Moon Chase - A Fellhounds of Thesk Story Read online

  While they waited for an explanation, Wil looked up towards Tel Harion. The hillside was covered with specks of black – all moving towards the Hollow – very quickly.

  ‘Mortimer,’ said Wil with a calm he did not feel.

  ‘No, Wil, I really want to hear what this idiot thinks he was up to!’

  Wil watched the specks getting bigger by the second.

  ‘Uh, Mort, mate, I really think you should have a look at this,’ insisted Wil.

  Irritated, Mortimer span round and followed Wil’s pointing finger.

  ‘RUN!’ he yelled and grabbed Seth’s arm. They pelted at full speed for the narrow gap in the rocks that lead to Dead Man’s Beck. The others, including Farrow, followed.

  No-one dared to look back as they ducked through the gap and stopped dead – just in time.

  ‘Oh great!’ said Wil as he tried not to look down.

  A long, narrow ledge spread out on either side of them. Below – quite a long way below - was a glistening green pool flowing into a series of long rapids. To their left, the ledge ended abruptly; to their right the ledge narrowed into a path that seemed to lead back up onto the Fell.

  Seth immediately turned and headed up the path, but Farrow let out a single warning bark.

  ‘Oh, come on girl,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘It’s the only way out!’

  ‘It’s also the way in!’ said Gisella flatly. ‘Seth, on three, I need you to drop to your knees.’

  ‘Now look, I’m not begging anyone for anything!’ Seth glared at her. But behind him a Wraithe Wolf stole around the bend into his path. Very slowly, Gisella raised her crossbow.

  ‘THREE!’ she yelled and fired - the boy dropped to the ground just in time.

  The wolf wobbled for a moment – for one horrendous second Wil thought Gisella had missed, but then the life flickered out of its eyes and it toppled sideways off the ledge. A full second later there was a distant splash.

  ‘I don’t think that way is going to get us out of trouble,’ said Gisella, loading her bow automatically without taking her eyes off the path. Her statement was confirmed by a rumbling growl.

  ‘There’s only one way to go,’ announced Mortimer. ‘For those who want to live – JUMP NOW!’

  Mortimer ran forward, kicked himself off the ledge and disappeared.

  As the growling snarl grew louder Wil, Gisella and Seth looked at each other.

  ‘Come on,’ Wil said. ‘You too, Farrow!’

  The shock of the icy water took Wil’s breath away. Luckily his cloak had billowed-out as he landed and for a few moments it acted like a float, trapping air between it and the water. But the water quickly soaked into the heavy cloth and now Wil was fighting hard to get to the bank before he got dragged down.

  After only a brief struggle - and a lot of splashing - his foot kicked a large rock. He found his footing and balanced for a moment to get his breath and survey the scene. To his amazement he was still clutching the hunting knife.

  Farrow was already out of the water, climbing onto the opposite bank. She shook herself from head to tail and then tottered along the stony shore-line searching the deep pool into which they had just landed.

  The sounds of annoyed spluttering a little way back up the river told him that Gisella was still alive – she was stumbling through the shallows towards Farrow. Her thigh was soaked in bright red blood – Wil prayed that she hadn’t been caught by the Wraithe Wolf just before they had jumped.

  He was just about to shout over to her when a low groan came from somewhere behind him. At first he couldn’t see where the noise was coming from, but then he caught a movement in the branches of a thick bush that stretched out over the pool.

  ‘Mortimer? Seth?’ he called out, searching the bank.

  The groan sounded again, then a wheezing cough. Wil jumped off his rock and half scrambled, half paddled across the rocky bank as quickly as his heavy, soaking clothes would let him. Hindered by his cloak once again, he eventually got close enough to see that the body suspended in the bush was Mortimer. The Chaser was dangling across a thick branch. The branches above were snapped and battered and Wil guessed that they must have broken Mortimer’s fall, although, from the sound of it, he was hurt.

  ‘Gisella, over here – it’s Mortimer. He’s caught in the bush – I think he’s injured.’ Wil called out and thrashed his way towards the dangling young man. ‘Mortimer… Mort… can you hear me? Are you OK?’

