by Tim Willocks
Near the entrance to the cellblock stood a series of extra-large cages for extra-large dogs. In one of them lay an old, starved Saint Bernard. His ribs poked out like knife blades through his loose, saggy skin. He was covered with weeping sores and scabby patches where his hair had fallen out. One eye was swollen shut with some monstrous infection. His right ear had been cut off—so recently that the wound was still bloody. Furgul had never seen a dog in such terrible condition, even at Dedbone’s Hole. It was a wonder the Saint Bernard was still breathing.
While the redhead took Skyver, Tess and Zinni down the walkway between the cages, the blonde opened the extra-large cage next to the Saint Bernard. As she bent down to release Argal’s leash, Furgul dashed into the cage, plucking his own leash from the blonde’s hand. Argal lunged in after him and turned to guard the door. The blonde wasn’t angry, but she put her hands on her hips with a look of concern, as if she were worried for Furgul.
“Show her your Keeva face,” said Argal, “and rub your shoulder against mine.”
Furgul did so and looked up at the blonde. As she considered whether or not she should separate the dogs—which she knew would not be easy—Furgul crooned to her to let her know he’d be fine. The blonde seemed to understand. She nodded and closed the door of the cage, leaving them together. She walked away.
“Get this thing off me,” said Argal.
Furgul bit through the strap behind Argal’s ears, and the muzzle fell off.
Argal looked at the Saint Bernard and the wretched state he was in. Furgul tried to imagine how a huge Saint Bernard could be starved into a tottering bag of bones. The Saint Bernard clambered painfully to his feet. He nodded to Argal, as if they were old friends.
“Hello, Brennus,” said Argal. “Hard times.”
“I’ve known better,” said Brennus. “And I’ve known worse too.”
Argal looked at the dreadful wounds on Brennus’s body. “So I see.”
“My master locked me in a dark cellar, for months. He never said why.”
Argal’s face darkened with rage and sorrow at seeing such a noble dog brought low. “Some of them don’t need a ‘why,’ ” he said. “They just like being mean.”
“Why did they cut your ear off?” asked Furgul.
“I had a tattoo in my ear—a number,” said Brennus. “My master didn’t want the Traps to be able to trace me back to him, or he’d be in trouble. I pretended to be nearly dead, which was easy enough. He threw me on a garbage dump to die.”
Furgul didn’t know what to say. Brennus gave him a wink with his one good eye.
“At least in here they feed me well and let me see the sunshine in the exercise yard.” Brennus looked at Argal. “But you look fighting fit, as always.”
Argal nodded. “For what good it’ll do me. This is my last shout.”
“That’s hard to believe,” said Brennus.
“Believe it,” said Argal. “The wild and rambling road ends here.”
“You ran with the winds for longer than most,” said Brennus. There was something haunted in his huge green eye. “And at least they never broke your spirit.”
“Chin up, Brennus. There’s nothing wrong with you that a few raw steaks won’t cure.”
“Right. They serve me T-bones three times a day,” said Brennus. “Speaking of red meat, how’s your brother, Sloann?”
“Haven’t seen Sloann in years,” said Argal. “Don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“Sloann?” Damaged though he was, Brennus almost laughed. “Sloann’s not like the rest of us. He’s not even like you. Of course he’ll be alive.”
“If he is, he’ll be up to no good.”
“Sloann was always one to bite first and ask questions later.”
“Sloann never asks questions,” said Argal.
Furgul’s mind reeled at the thought that Argal had a brother just as scary as he was. Before he could ask about him, Brennus looked at him and said, “Who’s the kid?”
“My son, Furgul,” said Argal. “We’ll be talking for a while.”
“Talk away,” said Brennus. “You won’t keep my old bones awake.” He studied the fresh swellings and bruises on Argal’s face. “Resisted arrest, huh? You’ll be leaving at first light, then.”
“I reckon so,” said Argal.
“At least you’ll be remembered,” said Brennus.
