Moon Chase - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story Read online

  Contents

  Map

  Author Notes

  Dedication

  Chapter One Unwelcome Visitors

  Chapter Two Seeing is Believing

  Chapter Three Saran Jail

  Chapter Four Trial by Order

  Chapter Five The Verdict

  Chapter Six Lovage Hall

  Chapter Seven Fellhounds

  Chapter Eight Jail Break

  Chapter Nine Morning Callers

  Chapter Ten An Early Start

  Chapter Eleven The Friendless Journey

  Chapter Twelve The Moon Chase

  Chapter Thirteen Wraithe Wolves

  Chapter Fourteen Heading Home

  Chapter Fifteen Ambush

  Chapter Sixteen Flight into the Night

  Chapter Seventeen Rescue

  Chapter Eighteen Wil’s Choice

  Chapter Nineteen Lovage Hall Again

  Chapter Twenty A Parting Gift

  Chapter Twenty-one From out of the Forest

  Copyright

  Author Notes

  Cathy Farr has wanted an Irish Wolfhound since she was a teenager, but she had to wait over twenty years to own one. Moon Chase is inspired by Cathy’s wolfhound, Finn. Finn stands at eye level with most children and it was their reaction to her giant hound that inspired the Fellhounds of this story. Cathy has written short pieces for BBC Radio Wales and press articles; she once re-wrote an article by her boss that nearly got her sacked! Moon Chase is Cathy’s first novel and the second in this series is already well underway.

  For Tim

  And

  Marion

  for

  keeping the faith

  CHAPTER ONE

  Unwelcome Visitors

  A morning chill fogged the boy’s breath as he blew into his cupped hands. High above him two pale half-moons clung to the night sky, while around him watery autumn sunlight seeped through the dawn mist, not yet warm enough to see it off. Thesker Fell was at its best at this time – too early for the midges and too light for the predatory eagards that hunted on the wing during nightfall.

  In front of the boy, the vast lands of Thesk rolled into the distance. The hills smouldered brown and orange as the sun-crisped heather, burnt by the unrelenting sunshine of long, blistering summer months, steamed silently. To his left, off towards the edge of a dark forest, a herd of young deer grazed peacefully. Next to the boy, a huge, shaggy hound sat perched on its haunches sniffing the dawn air – its bright amber eyes watched the young animals.

  ‘Only one more day to go Farrow and then we can finally go home,’ said the boy, cutting into a generous wedge of cheese that he retrieved from his bag. There was also a large, once fresh, loaf. But looking down at the mouldy offering, he wrinkled his nose and hurled the bread high into the air where a huge black raven swooped down, grabbed it out of the sky and made for the trees.

  The boy munched the cheese absently and stroked the hound’s soft haunches as it gnawed at a piece of soggy hide.

  ‘Just one more day, hey, girl? One more day… but I’ll bet old Mortens’ll still be angry when we get back!’

  Farrow sat up and laid her huge head in the boy’s lap. Her straggly eyebrows twitched as she listened to the sound of his voice in the morning quiet. Gently curling her velvety ear in his fingers, the boy frowned.

  ‘I mean, it wasn’t as if –’

  But that was as far as he got.

  Farrow sat bolt upright on her haunches. Towering over the boy, she fixed her gaze into the mist, her ears pricked as she strained to listen. In one eye-watering gulp Seth swallowed the cheese.

  ‘What is it, girl?’ he whispered. The urgency in his tone gave away his fear. He slowly reached for his crossbow and listened hard. There was no sound – no sound at all – not even the rhythmic munching of the deer. Something was wrong. But just as his fingers clasped around the bow, a missile whistled through the air and hit him hard on the temple. He dropped where he sat. With that, four men charged from the forest - one was reloading a sling-shot. Two others brandished vicious-looking swords and the fourth wielded a huge axe - all four pelted towards the fallen boy.

  ‘I said take the hound down first, you idiot!’ yelled one.

  ‘I was trying!’ retorted another, pulling his sling back for a second attempt.

  ‘Well, do it Duncan, DO IT NOW!’

