by S L Ager
‘Rebecca is being held by Mal-Instinctives intent3 on stealing the Gwalch Gem bracelet. We must help her and protect the bracelet.’
‘The Mal-whats? What are they? Why do they want my sister?’ screeched Claire.
‘To distract us,’ replied Gwilym.
‘From what?’ said Claire, gnawing at her fingernails.
‘In gratitude for finding the gold, Llywelyn granted his most trusted knights the gift of Instinct, and we became the Knights Hawk. But when Llywelyn’s callous4 brother stole the bracelet, he controlled it. He gave his followers Instinct but, regrettably5, Instinct of a different kind – one of malice6. Mal-Instinctives are our enemies. They seek to find and control the bracelet with a fanatical7 and enduring tenacity8, and we must stop them.’
An uptight9 silence stifled10 the air.
‘So you’re saying there are people that look like you and me out there, but they’re bad, really bad, and they’ve got Rebecca?’ Claire asked, gnawing at her skin now.
‘Yes, cariad,’ replied Gladys, joining in. ‘They have Rebecca.’
Claire stared at the three people. ‘I got here by listening to a cat, following a dog, being pulled along by a horse,’ she ranted11, ‘and you’ve been lying to me for ages, Gladys,’ she said, pointing at her and standing up.
Tears of frustration12 brimmed as she spoke, but an impatient rapping13 at the door stopped her from crying. Shocked, she stared around the table.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
They’d not mentioned anyone else. She’d heard no one approach. Jack hadn’t barked.
Without answering or hesitating, Gwilym opened the door.
A man of hulking14 stature15 bowed his head under the doorframe. His khaki16 overalls17 were tucked into heavy, muddy boots. A black visor pulled up over a green helmet revealed his face. Chunky headphones sat over the top, and a miniature microphone protruded18 from the side, covering his mouth. Claire gawped at him; she’d spent a lot of time speechless today.
‘Come, Claire, I can explain more on our way; we must go,’ said Gwilym.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ she replied. ‘Tell me how I can get the train back home.’
‘Claire, it’s time to leave,’ repeated Gwilym.
‘Leave to go where? I don’t even know why you dragged me all this way in the first place. You could have told me all this at home, Gladys.’
‘Wales is the catalyst19 for your Instinct, cariad. Instinct is only truly awakened20 for the first time when in Wales, where the gold was mined. We had no choice,’ said Gladys.
Teary-eyed, Claire gave Gladys a long, hard hug; if Gladys had fibbed to her, it must have been with good reason.
‘You don’t have to go, cariad; ultimately21, the decision is yours.’ Gladys gently prised22 Claire away from her as she spoke. ‘But listen to your Instinct. What does it tell you?’ She wiped a tear from Claire’s cheek.
Claire couldn’t speak; the lump at the back of her throat stopped her. She picked up her school coat and put it back on. She grabbed her backpack and bade23 a more formal goodbye to Anwen. Glancing at Gladys one more time, and without saying another word, she followed Gwilym and the uniformed man through the door.
The chill and gloom dismayed24 her, and this time, no attractive25 pony waited to take them. Thankful for her coat, she zipped it up and trailed after the men, an obvious unwillingness26 in her manner. The men moved swiftly past the house and around the back of a stone barn. She squeaked with sudden joy as a flash of white bowled27 alongside her; she’d never been so pleased to see Jack at her feet as she was now.
‘Jacky, thank goodness! I thought you weren’t coming,’ she panted, struggling to keep up, wishing she’d tried harder in PE and eaten fewer sweets.
Beyond the barn stood another stone building, with four wooden doors on the front. Three remained closed, but one was divided horizontally into two, a catch retaining28 the top in place. As Claire approached, a low whinny preceded29 the adorable30 pony who had brought her here, her head popping over the stable door. Claire took a wary31 step back and stopped within an arm’s length of her.
‘What’s her name?’ she called out to Gwilym, unsure whether to touch.
‘Welsh Lady,’ replied Gwilym, walking back towards the pony. The man in overalls stopped and waited.
As Gwilym approached, the pony whinnied a soft, gentle greeting. He rubbed the side of her nose with the back of his fingers.
‘Stroke her; she’s as gentle as a lamb,’ he said.
