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Back Beyond the Burn Line Save as PDF
Chapters (66)
  1. Copyright
  2. Contents
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. 20.
  25. 21.
  26. 22.
  27. 23.
  28. 24.
  29. 25.
  30. 26.
  31. 27.
  32. 28.
  33. 29.
  34. 30.
  35. 31.
  36. 32.
  37. Part Two
  38. 1.
  39. 2.
  40. 3.
  41. 4.
  42. 5.
  43. 6.
  44. 7.
  45. 8.
  46. 9.
  47. 10.
  48. 11.
  49. 12.
  50. 13.
  51. 14.
  52. 15.
  53. 16.
  54. 17.
  55. 18.
  56. 19.
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  58. 21.
  59. 22.
  60. 23.
  61. 24.
  62. 25.
  63. 26.
  64. 27.
  65. 28.
  66. By Paul McAuley:

He was not much reassured to see Gentle and Grace Wren Saltmire conferring at the foot of the east tower the next morning. Close by, a pair of maras were harnessed to the old woman’s sled, ready for a supply run to town. Gentle and Grace stomped over the snow, following the bear’s tracks around the curve of the tower, returning some minutes later and climbing onto the sled and setting off. When they came back, close to the end of the short day, Gentle had some news: the bear they had seen the night before had been caught.

‘Cornered and roped while it was rooting in the town’s garbage dump,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I told you it was desperate. Hunters are going to hold a contest in a couple of days.’

‘What kind of contest?’ Pilgrim said.

‘Setting it against curs. They make a show of it and most everyone in town goes. Probably the most exciting thing that’ll happen ’til spring breaks. Grace and me will be there. Want to come along?’

17.

The bear-baiting contest was held in an open-air pit lined with logs rammed into the earth and circled by tiers of benches. Despite the light snow slanting out of the night into the flickering glow of the pit’s fish-oil lamps, it seemed that everyone in Stonehaven, some two hundred people, had turned out. They crowded the benches, women on one side, men on the other, muffled in fur coats and fur hats and blankets, talking noisily, drinking small beer and munching fried meat or fish on skewers. A gang of striplings jostled at the edge of the pit, shouting and jeering to get the bear’s attention. Chained by one ankle to a tall post in the centre, it had been stripped of its rudimentary clothing and squatted on its haunches, ignoring the striplings and the rest of the spectators. Even when a chunk of rotten tuber thrown by one of the striplings splattered its shoulder it did not flinch or look up.

Seated on the top tier of the men’s benches, wrapped in a smelly fur coat borrowed from Grace Wren Saltmire, warming his hands on a paper cup of berry tea that Gentle had fetched from one of the vendors, Pilgrim thought that there was something dignified about the bear’s stolid resignation, wondered if it understood what was about to happen, if it was hoping for a chance to escape or for a quick merciful end.