  But with a powerful spring, Farrow was on her feet. She bounded straight into the advancing group bowling three of the men down a steep slope away from her master. Unfortunately the man called Duncan stepped clear, stood firm and took aim again. But before he could release his second missile Farrow was on him, tossing him easily into the air.

  SNAP! He landed heavily and lay motionless with his head twisted round at an odd angle - the rock was still sitting snugly in his sling.

  With barely time to take a breath Farrow spied one of the others clawing his way back up the slope, but the rising sun glinted off his sword blinding her with flashes of pink light. She closed her eyes and aimed for the scent of his sweat. His scream was brief and as she released his limp body, blood dripped through her teeth onto the grass.

  But still there was no let-up. More men had appeared and were hastily herding the deer into the forest, but there were too many of them for her to tackle alone. Then a movement caught Farrow’s eye – the two surviving attackers were heading towards the forest dragging her master’s limp body with them. With a blood-curdling howl that echoed around the quiet hills, the hound careered forward. Terrified, the men dropped the boy and pelted, screaming towards the trees. In three massive strides Farrow blocked their way – her head lowered, teeth bared. But with a defiant yell one of the men charged, wielding his blade high above his head. Lashing wildly, he caught Farrow’s shoulder with a lucky blow and cut deep into her muscle. Her agonised howl ripped through the air while the sight of her own blood sent her into a frenzy. Unfortunately for her attacker, his second blow missed her completely. She sprang forward and pinned him to the ground by his throat until she had crushed the life out of his struggling body.

  Only one remained, but he was much closer to the stricken boy than Farrow.

  Man and hound stood panting, eyeing each other for a brief moment. Suddenly the man threw his head back, let out an insane laugh and charged towards the boy with his axe raised. Speeding forward with her head low, Farrow got there just in time. The axe fell. It sliced through her right ear, glanced off her wrought iron collar and thudded into the ground. In a flash she flicked her head round and snapped her immense jaws shut - the headless body crumpled like a discarded rag doll as she swallowed.

  Blood oozed from the deep slash on her shoulder and trickled in a crimson river down her leg. Panting madly, Farrow looked down at the lifeless body of the boy lying at her feet. She whimpered quietly and licked his face, gently nuzzling her nose into his neck but he lay stone still. Blood trickled from a gaping wound on his temple into the well of his ear and spilled into a pool in the dew-sodden grass.

  Farrow barked loudly at the boy but he didn’t move. She tugged at his tunic and tried to drag him by his collar but the fabric gave way and she fell backwards onto her haunches with the cloth hanging limp in her clenched teeth.

  The great hound sat and sniffed the air, then like an arrow she took off towards an overgrown path that led into the forest. At the edge of the dark woods she skidded to a halt and looked back at the boy as if she was hoping that he might call her back – but he didn’t. So, with an anguished howl she took off into the densely packed beech, oak and pine.

  Her huge strides covered the ground in huge sweeps as she sped on, stopping every now and again to sn
iff the damp air before launching deeper into the forest.

  Quiet darkness closed-in behind her as she ploughed through matted undergrowth and weaved between broad tree trunks. Even when a rabbit, startled by Farrow’s sudden arrival, sprang out of the darkness, she ignored the opportunity for a hunt and galloped on. At a steep waterfall she skidded to a halt, doubled back four paces and charged, clearing the swirling water in one bound.

  A long time later a sun-filled clearing opened-up in her path. But as she exploded into the light - SWOOSH! - she was hauled high into the air and held swinging between two bowing pine trees.

  Panic-stricken, the hound gnashed at the bindings that held her fast. She barked and barked but the more she thrashed the more the ropes bit cruelly into her already slashed flesh. Finally, on the edge of exhaustion, she lay still and howled in frustration and pain…

  Wil Calloway woke with a jolt. The mottled light of the forest had been replaced by the dusty gloom of his own bedroom. He lay on his bed breathing heavily. It was a dream – of course! But what a weird dream - a massive dog - a boy he didn’t know – fighting – blood, lots of blood and howling, howling….. Wil sat up wiping beads of sweat from his temple and rubbed his eyes but the animal’s howls still rang in his ears. He shook his head and banged his ear but the terrible noise went on and on.

