by Tim Willocks
Just as mysterious, the crippling pain in his shoulder faded away. He was aching from head to claw from the blows he’d taken, and most of them still hurt just as much as before. But the shoulder—the one injury that would have stopped him—now felt fine. It was as if the Dogline would give him only what he most needed, but no more.
Over to his right, beyond the meadowlands, he could see Dedbone’s truck winding around the road that led to the mountain. Though Furgul didn’t know how, or why, he knew that the Dogline would help him reach the road in time to intercept the truck. Furgul looked up as rags of cloud raced across the wide blue sky above. As the wind on which the clouds were borne got stronger, the clouds became grim and gray. It was as if the clouds meant to follow him to Argal’s Mountain.
Furgul swept through the forest. He couldn’t see the truck anymore. He couldn’t even see the mountain. The undergrowth was dense with bracken. Yet he wove through the trees without taking a single false step. He broke from the woods into the open. He got nearer and nearer to the road—and to the dangerous leap he would have to take into the rear of Dedbone’s truck.
The truck was now bumping its way around a sweeping curve. Billows of rust-red dust smoked up from its wheels. Furgul’s own path was straight as an arrow. As truck and dog converged, Furgul saw Dedbone through the shattered edges of the windshield. He was hunched over the steering wheel, using his teeth to wrap an oil-stained rag around his injured hand.
The slaver didn’t see Furgul.
Furgul shortened his stride to prepare for the jump. The truck rumbled right in front of him. As he coiled his hind legs to spring, his paws sank into a bright green bed of moss. He drew on every ounce of strength in his haunches. The moss seemed to draw power from the Dogline and acted like a trampoline. Furgul soared through the air. His hind claws scraped the edge of the tailgate as he landed. He managed to slow down before he crashed into the cardboard box behind the cab.
As he panted and recovered his balance, he realized that the bright green bed of moss was the exact same spot where Brid had landed, when she made her escape when they were pups. Had Brid followed the Dogline? There was no time to wonder. He sniffed the box and detected Keeva’s scent.
“Mam! Are you okay?”
“Furgul?”
Keeva’s voice was muffled by the box. Furgul ripped into the cardboard with his jaws. It was tough and stiff and sealed with thick gray tape, but his teeth were now longer and sharper than those of a pup. In seconds he’d torn a gaping hole. He paused to look inside. Keeva’s eyes met his. She still wore the racing muzzle from the track, and Furgul understood why she herself hadn’t escaped—she couldn’t bite the cardboard. And she’d been trapped in there all night without food or water.
“Come on, Mam. Let’s get you out of there.”
He took a mouthful of cardboard and tore a great strip right down the box. Keeva wriggled her way out. Furgul chewed through the strap behind her ears, and she shook the muzzle off. He felt the truck slow down as it began the final ascent toward the mountain and the cave of death.
“Jump out of the truck, Mam.”
Keeva looked at him, full of a mother’s love and a mother’s fears.
“Go and find Dervla,” said Furgul. “You’ll be safe with her.”
“Dedbone’s an expert dog fighter,” she said. “Forget him, come away with me.”
“The humans will never punish Dedbone. And he’s hurt too many dogs.”
“Please,” pleaded Keeva.
“You’re free, Mam. I’m going to make sure it stays that way.” Beyond the roof of the cab, in the side of the mountain, Furgul could see the black hole of the cave. “Go, Mam,” he barked. “Go now.”
Keeva licked his face. Then she gave him once again the most precious gift he’d ever owned. She said, “Be brave.”
Keeva jumped. He watched her long blue body land and swerve about with perfect grace. He saw the dread in her face. Then he turned away.
The truck slowed down and stopped outside the cave.
Furgul looked up the mountainside. The clouds that had scudded across the valley in his wake now collided above the double peak. The wind merged them into a huge black nimbus that blocked out the rays of the sun. The cloud cast a giant shadow over Furgul. Furgul stole up onto the roof of the truck. He waited for Dedbone.
The door of the truck swung open. Dedbone levered himself out. His greasy head and thick neck and dense, hunched shoulders rose before Furgul’s paws. He offered no good target for Furgul’s teeth. Furgul held back. As Dedbone turned to the back of the truck, he froze as he saw Furgul on the roof.
Dedbone glanced at the torn and empty box. He nodded to himself, as if he might have expected it. Then he stared off down the valley toward the compound. Furgul followed his gaze and looked too.
Black smoke spiraled into the sky above Dedbone’s Hole. The flames of the burning house were yellow and orange. Dedbone’s empire of cruelty lay in ruins.
“It’s over, Dedbone,” growled Furgul. “The dogs are free.”
Dedbone turned to look at Furgul. Their eyes met.
Dedbone had enslaved and exploited dogs all his life. They had no greater enemy. Yet in spite of that—perhaps because of it—Dedbone must have known his greyhounds better than any dog lover ever knows his pet. Somewhere in his twisted heart, Dedbone too must have loved his dogs. He had steeped himself in their speed, their grace, their resilience, their trust, their loyalty. Dogs had been his life. And Dedbone had squandered that life by betraying every single dog he’d ever owned.
Dedbone said, “A free dog never dies. He only moves on.”
Furgul’s mind reeled. He understood every word. Dedbone had spoken in dog tongue. Perfect dog tongue. No weapon that the slaver might have wielded could have stunned him so much.
“You’re a Dog Talker?” asked Furgul.
“I don’t talk to dumb animals,” said Dedbone. “I kick them. I breed them. I use them. I kill them. Then I dump them in the garbage where they belong.”