Unsure, Claire touched her pinky-white muzzle32, and as if sensing her apprehension33, the pony stilled34. Only her pert35 rust-coloured ears moved, facing fully forward. The unfamiliar smells tantalised36 Claire’s nose: crisp, clean air, fresh hay and straw, and the indescribable smell of a well-kept, beautifully groomed horse. The pony’s neck shone, soft and sleek. Her nostrils flared37 as she whinnied again, encouraging Claire to continue stroking. She studied the pony’s dusky38 eyes, round and gentle, dressed with long, sweeping39 lashes and flecked40 with tones of warm amber. Although unfamiliar with horses, Claire sensed her wisdom41 and kindness.
Gwilym watched her, his expression softening momentarily. ‘Claire, we must go. I’m sure you will meet her again.’
Claire hoped so as she stole one last stroke of Lady’s chestnut42 neck. Loath43 to leave the stables, she sniffed the wonderful horsey aroma on her hands and followed the two men.
The quaint farmhouse was hidden in the bottom of a deep bowl-shaped valley, steep, tree-covered sides shielding it and its inhabitants 44 from the outside world. A three-hundred-and-sixty-degree armoured coat of almost-impassable45 thick flora46 and vegetation47 surrounded them. Grateful to be wearing her coat, Claire stooped48 to enter the dense, dark wood, leaving the farm behind. Pulling her sleeves down over her hands, she looked up the hill, but all she could see was an everlasting49 mesh50 of thick, threatening forest that rose above them as far as the eye could see.
‘Don’t lose sight of Owain,’ Gwilym warned. ‘Keep going.’
‘I’ll try,’ she answered, unconvinced51.
Thrusting branches from their faces, they took a narrow, winding pathway, a track so well camouflaged it seemed only visible to Owain, who led the way. Claire followed with Gwilym staying behind, sandwiching her safely between them. Jack hared52 back and forth53, criss-crossing the track, glints54 of white darting and streaking, careering between the pillars55 of packed trees.
How does he do that without bashing into a tree? she marvelled to herself.
His tail whirred in delight as he grunted and snorted, mimicking56 a piglet57 grubbing58 and rummaging in the wet earth. It reassured Claire that he seemed carefree59 and happy, snuffling60 and tearing61 through the undergrowth62.
As they proceeded63, the treacherous track narrowed, steepening sharply as she began to haul64 herself up the wooded hill. A springy bed of shifting pine needles, fallen boughs65 and broken branches made for an unstable66, precarious floor. Not being able to see the sky above scared her, the confines67 of the oppressive68 greenery69 suffocating70 her.
Owain, the man in front, moved easily, forging71 ahead, but Claire sweated, struggling to climb. Pausing for a second, she unzipped her coat. She pictured Ben at cross-country, running that atrocious72 course. Which was worse? She was blindly following this man she didn’t even know! She glanced behind at Gwilym, who followed her patiently, his breathing even and unhurried. Gripping her toes deeper into the bed of pine needles, she bore down73 hard with her legs, pushing herself up. Her muscles ached and her legs trembled as she clambered higher up the slope. Crawling painfully upwards, she yearned to flop down, roll onto her back and cry.
Owain became increasingly difficult to see as Claire struggled to keep up with him, especially since he wore a smudged dull-green khaki jacket. The pine trees and shrubs intertwined74, so much so that the scant75 path became imperceptible76. In its place, fallen twisted trees and bushy branches blocked their way. She’d have craw
led in never-ending circles if she wasn’t following Owain. Distressed77, she stopped to check behind her.
She couldn’t see Gwilym or Jack at all, yet they’d been there a moment ago. She tried to stand up to get a better view of where she was, but the terrain78 was too steep; she’d risk falling. ‘Jack!’ she shouted. ‘Gwilym, where are you? I can’t see you!’ Panicking, she scrambled a bit further up, trying to turn herself around to see, but it was impossible; she’d have to keep climbing. There was a slight ledge jutting up ahead; if she made it there, she could rest for a second.
‘Jack!’ she shouted again.
‘Keep moving, Claire; the summit79 is near.’ Gwilym’s voice sounded distant and muffled80. She had no idea which direction it was coming from.
She didn’t want to keep moving; she was tired of tripping over booby-trap81 roots, being shredded by brambles82 and stung by nettles. She was clueless as to how far they’d climbed, but it all felt gruelling83, like she’d covered miles. She had no idea where Owain was now, or the summit of anything; she could see nothing but undergrowth and trees. She pulled at gnarled, thorny stems for support, holding on for dear life.
