Let him bite the arrow I' 'HEYY-YAHH!!" This time the vote was

unanimous.

Steve swayed as the voices thundered in his ears. Mr Snow and Cadillac

grabbed him by the arms. 'Hey! Hey!

Come on! Stay awake!" whispered Mr Snow urgently. 'If anyone guesses

you're stoked up on Dream Cap they will call a postponement and thread

your face when you're cold turkey."

'Does it hurt?" mumbled Steve.

'You won't feel too much,' said Mr Snow.

'Just switch off,' muttered Cadillac. 'Don't think about it."

They marched him over to the clan elders. 'Okay,' whispered Mr Snow,

'Kneel down, stretch out your arms sideways and, whatever happens, keep

your fingers straight and your palms flat on ours."

Steve nodded dreamily. 'I know the drill."

Mr Snow patted him on the back of the neck and hissed.

'Head up! Keep your head up. Look sharp!" Mr Snow and Cadillac knelt

facing each other on either side of Steve and offered up a palm for

Steve to lay his outstretched hands on.

Rolling-Stone stepped up to Steve holding the unbroken arrow made by

the luckless Good-Year. It was stained with blood where it had pierced

his left cheek. The four-vaned head gleamed dully. To Steve's

dislocated senses it looked huge. Far too big to pass between his

jaws. In his mind's eye he saw it splintering his teeth, ripping

across his tongue...

Rolling-Stone lifted the arrow above his head.

Breathe. He had to take a deep breath. Fill his lungs with air to

power the primal scream that would initiate his ordeal.

Like the warlike cry he had been trained to use when delivering a blow

in unarmed combat. How much would he feel? How much would it hurt?

Steve had the impression he was both inside and outside himself. His

mind was beginning to drift away. Again he could hear voices.

He heard a far-away echoing cry; dimly recognised it as the defiant

Trail-Blazer yell. HO !-Oh-oh-oh-oh. He felt a violent blow against

the left side of his face, just ahead of the jaw muscle. A harsh

grating noise. Splayed fingers pressing against the right side of his

face. Skin tightening, tearing.

Something hard and thin pressing down on his tongue.

Choking... mouth filling with blood. Rising. Turning, arms

outstretched. Hands on his legs, steadying him. Look alert,

Brickman.

Look sharp. Don't crap out. This is your big moment. Fold your arms

slowly. Take hold of the arrow.

Shit... driven the point into my hand! Okay... this is the bit these

lumpheads have been waiting for. Bite the arrow.

Shit. That hurts I Break you bastard. Oh, sweet Christopher, it's

tearing my fucking face apart I Bite harder. Bite through.

Oh, boy. couldn't have made it without the Dream Cap. Still don't

know whether I can... Hands are sticky. Got blood everywhere. Oh, boy

I Think it's breaking... Going to have to - snap - it - up...wards.

uh! UHH!

Heyyy-YAHHH I The roar from the assembled Mutes washed over him like a

great wave. His face throbbed. The inside of his mouth felt swollen,

shapeless. Willing himself to stay erect, he walked stiff-legged to

the fire and spat the piece of shaft into the flames. The rows of

misshapen, firelit faces swayed, blurred...

The next thing Steve was conscious of was waking up inside Cadillac's

hut. He was lying between his sleeping furs. Mr Snow and the young

wordsmith sat watching him.

Both their faces bore the livid wounds made by the arrow.

Steve sat up on his elbows. His face felt as if it was on fire.

'How did I get here?"

'You walked,' said Mr Snow.

Steve touched his cheeks gingerly, measuring the extent of the damage

with his fingertips. 'Than