Moon Crossing - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story

by Farr, Cathy;

  The door shut with a louder click than usual. Gisella looked over at Wil.

  ‘Hi,’ she whispered.

  Her weak smile made his heart dance.

  ‘Hi,’ said Wil, suddenly terribly awkward.

  ‘The others,’ whispered Gisella. She gasped a few shallow breaths. ‘They got back too?’

  ‘Yes… er, well, not Leon and Oswald. Seth and Tally got back okay. Mortimer caught us up on the Fells. We were with Bryn and Lady Élanor by then. It was Seth who found you and me and…’ Wil ran out of words. He wanted to tell Gisella how sorry he was about the boat and about collapsing; and about how she’d had to drag the smashed boat through the storm when she could hardly breath. But he didn’t know how to start.

  Gisella waved her fingers weakly.

  ‘It’s okay, Wil… You might have… half killed me… once we got out of… Armelia, but… at least… you got me out.’ With a huge effort she raised her head from her pillow and looked over at him. ‘I’d be there… dead… if it wasn’t for you… Thank you.’

  Wil grabbed the tumbler next to his bed and almost choked on the water –luckily he was saved from trying to speak by Tally, whose sudden appearance really did make him choke.

  ‘Oh, Gisella, I’m so sorry! I was supposed to give you a double dose of camomile. You’re supposed to sleep – to give your lung a chance to heal. I really am so sorry. Here, drink this.’

  Obediently, Gisella drank the cloudy pink liquid. A trickle of the medicine escaped from the corner of her mouth as she settled back on the pillow. Tally took the glass and headed back through the door.

  ‘I hope you’re not overdoing it, Wil?’ she called through the open door. ‘Martha’s making game pie and rhubarb crumble for tea.’

  And then she was gone.

  Gisella’s laboured breathing was deafening now in the quiet room. Wil could see that her eyes were once more closed.

  With his head feeling like it was full of custard, Wil lowered his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Once he was confident that he wasn’t going to fall he slid the short distance to the floor and stood up, very conscious of the tails of the overlong nightshirt that were dangling way below his knees.

  Sunbeams shone like wedges of light across the neat beds – each one deserted other than his and the bed in which Gisella lay fighting for every breath.

  In half a dozen unsteady steps he was across the room at Gisella’s feet. But he didn’t know whether to go nearer. He could see the pale pink smear across Gisella’s cheek – a stark contrast to her chalk-white face, normally brown and freckled by the sun. Either Tally hadn’t noticed the dribbled medicine or, Wil suspected, she just hadn’t bothered to wipe her patient’s face even though Gisella couldn’t do it herself.

  He caught the corner of a clean towel that Tally had hung over the end of his own bed earlier and dipped it into his water jug. Then he returned, this time moving closer to Gisella’s pillow. As gently as he could, he wiped away the spilt medicine; then he brushed the soft towel over Gisella’s eye lids – first one, and then the other. Then he dabbed the cloth lightly across her brow.

  ‘Just don’t die,’ he whispered.

  Without opening her eyes, Gisella lifted her hand. Her icy fingers brushed against Wil’s face as gently as a snowflake. When she spoke, her voice was as quiet as falling snow.

  ‘I told you before… I’m… trying not to.’

  By the time the sun had set and the twin moons were making their way towards the stars, Wil’s dizziness had all but gone. Tally had returned to the infirmary to check on him twice during the afternoon and both times had given Gisella only a cursory glance. Gisella had not stirred at all and when Tally returned a third time, Wil’s irritation got the better of him.

  ‘So, is she alright Tally? Is her breathing okay?’

  ‘Oh… er…yer,’ said Tally. ‘She’s Eli’s patient really. I don’t know that much about lungs.’

  ‘But you’ve been giving her that medicine. I just assumed,’ said Wil, making an effort not to sound as cross as he felt. ‘Did you, um,’ he took a deep breath, ‘Did you give her the wrong stuff earlier?’

  Tally’s face clouded. She flicked the corner of the extra blanket that Wil had put over Gisella when he had felt the chill in her hands.

  ‘Well, that was Eli’s fault! She should have told me it was supposed to be double camomile for the whole week – how was I supposed to know!’

  ‘I thought you could read minds?’