  Still half-asleep he tumbled out of bed and stubbed his toe as he stepped barefoot into the tiny circular living room of the home he shared with his mother. But, although breakfast was laid out on the small table she was nowhere to be seen – then he remembered her saying something the night before about going over to Upper Minton to sell some chickens and guessed she had gone early to catch the morning market. Bleary-eyed, he ducked through the door way and limped out of the little, stone cottage into the morning air. His toe throbbed.

  Now he really could hear an animal howling and by the look of things the entire village could hear it too! Quickly Wil scooped up a hand-full of water from the barrel outside the front door and threw it over his face – the chill shocked him fully awake. All around him morning chores and games lay abandoned - people had stopped chopping wood and shoeing horses, washing sat in bubbling suds and discarded wooden toys were scattered on the ground. Everyone was running towards the noise, wielding whatever they could grab that might prove a useful weapon. Dashing back indoors, Wil grabbed his sword, pulled on his battered boots and then set off in the same direction as the sea of people.

  ‘It’s one of them Fell ‘ounds from up on Thesker,’ yelled a villager up ahead.

  A tall man brandishing a hoe craned his thin neck to get a better view of the woodland clearing over the heads of the gathering crowd.

  ‘Can’t see anyone with it – maybe it’s lost? Thesker’s got to be five leagues from here!’

  ‘I’ll bet his master’s been killed!’ guessed a tiny woman. She was clutching a frying pan in her fist as if her life depended on it. ‘Lord Rexmoore’s men have been up to their tricks again no doubt. Our Jonah told me he’d seen three of those murdering thugs two days ago up at East Lake.’

  ‘You know what those beasts are like with no master – vicious they are! Just kill it – at least it’ll stop this row,’ shouted the hoe carrier above Farrow’s howls.

  Another woman, holding a chicken protectively under her arm, forced her nose between the shoulders of two sturdy men to get a good look.

  ‘It’s wounded already,’ she announced, wrinkling her nose. ‘All that blood! The pain’s makin’ it mad!’

  By now a crowd of almost fifty people had gathered – men, women and children drawn as much by their parents’ curiosity as the horrendous noise coming from Farrow.

  Taller than many of the other villagers, Wil pushed forward, keeping an eye out for his mother. Just as Wil caught up with the woman holding the chicken three cloaked figures marched purposefully through the crowd and a voice boomed out from somewhere behind them.

  ‘Make way for the Elders of Mistlegard!’

  People stepped aside, gathering up straggling children. But as the Elders swept past they stepped forward again like an in-coming tide - although everyone was careful to keep a healthy distance from the hound trapped in the netting in the centre of the clearing. With barely a glance at Farrow, the Elders huddled together talking in low tones with their heads bowed. The villagers muttered and jostled impatiently while they waited – seldom was there so much excitement in Mistlegard!

  Wil eased past a woman who glared at him as he trod on her toe and then a man yelped when the hilt of Wil’s sword jabbed into his ribs. Wil smiled apologetically and continued to wade towards the clearing where he could see a massive, blood-soaked hound - the stricken animal from his dream.

  After only a few moments, one of the Elders - a tall man with a jagged scar across his right cheek - raised his hand for silence and, without waiting for quiet, spoke loudly.

  ‘As the elected Elders of Mistlegard, Garth Fengal, Madam Gaskhill and I are in agreement. This beast is obviously badly wounded and dangerous. As her master has not come forward we order that she must be destroyed and I call for the village slaughterer.’

  Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd and a voice from the back shouted, ‘‘ENRY! I ‘OPE YER SPEAR’S SHARP!’

  Henry, the village slaughterer, barged his way from the back, but as he got nearer, his pace slowed and his flabby pink cheeks lost quite a lot of their colour! Several paces away from the trapped animal he stopped and raised his spear above his head. His eyes flicked nervously from one Elder to the other while he waited for the order to strike; Farrow, now lying quite still, didn’t take her eyes off him.

