The Ghost Roads (Ring of Five) (10 page)

Suddenly, Les realized that the cloud was drifting away from him. He would not make it. The sound behind him was deafening now. He gave himself up to the darkness.

Ten miles away, the fighter squadron kept station. The squadron leader was a stickler for discipline, and the pilots knew the consequences of getting out of formation. The seconds ticked by. The squadron leader’s headset crackled.

“Confirm acquisition and destruction of target.”

“Roger. Please await advisement.”

The squadron leader switched channels.

“Alpha One, status of mission?” There was a long pause. The squadron leader was about to snap a repeat query into his face mike when the reply came. Alpha One sounded puzzled.

“Must be some kind of false reading, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s no target, sir.”

“There must be something. I can see it on the radar in front of me.”

“Yes, sir, there is something—a large flock of birds, but nothing else.”

“Birds?”

“Yes, sir. Look like ravens or something. Odd to see them flying at night.”

“Roger, Alpha One. Break off contact. I’ll report back.”

The F-16 banked and turned away from the flock of birds. Through the wall of feathers around him, Les heard the roar of its jet engine. The ravens had formed a perfect flying cocoon around him, concealing him from view. Les didn’t know what the danger was, but he was glad of the shelter. What kind of place was the Upper World, he thought, where death could seek you in the sky at night?

There was a single caw, and at that signal the ravens broke away. Within a minute they were a distant shadow. Les, still feeling vulnerable, was glad to see the dark earth below.

A
s the limousine swept through darkened streets, Longford listened to the wing commander’s report with eyes narrowed.

“Birds?” Longford’s tone was icy. “What kind of birds?”

“I’m not sure, sir.” The wing commander sounded nervous. There was a muffled consultation on the other end of the line.

“The pilots believe they were ravens, sir.”

“Ravens?” Langford’s voice was low and dangerous. “Did the pilot not consider that the ravens might have been concealing something?”

“No, sir,” the wing commander said with a nervous laugh, “what raven would be able to keep up with a flying aircraft? How could they have concealed something, unless it was another bird or, er … something else.…”

“Relaunch the aircraft!” Longford ordered. “Fire into the birds, destroy them and whatever they are hiding! And next time, if there is a next time for you, complete your mission exactly as you are told.”

“Yes, sir!” His palms damp, the wing commander replaced the phone and turned to the radar operator.

“Status report on target!” he snapped.

“It’s gone, sir.”

“Gone?”

“It just disappeared off the radar. One minute it was there, next it was gone.”

D
evoy had trained his face never to change expression, but sometimes it was difficult. Now that the borders were open, the Treaty gone, it was vitally important that the Messengers resume their former function as couriers between the Two Worlds. But most of them had allowed themselves to fall into comfortable ways, despising the very flight that had distinguished them in the past. Devoy had been heckled when he addressed them.

“Deliver messages? I never heard such a thing! What does he think we are? Who’s going to pay for it, that’s what I want to know?”

He ached to remind them that once, in the recent past, they had flown to the defense of Wilsons, but they had
erased that disgraceful episode from their memory. The Seraphim, Devoy knew, showed no such qualms. Almost nightly he could sense them above Wilsons, wheeling in the wind, probing the school for weaknesses or flying to perform some foul mission in the Upper World. Depressed, he left the Messengers squabbling among themselves. He knew he could rely on Gabriel and Daisy, but that wasn’t enough. They had just returned from one dangerous mission and were about to embark on another that night, bringing Toxique and Vandra across the sound to Grist.

Devoy made his way toward the Gallery of Whispers. If you whispered a question at one end of the gallery, an answer would be whispered to you from the other. But you never got a straight answer from the gallery. You had to work out the meaning.

The gallery was dark and quiet, surrounded by marble pillars reaching up to shadows above.

