Doglands (13 page)

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.

“They’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:

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 easy 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.

“AR-GAL! AR-GAL!”

At the end of the walkway stood a big black door. As Argal approached, the big black door swung open. Some of the dogs started yowling with horror. When Argal reached the threshold of the Death House, he stopped and turned.

The dogs stopped chanting and yowling.

Argal looked about the cellblock, at the faces of the dogs who would live and the faces of the dogs who would die. He wagged his tail in salute. Then, down the length of the walkway, he looked at his son, Furgul, for the last time.

Their eyes met. Furgul felt Argal’s heart reach out across the gray and grimy flagstones. He felt his courage and defiance. He felt his power to understand. He felt the living essence of the wild and rambling road.

“Farewell to the king,” whispered Furgul.

Brennus heard him, and took up the cry.

“FAREWELL TO THE KING!”

The captive dogs howled in unison.

“FAREWELL TO THE KING!”

Then Argal turned away.

Furgul watched Argal walk into the Death House with his killers.

The black door clanged shut.

Furgul couldn’t take his eyes off it.

And silence fell once again across the Needles.

F
urgul had no appetite for breakfast. He wasn’t alone. Though dogs would normally keep eating even in an earthquake, many of the prisoners left their bowls of dry biscuits untouched. The two morning shelter workers seemed unsettled too. When they let the dogs out into the exercise yard for their morning hour, they heard a lot more growls than they were used to. Among the dogs who milled about the yard, dashing from one gang to another, all the talk was of Argal.

Furgul wandered round in a daze. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He saw Tess sobbing and Zinni trying to comfort her. He overheard Skyver telling tall tales to a group of seething pit bulls.

“So there we were,” said Skyver, “trapped in the headlights with the cops on one side and the Traps on the other. ‘What
shall we do, Skyver?’ says Argal. So I say, ‘There’s only eight of ’em, Argal. I’ll take the two on the right, and you take the six on the left.… ’ ”

Furgul wandered around the perimeter, glancing at the wasted land beyond the wire. The warm sunshine didn’t feel warm. The blue sky didn’t seem blue. There wasn’t a breath of wind. He felt empty. Skyver trotted up and walked along beside him.

“I’m sorry, Furgul,” he said. “We’re all sorry. A lot of us are angry too.”

Furgul didn’t answer him.

“But you and me can get out of here—if we do like Argal told us, when the animal lovers come.” He smiled to cheer Furgul up. “I’ll let you go first, of course. I wouldn’t break a promise to Argal, even though he’s … Well, I won’t break my promise. Mutts like you and me don’t have many friends out there. We should stick together.”

Furgul didn’t bother to say he was a lurcher. After all, he was a mutt. A mixed breed, a half-caste, a mongrel. That’s why Dedbone had tried to kill him.

Skyver grinned. “We can both be pets and wear diamond collars like Zinni.”

Still, Furgul didn’t answer. They stopped near the edge of the main prison building. They watched a truck pull up near the back, and two men in yellow jumpsuits got out. The men went inside the prison.

“Anyhow,” said Skyver, “who knows what happened to
Argal? Maybe the needle couldn’t kill him. Maybe he escaped from behind that big black door.”

“You think so?”