Moon Crossing - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story

by Farr, Cathy;

  Seemingly satisfied, however, Rexmoore continued to organise – and patronise – the crowd, which gave Wil the opportunity to retreat. By the time he reached Mia and Phinn the number of entrants waiting at the gate to the arena had been greatly reduced.

  Scanning the row of animal pens behind him in the hope of seeing Tanith, or Gisella, Wil could see that almost all were adorned with limp, green rosettes.

  ‘Find Gisella. Find Gisella.’

  The words rolled around in his head but neither Phinn nor Mia seemed to be getting his message. They had stopped, their amber eyes fixed on the arena. Wil cursed under his breath. He was much further back now and from this distance it was very difficult to see – let alone hear – what was now being said up on the stage. One thing was obvious, though; there were a lot of very unhappy people between him and Lord Rexmoore.

  ‘You watch,’ said a man to whoever was listening, ‘It’ll be that Tinniswood woman again. It’s the same every year. All those gold bars she’s won – reckon she could build her own tower by now.’

  A few people around him nodded. A boy about the same age as Wil put his hand on the shoulder of the girl next to him and stood on his tiptoes.

  ‘You know, I don’t think she’s there,’ he said, craning his neck for a better look. Wil breathed a sigh of relief and prayed that The Jackal and his mother were still in the tower where he had left them.

  ‘I bet that’s why Rexmoore’s faffing about,’ said the man who had spoken before. ‘The old girl’s late.’

  ‘Prob’ly got something so dangerous this year that they can’t bring it up ‘til the last minute!’ said another voice. ‘Remember that sabre tooth tiger. I nearly wet myself when they brought that thing in last year!’

  ‘Yer,’ said the boy, still peering over the crowd. ‘And two years ago, d’you remember those dwhykely things? Gor, that smell! Let them loose once she’d got the gold, too – worse’n rabbits, dwhytelies! They’re all over the place now – took over my gran’s house the day she died!’

  ‘Yer?’ said the man. ‘Wonder what happened to that tiger.’

  ‘Dunno. Oh, hang on. Something’s happening … I think they’re bringing the finalists up onto the stage. Gor, this is gonna take ages!’

  Suddenly a cheer went up – a very enthusiastic cheer. Wil tried to get a better view but stopped short of leaning on the girl’s other shoulder.

  ‘What’s happening?’ someone asked. ‘That woman arrived, has she? Come on, tell us what she’s got.’

  The boy leaned harder on the girl, who didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘No!’ he said. He dropped back down. His eyes were shining with excitement. ‘It’s the witch. They’ve just brought on the witch!’ Then he was back up on his toes again. ‘Ooh, I bet that hurt,’ the boy cringed, ‘Blimey, she looks a right handful!’

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Wil put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and was just in time to see Tally kicking wildly. Two men were dragging her backwards towards the bonfire; Wil could just make out another man doubled up on the floor. Rexmoore and the entrants to the Unexpected Pets competition, now whittled down to about twenty, had backed to the edge of the arena including – Wil’s heart almost stopped – Tanith and Gisella!

  The wave of rage that hit Wil’s mind was like nothing he had ever experienced before – even his collision with the eagard was like the gentle breath of a summer breeze by comparison. Burning anger seared through his limbs; his eyes were blind and his brain screamed. Pain burned into every pore of his body like it would never stop. Somewhere, in the red-hot mist, he could hear barking. He tried to focus on it, to will it nearer. But in a flash it vanished. The hissing mist consumed him completely.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Ties that Bind

  ‘Wil, Wil! Can you hear me? Wil, please wake up!’

  Tally’s voice tickled the edges of Wil’s bruised brain. But it couldn’t be Tally’s voice; she was in Armelia. He – Wil – was at home in Mistleguard and when he opened his eyes he would see his mother’s face and smell the bread she made in the dark hours of every morning. He loved his mother’s bread. When he was little she used to tell him that it was an extra large spoonful of love that made it so delicious – sweet and warm. She would carve him a thick slice fresh from the oven and spread it with oozing butter that would drip over his fingers as he ate. His father had–

  ‘Wil, wake up! Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh, Wil!’ said Tally’s voice again.

