Crik (8 page)

Another wolf lay pron
e
, watching from the tangled weeds. The other wolves circled, wary of the strange behaviour of the large black. These were leaner, their ribs protruding through white and grey fur.

‘Bill can you take control of the other three?’

Bill, keeping a firm hold on the large black wolf, shook his head. His face had grown pale. ‘I can only concentrate on keeping Black with us. He’s the pack leader, but they’re starving, they will attack.’

Black would kill any one of the other wolves, though he had little chance against three. The nearest wolf, snapping its jaws, inched closer. Jack braced himself for the assault, when Black bared his sabres. Threatened by the bigger predator, the animal retreated into the trees.

‘They are circling,’ warned Bill.

Following Bill’s wavering finger, Jack spotted another wolf moving toward him through the foliage. Staying low, the wolf moved on silent feet, probing for any lapse in their guard. Black growled from deep in his throat. Showing no sign of his former allegiance to the pack, he forced back the smaller wolf.

‘We can’t stay here forever,’ said Jack. ‘Sooner or later they will attack. Black can’t fight them all.’

The poor light only allowed Yang to appear as a ghost outline. The shadow rustled a clump of ferns, startling the encroaching beasts.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Bill cried, ‘I only wanted to have a wolf.’

‘Well you’ve got one, and a few more besides. Your wolf scares them; or we’d already be dog meat. He isn’t starving like the others.’

‘Well they’re fed up of going without.’

Two wolves crept forward, their eyes set securely upon Black’s hulking, menacing, form.

Bill, tight against Black, fidgeted with his hat.

‘Bill, give Black room to fight.’ If he didn’t move, Bill would get hurt, as well as get in the way of their only protection.

An eerie silence descended; each of the animals bared long teeth, waiting for some subtle sign to attack. Backtracking away from the immediate danger, Bill bumped into Jack. Jack, intent on seeking an avenue of escape, cried out in alarm, breaking the hush.

Two wolves attacked, the third stayed, waiting for its chance to join the fray. Only Black’s quick speed saved his neck from the jaws of the first wolf. The assailant’s teeth snapped shut on a hunk of fur, tearing long dark hair from the larger wolf’s shoulder. From the right, the second wolf arrested Black’s attention. Both larger and more aggressive than its cousin, it sought the black wolf’s soft underbelly. One huge paw swiped four great furrows across the attacker’s muzzle, releasing ribbons of red blood. Clamping his teeth down on the exposed neck, Black punctured an artery. Before the blood had time to clot in the grey fur, Black had dropped the lifeless husk. Standing over his dead opponent, Black turned on the smaller wolf. He towered over his challenger, his head twice the size of the greys; his yellow fangs made the other’s canines feeble in comparison.

Jack judged the grey wolf stood thirty inches at the shoulder; Black far outreached that, standing at an impossible forty-five inches. The starved wolf weighed eighty pounds, whereas Black must have a hundred and fifty pounds of flesh and muscle on his bones. Black’s pelage contributed to his overall size, with the thick coat creating mounds of knotted hair. Contending with two foes negated his size advantage; keeping the outcome of the fight uncertain.

Snarling, the wolf standing stiff-legged amongst the trees broke through to both wolves. Ignoring his nearer foe, Black locked eyes with the female; they both stood rigid, stretching themselves to their full height. The female, larger than the other attackers, remained smaller than Black. Both wolves held their tails vertical, curling them toward their backs, where the hair bristled.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Jack.

‘I read about this. They are staring each other down.’ Bill looked excited to see something he had learned come to life. ‘Whoever pacifies the other will be the dominant wolf.’

‘This will be over when Black wins?’ Jack hoped so, his nerves thrummed like tuning forks up his arms.

Black, his coat blending into the shadow of a curled oak, strode forward with erect ears. The wolf, which had bit Black’s shoulder, retreated a few paces, watching the contest with intense interest. Unlike the other members of the pack, the female had meat on her lithe frame. Black’s blue eyes met the other’s golden scrutiny without a flicker as he wound closer on padded paws.

‘Is she his mate?’

Bill nodded. ‘They are the pack’s dominant couple. Grandpa says, during hard times only the alpha pair breed, stopping the others from coupling.’

On reaching her, Black let a growl escape his squared muzzle, intimidating her, the gore colouring his mouth adding to his aggression. The standoff ended when the female lowered her entire body, and drew back her lips and ears. She pointed her tail at the large male in a final act of submission.