Brennus turned away and tried to curl up on the floor. The painful sores on his flanks made it hard, but he put his head on his paws and closed his eye.
Furgul felt a great anger and a great sorrow swelling through his chest. How could such lordly dogs as Brennus and Argal be treated with such disrespect and brutality? He found himself baring his teeth, but he didn’t growl in case he disturbed the Saint Bernard. He found Argal looking at him. Argal didn’t speak.
“Why are humans so cruel to us?” asked Furgul. “What have we done to hurt them?”
“We’ve done nothing to hurt them,” growled Argal. “All we’ve done is to be their most faithful companions for thousands of years. We protected their children, their homes, their farms. We herded their cattle and sheep. We showed them how to hunt. We fought in their wars. When they were lost, we guided them home. We put food in their mouths when they were hungry, and we saved their lives when they were dying. We even wiped out our brothers—the wolves—for the benefit of men and to our shame because men asked us to do it. Now we capture their criminals and sniff for their dangerous explosives and poisonous drugs. The rich use us to make them look even richer, and beggars use us to help them pay for their booze. In their darkest nights we bring them comfort. In their brightest days we bring them joy. We’ve given the human race more love than any other creature on this earth. They even have the nerve to call us man’s best friend.” He looked about the death house. He looked at Furgul. “And this is our reward.”
Tears welled in Furgul’s eyes, but he fought them back down. He looked at Brennus’s ravaged body through the bars of the cage. And he realized that Brennus was awake. And not only Brennus but all the other jailhouse dogs too, their ears pricked forward to catch the words of truth.
Every dog in the Needles was listening to Argal.
Furgul turned back to him. “But why? I don’t understand it.”
“What you must understand is that it’s not just us dogs. Humans exploit all animals. We’ve all got something that they want. They exploit all of nature’s bounty. They believe that the earth was created just for them. They take and use the things they want, and when those things are worn out—or when they just get bored—they throw them away. Of all living things, humans are the most greedy, the most ruthless, the most selfish, the most deceitful. That’s why they rule the world. And the most terrible truth of all is that they treat each other with even more cruelty, dishonesty and stupidity than they treat us dogs. They shackle us with muzzles and collars and chains, yes. But the chains men hang upon each other—and upon themselves—are stronger than the bars of this prison.”
Furgul stared into Argal’s eyes, and in them he saw all the suffering that Argal had endured. He saw the genius that enabled him to understand so much. He saw the defiance that had kept him alive for so long in a world that was out to break him. He saw why Argal was a king among dogs—a king among all living things. A king who had never been crowned but who had made himself a king through his life and his deeds and the courage that burned in his heart. Then Furgul realized he was the son of a king and he was scared.
“Be brave,” said Argal.
“That’s what Keeva told me. But I’m often afraid.”
“So am I,” said Argal.
“You?”
“I’ve spent half my life being afraid. That’s the only time you really need to be brave. I’m scared right now. In the morning they’re going to walk through that door with their nooses and their needles and their guns, and they’re going to kill me.”
“Why won’t they give you even one day?” asked Furgul.
“Th
ey’ve classed me as a dangerous dog.” Argal gave a shake of his head, as if he could not begin to express his contempt for humanity. “You saw me fighting the Traps. If I’d wanted to be dangerous, they’d all be dead.”
“Did they attack you first?”
“Of course they did,” said Argal.
“Then it’s not right,” said Furgul.
“Humans aren’t right. Didn’t Dedbone’s Hole teach you that?”
Furgul nodded. “I bit a man there. I was trying to save my sisters.” He hung his head and felt ashamed. “I failed. Only Brid got away.”
“Furgul, I’m proud that you’re my son.”
Furgul lifted his head. “Really?”
“I’ve never been so proud of anything,” said Argal.
Argal turned away, as if to hide some feeling that he didn’t want Furgul to see. The cellblock suddenly went dark as the lights were switched out. But enough light came through the windows from outside to see by. Argal turned back to him.