  But Wil knew it wasn’t Tally’s voice – how could it be? He breathed deeply trying to detect any hint of yeasty sweetness… He breathed in as far as his lungs would let him… and out; in… and out. But no smell came.

  ‘Wil, pleeease, can you hear me?’

  …still nothing but that annoying voice.

  ‘Wil, for goodness sake, wake up!’

  Oh, that voice. It certainly wasn’t his mother – she never sounded that cross! Wil felt his forehead furrow into a frown... odd – there was something tight around his head… and it hurt. He tried to rub his brow but his arms wouldn’t move – neither would his legs. Was that music? He tried to move again – something cold and hard bit into his arm. What on earth–

  ‘Wil!’ said the voice – very sharp now – definitely not his mother’s.

  Reluctantly, Wil opened his eyes. Utter confusion! Why were his arms and legs shackled with chains? And why was Lord Rexmoore here – dancing with that woman?

  Twirling the woman in a wide expanse of arms, Lord Rexmoore caught Wil’s eye. The man’s lips mouthed the words, ‘Ah! At last,’ then he bent and said something into the woman’s ear. She dropped his hand and the dance stopped. The music, too, came to a faltering halt. Behind the couple, Wil could see a mass of purple and orange stretching as far as his eyes could see. Some people at the front clapped briefly. Most didn’t clap at all. The woman bowed her head and glided backwards; with three broad strides Lord Rexmoore was at the front of the stage.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen… friends,’ he called out. And slowly turning towards Wil, he raised his arm. ‘This was as much a surprise to me as it is to you now. Please, let me introduce… our witch’s best friend… I give you… Master Wil Calloway!’

  The crowd near the stage clapped politely, although Wil could see a few people exchange confused glances; some shook their heads and a few shrugged their shoulders. Further back, people seemed to have already lost interest.

  Unperturbed, Rexmoore gave Wil a sly smile.

  ‘Welcome back to the land of the living!’

  Behind him someone in the crowd shouted, ‘Burn them – just get on with it!’

  With a delighted grin Rexmoore added, ‘Well, for the moment at least!’

  Then, with a beaming nod to the musicians, Rexmoore once again took centre stage and beckoned the woman. Poker-faced, she took hold of his outstretched hand and they resumed their dance. Below them, the people returned to their own revelry. Some danced; a few clapped in time to the tune. Everyone it seemed, other than Wil and the dancing woman, were having a wonderful time.

  Like some very weird jigsaw, the scene in front of Wil began to slot together; although some pieces didn’t seem to fit. For instance, Wil had no idea why he was tied to a pole; or who the witch was and why he was her best friend. Just below the stage Wil could see a fenced corral – there were quite a few people in there, together with a collection of really strange looking animals, some of which Wil recognised – others, no. And… he squinted in an attempt to find something that might give him some clues… there, among them was... Gisella… with a beautiful winged horse: Tanith – the name came to him in a flash. Next to Gisella, Wil could see his Fellhound, Phinn… and Mia. Both had thick ropes like halters tied around their heads. So if Mia was here, where was Mortimer?… and Seth? Had they come too, or was it just him – Wil – and Gisella? Then a big piece of the jigsaw fell into place.

  ‘Tally!’

  ‘Well, it’s about time!’

  There
was no mistaking that acid response but the binding around Wil’s head prevented him from investigating further.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get you to wake up for ages!’

  ‘Tally! But…how?’

  Completely confused now, Wil didn’t know what to ask next.

  The music changed and the woman – Imelda, Wil’s mind said – dropped Rexmoore’s hand like a stone, leaving his lordship to twirl alone, apparently blissfully happy in his own company.

  Imelda crossed the stage towards Wil. Where Lady Élanor was slender, Imelda was skeletal. She had the same shape eyes as Lady Élanor and Tally, but hers were set in a gaunt face; they were blue, too, but a cold and grey, not the pale, cornflower blue of her brother’s daughters.

  ‘It appears that my niece has proved useful after all,’ she said with a smile that showed not a hint of kindness. ‘I was starting to fear she would go to her death having had no purpose in life. At least with you finally here, that will not be the case.’

  With a final, extravagant twirl, Rexmoore came to a halt behind his wife and embraced her bony shoulders. Revulsion flitted across Imelda’s face. Behind them, the musicians continued to play.