  ‘Urgh, yer… I think I am, but… can’t breathe too well…huruhh,’ panted Mortimer as he tried to free himself. ‘Something’s stopping me… from getting…uhh… freeee…’

  With a huge effort Wil fought his way through the tangle of branches. Mortimer’s cloak was wound around the branch above him and was preventing him from either coming down or turning around.

  ‘You look like a discarded doll!’ said Wil, trying not to laugh now he knew that the Fellman was alright.

  ‘I feel a bit like one…urgh… right now!’ Mortimer groaned. Gisella splashed into view.

  ‘Mortimer, are you alright?’ Her scared voice filtered across the freezing cold pool; she waded back in and started to swim across from the other side. Wil watched in admiration. Her graceful strokes pulled her quickly through the water – his swimming style was far more splash than speed!

  She reached the tree in no time at all and between them they managed to cut the knotted cloak. Free at last, Mortimer plopped inelegantly into the water.

  ‘My ribs hurt like hell, but at least I was dry!’ he said, spitting water out of his mouth as he re-surfaced.

  The three of them waded and swam to the nearest bank and were just catching their breath when Farrow’s deep bark echoed around the surrounding cliffs.

  ‘Look, it’s Seth!’ shouted Wil and took off towards Farrow. Just in front of her, heading for the rapids, Seth was thrashing and gasping.

  ‘I…. can’t… sw…’ and then he disappeared under the water.

  Farrow’s barking reached fever-pitch. Wil stumbled across the rocks, frantically grappling with the leather buckle that fastened his water-logged cloak around his neck. But his frozen fingers couldn’t grip and he cursed as his fingers slipped off the wet leather. In desperation he tore the heavy cloak over his head – ripping it in the process, and tossed the soaking bundle into the shallow water. Then he dived towards the spot where Seth had gone under.

  Wil swam down deep into the freezing water, desperately peering through the murky green - the crushing cold made his head feel like it was going to explode. Just as his lungs threatened to burst, a pale hand drifted in front of him. He grabbed at it and heaved upwards; kicking his leaden legs with every ounce of strength he had left. But although he could see the light above, the surface didn’t seem to be getting any nearer. Wil gripped Seth’s arm and with one final supreme effort his head finally burst above the surface. He gasped great gulps of wonderful fresh air.

  ‘Give him here; I’ll take him, Wil.’ Gisella grabbed Seth’s white chin in her cupped hand and swam towards Farrow who was up to her chest in the water, barking and barking.

  Mortimer waded-in past the distressed hound and dragged Wil the final few feet to the bank. Wil flopped down on the pebbles, absolutely exhausted.

  Beside him, Gisella was doing her best to breathe life back into Seth’s still frame.

  ‘Come ON, you stupid boy!’ she shouted in desperate frustration and banged down hard on his chest with both fists.

  A gush of water flowed out of Seth’s mouth - he gasped and started coughing and spluttering. Gisella burst into relieved, exhausted tears.

  ‘Thanks,’ Seth managed to croak to Gisella after a moment.

  ‘It’s not me you need to thank – it’s him,’ she said pointing to Wil, who was still lying on the ground. ‘Wil Calloway – that’s who you need to thank – for saving your life!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Heading Home

  Despite their cold, wet clothes and the stones digging i
n their backs, all four of them had fallen instantly to sleep once they were all safely on the bank of the river.

  Wil was woken by the smell of wood-smoke. He opened his eyes to see Farrow pressed right up against Seth who was still snoring gently. Wil noticed how small the boy looked against the huge hound. Farrow appeared to be dozing, but even the slightest noise made her look up – she was watching over them.

  The smoke was coming from a small fire that Mortimer was patiently nursing into life. The sun was high in the sky. All around them, hanging over the surrounding bushes and branches were various items of clothing - including, Wil smiled, Old Mr Barrowman’s cloak – well, he thought to himself, it had certainly brought him more luck than it had brought the old man!

  His whole body ached as he made his way over to join Mortimer across the stony bank and his boots squelched; he plonked down on a rock, took one of them off and turned it upside down – water dribbled onto the pebbles. He did the same with the other one.

  ‘Look what I found when I was hanging your cloak out to dry,’ said Mortimer proudly, pointing to three silvery-pink salmon cooking over the flames. They smelt absolutely delicious and immediately reminded Wil that he hadn’t eaten properly since they had left Saran the previous day.

