The Lost Stories

by John Flanagan

  “Lucky they haven’t noticed how she’s not as pretty as me,” she said, then cackled.

  Will stopped to look at her, eyebrows raised. “You think you’re prettier than her?” he said incredulously.

  She cackled again. “Of course I am. After all, I’ve got a fine new green dress!”

  There was no answer to that, he thought.

  Alyss spent an uncomfortable night, shivering under one of the caravans, wrapped in Hilde’s threadbare blanket. She tried not to think of the small creatures that undoubtedly shared the blanket with her, but by morning she was covered in red bites and scratching miserably.

  “All part of the disguise,” she told herself.

  She had quizzed Hilde as to what duties she would have to carry out. She lugged water and wood, fed the goats and chickens from the swill bucket and scoured the cooking pans clean with sand and water. If Roamer women were reluctant cooks, they were even more reluctant cleaners.

  From time to time, the men or women would summon her to carry out some other menial task—cleaning boots that had been soiled with cow or dog droppings, beating the dust from a rug taken from a caravan.

  Around eleven o’clock, she saw the boy Petulengo approach Jerome’s caravan and wait expectantly outside it. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She hurried to the caravan she slept under and fetched the big firewood basket. As she did so, she heard Jerome’s caravan door bang open and his heavy footsteps clumping down the steps. She glanced furtively in his direction. Once again, he was carrying the heavy, bloodstained sack. Once again, he had to shoo the camp dogs away from it.

  He nodded when he saw Petulengo already waiting for him.

  “Just as well for you,” he said. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  The boy said nothing but fell into step behind the heavily built Roamer. They headed off in the same direction they had taken the previous day. Alyss, the firewood basket slung over her shoulder, hobbled slowly after them. She knew that while Petulengo was there to prevent any strangers from following Jerome, Hilde would be a familiar and unthreatening figure. Chances were, the boy would ignore her and she could discover where Jerome had Ebony hidden. And while she was following the two Roamers, Will would follow her, keeping well back. That was the plan they had agreed to on the previous day.

  She had left the caravan compound, heading in the same general direction as Jerome and the boy, when a shrill voice stopped her.

  “Hilde! Where are you going, you worthless crone?” It was one of the younger women from the camp. She was leaning over the railing at the rear platform of her caravan, beckoning urgently to Alyss.

  Cursing under her breath, Alyss stopped and held up the basket for the woman to see. With a crack in her voice, she called back, “Fetching firewood, mistress! We’re getting low!”

  The woman considered the answer. For a moment, Alyss thought she was going to call her back to the camp. But eventually, she merely nodded. “Collect some redberries while you’re there!” she called. “Lots of them. Camlo wants me to make redberry wine and I’m out of them!”

  Alyss heaved a sigh of relief. This would actually work to her advantage. She could wander all over the forest searching for the berries. If her path happened to cross that of Petulengo and Jerome, all the better.

  “Yes, mistress! I’ll fetch a good batch!” she shouted. Then she turned and scuttled toward the trees before the woman could think of another task for her.

  She bent and picked up some of the lighter branches as she went, keeping an eye out for Petulengo. She followed a random zigzag path through the trees, allowing the concentrations of deadfalls to determine her movements. But she managed to stay in touch with the two Roamers. Occasionally, she saw flashes of Petulengo’s yellow shirt among the trees. If he was even half awake, she decided, he must have noticed her. She decided to put her theory to the test and changed her path, heading more directly toward where the boy was seated on a tree stump. By pure fortune, there was a redberry bush a few meters past him. She shuffled up to it, eyes down, pretending not to notice the boy. With an exclamation of pleasure, she began to strip the berries from the tree, dropping them into the wood basket.

  “What are you doing, Hag Hilde?” His young voice had an unpleasant note to it.

  She feigned surprise and jerked around to face him, keeping her eyes lowered, as Hilde would have done. She guessed that a display of subservience would feed his young ego, and she was right.“Fetching redberries, master,” she said, showing him the wood basket. “Mistress Drina wants to make wine from them.”