“Where is Danny?” Devoy spoke against the wall. He waited for his voice to resolve itself into whispers, circling the pillars and carved alcoves of the gallery. The answer when it came was not in a form Devoy had ever experienced. There was a rustle, and he turned expectantly. A raven flew fast and hard at him from the far end of the gallery, swift and brutal as a thrown stone, claws raised toward Devoy’s eyes. Only at the last minute did Devoy manage to cover his face with his hands. The raven’s claws tore at him, and he felt blood spurt from the backs of his hands. Without hesitation, the raven shot up
and out through a broken pane in an elaborate stained-glass window showing the night sky.

“What …,” Devoy murmured, studying his torn hands, “what is your answer?”

“The raven attacked your eyes,” a quiet voice said from the shadows, “then it flew into a window depicting the night sky. Perhaps you should use your eyes to look at the night sky.”

The school detective, McGuinness, stepped forward.

“Here.” He took two field dressings from his pocket and quickly wrapped them around the wounds on Devoy’s hands.

“Thank you,” Devoy said. “Shall we go onto the roof?”

I
t was a clear, cold night. It was always windy on the roofs of the school. Tonight an east wind swept down toward the sound, the lights of Tarnstone and the far-off glow of the enemy stronghold of Westwald, dominated by its fortress, the Grist.

“Nights like this are invigorating,” Devoy said with satisfaction. “They clear the mind.”

“I hear you had a difficult time with the Messengers,” McGuinness said. “Don’t be too discouraged. They are difficult to awaken, but when they do wake … well, you have to remember that they are born of the same stock as the Seraphim. And speaking of Messengers, look!”

Devoy followed McGuinness’s outstretched arm. A
solitary raven arrowed across the night sky, followed by a winged human, flying erratically.

“Knutt!” Devoy called out. “Down here, boy!” At first it seemed as if Les had not heard; then he lurched sideways and plummeted toward the two men. Les struck a roof peak hard, lost control and rolled down the slope, bits of slate and roof creating an avalanche in front of him.

“Look out!” McGuinness thrust Devoy out of the way. Les slid past them, toward the low, crumbling parapet at the front of the building. McGuinness could see that the boy’s wings were hopelessly tangled. He dived full length and caught Les just before he went over the edge.

He turned Les over. The Messenger’s breath came in great sobs.

“Looks like you got some kind of answer,” McGuinness said.

A
n hour later, Les sat in front of a fire in the library of the third landing, drinking tea and eating muffins while he told Devoy and McGuinness what had happened at Kilrootford.

“But you don’t know where Danny is,” Devoy said. Les shook his head.

“You should have seen the place when he was finished with it,” Les said sadly. “Don’t reckon anyone could have lived through that.”

“But Danny isn’t just anyone,” McGuinness said.

“No,” Devoy conceded, “although it might be better for all if he was gone.”

Les looked at him, aghast.

“I’m sorry, Les, I don’t really wish it, but he is volatile and very dangerous. How many people died at that camp? Danny is a weapon—a weapon that will turn against the hand of anyone who tries to use it.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t try to use it!” Les’s eyes were flashing. “Maybe Danny knows what he’s doing!”

“Les may be right, you know,” McGuinness said.

“If I were Longford,” Devoy said, standing up and appearing to tower above Les, “then I would say throw Danny to the dogs and be done with it! But I am not Longford. I will do my utmost for him, and will, as I must, try to use his power if I can. But I fear it may turn on us.”

“On that matter,” McGuinness said, “we had better get Danny’s mother and the others back here. He’ll be more inclined to defend Wilsons if he knows she is here.”

“I agree. I have already summoned Daisy and Gabriel. They can bring Dixie and Pearl back. We will have to defer Vandra and Toxique’s infiltration of the Grist to another time.”

“And the Cherb boy?”

“He will have to take his chances, I’m afraid.”

“He will not.” Les stood up, swaying as he did.

“You are in no condition to go. I thought that you, above all people, would have no cause to love a Cherb.”

“Protecting him was the last thing Danny wanted me to do,” Les said defiantly, “and I’m not letting my best friend down.”