  ‘Now, my love,’ said Rexmoore – sweat trickling down his temple. ‘As I promised, we have the seer. And,’ he turned to acknowledge Gisella, Tanith and the Fellhounds down in the corral, ‘it looks like we’ve got more prizes than we’d expected. Yes, I think I’m safe in saying, my own one, that your brother’s legacy will very soon be ours!’

  He bent and kissed his wife’s neck leaving a sweep of sweat across her cheek; Imelda’s spidery frame shuddered. Seemingly oblivious, Rexmoore performed an extravagant pirouette and waltzed alone back towards the crowd. Imelda wiped away her husband’s damp trail with the back of her hand. The music stopped again.

  Lord Rexmoore was once more at the front of the stage, waiting for silence. Above his head the sun was sliding down the late afternoon sky on a collision course with the golden tower.

  ‘Right,’ said Rexmoore eventually, ‘well I hope you’ve all calmed down after the excitement of the Unexpected Pets contest? What a result, hey! I bet you weren’t expecting that one?’ He raised his arms, palms up and nodded slowly; an expectant beam splitting his face. A ripple of polite applause petered out quickly. ‘And I’m sure you’re all looking forward to the highlight of this year’s Alcama festival?’

  The cheer this time was far more enthusiastic.

  ‘Get on with it!’ called a voice somewhere to Wil’s right.

  Rexmoore’s smile got even broader.

  ‘Well, just before we…’ he acknowledged the heckler with a wagging index finger, “‘Get on with it”, as you say, The Hemlock Quartet are going to warm us up.’ He chuckled at his little joke. ‘So there’s still time to get a lantern – only one gold schilling. And, for those who think they can’t afford it – think again! Can you afford seven years of Alcama luck?’

  He cast his face skywards with an expression of mock fear and clasped his cheeks. His knees buckled slightly. At the same moment, hundreds of pairs of empty eyes glowed gold as sheep skulls, laid cheekbone to cheekbone, lit up the edge of the stage. From somewhere below, a band struck up. Rexmoore, barely able to contain his excitement, skipped across to his wife and swept her back into the soft light. Imelda neither resisted nor smiled – she just danced.

  From somewhere beside Wil a voice he now knew to be Tally’s spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the music.

  ‘Oh, Wil, I’m so sorry.’

  From the direction, and the fear in her tone, Wil guessed she was probably already tied to the bonfire. But he didn’t ask.

  She went on.

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve waited and waited in that tower – it was freezing! That Tinniswood boy…he’s been so horrid. And my aunt…’ she stifled a sob, ‘she says that if you refuse to tell her where she can find the legacy, she’ll burn me, and then Tanith, and Gisella as well.’

  ‘But I don’t know where – or what – the legacy is!’ exclaimed Wil.

  ‘I know,’ said Tally’s frightened voice. ‘But she won’t believe me. I’ve tried and tried to tell them.’

  ‘I heard,’ muttered Wil.

  ‘Tinniswood told me about the trap… after he found you all out on the Fell – about getting you to the tower. But I couldn’t warn you, I didn’t dare try, you know, because of last time. Then when they brought me up here I saw Phinn and Mia. There was no sign of Tinniswood so I thought they were still waiting for you… and I… well, oh, I’m so sorry, Wil. I just had to try to warn you. But I honestly didn’t think you’d react like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Wil – the red mist and the excruciating pain were lingering.

  Tally was crying now.

  ‘Oh, Wil, it was terrible. I thought I’d killed you – or that you’d gone mad! Everyone did.’

  ‘What do you mean, Tally? What did I do?’ asked Wil, only half wanting to know.

  ‘You were screaming, Wil – Mia was barking and Phinn started howling. I mean, you didn’t do that in the court… at the moon chase hearing. It was terrible. You just kept screaming and…oh, dear…’

  ‘Oh, dear, what?’

  ‘I couldn’t stop myself. I was so worried – I… I called out your name.’

  Wil closed his eyes. Tally kept talking.

  ‘If only I’d kept my mouth shut. Gisella stayed where she was. She didn’t say a thing,’ she said with a very slight barb in her voice that Wil chose to ignore.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tally. We’d already met up with Tinniswood anyway. Did his mother make it to the competition?’