  “Bring them here,” he demanded, and she shuffled toward him, holding out the basket. He grabbed a large handful and began to eat them, the red juice flowing down his chin.

  “Not bad,” he said, grinning unpleasantly. “But if you want to pass by me, you’ll have to give me more. There’s a toll, you know.”

  A narrow track ran away through the trees behind him. She guessed that this was the path Jerome had taken, and Petulengo was keeping watch at this junction to make sure nobody could follow him without being seen.

  As she’d hoped, Petulengo didn’t see her as any threat. He was obviously willing to let her pass down the track for the sake of a handful of berries. She nodded subserviently, hiding the sense of exultation that rose within her.

  “I’ll fetch you some more,” she said, and hobbled back to the tree. She stripped a sizable quantity of the sweet berries from the tree, reaching as high as she could to get to them. Petulengo watched her incuriously, then leaned forward as she returned with the basket held out to him.

  He scooped the lot out of the basket and she whined a protest.

  “But that’s all I’ve got, young master! And there’s no more on that bush!” she said.

  He smiled at her and spat a stream of juice past her. “Too bad. You’ll have to find more.”

  She crouched, bobbing her head and whining. Then she pointed down the track.

  “There’s a clump of redberry bushes down there, I know,” she said.

  He shrugged at her. “ Then go get more. And make sure you’ve got plenty for me on the way back.”

  Interesting, she thought. He wasn’t planning on moving from this spot, which meant Jerome must be somewhere within easy distance. Jerome and the dogs. She hoped that Will was somewhere nearby, waiting for her to discover the location of the dogs’ holding pen.

  She hobbled past the sarcastic young boy and headed down the track. She hadn’t gone ten meters when she heard his call.

  “Hilde!”

  At the same time, she heard the swish of his stick spinning end over end through the air. She had the sense not to turn and the thick piece of wood caught her on the back of her head. She stumbled and fell, spilling her firewood onto the ground. Petulengo laughed.

  “Mind your step, Hilde! The track’s a little rough there!”

  Cursing under her breath, trying not to let him see the murderous look in her eyes, she clambered to her feet and began laboriously replacing the sticks in her basket.

  “Petulengo!”

  They were both startled by the shout from a little way down the track. Petulengo stood up from the tree stump, looking puzzled and slightly nervous.

  “Yes, Jerome?” he called.

  “Is everything clear?” Jerome replied. This time, Alyss, seemingly engrossed in gathering the firewood again, could have sworn she heard a quick yelp, hastily cut off.

  “All clear, Jerome.”

  Alyss smiled to herself. Obviously, she counted as nobody. Well, they’d learn, she thought.

  “Then come here! I need you.”

  “Coming, Jerome!” Petulengo started down the narrow trail. As he passed Alyss, he managed to kick her basket over, scattering the wood once more. She heard his laughter as he ran lightly down the track.

  “Little swine,” she muttered.

  8

  LEAVING THE BENT OLD CRONE BEHIND HIM, PETULENGO hurried down the narrow track to wh
ere another track ran off at right angles. This was narrow and overgrown and difficult to make out. Had Petulengo not known it was there, he would possibly have hurried past. He bent under the low-lying branches that grew over the track and, after a few meters, emerged into a small clearing.

  Instinctively, he shied to one side as he realized that Jerome was only a few meters away, holding the collar of a massive black dog.

  Petulengo knew its name. Demon Tooth. Its coat was black, but not a healthy, glossy black. This coat was matted and wiry. The skin underneath the short hair was scarred in a dozen places—mementos of the fights Demon Tooth had contested—and these scars formed ridges and corrugations in the fur.

  Its head was large and the shoulders and body powerful. The eyes were wild and yellow and the lips were drawn back in a furious snarl, the dog’s mouth white with slobber as it struggled in Jerome’s grip.

  Normally, Demon Tooth would be held by a heavy chain. But Jerome had unfastened it and now gripped the dog between his knees to restrain it. He had both hands on a thick leather collar around its neck, holding its head straight so that it couldn’t savage him. Demon Tooth, sensing that the chain no longer restrained him, fought to free himself completely. Jerome was a powerful man but the strength of the dog’s struggling was almost beyond him. He glared at Petulengo now.