  The fish were skewered onto long sticks and Mortimer turned them over carefully and then looked up at Wil.

  ‘Nearly cooked – shame we haven’t got any …’ Mortimer stopped mid-sentence and stared at Wil’s arm. Wil looked down too – his shirt was soaked in blood. He guessed that his torn shoulder must have opened up again in the struggle to save Seth.

  ‘You got injured – back there – I’d forgotten,’ Mortimer’s voice was level. He went back to turning the fish.

  ‘Yer,’ answered Wil, trying to sound casual. ‘Good job I was wearing that cloak – could have been a lot worse, hey?’

  ‘But the Order – they said…’

  ‘We all know what they said Mortimer, but I think that Wil has shown us what he’s really made of by now, don’t you?’ Gisella was striding towards them, hackles up. She was holding her mail and leather top over her arm. Her shirt was covered in green slime from the rocks and the right thigh of her breeches was brown with thick, dried blood.

  ‘Do you honestly think that a guilty man would have fought so hard last night to protect us, Mortimer Merridown? Or cut you free back there, when he could have taken the opportunity to make a run for it? Or risked his own life to save the boy he was originally accused of trying to murder – do you?’

  ‘Well, er… of course not,’ Mortimer answered defensively. ‘But I’m not sure that the Order will see it that way, Gisella – not with Godwyn Savidge and Oswald Beck involved!’

  Wil noticed that Mortimer had tactfully avoided mentioning Gisella’s own mother, Fermina, who had been equally convinced of Wil’s guilt.

  ‘Look, for the moment, let’s just agree not to talk about it, OK. We’ve got a few other problems to sort out first, before we face the Order – the main one being – how we get home!’ conceded Mortimer. Gisella backed down, placated for the time being, but Wil was not at all convinced they had heard the last of it.

  He watched Gisella wander further along the bank until she found a suitable bush from which to hang her soggy clothes. Then she took off her torn trousers. Wil couldn’t help noticing her long, slender legs – pale from wearing Fell clothing all the time - despite the blistering summer that had burned across Thesk that year. She draped the wet trousers next to her mail shirt and returned to crouch close to the fire. Wil could see tiny goose bumps over her arms and legs.

  Despite the lateness of the season, the sun shone into the sheltered bay and soon warmed them through. The sound of flowing water diluted the horrific memories of the previous night and helped to drown out the terrible howling that still rang in Wil’s ears. He stared into the calm waters of the deep pool and wondered what had happened to Giles – or rather the Wraithe Wolf that Giles had become. He couldn’t stop trying to imagine Giles transforming into a wolf - with hair erupting all over his body, his jaw cracking and stretching, razor sharp teeth burrowing through his gums, pushing out his human ones. Wil squeezed his eyes tight shut and shivered at his thoughts.

  Completely lost in these hideous images, a sudden ‘Crronk, Crronk, Prruk!’ dragged Wil’s attention back to the river bank where he sat.

  A big, black raven was perched on a branch just behind him and swinging from her beak was the pink silk bag! Wil watched, fascinated. Seeing that she had his attention, Pricilla dropped the bag unceremoniously onto the stones, jumped down after it and pecked at the knotted ribbon drawn tight across its neck until finally it loosened and the bag opened. Then she poked her huge beak into the bag and dragged out a smaller, blue one. Wil could see that it had a little label attached to one corner which Pricilla kept picking up and dropping, picking up and dropping.

  ‘Crronk, Prruk, Prruk.’

  After the fourth time, it finally dawned on Wil that she was suggesting he read the label. He reached over and picked up the little package.

  ‘Lady Élanor!’ Wil murmured to himself and smiled.

  ‘Crronk!’ Pricilla nudged the larger bag towards him and then took off up into the sky, where she flipped an elegant somersault and disappeared over the cliff top high above him.

  Wil turned the blue bundle over and over in his fingers and read the label again. OK, so Pricilla obviously meant for him to use this on his shoulder, but how was he going to cover the wound – everything he had was wet and he certainly didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a clean bandage!

  ‘What’ve you got there,’ asked Gisella suspiciously from behind him. Unsure how long she had been watching he chanced a lie.

