It looked as if Mara was dead. The naked, white body was cold and had the peculiar smell of the scorpion’s lair. There was no sign of heartbeat. Yet after two days she began to breathe again, and a week later was able to drag herself across the floor of the burrow. It took another month for the effects of the poison to vanish completely. A raised black welt on her shoulder was the only sign of her encounter with the scorpion.
The fourth wave of spider balloons came an hour later. His father touched his shoulder lightly, and he realised he had fallen into a light doze. Still secure in the quiescence of drowsiness, he felt the fear pass over him like a cold wind, and noted that it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. And when the fear had passed, he reflected that it was stupid of the spiders to do it so often. It allowed the human beings to become accustomed to it, and taught them how to resist it. The spiders could not be as intelligent as he had always thought.
The last time was the worst. It happened as dusk was turning the sky a deeper blue. The wind was dropping, and it seemed unlikely that the spiders would mount another reconaissance. Overhead, through the roof of the burrow, they heard the scrabbling noise of some large insect; it could be a scorpion or a tiger beetle, even a camel spider dragging some heavy prey. The sound was a welcome distraction after hours of silence, and they listened as it moved towards the entrance of the burrow. Suddenly Veig, who was standing on watch, started. Looking past his head, they saw the balloons, now within a dozen feet of the floor of the desert, drifting towards them. At the same moment, sand cascaded through the aperture and the huge lobster claws of the scorpion came into view. This alarmed no one; they assumed it was passing by in its search for food. But the scorpion stopped, and more sand fell into the burrow. The flat stone moved, and Niall realised with incredulity that the creature was trying to force its way in. With the balloons almost overhead, it was the worst thing that could have happened. He could feel the alarm of the others, amplified by fear that their fear would betray them. For a moment, it looked as though the spiders had won.
Niall acted involuntarily, without thinking. Ulf’s spear was propped against the wall, its head made of a needle sharp jackal bone. Neither Ulf nor Veig would have dared to use it, in case the burst of aggressiveness betrayed their presence to the hunters. What Niall did, naturally and spontaneously, was to close his mind, as if drawing a shutter over his thoughts and feelings. Then he took a long step towards the entrance, pushed Veig to one side, and struck with all his force between the claws that were enlarging the entrance. There was a hiss and a blast of a sickening smell. With a lightning reflex, the thing withdrew, and they could see the nearest balloon, only about a hundred yards away, drifting towards them. Niall stood there, freezing into stillness, and continued to shield his mind from the probing beam of will-force. It brushed over him, now so close that he had the illusion he could feel the creature’s breath, and its physical presence. A few seconds later, it was gone. They remained there for another ten minutes or so, all experiencing the same fear: that the spiders had detected them and would land in the desert and surround their burrow. As the minutes dragged past, the anxiety receded. Niall thrust his head out of the burrow and saw the balloons far away, outlined against the red and purple sunset behind the mountains. The scorpion had also disappeared. The point of the spear was tinged with blood mixed with a white substance like pus.
Ulf placed one arm round his shoulder and hugged him. “Good boy.” The compliment, which Ulf had always used to praise some childish piece of obedience, sounded absurdly inappropriate; but Niall understood the gratitude behind it, and felt a surge of pride.
Ten minutes later, with the suddenness of tropical nightfall, they were immersed in darkness as if in black water. Ulf and Veig blocked the entrance with rocks and stones. Then Veig lit a rush light that burned insect oil and they ate a meal of dried meat and cactus fruit. Niall sat propped in his corner, watching their shadows on the wall and filled with the contentment of fatigue. He knew that his action had saved their lives, and that the others were aware of it too. But he also knew that he was probably responsible for what had happened today. Niall had also killed a death spider.
It had been almost ten years since Niall’s family moved into the burrow. Before that, they had lived in a cave at the foot of the great inland plateau, some twenty miles to the south. Even with the cave entrance blocked with stones and rock fragments, the temperature had often reached a hundred during the day. Food was scarce, and the men had spent much time on foraging expeditions. The spider balloon on which Jomar had escaped provided silk for makeshift parasols, which enabled them to survive the midday heat. In a nearby dried-up watercourse there were barrel cacti, whose juice was drinkable. (That of the organ cactus was poisonous.) Yet for the small band of human beings — in those days, Thorg and his wife Ingeld, and their son Hrolf lived with them — life was a continuous misery of thirst, starvation and burning heat.
Early one day, farther from home than usual, the hunters had seen a big tiger beetle disappear into its underground burrow. By comparison with their home at the foot of the plateau, this area seemed a paradise. The waru plant gave promise of fresh water, while the distinctly green colour of the alfa grass revealed that the night brought moisture in the form of fine mist. Alfa grass meant rope for traps; it could also be woven into baskets and mats. Moreover, the shell of a blister beetle promised a source of oil.
The men were weary, exhausted by the heat and it may have been this that decided them on the rash enterprise of attacking a tiger beetle. The mandibles of the tiger beetle could sever a man’s arm or leg; they were feared for their swiftness and for their incredible voracity — Niall had once seen one capture and eat twelve enormous flies in less than half an hour. But if the beetle could be driven out of its burrow and attacked while it was struggling in the narrow entrance, they stood a chance of killing it before it could make use of its speed.
The first step was to collect a pile of creosote bushes, hacking them out of the ground with their flint knives. With its brittle wood and rank, tarry-smelling leaves, the creosote bush would blaze like a torch after a few hours drying in the sun. They also collected piles of alfa grass, and prevented it from blowing away by weighting it down with stones. Then they collected the largest rocks they could find and piled them in heaps near the beetle’s lair. Aware of all this activity, the creature watched them from its burrow, but made no attempt to emerge; there were too many of them. When Hrolf went too close, a pair of claw-like mandibles were thrust out menacingly from under the stone over the entrance.
As the sun rose higher, it became impossible to work for more than a few minutes at a time; even in the shade of the organ-pipe cacti their sweat dried and evaporated before they were aware of it. With the sun directly overhead, they crouched in the shade of their parasols and sipped sparingly of the water to prevent dehydration.
They had retreated into the cactus grove to give the beetle a sense of security. Then, in the early afternoon, Jomar decided it was time to attack; no desert creature expected danger at this time of day. He made fire, using chips of dried bark, then ignited a pile of the alfa grass. The sun was so blinding that the flames were invisible; but when the creosote bushes caught fire, the black smoke billowed into the air. This, they knew, was the most dangerous moment; some distant patrol of spiders might see the smoke. Swiftly, they seized the burning bushes by their roots and dragged them across the sand. With a single powerful movement of his spear, Ulf levered aside the stone that covered the entrance; all prepared for the beetle’s swift rush. Then, when nothing happened, Jomar thrust his creosote bush into the hole; the rest of them did the same, and staggered away, eyes streaming and their faces damp with bitter sweat.