  “Bring the shepherd,” he said.“I’m moving the dogs to a new spot.”

  Every few days, he would move the dogs to a new hiding place, to make sure that they remained undiscovered. Petulengo looked across the clearing. On the far side, chained to a tree, was the black-and-white border shepherd Jerome had stolen. Petulengo eyed the dog warily. Under Jerome’s instructions, he had spent the past few days teasing it and provoking it, trying to overcome its natural good temper. Yesterday, he had succeeded and the border shepherd had snapped at him. She was not a big dog, but she was fast, and Petulengo had only just escaped being bitten. She eyed him now and her ears flattened as she recognized him. She showed her teeth in a snarl and he decided that he didn’t want to risk getting close to her again.

  “No,” he said. “She’ll bite me.”

  “Curse you!” Jerome snarled. “Who cares if you’re bitten! Get that dog now!”

  Normally, Petulengo wouldn’t dare to disobey Jerome. But the big man had his hands full and there was little he could do. Later on, he might remember Petulengo’s disobedience. But later on could take care of itself. Jerome cursed him but the boy continued to shake his head.

  “Hilde can do it,” he said. “I’ll get Hilde.”

  “Hilde? What’s Hilde doing here?” Jerome was puzzled by the suggestion. But he was tiring rapidly and wasn’t sure how much longer he could control Demon Tooth.

  “She’s collecting redberries for Drina. She’s just out there!”

  Jerome gave up the argument. He needed someone to bring the shepherd along and he had no more time for discussion. Hilde would serve as well as anyone. He could deal with Petulengo later, when they were back in camp.

  “All right! Get her. But hurry!”

  The boy ran back down the path to the right-angle fork. Looking around desperately, he uttered a low cry of relief as he saw the old woman stripping redberries from a bush some ten meters back along the track.

  “Hilde!” he shouted. “Come here!”

  She looked up, then, as he gestured urgently to her, she began to hobble down the track. As she reached him, he impatiently dashed the basket from her hands and grabbed her sleeve, dragging her along.

  “Come on! Hurry up, blast you!”

  She stumbled into the clearing and saw Jerome struggling with a terrible, huge dog. Then she caught her breath as she saw a black-and-white form cowering on the far side of the clearing.

  Ebony. Chained, tail between her legs, ears flattened to her head, her coat matted with dirt and mud. It was all Alyss could do to stop from calling out her name.

  “Unchain the shepherd and bring her along!” Jerome ordered. His voice was tight as he struggled with the surging, twisting black monster held between his knees.

  Alyss ran to the dog. As she approached, Ebony’s ears came up as she recognized a familiar and beloved scent. With senses far more acute than any human’s, she penetrated Alyss’s disguise immediately.

  Alyss fumbled with the chain to loosen it.

  “Get a move on! I can’t hold this one all day!” Jerome yelled at her.

  Demon Tooth, sensing that Jerome’s attention was distracted, made a sudden violent lunge, sending the Roamer off balance and breaking his grip on the collar. As Jerome sprawled on the damp grass, Demon Tooth, trained to attack other dogs without hesitation, launched himself across the clearing at Ebony.

  As the massive, black killer bore down on her, Ebony, finally free of the chain, crouched with her head low, hindquarters high. She was a sheepdog and she was bred to move fast and change direction in an instant. Demon Tooth was less than a meter away when Ebony sprang to one side. The killer’s jaws clopped shut on empty air.

  Demon Tooth spun, skidding on his haunches, to renew the attack. But now Alyss interposed herself between the two dogs. She had scooped up a fallen tree limb from the ground and she thrust it at the charging dog, catching Demon Tooth’s neck in the forked branches at its end. For a moment, it checked Demon Tooth’s momentum, although Alyss was driven back. But then the branch snapped and Demon Tooth snarled as he focused on the two-legged target who had attacked him. He gathered the muscles of his hind legs, ready to spring at Alyss’s throat.