  ‘Oh, nothing!’

  But he shifted awkwardly and kicked the bag at his feet – out rolled a crisp white bandage. Another label, fastened tightly around it with a piece of twine read:

  He couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

  ‘Nothing, hey? What’s that then?’ Gisella persisted, although she was smiling, too.

  ‘Oh, it’s something that Lady Élanor and Tally made for me.’

  ‘Didn’t Giles throw something like that away when he ransacked your bag?’ asked Gisella frowning at the memory.

  ‘Na, I had this tucked in my trousers!’ Wil lied to her again. He didn’t know if Gisella knew about Lady Élanor’s raven, Pricilla.

  ‘Look, it’s a first aid kit for an idiot!’ He showed her the bandage and the little blue bag. She read the labels and then peered at his shoulder, which had started to throb with a dull ache.

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm to cover that up and we’d better get that blood off your shirt while we’re about it - if nothing else it’ll stop Master Tanner from asking any awkward questions!’

  Wil pulled off his blood-stained shirt and dropped it into a rock-pool, then without another word, Gisella sprinkled the powder onto his shoulder. As soon as the pale green dust touched his skin the burning pain from the cut completely disappeared and the dull ache that had troubled him all morning melted away. Then she deftly bound his shoulder with the crisp bandage.

  With his shoulder dressed, Wil squeezed the water out of his shirt and pulled it back on before Seth saw the dressing. Gisella sat back and admired her handy work. A trickle of fresh blood leaked from the neat slice in her thigh.

  ‘Right, if this stuff’s good enough for me, it’s going to be good enough for that’ Wil said shaking the little blue package and pointing at her leg. Just then Mortimer approached Wil’s makeshift sick bay.

  ‘What are you two up to?’

  ‘It’s Wil’s first aid kit – Lady Élanor gave it to him.’ Gisella spoke in a cheerful tone while Mortimer eyed the green powder in Wil’s cupped hand.

  ‘Have you used it?’ he asked pointedly, nodding towards Wil’s shoulder.

  ‘Yep, and now we’re going to put some on Gisella’s leg!’ Wil announced and sprinkled
the green dust over her wound.

  ‘Good plan, Wil. How’d you do it, Giz?’ Mortimer asked

  ‘I think I must have caught it on a branch as I dropped into the pool. I didn’t get much of a launch off the top – well, actually it was more of a drag really!’ she said looking at Wil reproachfully.

  Wil tore another strip of bandage before he spoke – the roll seemed to go on forever!

  ‘Sorry, but I didn’t see that we had any other choice and… well, urh… I’m not great with heights, so if I hadn’t gone then I’d probably still be up there!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Gisella smiling. ‘I’d probably still be up there with you - I’d never have gone over on my own!’

  Gisella kept her finger on the knot while Wil was fastening the bandage when they were joined by Seth. He looked groggy and damp, but otherwise OK.

  ‘Bandages?’ he said, looked at the pieces of cloth on the ground and then at Gisella’s bound leg. ‘Did someone get hurt?’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Gisella!’

  Like a bolt from a bow, Mortimer and Gisella answered at exactly the same time.

  Seth looked at Gisella then Wil and then back at Gisella’s bound leg. The picture seemed to match the answer so, satisfied, he turned back to Wil.

  ‘Apparently I owe you my thanks,’ he said to Wil, although the sullen look on his face didn’t suggest that he really was grateful.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it!’ said Gisella in a cool tone.

  ‘But my father - everyone - said that you tried to kill me – up on Thesker Fell. Why did you do that and then save me back there?’ Seth gestured back towards the water looking confused.

  Although Wil heard Gisella’s sharp intake of breath, it was Mortimer who spoke first.

  ‘You still don’t get it do you, Tanner? I don’t know who did try to kill you the other day, but I honestly believe that this person is not the one!’ He pointed towards Wil, but kept his eyes fixed on Seth. ‘I believe what he said in the Great Hall - that he was trying to save you – just like he helped us up there last night – and just like he risked his own life to save you this morning. If it wasn’t for Wil, Giles Savidge wouldn’t be the only one up there running with the Wraithe Wolves right now!’