As the gradient84 sharpened to what felt like vertical85, she knew she must try to reach a better vantage86 point and wait for Gwilym or Jack. Her arms begged for relief. Cross-country was a cinch87 compared to this – she’d never moan again.
Exhausted88, she dug deep, pushing hard, when suddenly something yanked at both her ankles, and the pulpy89 earth fell away beneath her feet. She landed on her stomach, her chin hitting the earth with a thud. Winded90, she lost her grip and began grabbing at roots and branches, her face in the dirt as she slid downwards, feet first, flat on her front.
Claire grasped wildly at spiky foliage91, but it tore relentlessly92 at her fingers as she desperately93 grappled94 to halt her increasing momentum95. Her body whacked against a spiny branch, which mercilessly96 snapped back, whipping against her cheek. Slipping further, she clutched97 at lower branches, clawing at their scratchy bark98. Friction99 seared100 her smarting101 fingers. She was hurtling102 along now, grabbing air, but then she managed to grasp a branch and wedge103 her feet between two trees. Gasping, she slowed to a chaotic104 stop on a slight plateau.
Dazed and disorientated, she blinked, spitting out dirt and pine needles. She had fallen a fair way. Everywhere hurt and her eyes stung. Shaking with exertion105 and fear, she looked down for Gwilym, but all she saw was one of the boys from the station at Crewe. It was the stockier one who’d sat next to her on the platform, and he was about to grab hold of her ankles – again.
Pedalling wild bicycle kicks at him, she tried to roll over, but her backpack was stuck fast, tangled around some branches. She managed to twist onto her side, but he was almost upon her. Frantically trying to release herself, she yanked at the straps, but to no avail106; she was ensnared107.
‘Get off me! Get off me!’ she yelled, parrying108 with her feet, but he deflected109 them easily. ‘Jack! Gwilym!’ she yelled.
‘They won’t hear you,’ the boy hissed. ‘My friend has distracted them.’
‘Get off me!’ she screamed as he managed to grab her by the arm. But his strength far surpassed110 hers, and he hoisted111 her to her feet, liberating112 her backpack with ease113.
‘Get up and shut up,’ he said, hauling her upright and pulling her through the dense foliage.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she yelled. ‘Let go of me!’
He ignored her protests114, jerking her harder and dragging her mercilessly down the hill into a small glade115.
‘What do you want with me? Where are you taking me?’ she asked, writhing116 beneath his grasp.
‘If you say one more word, I’m gagging117 you.’
Claire briefly caught his eyes, and the enmity118 they exuded overwhelmed119 her. He reminded her of Josh Drane. She stopped struggling but his grip remained unrelenting120.
They stood together silently in the clearing. The boy’s head tilted, surveying121 the immediate area; he seemed to be waiting, listening for something.
Terrified and exhausted, she tried to think. Earning Instinct, being knighted, was any of it credible122? She was a hostage. What would Ben do now? Probably fight his way out, but she wasn’t Ben, and she couldn’t fight her way out of this.
Conjuring123 up tears was easy; they were on the brink124. Her shoulder shaking wasn’t contrived125 either, but ironically126, both would contribute127 now.
‘Stop crying or you’re gagged,’ he hissed, shaking her.
‘I need the toilet,’ she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
‘Tough,’ he replied.
‘You don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I really need to go to the toilet, now.’
‘And I said tough. Now shut it.’
‘I’m about to poo my pants,’ said Claire, surprised at how glibly128 the lurid129 lie had rolled off her tongue.
‘What?’ hissed the boy through gnashed130 teeth.
‘I’m going to soil131 my pants if you don’t let me squat132 in a bush,’ she said with an exaggerated sob, relishing133 the revulsion134 on his face as his predicament dawned135 on him.
He stared at her as if an odious136 stench137 had already pervaded138 his nostrils.
‘Hold it in,’ he barked, easing his grip slightly but not letting go.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered, shaking her head and bending her knees in feigned139 desperation. ‘It’s coming,’ she added for maximum140 effect.
The boy grimaced and pushed her away. ‘Go over there.’ He pointed to a thicket141. ‘And be quick.’
Trembling, she yanked her backpack from her shoulders.
‘Turn around, then; you can’t watch me,’ she said, praying he would obey.