  Tally’s eyes flashed but she didn’t react immediately. She ran the flat of her hand across the blanket and pulled it a little further up under Gisella’s chin. Then she gently brushed a curl of hair from Gisella’s face.

  ‘I’d never realised how curly Gisella’s hair was,’ she said and with a faint tut, she turned on her heels. ‘Probably why it always looks such a mess.’

  Supper at Lovage Hall was somewhat subdued. Lady Élanor had arrived late. She had been called down to the village to tend the blacksmith who had accidentally driven a nail into his hand while shoeing one of Godwyn Savidge’s horses.

  ‘But I thought he did that yesterday,’ said Martha, spooning a second helping of rhubarb crumble onto Wil’s plate even though he had barely touched the first. ‘Cream, Wil?’ she asked, plopping a huge dollop of clotted cream on the top before Wil could decline.

  ‘He did,’ said Lady Élanor. She helped herself to a tiny slice of pie that Wil was convinced must by then have been stone cold. ‘But today it was a very odd colour.’

  Wil pushed the crumble away. Lady Élanor took no notice.

  ‘I’ve given him a bottle of iodine. If it’s no better tomorrow he’ll have to come up here. I can’t keep going off down to the village while Gisella is still…’ this time her eyes did dart to Wil, ‘having such difficulty breathing.’

  ‘She sounded more settled this evening didn’t she, Wil?’ said Tally, her voice filled with a concern Wil was convinced she did not feel. But not wanting a fight, he nodded. Lady Élanor brightened.

  ‘Oh, good! Well now she’s having the right dose of camomile.’ Tally’s fork crashed onto her plate. ‘I’m sure the sleep will do her good.’

  ‘So how’s Tanith, Tally?’ chirped Seth. He had eaten every crumb of the pie but the vegetables on his plate remained untouched. ‘Do you want to come up to the stables to check on him later?’

  ‘No,’ said Tally.

  Seth’s face fell. Mortimer picked at the crumble with his spoon.

  ‘I’ll go, Seth,’ he said, peering out of the window at the star-filled sky. ‘Shadow was still a bit hot today. I want to check he’s alright. Is Bryn still up at the stables, Martha?

  ‘Oh, yes. What with two exhausted horses, three extra Fellhounds and Tanith to look after, he’ll be up there for a while yet. Can you take him that last slice of pie and some of those potatoes when you go, Mortimer?’ Her brow furrowed at the sight of Seth’s uneaten vegetables. ‘Seth, I didn’t slave over a hot stove all afternoon for you to leave those on your plate–’

  A sharp knock on the door saved Seth.

  ‘We expecting anyone else?’ said Martha, inspecting the nearly empty serving dishes and suddenly eyeing Seth’s uneaten vegetables in a more positive light. Lady Élanor’s dismayed expression suggested not.

  ‘Oh, I do hope it’s not Godwyn again. He was in such a foul mood earlier.’

  ‘Hmph,’ breathed Martha, hauling herself to her feet. ‘The Alcama might be over for another seven years but some bad things hang around for a good while afterwards!’

  There was a second impatient rap on the door.

  ‘Goodness me, hold your horses!’ called Martha.

  But she had hardly put her fingers on the latch when the door burst open and Oswald Beck and Morten Mortens tumbled into the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Bringers of Bad News

  The first thing that Wil noticed was that Oswald was absolutely filthy; his face caked with mud, he was still in t
he same clothes he had been wearing when Wil and the others had said goodbye to him and Leon on Tel Hireth.

  The second thing Wil noticed was that Morten Mortens was as white as a sheet. Lady Élanor knocked her chair over backwards with a clatter in her haste to get to her feet.

  ‘Morten! What is it! What’s happened! Is it Leon?’

  Rejecting Mortimer’s hand with a push, Oswald lumbered to his feet. He was shaking and it was obvious by the streaks down his face that he had been crying.

  ‘No, my lady. Leon is fine, he’s outside. I left his bandages on though. What with everything else….’ His voice broke and his wild eyes sought out Morten Mortens for help.

  The Grand Wizen went from white to scarlet.

  ‘It’s Olivia Drews, Eli. The Wraithe Wolves have taken her – she…’

  ‘What?’ chorused everyone in the room apart from Oswald. Morten Mortens let out a great gasping sob.

