*
It took Baron and George a quarter of an hour to gather several of those who had been left to protect Mortehoe.
After complaining, Seb Colt, Chris Benton, and Keth North rushed down the Esplanade as a line of golden dawn began to glow on the horizon.
They had gained access to the other’s homes easily enough, no one in Mortehoe locked their doors after all, had violently roused them, told them to stop complaining and follow them to the beach. Only when they refused, and all of them had done, did they speak of the Lundians. ‘We’re being invaded!’ Boen hissed, and they suddenly flew out of their beds to join him, not considering - in their drowsy states - why they were answering an invasion so quietly... And why were there only five of them?
When George had been shaken awake to warnings of Lundian’s he saw Baron’s bleeding nose and assumed he had already been fighting. He grabbed a large rusting shovel that lay in the corner of the roof and growled enthusiastically about breaking open some Lundian skulls. The others snatched up bats, chains, spades and forks as they ran to the coast, Boen and Eryn behind them.
‘We’ve got to keep back,’ Eryn said, pulling on Boen’s arm.
‘Why?’ He tried to pull away but her grip was surprisingly strong. He looked after the others disappearing down the embankment toward the beach and tugged his arm again, this was his chance to prove himself to them.
‘You’re in no state to fight...’ Eryn said, pulling him away. ‘Follow me.’
‘Where?’
‘We’re still going to help... We have to help, I’m not saying otherwise... This is our fault after all. My fault... Just come with me.’
Five Mortehoe youths intercepted twelve Lundians on the long beach on which the Tangaroa’s dead had been abandoned. Most of the corpses had been dragged back into the sea, though some still remained - snagged on rocks or weighed down by silt - their clothes hanging on them like webs.
The dawn, gold and blinding, lit the underbellies of the grey-gold cloud like trapped fire, and silhouetted the Lundians as they leapt from their dinghies into the surf. They each sported bone-handled knives and thick poles, gripped at their base with leather.
‘We’ve come to…’ A blonde youth, no older than eighteen, shouted as Baron reached the shore, kicking up foam in his forward charge. Before the boy’s sentence was finished, the Mortehoe boys were upon them, jabbing with their spades and bats as Baron thrust his elbow in the blonde boy’s face and dragged him down into the water. There was a unified cry as Lundians leapt from their boats and rushed to aid their friend. The Lundians hadn’t expected to be attacked, at least not so swiftly, though the sight of Baron striking their friend repeatedly spurred them to action.
A boot struck Baron in the neck, and he felt the weight of its owner push him to the side. His temple struck the dinghy and blood stung his eyes and sent blinding pain through his broken nose. He looked up and spat at his attacker, a bearded man with manic yellow eyes. In his hand he readied a knife and returned a wad of saliva in Baron’s face.
George splashed beside him, and struck the knife into the air with his shovel; it clanged as it spun end over end before plopping loudly in the water. The bearded man held his elbow aloft to protect his face, and the shovel swung round and connected with a dry whump on his shoulder. The man fell to his knees, and Baron punched him squarely in the mouth, a brown tooth plopping into the surf. The man growled like a dog, thought Baron, and lunged at him, though another swipe from the shovel sent him sprawling.
George prodded at the boy who had poured ale into Boen’s mouth on the night of his and Eryn’s supposed wedding. He struck him on the knee, then in the stomach, and finally in the face – opening it up and sending a trail of blood trickling down his cheek.
‘Get out of here you fucking pig-fiddlers.’ He shouted as he swung the shovel, the Lundians backed off, forming a semi-circle around them.
A large pebble was thrown at Baron; it struck him on the nose and it started bleeding again. ‘I’m going to kill all of you!’ He screamed, snatching a bat from Seb and swiping frantically, knocking planks out of Lundian hands. The heavy-hollow sound of wood striking wood resounded on the cliff walls.
Then he was motionless, arms raised mid-attack, as though he’d seen something on the horizon. George and Seb stopped in their tracks.
‘What is it?’ George asked warily.
Baron’s arms lowered, and he slid to the water as though it were summoning him.
The breeze seemed to cease, as did the surf and the sweeping gull above. The Lundians looked at one another anxiously, and the Mortehoe youths frowned at Baron’s lethargic descent to his knees.
‘Come on then,’ George growled, raising his spade and stepping forward.
Baron coughed, made a confused mewing sound, and Seb saw crimson spread across his side and fan from him in tendrils in the water.
‘Shit!’ Someone said, and George waded to Baron and held him, easing him from the water to the sandy beach while the Lundians stood and silently watched. A gash between his ribs bled profusely.
‘I didn’t mean to…’ said the boy who had stabbed Baron. He was no older than sixteen, and he dropped his blade with a splash.
‘Don’t apologise, Dillon.’ Shouted the man who had lost a tooth. ‘If they weren’t thieves we wouldn’t have come. They deserve everything they get.’
‘Thieves?’ Seb roared, rounding on them, his eyes full of tears. ‘What are you talking about?’
At this one of the Lundians shrugged. ‘I don’t know what was taken – but Sawbone said you lot came and stole from us.’
‘We ain’t ever been to Lundy!’
‘Not you. People came months back... when Sawbone and his boys was away, ain’t that right?’
There was a host of bobbing heads and noises of ascent. ‘They ain’t here now – but there were two of them.
Seb didn’t know who he was talking about, though he guessed them to mean Kelly and Guliven.
‘Guliven ain’t no thief! And Kelly's dea…’ He began to say.
‘You’re all thieves, empty-balled thieves! Every last stinking one of you!’
Shouting a curse, Seb leapt up and kicked the boy to the ground. He pushed his face into the sand. Around them, Lundians kicked and hit him with their poles, but his fury drove him on, almost unaware of the blows he was receiving.
The boy beneath his fists coughed and spat out sand, he tried to roll over and shake Seb off but he was pinned down, his arm pulled up behind his back. He screamed. Seb’s knee dug into his spine and the boy cried as though the pain was beyond anything he had felt before - but then a blow fell on Seb’s crown, and he collapsed to his side without making a sound.
The boy in the sand stood and kicked Seb in the stomach before picking up his plank and delivering a series of blows to his arms and legs. Seb remained motionless, his mouth slightly open and his glazed eyes staring into the middle-distance.
There was no lingering silence this time, the Lundians turned to those who held on to Baron, and started prodding them with their pieces of wood. Everyone was jeering at them, except the boy who had stabbed Baron, who was standing a way back, crying.
‘Show ‘em!’ Someone shouted, and the jabbing became more savage.
Baron looked up at George, who was shielding his face from swipes. He was about to give one final lunge into the melee when a head-sized rock burst a hole in one of the dinghies, thrusting the oars spinning into the water. One of the Lundians collapsed backwards – and another swore in pain, clasping his face as a stone scored a red trail down the side of his face.
George pulled Baron away from the shore, a trail of blood following them. Another stone plopped loudly in the water, missing a Lundian by inches. He leapt backwards as a huge stone clumped into the sand, digging a crater next to the man Baron had fought initially. He jumped to the side and a pebble struck him on the shoulder. He clasped his clavicle and shouted in agony, nearly dropping to the sand.
/> From high up on the cliffs a series of stones were thrown – clouting the Lundians and driving them back to their boats.