‘Hurry up,’ he said with a look of disgust. Turning around, he took a couple of large steps away from her.
Claire ducked down behind the clump142 of bushes and unzipped her bag, coughing at the same time to mask the noise. Thank goodness she’d picked up Jack’s oversized lead from the trap’s floor when Gwilym had thrown it down earlier. She folded it in two, leaving enough length to swing the large metal clasp143 attached to the end. She knew the David and Goliath story, and she knew this was, quite literally, a long shot – but she had no choice. She’d never outrun this tall, strong lout144, and, albeit145 crude146, it was her only weapon.
‘Hurry up,’ hissed the boy, still facing away from her.
As he spoke, she stood up and steadily swung the lead like a lasso147 above her head. The very moment he turned around, startled by the odd noise it made, she let go. The heavy metal clasp flew on a perfect trajectory148 and hit him clean in the middle of his forehead.
The boy’s hand shot up to his head, and he stood for a couple of seconds staring straight at her. She gulped, expecting him to pounce149, but instead he toppled sideways, like a felled150 tree.
Throwing her backpack on, Claire turned and fled downhill, blindly pushing branches and leaves away from her face. So long as the gradient continued downwards, she might find the farmhouse again. Not risking any further jeopardy151, she refrained from calling Jack or Gwilym. She knew restricting herself to a straight line was impossible without any landmarks152, so she just ran and hoped for the best.
After several minutes of skidding, tripping and stumbling, she needed to recover her breath, so she hid beneath a low tangle of bushes. She hadn’t realised how noisy her movements had been until she stopped. Her parched153 mouth and lips were almost stuck together. Taking a slug154 of water from the bottle in her rucksack, she stopped herself from draining155 it. There wasn’t much left; she’d need to ration156 it. Trying to quieten her breaths, convinced her short reprieve157 would soon be over, she listened for the boy. She wasn’t wrong. The snaps and cracks of trodden undergrowth came towards her, growing steadily quicker and louder. Curling herself down into a ball, she was sure he would hear her pounding heart.
What would he do with her now? A loud crack to her
right signalled the inevitable: he was upon her. A flash of movement in her peripheral158 vision affirmed159 her fears. She closed her eyes tightly shut and waited; then something cold prodded her cheek. She opened her eyes and screamed.
‘Jack! Jack! It’s you!’ Claire yelled, grabbing the little dog to her chest. He was covered in mud and trying to lick her face. He jumped away, leaping and turning tight circles. She had followed him once today, and she had no qualms160 about following him now.
‘Where to, boy?’ she said, jumping to her feet.
There was no sign of the boy, Owain or Gwilym as she followed Jack back through the maze of forest and undergrowth, ascending161 relentlessly to what she hoped was the apex162.
After a while of constant climbing, Claire’s finger touched a lip of rock. A ledge protruded outwards, and she hooked both hands over the top. She felt the ground with the flats of her hands. Grass? she thought. Grass!
‘Jack, wait. Stay there, boy,’ she ordered.
Mustering every muscle, she gave one final, mighty haul, let out a loud grunt and hoisted herself over the jutting ledge, rolling onto her side and flat onto her back in the grass.
‘Yes!’ she shouted. ‘I did it!’
Claire gasped, every cell in her body screaming for oxygen. She stretched out starfish-shaped and started laughing, looking up at the clouds. She’d really made it.
Jack followed, unceremoniously163 leaping over the ledge easily and plastering164 her filthy165 face with soggy166 kisses.
‘Thanks, Jack,’ she laughed, pushing him away.
Completely drained and exhausted, she didn’t want to move. The clouds floated above, rolling back and forth in soporific167 waves. She could have dozed off right there in the dirt, but she forced herself to roll over and edge her way back to the ledge, peering over the side.
‘Wow, did I climb up that?’ Claire marvelled at herself.
From here she could witness the sheer168 drop she’d climbed. Crawling closer to the edge, she realised in awe that its rim169 formed the circumference170 of a huge circle, its massive diameter171 stretching further than the eye could discern172. A crater173, like a dormant174 volcano, full of thick, overgrown bushes and trees. Up on the rim, in stark contrast, the tiny patch of grass she lay on quickly disappeared into a sparse175 wilderness176. Huge piles of rubble177, rocks and soil streaked a mixture of red and orange, and there were several reddish-green-tinged lakes. A faint metallic178 smell wafted in the air.