  ‘No,’ said Tally, sounding thoroughly miserable. ‘Imelda was furious. They had to give the prize to that dragon down there.’

  Wil scanned the corral. Gisella, flanked by two very large guards, was looking up at the stage; it was difficult to see her properly in the packed space but even from this distance Wil could see that her face was as pale as a cloud.

  ‘Where? I can’t see…’ then, nearer the stage, Wil spotted an ugly lizard-like creature with a red bloom on its chest and a pair of wings that looked far too small for its body.

  ‘That!’

  The dragon hardly looked unexpected – well, unless you were going on size – it was a small dragon, a very small Lesser Crested Ridge Creeper. Anyone who had spent an afternoon at the foot of the Eiye Mountains – as Wil had done many times – would have seen Ridge Creepers far bigger than that roosting around Ewes Seat; although Wil had never heard of anyone having one as a pet.

  The tiny dragon extended its neck and let out a pitiful yowl. Its long teeth hung like s-shaped tusks. It was wearing a gold rosette. Like some kind of scaly overgrown cat – its mournful cry all but drowned out the singers. They raised their voices but the dragon only cried louder until Wil could hear little else. Those closest to the din clamped their hands over their ears. The light around Wil’s eyes dimmed and red mist fogged the edges of his vision again. With a huge effort he called out.

  ‘Tally, stop it!’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Trying to get into my head. I told you, I don’t know anything about the legacy and as you’ve already nearly driven me mad once – don’t try it again!’

  ‘But I’m not doing anything!’

  The red mist swirled. Wil’s arms and legs burned.

  ‘Tally, I’m warning you,’ he said gritting his teeth in an effort to banish the pain. ‘If you don’t stop now I’m going to set that bonfire alight!’

  ‘I am not-’

  But Rexmoore had also had enough. With a petulant stamp, he stopped dancing; the singers closed their mouths and the music died. Mercifully, the dragon went quiet too. Wil’s sight cleared and his limbs cooled. He could see a man clutching a length of chain that seemed to be attached to the dragon’s collar. In the man’s other hand was a large gold bar. He looked thoroughly miserable.

  ‘Will you shut that thing up or it will los
e its head!’ hissed Rexmoore. The man gave a hesitant bow.

  ‘Sorry, m’Lord. I think it’s hungry. They… it… likes fresh meat – bonacuss normally – but no-one’s got change for a gold bar.’

  Imelda turned on her heels. Drawn to something on the floor next to Wil, a cruel smile crept across her thin lips.

  In half a dozen strides she returned to her husband’s side holding Wil’s loaded bow. In a blink, she aimed and fired down into the corral. Several people screamed; Wil held his breath – so, he could hear, did Tally.

  ‘There,’ said Imelda without a hint of emotion in her voice. ‘Fresh marbussal – not quite bonacuss but I’m sure it will do!’ She lowered the bow, ‘Oh, and by the way, that’ll cost you half a gold bar, plus taxes. Guards, take that gold bar off that gentleman as payment in full and give him his change – unless he wants to buy a lantern!’

  Other than his scaly pet, the man was now standing quite alone, giving Wil a proper view of Gisella. He almost forgot to start breathing again. Gisella’s wrists and ankles bore the same shackles as Wil’s, and Tanith’s front hooves were bound to his back legs with a thick chain. He could hardly walk – taking flight would certainly have been impossible. Tally’s choked voice was barely audible, ‘Oh, no! Tanith!’

  Wil searched the vast crowd in the forlorn hope that he might spot Mortimer or Seth. The light in the sky told him they were running out of time. Then something bright danced at the edge of Wil’s vision. He tried again to turn his head but the bindings were no looser. A sudden cramp in his neck made him gasp. At the same moment the source of the new light became clear.

  Tinniswood – The Jackal – holding a burning torch high above his head, came running onto the stage; the furious expression on his face made all the more alarming by a very swollen and very black eye.

  ‘Colin!’ said Imelda in a silky voice. She still held Wil’s crossbow. ‘So good of you to join us. Is your mother in good health? She was missed earlier; she will be disappointed not to have taken the prize again this year. We had such high hopes.’