‘That was close,’ Bill observed. ‘She looked ready for a fight.’

‘When the wolves appeared, I couldn’t see how we’d ever leave these woods alive.’ Jack looked back up the steep slope, his mind conjuring images of his mother receiving his lifeless body from the Village Elders. Distraught with the thought of her going through such heartbreak made him again rethink their expedition. The wolf stood with unnatural patience for Bill’s next command. Unnerved by the wolf, he said, ‘You best release Black.’ Knowing how crestfallen Bill would be returning to Crik Village without the wolf, made it difficult to say. ‘You know he belongs here.’

‘I’ll let him go once everyone has seen him,’ promised Bill.

‘It’s too dangerous; I shouldn’t have agreed to help you.’

With a flinch, Jack heard the forgotten wolf howl. It sat on its haunches, away from the hierarchical pair, its head held taught, howling at the half-seen sky. A red bird flew from a lofty branch. Before its wings bore it from sight, answering howls met their ears.

‘Oh no,’ Bill cried, looking into the woods from where the howls emanated. ‘What’re we going to do; Black can’t protect us from more.’

Five wolves answered the howl; if they stayed, they would never leave the shadowed dell. ‘Quick, call Black over here.’ Jack heard the frantic pitch in his voice.

‘Why, he can’t fight those coming.’

‘We’ll ride him out of here; he’s powerful enough to bear our weight. Hurry, while we still have a chance.’

Bill needed no more urging; with a hurried flick of his hand, he called Black to his side. The black wolf leapt away from the female, jumping over tree roots and weed strangled boulders to get to them.

The immense size of the lupine once more impressed itself on Jack. He waited for Bill to mount the wolf, feeling confident with the ease Black took his friend’s weight high on his back, that his plan had a chance to work. Settling in behind Bill, he grabbed fistfuls of coarse hair, smelling the musty scent of their unusual mount. Yang took what anchorage he could from the long tail, his shadow fingers coiling over the stiff appendage. Jack doubted his shadow needed to hold on, but felt happier knowing Yang held on tight.

‘Ready!’ came the muffled shout from the front where Bill buried his face between the broad shoulders of the wolf.

The wolf started to run, startling Jack. Despite having ridden unsaddled horses before, the jostle he endured on the back of Mr Tremle’s old steed could not prepare him for the bouncing he now endured. His teeth clattered together at every rise and fall of the four powerful legs carrying him along the winding path. Rounding the first curve in the hunter’s path took them away from the slope Jack had fallen down. Frightened, Jack tried to shout, to tell Bill, only for the powerful lunges to upset his every effort. He wanted to go back home, not go farther from it. A backward glance showed him a lone chasing wolf; he recognised it as the one that had howled. The ground sped by at an incredible speed, the brown and greens blending into mingled streaks.

The dark wood tied in with the wolf’s colouring, only the boy’s clothes gave relief from the pervading darkness. From the lip in the ravine poured white, grey and brown wolves. More than ten of them chased, their jaws open in hungry anticipation.

Waiting until the pack had passed, the female rose to join the hunt.

Despite the rough ride, the coarse hair provided the boys with adequate anchorage to feel confident in each twist and turn the wolf chose. The thorax, rising and falling, like some huge bellows, gave Jack a sense of elation. He understood his friend’s need to show his power off to the rest of the village. However, who commanded the wolf, the boy he had grown up with, or the Hatchling? His fingers loosened their hold at the terrible implications of that question; he managed to regain his grip in time to avoid the branches, which stung his arms and face, from unseating him. Could it be that his friend no longer existed? Had the Hatchling taken command of Bill the same way Black became spellbound? Jack had no doubt that Bill still carried the demon inside him.

Chill water hit them as Black ploughed through a calm river, disturbing a school of salmon beneath the surface. If Jack paid attention, he would have recognised the water for an estuary of the Wednig River, the blue ribbon that fed the foul Boswain Bog.

Raised howls drove them to greater speed. The lush vegetation growing on the riverbanks sped by in a blur of riotous colour and variety. Flowers and fauna not found outside Criklow Wood, fought for the rich soil, taking advantage of the open sky. Stalks of Yapri, rich with sugar, shared land with Norse Brush and Scraggle Weed.

On they ran with the starving wolves snapping at their heels. The wolves whipped through the foliage, navigating their way over rotting logs and other obstacles with much more agility than did their burdened pack master.

