roasted birds stuffed with candy by the youngmums over in Blueside in exchange for telling them about the leopard. I got some dried fruits to chew in Brooklyn. I had a swim in Greatpool, and some little kids came and showed me their little toy boats made of dry fruit skins greased with buckfat.
In London everyone was in their shelters in mid-sleep, except for just the lookout, a big slow boy called Pete about a womb older than me, who was leaning on a bark rest against a tree stump and chewing the end of a twig from a spiketree.
‘Alright there, John?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Heard you did for a leopard, eh?’