“Very well,” Devoy said, “but if you fall behind, the others will not wait for you.”

“I won’t fall behind.”

“Get some rest. You leave at dawn.”

V
andra and Toxique were disappointed to get the news that their mission was postponed. Now that they were to stay, Brunholm tried to equip them with large pistols and sharp knives to defend Wilsons, but both turned them down.

“I’m a healer,” Vandra said. Brunholm turned to Toxique.

“I thought you were supposed to be an assassin,” he jeered.

“Do you think if I want to kill someone I need your gun or your knife?” Toxique said with a gleam in his eye that made Brunholm step back.

“Steady, steady, no need to threaten me.”

“But no one threatened you, Mr. Brunholm,” Vandra said sweetly.

“What about our friends?” Toxique said.

“Knutt is back tomorrow night.”

“Les,” they breathed together.

“What about the others?”

“Still alive, by all accounts. Apart from the Fifth. Nobody knows what happened to him.”

Vandra and Toxique turned anguished expressions on each other and raced for the Roosts.

T
he firelight flickered on Pearl’s sleeping face. Dixie had torn off a piece of her skirt and was using it to mop the woman’s brow. There was a rustle from the entrance to the teepee. Dixie turned in alarm, but it was only Nala. He carried a skinned rabbit in each hand and his pockets were stuffed with moss. He laid the rabbits down and knelt beside Pearl. Her face and arms were covered with cuts and abrasions, and there was a bad cut on the back of her head. Several of her fingers were twisted out of shape. Nala wet some of the moss and applied it to each of the serious wounds. He packed it into the cut on the back of her head. Then he took a small bottle from his pocket. He took the stopper out and Dixie could smell something sweet. When the lip of the bottle touched her mouth, Pearl writhed and moaned, but Nala persisted, and when he laid her head down again, a little color had returned to her cheeks.

Dixie hadn’t waited. She had made a little spit over the fire and was turning the rabbits on it. Nala had ignored her until now, but she sensed some approval in his look.

When the rabbit was cooked, they ate with their bare hands. Dixie realized to her shame that she had eaten her whole rabbit, while Nala had left half of his in case Pearl woke.

Dixie found herself staring into the fire and drifting. Wind rustled against the outside of the teepee, but no
draft got through. Imagine, she thought. I’m in a teepee in a wild wood with a Cherb and an injured woman, and there’s a manhunt going on outside, yet I feel cozy. But the moment that thought crossed her mind she heard the rotor-chop of a distant helicopter—the pursuit had not been given up. Still, she was warm, and safe for the time being.

In his coal shed, Danny was neither warm nor safe. The damp had seeped into his bones and he couldn’t sleep. Far off, across the fields, he could hear dogs howling. Had they found his trail? He could not stay here.

He crawled out of the shed and flitted down the back alleys. The dogs were closer. The mournful clamor of bloodhounds made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He moved onto wasteland. As he passed a deep drain, he heard a whimpering noise. He tried to force himself to go on, but the whimper came again.
Go on, stupid
, the cold voice in his head said, but Danny could not pass another creature frightened and alone in the night.

He turned back and looked into the drain. In the darkness at the bottom, something stirred. He slid down the side of the drain, the lip giving way so that he landed up to his knees in evil-smelling mud. He reached out and an eager little tongue licked his hands. A dog! He bent down to lift it and realized that one of the dog’s legs was trapped. He felt around under the vile water and found its paw. Barbed wire had formed a noose around it, and every time the dog tried to escape, the wire tightened. Danny had to use both hands to free it, soaked up to his armpits now. The dog struggled free. Danny clambered
up the side of the ditch, slipping and slithering, the dog tucked under one arm. He almost made it the top of the bank and freedom, but as he reached out to drag himself up, a powerful torch clicked on, shining directly into his eyes. Danny looked around desperately, but there was nowhere to run.

EEL GUTS