Fell (The Sight 2) (36 page)

“Please. There’s so much I need to ask you, Pantheos. So much I need to know.”

“And my answers would be riddles,” said Pantheos, “not to deceive, but to show you your reflection alone. For I do not lead, I teach. And you do not seek riddles, Fell ClearEye, you seek answers. Yet a riddle I shall give you, wolf. To end this the clawed Putnar must fly, and a wolf be reborn in the water and sprout two heads.”

Fell shivered. They had been Skart’s parting words too.

“But ask yourself this. Can you trust and believe? Can you face life’s challenge? Now be gone.”

Fell turned and slunk away and began to run. He wondered if he could trust or believe. And all around him, in the grass and the trees, in the clouds and the very sky, the terrified wolf felt the lingering presence of the fearful Guardian, Pantheos.

“I’m so tired,” growled Kipcha loudly as they fled through the darkness. “I’ve got to rest.”

“You can’t, Kipcha, not now,” said Larka, at her side. “There’ll be plenty of time to rest, when we’re beyond the waterfall and safe.”

“If we ever get beyond it,” whispered Kipcha desperately. “I wish Fell was with us.”

Up ahead Khaz had just stopped, and the wolves’ ears came up. Somewhere a lonely owl hooted from its solitary bower. They had come to the end of the forest, but they sensed it was already near dawn, and ahead of them stretched clear, open ground, all the way to the neck of the valley and the falls.

“From here on we’ll be in the most danger,” whispered Kar gravely, turning to the others. “You’re all with me though?”

“Yes, Kar,” said the other voices, almost as one.

“Then run, wolves, run like the wind.”

They sprang forwards, the six of them, feeling as if the loss of the forest had stripped them of all safety, a feeling that grew worse and worse as they went, for light was coming fast now, and dawn breaking all around the terrified pack. Tarlar ran the fastest, but she kept turning too and circling, to give encouragement to the others, especially to Khaz, whose spirits seemed most overawed in the flight.

“Come on, Khaz, don’t give up.”

“I’m trying, Tarlar, honestly. Perhaps I’m a Sikla after all.”

“And what if you are? You’re part of a pack too, and we’ll never leave you behind.”

Light had broken fully over the fleeing wolves and the clouds in the skies were a deep and tender mauve, as they heard a sound that thrilled through them like hope. It was the sound of crashing water. The great falls were beyond, and the river. Kar didn’t slacken his pace for an instant, as he showed the others how to spring from rock to rock, in the very same place where Fell had listened to the salmon.

As they passed that smaller curtain of water in the rapids and the threat of the Vengerid receded behind them, they felt as if they were passing out of a horrible nightmare, into another world entirely, and part of the magic of that feeling was the very sound of rushing water and the massive, thundering falls upstream.

They all made it safely across, although Khaz almost slipped on the rocks as they went. Kar had a desperately proud look as they reached the bank and he swung round to the others.

“We made it,” he cried delightedly.

Kar saw the expression on Tarlar’s face though. She was looking behind him and her beautiful eyes were filled with horror. Kar swung round again, and from the right and the left, beyond a range of scrub trees, he saw them coming on—the Vengerid. They had not tracked Kar and his pack through the forest at all, but had raced straight for the falls and lain in wait on the other side of the river.

“Quickly,” cried Kar, “back across the water.”

As they looked back though, they saw that more Vengerid had come up behind them, waiting on the far bank too, growling and snarling. The little pack swung left and right, forming a circle instinctively, their tails raised, and beginning to growl and, in Khaz’s case, to whine a little.

There were more than forty Vengerid, males and females, far larger and more powerful than the six of them. Then, from the right, padding forwards slowly, as one who knows that his victory is already assured, came Jalgan.

“So, my love,” cried the great, grey-streaked Dragga, staring coldly at Tarlar. “You thought you could escape me by masking your scent with the river?”

“What do you want with us?” answered Tarlar.

“You know what I want, Tarlar.”

Kar dipped his head slightly, preparing to attack, but Tarlar whispered to him immediately. “No, Kar, don’t. It’s me he wants.”

“But, Tarlar, we must fight.”

“Against so many, Kar? It’s hopeless. Not even Fell could help us in this.”

“That coward,” said Skop furiously behind her.

“I
will
fight, Tarlar,” growled Kar, surprising himself yet again, “and die with some honour, at least. I’ve lived long enough.”

But Tarlar had stepped forwards and her tail lowered.