Yang picked up stones to throw at their pursuers. His good aim made a wolf whine, and Jack heard the dull thud of another hitting the heavy pelage of a closing predator.

Criklow Wood seemed bent on hindering their escape. Repeatedly they entered an open glade, with good ground to keep running, when the trees hemmed them in once more. Wiry bushes and nests of thorns changed their direction as the wood continued to throw up unexpected obstructions. The thought that something herded them did not escape Jack; it seemed whenever they turned away from the east something drove them back in that direction.

A wolf leapt, its teeth jutting forward from red gums, intent on hamstringing Black. The animal came within a hairsbreadth of disabling the larger wolf when Yang struck the attacking wolf with an enlarged fist, sending it flipping backward. Jack gave a cheer, Bill, with his head buried in the dense fur, never noticed.

The vibrant land altered to muted tones, with the grass appearing dull and flowers giving way to hardier plants. The spongy ground threw discoloured water over Jack and Bill’s knees, and matted Black’s fur in tangled ropes. With the change in terrain, the smaller wolves struggled; many sank into the marshland.

Seeing their chance to escape, Jack shouted ahead, urging Bill to command Black to greater effort. Misty breath expelled from the black wolf’s open maw as it laboured on, trudging through the filthy pools collected around the field they traversed. Trees dwindled in number, with those that did grow, lacking the thick woodland foliage.

‘They’ve stopped chasing us!’

Jack barely understood the gasped shout from ahead; turning he saw the wolves watching them flee with lowered tails

Laughing, Jack hugged Black. He failed to notice the small hut standing alone among the marsh weeds, with smoke rising from a stumped chimney. He also failed to see an open casket filled with bones, leaning against its crumbling foundations.

Black trudged to a sto
p
, his legs submerged in the thick mud; head lowered, breathing hard after the long run. The pack, having given up the chase, slunk back into the woods to disappear from view. Jack wished he could say the sight filled him with joy; instead, a sullen disquiet filled him. Why had the starving beasts given up the chase? Their flight had exhausted Black. To have an easy meal, the pack had only to follow. The wolves’ departure increased his unease, with the greater cause of concern before him.

Cracks split every stone of the house, with moss filling the seams where the mortar had rotted away. Mushrooms, large pale umbrellas, with dark undersides and spotted stems, clustered at the foot of the small dwelling. Stalactites of discoloured water, extended from the reed roof. A cache of bones filled a tall narrow box. Its odd shape, though similar to the caskets found at Long Sleep Cemetery, chilled the air with its ominous remains. Being no expert, Jack could only guess as to what the bones came from. Animal bones, he hoped. Stout bones joined, frail, gangly bones; some had rounded joints, while others had rough edges pitted with dark holes. Neither skulls nor animal horns lay within the odd casket. A small window glowed from the fire that gave birth to the smoke rising from the chimneystack. Focusing his attention on the thin pane of glass, Jack waited to see a silhouette pass, or a white face jump into view.

‘I don’t like this.’ Bill stated the obvious. ‘We should go back.’

‘We can’t, not while those wolves are so close.’ Although Jack wished he could tell Bill to turn Black around, to leave this house alone, he knew it would be suicide to go into the woods.

Marshland extended on all fronts. Among the tall reeds, the sun glinted off ponds. Frog song filled the air, while a heron picked its careful way through the bog. A dark, distant line, tantalised with the promise of the wood continuing on the far side. Not keen to try crossing the miles of treacherous ground between here and there, Jack resigned himself to finding the owner of the house.

Having a pet wolf bolstered his courage, so that when he swung down from Black, his knees did not knock together. Mud sucked his feet down to his ankles, filling his shoes and ruining his socks.

‘Come down Bill,’ he said, ‘let Black pull himself out of the bog.’

Clutching the wolf’s wiry hair in white knuckled fists, Bill looked from Jack to the grey house. Refusing to budge, he sat, mesmerised by the flickering light at the window.

‘Black can’t run anymore,’ said Jack. ‘We’re lucky he had the strength to bring us this far. Let him rest, if we need him he’ll be close enough to help us.’ Jack held out his hand.

‘I’m not scared.’ Bill ignored the offered hand. ‘It’s higher up here, that’s all. I wanted to see if I could spy through that window.’

‘Can you?’

‘No, the sun is reflecting on the glass.’