  ‘She… I can’t believe it… she went to them.’

  Lady Élanor led the Grand Wizen to a chair.

  ‘Martha, cherry brandy, I think. Glasses for everyone. And can someone bring Leon in?’

  Mortimer carefully guided Leon into the room and helped him into a chair. The bandages over his eyes had held, but they were no longer crisp and white. Leon was as filthy as his father, and by the look of his cloak, he had come into very close contact with at least one gorse bush.

  Bustling between the kitchen and the dining table, Martha kept stopping to listen while, between Oswald, Leon and Morten Mortens, the story of Olivia’s fate unfolded.

  ‘We left you, as you know, to come straight back to Saran. I set a course due south rather than heading over to Mistle Forest first,’ said Oswald. The brandy had calmed him slightly. His voice now was flat – as if he were telling of an event in which he had played no part. ‘It was early and the journey would be quicker. But the weather up on the Fell closed in and we soon lost our course.’

  ‘I’m sure we were actually going around in circles for a while,’ said Leon.

  ‘I know that feeling,’ said Wil with a grim shrug.

  ‘We took shelter for the night and set off again the next morning,’ said Oswald. ‘We’d only just set off when out of nowhere, Olivia just walked up to us. She was drenched! She must have been in that storm – and there she was – all on her own.’

  ‘But I thought she was going to visit her aunt,’ said Tally. ‘She told me the other day that she was going to stay there for a while to try to get over losing Giles.’

  ‘And we all know who’s fault that was, don’t we!’ spat Leon.

  Morten Mortens’ voice was barely more than a warning whisper from the other side of the table.

  ‘Now, now, boy. We’ve been over this many, many times.’

  Leon gave a sullen shrug. Oswald resumed their tale.

  ‘She just walked right up to us. It was so strange. She had no horse, no bag, no bow – nothing. She was soaked to the skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was…’ Oswald stopped to think for a moment. ‘That’s it, she was lost… just lost.’

  Leon nodded.

  ‘We told her we were going home and told her to come with us but she kept saying that she couldn’t find him.’

  ‘Find who?’ asked Lady Élanor.

  She indicated to Martha to pour some more brandy into Oswald’s glass, but gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head when Martha gestured towards the goblet in Leon’s hand. Oswald stared at the brandy.

  ‘Well, we couldn’t work it out for ages,’ he said. ‘At first I thought she was talking about her father. Before we left for Armelia he told me he was going to ride over to Lower Minton with her. But when I asked her she swore she’d come out alone. She just kept saying that she just wanted to find him. She was behaving so strangely.’

  ‘So who was she looking for?’ asked Seth, his eyes wide as he listened. ‘And why was she just south of The Black Rock – if she was on her way to Lower Minton she’d gone really badly wrong!’

  ‘Well, I think the answer to your first question is fairly obvious, Seth,’ said Mortimer.

  Seth looked confused.

  Mortimer turned back to Oswald. ‘So why didn’t you just bring her back with you when the rain stopped?’

  Oswald clutched his glass with both hands and studied the floor.

  ‘It really wasn’t as simple as that, boy. Things took a turn for the worse after we’d persuaded Olivia to join us.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Leon, turning his head to follow the voices. ‘You see, without my sight I can pick up things I wouldn’t usually notice – sounds seemed louder… and smells... I knew we had gone wrong when I couldn’t smell the forest any more.’

  ‘But I thought you said you hadn’t headed for the forest?’ interrupted Seth.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Oswald. ‘But we were following one of the ridges that looks down over it – for a time.’

  He took a large sip of his brandy and let Leon continue.

  ‘It had stopped raining. There was a really weird smell – so familiar. But father told me it was still daylight so for a while I just thought it was my mind playing tricks… and it was the day of the Alcama–’

  ‘What smell?’ interrupted Mortimer. It was obvious from his expression that he had a fair idea what Leon’s answer was going to be – so did Wil.

  ‘Wraithe Wolves,’ said Leon. Mortimer nodded.

  ‘Cae Wheeler, this morning, said he’d seen footprints out on Thesker Fell – over by the river. I told him he must have made a mistake – Wraithe Wolves don’t come this far south.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid he wasn’t wrong,’ said the Grand Wizen. ‘Tell them Oswald.’