  The Elder who had spoken before raised his right hand and opened his mouth to give the order – everyone else held their breath.

  Unable to think of anything else to do, Wil shouted.

  ‘WAIT!’

  To his surprise everyone turned towards him. Trying his best to look confident, Wil pushed his way towards the Elders. Allowing him just enough room to squeeze past, everyone closed in and leant on each other’s shoulders to get a better view as the drama took a new twist.

  ‘I know this hound,’ Wil announced loudly. Then turning to the Elders, he lowered his voice and said, ‘Well, actually, your Worships, I don’t know her in the true sense - I, er, I think I dreamt about her this morning.’

  Immediately gory images from the dream flooded back into his mind - the vision of an unconscious boy bleeding into the grass somewhere out on the Fells was the most vivid by far.

  ‘I’m pretty sure that her master is badly wounded. He’s on Thesker Fell. I think she’s come because she can’t help him on her own… um… her name’s Farrow, by the way.’

  ‘Huh! How can you know this, Wil Calloway?’ Madam Gaskhill asked. Her voice full of scorn, she eyed him suspiciously. ‘Your dreams have been wrong before, boy! Few of us have forgotten your prophesy last spring, when you ran around telling everyone that the village was going to be over-run by wild animals. My children still have nightmares after your vivid tales!’

  ‘I know, Ma’am, but at least here we do have one half of my dream. This hound’s name is Farrow and she’s come for our help, I know it.’

  Wil took a cautious step towards the hound. The crowd gasped and, as one, took a step back. Farrow looked directly into Wil’s eyes and whimpered softly. The image of the sticken boy reappeared in his mind stronger than ever.

  ‘Garth, please, you must believe me,’ Wil begged the remaining elder who as yet had not spoken - a bearded man with kind eyes. ‘Let me cut her down. I give you my word that she won’t hurt anyone. If she does…. well, you can kill me after you’ve killed her!’

  Garth raised his eyebrows and held up the palm of his hand.

  ‘Now Wil, I don’t think there’s any call for talk like that! Your mother would never forgive me!’ Then Garth turned to Madam Gaskhill. ‘After all, Matilda, he was right about the pig being attacked just before your daughter’s marriage… tha
nks to Wil you were still able to serve roast pork at the wedding feast! And what about the ewes up at East Lake – we could have lost a lot more without Wil’s warning!’

  Madam Gaskhill’s eyes flashed. She had obviously made-up her mind about Wil and was not willing to listen to any arguments in his defence.

  ‘I know, but … well, anyone can be right once in their lives! And there have been several times when this boy has been wrong and we’ve all gone to a lot of trouble to avoid something that just didn’t happen!’

  Wil risked interrupting.

  ‘With all due respect Ma’am… Sirs, if I am right, I don’t think we’ve really got a great deal of time to debate this. There’s someone out there who’ll die without our help - I know there is. And this hound is the only way we’ll find him. Look - let me cut her down - I’m sure she’ll take me to him.’

  Then he took another step towards Farrow. She lay still and fixed him with her bright, amber eyes. Garth looked from Wil to the hound and back again and pressed his lips tightly together. A drop of dark blood dripped from the netting. Wil could feel his frustration building. He wanted to scream out, ‘This is taking too long!’

  At last Garth spoke.

  ‘Wil, if you’re willing to take this risk, I will agree that the hound should be given a chance. But, I warn you now, one move towards the village and she will die by my own blade. Madam Gaskhill? …. Master Gerald?’ Garth folded his long fingers around the hilt of a sword that he wore at his side.

  ‘I agree,’ said Master Gerald after another painfully long silence. Madam Gaskhill’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into her hairline, but Gerald continued, raising his voice for the benefit of the crowd.

  ‘I suggest that the rest of you step back to safety while Wil cuts the animal down.’ Then he turned to Wil and whispered, ‘And takes control of it!’

  ‘But,’ he went on, raising his voice again for the benefit of the crowd, while keeping his gaze firmly on Wil’s face, ‘If it shows the slightest sign of aggression I, too, will assist in its immediate destruction!’