As Bill clambered down from Black, movement from the house caught Jack’s eye. Spinning around, he only saw swaying rushes growing at the cornerstone.

‘It’s dragging me down,’ cried Bill. The mud had closed around his shoes.

With a helping hand, Jack pulled Bill from the sucking mire.

A steep rise leading to the house, gave them firmer ground underfoot. Arriving at the house, Jack placed his hand on the cold wet stone; he peered around the corner. A wooden wheel with three missing spokes, and a bucket filled with stagnant water, crowded beneath a side window. Though small, the hut had enough space under the makeshift roof for another room. Old stone filled the space where a third window should look out on the grim land.

‘See anything?’ asked Bill, kicking mud from his shoes. Black stayed at his heel.

Jack stared at the side of the house; he felt the way a rabbit must feel looking up at a clear blue sky, not seeing, but knowing the hawk was there, waiting to strike. He shook his head, as much to answer Bill’s query, as to shake himself of the feeling of the blank stone scrutinising him in turn.

‘Someone’s here, no one would leave a fire burning unattended with a reed roof.’ Bill, craning his neck, studied the house. ‘Wonder why they haven’t come out, we made enough noise for them to know we’re here.’

‘Perhaps they’re shy,’ said Jack.

‘Yeah right,’ laughed Bill.

‘Or the sight of two strangers riding a huge black wolf to their doorstep has made them nervous.’

‘I guess that could be why. Hey Yin, tell Yang not to touch those.’

Fascinated with the grisly collection, Jack’s shadow fingered a long leg bone near the bottom of the casket, turning, and then gently pulling it. Horrified, Jack watched with disbelief as Yang attempt to extract the gruesome artefact. Even out here, his shadow got him in trouble. The pile of bones came clattering down in a deafening roar. Without a face, Yang still managed to look sheepish, holding the femur as the rest of the bones piled through his insubstantial waist. To make matters worse, the casket, with a creak, toppled over onto its side, splintering the wood to spill its entire content at their feet.

‘That’s it,’ said Bill, ‘forget about any warm welcome.’

‘Not that I expected one from a place that keeps a stack of bones outside the window.’

‘Do you think they’re human?’

Looking at his friend, Jack believed Bill hoped the remains did belong to someone, as though this were all part of a story, and not a grim reality. Perhaps a lone traveller, driven to the bog by four legged hunters, sought refuge under the reed roof. With enough bones in the fallen casket for ten bodies, Jack stopped himself from further speculation. Mr Gasthem told of families living among the trees; surviving on whatever, or whomever, they could. He shuddered in revulsion. Bill’s eagerness was at odds with his own reticence to the macabre. Having forgotten his earlier fright, Bill stood beside the door, willing it to open.

Bill’s mounting excitement troubled Jack, who, not forgetting the demon, feared where this new courage emanated. Terror, that a silver slash would appear in Bill’s eyes, drove through him, making his head swoon. He took no notice of Yang handling the femur, until Bill snatched it away.

Inspecting the cracked bone, Bill said, ‘It could belong to a man. I’ve seen enough limbs sticking out of the Tristle riverbank to know that.’

‘Put it down, whoever lives here could hear you.’

Bill blanched, which improved Jack’s mood a little, at least his friend hadn’t fully forgotten their predicament.

Black wandered around, sniffing at the discarded wheel, and licking the water from the bucket. His humped back rose to cover the bottom pane of the window.

‘If I saw the wolf, I wouldn’t leave the house,’ confessed Jack.

‘Black?’ replied Bill, dumbfounded. ‘He’s one of us, don’t be silly.’

Jack said nothing; remembering the burning blue eyes amongst the trees.

Not wanting to lose that advantage, Jack pointed toward the front window, where the glow of the fire still flickered. Tight against the stone of the house, Jack edged closer to the portal. With the stone rough against the palm of his hand, he counted the inches. Bill crept close behind, his breath raking Jack’s nerves more than the disappearing brick. Yang pressed himself hard against the side of the house, his ghostly body finding the nooks in the broken mortar.

Stopping a hands span away from the window, Jack turned, placing a warning finger on his lips for Bill to remain silent. With blood pounding in his ears, he inched nearer. The glass reflected the pale sun, and the trees in a dark abstract line. Filth touched the corners, with dead flies, and dried moths, caught in dusty spider webs. A few jars, filled with amber liquid, each capped with chequered cloth, stood on the windowsill.

‘Do you see anything?’