“Sleep beside me for a while,” he said. “I’d like that.”
“I’d like that too,” said Furgul.
“Except for that one night with Keeva,” said Argal, “I’ve never felt the warmth of my family before.”
Argal lay down on the cold concrete floor and Furgul curled up between his huge paws, with his back nestled into Argal’s belly. It felt good. Almost as good as when he had slept with Keeva, and with Nessa and Eena and Brid. In some ways it felt even better. Even though he was in prison and his dad was going to die in the morning, he felt safer and more free than he’d ever felt in his life. After a while Furgul heard Argal breathe in sleep. And then he let fall the tears that he’d held inside.
Furgul slept deep and dreamed of the Doglands. Or perhaps the Doglands dreamed of him. He felt happy and strong. He felt neither fear nor sorrow. He felt Argal dreaming with him. He felt their two hearts beating as one.
When he woke up, it was still dark. Argal had woken before him, and they talked in low voices in the prison’s dank gloom. Furgul told Argal what had happened at Dedbone’s Hole and in Dogsnout Mountain. He told him he was going to go back and rescue Keeva, but about that Argal said nothing.
Instead he told Furgul how to fight. He told him the strengths and weaknesses of different breeds, including his own. He told him how to live off the land, how to survive in the wilderness far from the gaze of men. He told him to beware of the towns and, even worse, the cities, where the dangers were greatest of all. The light of day came up, and the other dogs began to stir.
Argal said, “But despite all I’ve told you, my advice hasn’t changed. Be a pet.”
“After everything you’ve told me? Why?”
“There’s no dishonor in being a pet,” said Argal. “Most of the happiest dogs alive are pets. I’d even say that most masters, in their hearts, are decent and kind. If they don’t know how to treat us right, it’s because they don’t understand us. The shame of it is, they don’t try. But I don’t want you to end up like me. If you take the wild and rambling road, then sooner or later it will bring you right back here—to a filthy cell, in a prison, waiting to die.”
“I want to run with the winds,” said Furgul.
“Do you know what the winds are?” asked Argal.
Furgul shook his head.
Argal closed his eyes and raised his snout. A low, rhythmic growl arose from his throat, an ancient chant. The fur on Furgul’s back stood on end, and he sensed the other prisoners stirring in their cages, roused by the dog song that none had ever heard but which all of them had known all their lives.
Argal sang:
“When leaves die they turn into earth.
When mountains die they fall into the sea.
When stars die they turn into darkness.
When dogs die they join the winds.”
Furgul felt his throat go tight, and from the sniffles he heard from the other cages he was not alone. The song pierced his heart. Argal fell silent and looked at him.
“Furgul, have you ever felt that wind in your hair—that special wind—that makes you feel like you could fly? That makes you feel as if you’ve been alive for ten thousand years? And that you’ll live for ten thousand more?”
Furgul remembered the eerie wind in the tunnels of Dogsnout Mountain.
“Yes!” said Furgul. “Yes!”
“That wind is the spirit of a free dog passing by. If you run with the winds when you’re alive, then when you die, as the dog song tells us, you join the winds. You become the winds. You are the winds.”
“So a free dog doesn’t die forever?”
“A free dog never dies. He only moves on.”
For a moment Furgul’s thoughts were deep. The wind he had felt in the mountain—that had told him “You’re the dog who runs in darkness”—must have been Eena’s. She died fighting to be free—and so she was free. So had Nessa. In death they’d given Furgul the seed of life. They’d set him on the wild and rambling road that led to the Doglands.
“Dad?” asked Furgul. “Where are the Doglands?”
Argal studied him. “Who told you about the Doglands?”
“Keeva did. She didn’t really tell me about them. She just said that that was where you came from, and that no one knew the Doglands as well as you did. I want to find them again—but I don’t know where they are.”
“The Doglands are everywhere—and nowhere.”
“I don’t understand,” said Furgul.