“No, Tarlar, don’t,” growled Larka behind her.

“It’s me you want, Jalgan,” she said, “and if you let my friends go, I’ll come with you willingly and run at your side as your Drappa.”

Jalgan had cocked his head, as though he were interested in the bargain, but the wolf began to laugh. It chilled the little pack to their bones.

“The others shall die this very day, Tarlar my dear, by the Great Waterfall,” he said, “as all things meet their rightful end, in time. For they’re not worthy to be Vengerid, and so not worthy to live free and wild in the lands beyond the forest.”

“Then I’ll never run at your side,” growled Tarlar.

“They will all die, Tarlar, nothing can change that now,” Jalgan went on, yawning slightly. “But what can change is the manner of their deaths.”

Khaz looked up fearfully.

“Come with me and it’ll be a quick kill for each, nothing more than a torn throat and a sudden end.”

Behind Tarlar, her friends were all shaking furiously.

“Resist, Tarlar, and never in the history of the Varg shall such suffering be seen. It’ll last for suns on end, and by the time their finish nears, each of your shivering pack shall be begging for death.”

Jalgan’s voice seemed to sing like the waterfall, and Tarlar stood there in horror at the terrible bargain. Not even she had thought that Jalgan could be so terrible.

“No, Jalgan, please.”

“Yes, my dear. For know who and what I am, as your dear brother, Kenkur, learnt to his cost.”

Tarlar was trembling furiously, but she began to walk forwards, as if in a trance. She had seen wild nature for herself and learnt how hard and ruthless it can really be. Suddenly Skop leapt in front of her, thinking to kill Jalgan himself to protect her.

The Vengerid around Jalgan were too quick for the brave wolf, and two of them sprang from the group. There was a flash of teeth and twisting fur and Skop was on his back with a yelp, the huge wolves pressing down on him and snarling and snapping at his muzzle. Kar sprang to his aid, but two more wolves came from the right and knocked Kar over too.

There they froze, with Kar and Skop pinned to the ground by four snarling Vengerid. Tarlar stood near them and Kipcha and Larka behind her. Khaz stood behind them, utterly incapable of action, and a voice was echoing in his mind:
Am I just a coward, nothing but a coward?

“Please, Jalgan,” cried Tarlar, “don’t harm them.”

“They show some spirit, at least,” said Jalgan, “but you know the bargain, Tarlar. So choose.”

“I can’t consent to their deaths, Jalgan,” she said desperately, “Kill me, if it’s blood you need and the bloodlust is on you. Kill me.”

“You, my love?” said Jalgan softly, “I’ll never kill you. I’ll protect you always, like a true Dragga should. Now make up your mind. Say yes, and I’ll give the word and, with just a strong snap of sharp teeth, it’s over for these two. Then the others. Painlessly. It’s easy. And of course, your word is good enough.”

Tarlar’s body seemed to slump, but she could see no alternative. If she resisted Jalgan now, then her dearest friends would be made to suffer terribly, and she would have to go with Jalgan and the Vengerid anyway. But if she said yes, then it would be over in a flash, and at least poor Tarlar would have a lifetime to take a terrible revenge on Jalgan. She would become Vengerid indeed.

“Very well then, Jalgan, I accept your filthy bargain.”

Jalgan’s cruel eyes flashed triumphantly and his tail rose even more.

“Do it then,” he ordered. “Kill them swiftly, and let it be finished with. I’m bored of this place.”

The Vengerid’s powerful jaws opened above Kar and Skop, their hungry eyes aiming for their throats. A Vengerid muzzle flashed towards Fell’s adopted brother and there was a terrible squeal of pain, and then another.

But not from Kar or Skop or the others, but from the Vengerid. The two wolves that had been primed for Kar and Skop’s throats had suddenly rolled on their sides and were squirming in agony.

“What’s this?” cried Jalgan. “Are you weaklings? Kill them.”

The other two still held Skop and Kar and their mouths opened in turn. But then it was as if a great wind had suddenly struck them both, they were hurled into the air and went rolling onto their backs, growling and whimpering. The watching Vengerid were as appalled as they were amazed, and some began to whimper and drop their tails.

“Are we haunted?” cried Jalgan furiously, swinging his head left and right, but seeing no opponent at all. “Are there demons here?” Then a voice seemed to answer him, as if in his own mind, but from the river too.

“Demons, indeed, cur. And those who live by demons, Jalgan, must die by demons.”