  Oswald threw the contents of his glass into his mouth and swallowed.

  ‘They were both right – Leon and Cae.’ He looked straight into Mortimer’s face. ‘They just wouldn’t let us get back. Every time we tried to turn towards Saran two or three would be there – on the nearest hilltop – forcing us to change course. They were herding us. As long as we kept going east they left us alone.’

  ‘Father decided that it would be better to head for the river. Olivia was getting really excited – hysterical almost. I thought she was just scared, I… I was,’ said Leon, his bandaged eyes sightless to the rapt faces in the room.

  ‘It was starting to get dark and the Alcama was rising,’ said Oswald. ‘We decided to light the biggest fire we could and stay right by the river. The plan was to go downstream the next morning with the hope of getting back to Saran from Goatmed Scarp. We even managed to get Olivia to calm down a bit. It was fine… until the moons crossed.’

  Oswald’s voice, flat and drained of emotion, filled the quiet room.

  ‘The fire was going well but it was eating logs. I’d only just come back from collecting more wood – I didn’t dare move too far from the river. You could feel them watching us,’ he said with a shiver. Martha ignored Lady Élanor’s disapproving frown and topped up his empty glass. He nodded gratefully and continued. ‘Olivia wouldn’t sit down. She just kept pacing and looking out at the hills. It was getting dark and there wasn’t much you could see, even in the moonlight.’ He took a sip of the brandy. ‘When I got back I dropped one of the logs on my foot. It wasn’t bad to begin with, but I was hobbling around. So when I mentioned having to go to get more wood a bit later, Olivia insisted she do it. She seemed a bit brighter – calmer – and my foot was sore, so I agreed…’ He raised his hand and pressed his eyes. Teardrops leaked down his cheeks. ‘She laughed as she went. She was so happy just then. I should have known – realised.’

  He wept openly. Nobody stirred. Martha lowered herself onto one of the little milking stools by the fire, the brandy bottle momentarily forgotten in her hand. After a few moments, Oswald took a deep, quivering breath, his eyes on the same patch of floor somewhere in front of him.

  ‘Leon heard it first. The howl. Then another, and another until I thought I was going to go mad. They were all
around us. But then the storm hit. I could hear Olivia calling but in that wind I couldn’t make it out at first. Then I realised. She was calling Giles’s name. She kept saying, “Giles, it’s me. I’ve come. Take me with you. Giles it’s me.”

  ‘I ran out into the dark, away from the fire, but I couldn’t see anything. I called,’ Oswald was whispering now. ‘But she just kept calling for Giles and the wolves kept howling. And then they stopped and...’

  ‘I heard Giles,’ said Leon.

  ‘But you couldn’t have!’ interrupted Seth so loudly that Martha jumped. ‘He’s dead – well, you know.’

  ‘Are you sure it was Giles, Leon,’ said Mortimer. ‘Did you hear him, sir?’

  ‘You calling my son a liar, boy?’ snarled Oswald.

  Wil glanced at Lady Élanor but her expression was impossible to read. Her fingers were knotted so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white.

  ‘I heard Giles,’ Leon repeated. ‘He called Olivia. He called her and she went to him.’

  ‘Did he attack her, Leon?’ asked Lady Élanor, her fingers still knotted in her lap.

  Leon shook his head.

  ‘He wasn’t near enough. He called Olivia out onto the Fell. There were wolves close – I could smell them. They got her. And you know what...’ he turned his head as if looking around the room. ‘She never made a sound. They dragged her away and she never made a sound.’

  ‘So what happened after they took her?’ asked Seth, all eyes. ‘Did they come back for you two?’

  Oswald put his glass down and, gripping the table with one hand, pulled himself to his feet.

  ‘You know, that was the strangest thing. Once they had Olivia, they went.’

  Leon nodded.

  ‘Yer, as they took Olivia their scent just went away.’

  Seth raised his index finger.

  ‘But that was two nights ago,’ he said innocently. ‘How come you’ve only just got back now?’

  Oswald hobbled across to lean on the huge oak lintel above the fireplace and the answer became immediately apparent. He was only wearing one boot; his other foot was bare and at least twice its normal size.