went limp in his arms. He held her weight, not wanting to cause alarm among the others. He looked towards them to see if any had been watching, and had witnessed the kiss. Everyone was up and preparing to continue the march. If they had seen, they were not showing it now.
Sisi awoke, in confusion.
‘What happened?’
She remembered, and blushed a deep red.
‘Oh!’
‘It wasn’t you,’ said Bowman quickly. ‘Something got into you. It made you do things.’
‘The stinging insect?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did it make me drunk?’
‘Yes. In a way.’
Sisi looked down, ashamed.
‘It made me kiss you, didn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s alright. It wasn’t you.’
Now the horses were being harnessed to the wagon, and the people were moving to their places in the march.
‘Did it get into you too?’
‘No.’
‘But you still kissed me.’
‘I needed to hold you close. To get it out.’
‘Of course. To get it out.’
There were several curious glances directed at them as they returned to the others, and Bowman realised they had been seen. He would have to explain.
‘The stinging insect is still with us,’ he said. ‘I’ve just taken it out of Sisi.’
‘My baby! Are you alright?’
‘Yes, Lunki, I’m fine.’
‘Be on your guard!’
‘To your places,’ called Hanno. ‘Lookouts, to your posts. We have an hour of daylight yet.’
The march set off once more.
Bowman marched in the middle of the column, and listened for the return of that telltale whining buzz. He heard nothing, and none of his companions were acting strangely. As the immediate danger faded, the memory of Sisi’s kiss returned, and troubled him. He told himself it had not been her who had kissed him, but the thing that had possessed her: but it had felt like her, like the most intimate part of her.
There came a patter of feet behind him, and turning, he saw Kestrel running up to join him. He blushed, and feeling the blush, told himself it was because he should have thought to reassure Kestrel about Sisi.
‘She’ll be alright,’ he told her. ‘I got it out of her.’
Kestrel looked at him curiously.
‘Will it come back?’
‘Yes, probably, but I can’t tell where. I’ve never even seen it. It’s as if it doesn’t exist until it stings someone. And then it’s like it’s a part of them.’
‘I saw how it made Sisi drunk.’
‘I had to touch her. To get it out.’
‘Yes, of course. You had to touch her.’
Neither of them called it a kiss. The word hung in the air between them, unspoken. There had never before been anything they hadn’t been able to say. Bowman felt his sister’s silence, and it made him miserable.
‘Something strange happened –’
‘Bandits!’
Mumpo’s urgent cry from the ridge shattered the private moment. Bowman span round just as there came a rumbling sound ahead, and what seemed to be half the hillside came sliding down, to crash into the riverbed in a cloud of fragments and dust.
‘Halt!’ cried Hanno. ‘To your weapons!’
Bowman and Kestrel ran back to the wagon. A second grinding roar, this time behind them: a second rock fall now cut off their retreat. They were boxed in.
‘Mumpo! Tanner! Come down!’
The lookouts came scrambling down the slopes to join the rest of the marchers, who were frantically taking out swords, hay-forks, and lengths of firewood, with which to defend themselves.
‘How many?’
‘A dozen. Maybe more.’
Within moments they were able to count for themselves. A figure appeared on the west ridge, tall, lean, and seemingly faceless; to be joined by another, then by three more. They stood looking down in silence, silhouetted against the white winter sky. They wore many layers of clothing, of many different kinds, like refugees who scavenge where they can. The loose garments were cinched at the waist and above the elbows and knees with ties of fabric. Round the shoulders and neck, round the face and head, each one had wound a long scarf, so that only the eyes remained uncovered.
‘Bandits, sure enough,’ said Hanno.
More and more were showing themselves along the ridges that walled the Manth people in. Bowman counted thirteen on the west side, and another eight on the east. They seemed not to be armed.
‘They don’t have swords,’ he said low to his father. ‘I think we can match them.’
But even as he spoke, one of the masked men drew a cord from his belt, and stooping, picked up a stone from the ground.
‘Sling shots!’ cried Rollo Shim.
The bandit swung the cord in rapid circles over his head, hissing through the air, building up speed at its weighted end. Then with a flick of the hand, he released the stone. It shot down into the valley and hit one of Creoth’s cows on the side of its head, with such force that the beast fell dead without a sound. The Manth people were struck with terror. Creoth cried out, and ran to the side of the lifeless animal.
‘Cherub! My Cherub!’
All along the ridges the bandits could now be seen to be holding sling shots at the ready. They neither moved nor spoke. Their posture of readiness said all that was needed.
Hanno made a rapid calculation. The bandits were above them on both sides. The horses and cows could not scramble over the steep landslides. They must fight or give in. If they fought, they could inflict damage on the bandits, but many of his people would fall as the cow had fallen.
‘Lay down your weapons,’ he said to the marchers.
He called to the one who had used his sling shot to such great effect, who he