“The Doglands are right here, in this prison.”
Furgul was stunned. He looked around at the squalid cages, the stained walls, the filthy gutters. He heard the sighs and groans of the captive dogs.
“In here? I thought the Doglands were wild and free, with mountains and rivers and trees and wide-open spaces.”
“Those are the Doglands too,” said Argal.
“But I’ve seen them,” said Furgul. “I smelled them. I felt them.”
“I know you did. Because the Doglands are here”—Argal raised a massive paw and put it on Furgul’s chest—“in your heart. Every dog whose heart is free knows the Doglands. Whether we’re pets or strays or prisoners. We carry the Doglands inside us, wherever we go.”
Furgul started to understand. “Even in death?”
“Especially in death,” said Argal. “That’s why death will never hold me.”
Furgul had a terrible thought. He said, “When Keeva talked about the Doglands, she sounded as if she’d never been there.”
He looked at Argal. Argal looked grave.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think she ever has.” He saw the expression on Furgul’s face. “It’s hard for greyhounds. From the moment they’re born, the masters work hard to crush their spirits. You escaped before they could crush yours.”
“Then it’s even more important that I go back,” said Furgul. “I’ve got to tell Keeva. I’ve got to show her where to find the Doglands.”
“You know what?” said Argal. “Maybe you should.”
The doors of the cellblock clanged open, and four Traps entered carrying stun guns, steel poles and nooses. Behind them came a Vet in a white coat. The blond woman came too. They approached Argal’s cage, and the blond woman opened the door. Furgul thought she looked upset.
Argal turned to Furgul. “We’ve said our long goodbyes, so let’s make this one short. Keep your tail up.”
“I’ll help you fight them,” said Furgul, his blood rising. “Let’s do them all!”
“No,” said Argal. “It’s time to be strong inside.”
He licked Furgul’s face. Furgul struggled to be strong inside, for Argal.
“And remember,” said Argal, “we two shall meet again. On the winds.”
Furgul’s throat was so tight he couldn’t speak.
He licked Argal’s face.
Argal walked to the door. He looked at the Traps and their nooses and their guns. Then he looked at the Vet who had come to kill him as if to say: Do you want to do this the eas
y way? Or do you want me to paint this cellblock red with blood?
The Vet knew dogs very well. Well enough to understand Argal’s grim expression. He murmured to the Traps, and they lowered their nooses and guns. The blond woman looked at Furgul, and something in his face must have got to her. She clasped her hands over her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. She turned away and walked from the cellblock.
Argal stepped out of the cage. The Traps closed the door behind him.
Argal looked down the long gray walkway to the Death House.
Then he turned his head to look at Furgul.
“Tell Keeva that I always loved her.”
Furgul rose on his hind legs and leaned on the bars. His eyes met Argal’s.
“I’ll tell her. I promise.”
Argal turned and walked away down the cellblock, tail held high.
The Traps and the Vet trudged along in dishonor behind him.
Though all the dogs were awake, and stood with their snouts pressed through the bars, an enormous, heavy silence had fallen across the cages. The pads of Argal’s huge paws slapped on the concrete and echoed from the walls.
Then Brennus reared on his hind legs and let out a furious growl.
“For shame!” roared Brennus. “FOR SHAME!”
“You show ’em how it’s done, Mr. Argal!” barked Skyver. “We’re with you!” He started chanting. “AR-GAL! AR-GAL! AR-GAL!”
Cage by cage, bark after bark, all the other jailhouse dogs joined in the chant.
“AR-GAL!”
“AR-GAL!”
“AR-GAL!”
It got louder—louder—until their outrage shook the prison to its foundation stones.
The Traps and the Vet hunched their shoulders in fear. Or perhaps it was shame.
Furgul was the only dog who couldn’t speak. He poked his head through the bars and watched as Argal strode toward his end. Argal looked neither left nor right. He held his head high, as calm and strong and fearless as any dog that ever growled.