  Alyss heard a whizz-thunk! and a long, gray-shafted arrow suddenly appeared in the center of Demon Tooth’s chest. The huge dog staggered under the impact. He gave one brief howl of agony, then his legs collapsed and he fell on his side.

  Jerome looked in horror at the sight of his dog lying lifeless on the ground. In the confusion of the moment, he hadn’t seen the arrow. But he had seen the old woman, Hilde, attack his dog with a tree limb. Now Demon Tooth lay unmoving.

  “You old witch!” he screamed, and sprang at her.

  He fastened his hands around her throat, shaking her and choking her. Alyss fought against him, but he was too strong. Her head snapped back and forth and her vision began to fade.

  Then a black-and-white shape flew at Jerome, leaping high to fasten her teeth on his arm.

  Jerome yelled. Ebony hung grimly from his forearm, her teeth sunk deep in the flesh. Her weight threw him off balance. He staggered, caught his foot on a tree root and fell, crashing across the still body of Demon Tooth.

  “Let go, Eb! Come here, girl!” Alyss gasped. Obediently, Ebony released her grip on Jerome’s arm and trotted to her friend, tail sweeping heavily from side to side. Jerome tried to rise as well. Nursing the arm Ebony had bitten against his side, he put his other hand on Demon Tooth’s prone body to give him purchase to rise.

  And realized, too late, that the dog was still alive.

  Maddened by rage and pain, Demon Tooth snarled at the touch and attacked blindly. Jerome’s shout of terror was cut off as the dog’s teeth snapped closed. Jerome thrashed wildly, trying to break that dreadful grip, gurgling horribly.

  Then he was still.

  Now Demon Tooth turned those terrible yellow eyes on the girl and the dog a few meters away. Rising shakily to his feet, he snarled a challenge.

  Ebony, ears flattened back against her head, the white ruff of fur around her throat standing erect until it was twice its normal size, leapt to place herself between Alyss and the slowly approaching monster.

  Whizz-thunk!

  The second arrow hit Demon Tooth in the side, just behind the left foreleg. Without a further sound, the killer dog fell, dead before he hit the ground.

  Will stepped out of the trees, his bow in his hand. He ran to Alyss and Ebony and didn’t know which one to hug first. So he went down on his knees beside them and threw his arms around both of them.

  Both seemed quite happy with that arrangement. One of them even licked his hand. He couldn
’t see through the tears in his eyes, but he hoped it was Ebony.

  9

  THE ROAMERS WATCHED APPREHENSIVELY AS THE GRAY-CLOAKED Ranger and the tall girl wearing Hilde’s tattered rags came out of the trees and headed for the camp. Trotting beside them was the black-and-white border shepherd Jerome had stolen outside Wensley village.

  Petulengo had spread the word of what had happened in the forest. He had watched in horror as Demon Tooth was struck down by an arrow, then the horror mounted as the terrible killing machine turned on Jerome. The appearance of the Ranger had been the final straw. Petulengo had turned and run back to the camp, babbling a confused account of what had happened in the clearing.

  Now the members of the extended family stood in a silent half circle, watching the two grim figures and the dog as they made their way into the compound formed by the caravans. Petulengo stood nervously at the back of the group, trying to hide himself behind the older Roamers, peering around them to see if he had been noticed. He was amazed at the transformation that had overcome Hilde. She still wore the same shabby, tattered rags. But she stood tall now, slim and graceful. She had managed to dash some of the ash and dirt from her hair and he could see blond patches peeping through the gray.

  Will stopped a few meters from the Roamers. Their hostility was all too obvious. But they were experienced in the ways of the world and they knew a Ranger when they saw one. They knew too of the Rangers’ legendary skill with weapons and their total authority in matters of the law. They weren’t about to oppose him in any way. Roamers lived on a knife’s edge of reluctant tolerance as it was. They avoided direct confrontation with the authorities whenever they could.

  “Jerome is dead,” Will told them. A buzz of interest swept through them. Petulengo had told them as much, but the boy had been panicky and almost incoherent. Now the fact was confirmed. Their leader was gone. To be truthful, not all of them were sorry to hear it.