“Where are you?” cried Jalgan nervously. “This cannot be.”

He turned to where that voice seemed to be coming from, from the drop in the falls itself. “Are you a god?” Jalgan shuddered. “Are you Fenris himself?”

“I’m Fell,” cried a real voice now, from out of the water. “So behold and be afraid.”

Fell’s great black shape came moving out of the river itself, leaping through the curtain of water, behind which he had seen and heard everything that had just happened, in the cave scoured out of the stone by time and the river. The Vengerid saw him like a vision of rebirth, and it doubled and trebled their fear. Fell leapt onto the great rock and sprang onto the bank, shaking out his beautiful black pelt in a stream of flickering droplets.

“You!” growled Jalgan.

The Vengerid backed away behind their leader, as the black wolf came growling angrily through his brothers and sisters and stood proudly at Tarlar’s side. Jalgan alone held his ground, and Fell’s tail rose as he looked at the great grey wolf.

“Take him,” cried the Vengerid leader, as bravely as he could.

A few of the wolves moved forwards, but they suddenly stopped, for Fell’s mind and the powers of the Sight were moving amongst them again. Their eyes were filled with fear and doubt, and several of them dropped down on their forepaws and began to whimper bitterly. One though, on the bank behind them, was out of Fell’s sight line and too far away to be touched. In several leaps he was springing out across the river, followed by many others.

“Fell,” cried Khaz suddenly. “Behind you, Fell.”

The black wolf swung his head, and the closest Vengerid suddenly spun on one of the rocks and was cast with a howl into the churning waters. The others stopped immediately, muttering furiously, and crept back onto the far bank, terrified by Fell and the strange powers of the Sight.

“So,” growled Jalgan, “it’s true what I’ve heard of you, Fell BlackWolf. And you’re strong indeed, as I saw that day. Strong enough to join the Vengerid, perhaps.”

Fell’s eyes were locked on Jalgan’s.

“Never, cur. I’m no Marjan.”

“Why not, wolf? Do you fear the truth of nature? Perhaps though, after all my years of wandering and searching, at last I’ve found a worthy opponent to face my challenge. Worthier than that foolish Sikla, Huttser.”

Fell snarled.

“And I’ve looked into your mind, Jalgan,” he said dangerously, “and seen there what you plan to do to my father and mother. In hate and dishonour.”

Something like real fear crept into Jalgan’s brutal face.

“Huttser and Palla were your … ?”

“Yes, Jalgan. They were my parents. And now you would try and kill my brothers and sisters too. So I’ll kill you instead, Jalgan, and show you the meaning of pain.”

Even Jalgan was shaking badly, but his blood was up too.

“Bravely spoken, Fell,” he whispered, “for one who would use the forces of darkness to fight, and not nature. For one who’s not a true wolf at all.”

Fell felt the insult deeply and snarled again.

“For one who has not the courage to fight with honour,” Jalgan went on, feeling his own courage returning, “like a Dragga and a true wolf, but one who uses tricks and lies instead.”

“I’ve the courage to fight you like a wolf,” growled Fell, “and to kill you too.”

Jalgan smiled.

“Without the Sight, Fell? You’ll face the challenge without the Sight?”

Fell hesitated only momentarily.

“Yes, Jalgan, without the Sight. But now I’ll make a bargain with you. If I do this thing and kill you, then the Vengerid leave this place, never to return.”

Jalgan did not hesitate, for he was larger than Fell and much more powerful. He thought it an easy pact, and one he would never have to fulfil.

“Hear that, Vengerid,” he growled to his comrades. “It shall be so. And none shall intervene. Jalgan has spoken.”

“But, Fell,” whispered Tarlar at his side, “use your powers. Then we’ll all fight together.”

“No, Tarlar,” answered Fell sadly, thinking of Pantheos’s words—
Know thyself
, “I’ve given my word and I would be a wolf again.”

“But, Fell, dear Fell, he’s larger than you and—”

Jalgan heard the tenderness with which Tarlar addressed Fell, and it hurt his angry heart.

“Fight me, dog,” he snarled furiously, “and die like the Sikla you are.”

Jalgan and Fell sprang at each other, as the Vengerid and the little pack looked on. The two great wolves clashed in midair. For a moment they seemed suspended there, and then they both spun round, snapping and snarling in the grass, a flailing mass of muzzles and jaws and teeth, their prone claws searching for each other’s body. Two giant males at war.