Although the question from behind met his ears as a whisper, Jack almost released the contents of his bladder. A maddening laugh threatened to escape, a laugh if let out he would not be able to stop. Regaining his composure, he again pressed his finger to his lips, compressing hard enough to turn his finger white.

Yang looked in with him, he did not mind, his shadow spread himself thin across the outside shelf. Wiping away a layer of grime, he peered into the room. A hole-ridden sheet covered a table, besides which stood a couple of homemade high-backed chairs, with enough splinters and sharp edges to look dangerous. Two coffee stained cups sat on the table. Paintings, bringing to Jack’s mind Grandma Poulis sitting at the easel, covered large sections of the grey walls. He could not discern much detail in the work; they looked much like the surrounding landscape, as though the painter never left the window. Logs sat in a stone fire; turned black by licking flames. The room contained two doors, the front door to his right, and a smaller inner door toward the back of the house.

‘I can’t see anybody.’

‘They must be out. Let’s knock and see,’ said Bill, flush with excitement.

Before Jack could stop him, Bill crossed the window without fear. In his eagerness, Bill had left the large wolf pawing at the corner of the hut. Leaving the windowsill, Yang joined Bill as the young boy struck the warped door.

‘Careful, we don’t know who lives here,’ hissed Jack.

‘Whoever does, must know we’re here, I’m fed up of tiptoeing around.’

Jack had never known Bill to be so impulsive. The sudden change troubled him. Had finding his Talent imbued new confidence, or had the mischievous demon taken control? If the creature influenced his friend, it must bare bad feeling toward Jack; did it seek a way to repay him for its hurt leg?

A face, distorted by the jars filled with the amber fluid, swam past.

While Jack looked through the window into the room, the owner had sat quiet, not moving a muscle. If the shock of finding the room occupied had not silenced Jack, the quickness of the man would have made any words of warning useless.

Bill froze with his fist raised. The door flew open, a man dressed in rags glared down with bloodshot eyes. Neither spoke; it took Jack long seconds to approach, his tongue felt swollen as though stung by a bee. When Jack reached Bill, the man, with bloodless lips, raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘Took you long enough, I started to think you didn’t want to come in,’ said the man. ‘I poured you some tea, by now its cold.’

The man spoke in a quiet, mellow tone, which was in stark contrast to his rough appearance. Despite the savage kink in his spine, he stood at average height. His bent back forced him to look down at the two boys at an odd angle. However, this deformity did not affect the man’s agility; Jack doubted he could get any faster to the door. Wrinkles etched themselves around his eyes and mouth. Scars, both small and large covered him. The worst scar, a purple swathe falling from his left eye, pulled his lip up into a permanent sneer. A twist of long grass tied back his grey hair.

‘Well,’ he continued, waving them in. ‘I’m not leaving my door open to catch marsh flies.’

‘What’s your name,’ asked Bill.

‘Krimble, and you’re Bill, and he’s Jack.’ Krimble’s eyes lingered on Jack. ‘Or should I call you Yin? Now we know each other, come inside, you too Yang.’

‘How’d he know our names?’ Bill asked, after Krimble had retreated inside. ‘I haven’t said your name, and anyway I never call you Jack.’

‘Perhaps knowing names is his Talent.’

‘What’s the use of that out here?’ The vast swamp echoed Bill’s words. ‘I doubt a frog will have any use of a name, and a fly will only buzz at you if you called it by its first name.’

‘We aren’t going to find out anything by standing here all day. You wanted to go inside, so let’s get moving, he seems nice enough.’

Bill looked to where Black sat scratching his neck. ‘Can I bring Black,’ he asked, wistfully.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jack, thinking how his mother would react if Bill brought his pet indoors. ‘Best leave him outside.’ He moved closer to Bill to whisper in his ear, ‘Don’t let him wander away from the house, we may need him.’

Nodding, Bill signalled for Black to stay, before stepping across the hut’s threshold.

A cloying damp smell, no doubt from the scattered ponds metres away, met them as they entered; Jack coughed into his hand. The morose paintings, seen from the window, sprang to colourful life; twisting the dire landscape outside into vivid plains. An extraordinary diversity of life filled the canvass, from the humble frog, to long eared deer, and circling hawks. The depth created invited deeper exploration, intoxicating the senses. When he did look away, Jack noticed Krimble sitting in a worn chair, packed with pillows, under the front window. The man watched him with interest.