His smile was full of malice.
“But if you’re asking, do I understand your stupid, yelping, slavering, slobbering gibberish? Of course I do. Because I’m better than you. Because I’m a human being. And you’re just a dog.”
Furgul felt sick.
He remembered the paddock at the racetrack, where he’d told Keeva what Argal had told him about free dogs. Dedbone had just repeated Argal’s words exactly. He must have listened in on every word they’d said. And he must have been listening in for years, eavesdropping and spying on the dogs at the Hole, at the track, in the streets—everywhere. Even Tic and Tac hadn’t known.
All the evil that Dedbone had done seemed even more depraved than before. He wasn’t just a greedy slaver. He was a snoop. He’d heard the dogs speak—of their suffering, their fears, their hunger, their broken dreams—of their love for their pups and their mates. And he’d used his stolen knowledge of their private thoughts and feelings to make the chains of slavery tighter still.
“Now it’s time for you to move on,” said Dedbone. “The chasm is waiting.”
“I’ve already been there,” Furgul snarled.
Dedbone grinned. “Yeah? How many free dogs did you find?”
Furgul stared at him. The faces of Eena and Nessa flashed in his mind.
“Of all the dogs I threw in that pit, not a single one was free,” said Dedbone. “There’s no moving on for them. They’ll never join the winds. They’re in a cage that will last forever.”
The thought that the dogs would never be free filled Furgul with anger and sorrow. Worst of all, Dedbone was right. They would never roam with the winds. Again he saw the faces of Eena and Nessa. Every muscle in his body clenched with rage.
“Well?” said Dedbone. “What are you waiting for, lurcher?”
Dedbone tipped his head back. He jabbed a thick finger at his own throat.
“Get it while it’s hot.”
Furgul dived from the roof. The
growl that escaped from his chest was so savage that his own ears quailed at the sound. As his paws clawed Dedbone’s shoulders, he opened his jaws to go for the veins in Dedbone’s thick, red neck.
It was just what Dedbone wanted.
He jammed the meaty edge of his injured hand between Furgul’s jaws. His powerful arm snared Furgul’s back and crushed him against the hard bulge of his belly. Dedbone squeezed with immense strength, and Furgul’s ribs and spine crackled. The air was forced out of his lungs. His neck was bent back.
Furgul thrashed and flailed, but Dedbone was too strong. He tried to twist his head away, to strike again at the throat, but Dedbone rammed the edge of his palm even deeper into Furgul’s mouth. Furgul sank his fangs in, but the oily rag protected Dedbone’s hand. Furgul bit down until he felt the bones crunch, and Dedbone’s face flinched with pain. But Dedbone was tough, and he was crafty. As long as he kept the hand between Furgul’s jaws, it acted like a muzzle. Furgul couldn’t use a lethal bite. Dedbone had blunted his teeth.
“You fell for it, you stupid mutt,” rasped Dedbone. “But you were right about one thing. It’s over.”
Dedbone carried Furgul into the cave. A familiar and evil stench flooded Furgul’s nostrils. Because the cloud above the mountain had blocked out the sun, the inside of the cave was dark. The farther Dedbone carried him into the cave, the darker it got. The only advantage Furgul had was that his eyes could see better in the dark than Dedbone’s. Remember, there are teeth everywhere. Furgul couldn’t move his head very much, but as best he could, he scanned the cave for teeth.
Beyond Dedbone’s shoulder, in the shadows up ahead, he saw a sharp spur of rock that stuck out from the far wall of the cave. As they passed it, Furgul wrenched his hind legs from under Dedbone’s belly. He twisted his hips and flexed his spine until his hind paws touched the near wall, just opposite the spur. Then he shoved with all the strength in his massive thighs.
Dedbone, caught off guard, stumbled across the cave. The spur of rock spiked into his cheek below his eye. Dedbone bellowed with pain and he staggered. Furgul broke free of his arms.
He landed on the dark side of the cave. Dedbone stood between Furgul and the daylight. Dedbone ignored the pain of his smashed face and spread his arms out wide. He crouched in the middle of the cave to block Furgul’s escape.
But Furgul didn’t want to escape. He could have ducked and dodged around Dedbone. He could have sprinted out of the cave. But then Dedbone would still be alive to hurt Keeva and Dervla and countless others. Furgul could not allow that. Somewhere inside Argal’s Mountain—he felt sure it was the crystal cavern—Furgul sensed a right Dogline. And Furgul intended to do the right thing.
His memory of being in the box with Eena and Nessa flashed in his mind.
Deep in the cave was another tooth that Furgul hoped he could use.
He skipped this way and that in front of Dedbone. Dedbone bobbed and weaved to cut him off. Furgul faked a whimper of fear and cringed before him.
Dedbone sneered. “Get ready to rot with your sisters on that hill.”
Furgul turned tail and went deeper into the cave. He stopped to glance back. Dedbone was peering forward, swaying from side to side, his human eyes straining to penetrate the gloom. Furgul waited for him. The cave was now so dark that Furgul knew the only thing that Dedbone could see was Furgul’s pale coat of fur. Just as Dedbone had lured the greyhounds to chase fake rabbits at the track, Furgul now lured Dedbone deeper—deeper, deeper—into the dark. And Furgul was the dog who ran in darkness.
Dedbone spotted his paleness and lunged forward.
Furgul turned and bounded toward the chasm.
He heard Dedbone curse as he blundered onward in pursuit.
Just a few paces farther toward the rear of the cave, Furgul’s eyes spotted an area of the floor where the blackness became even blacker. It was the edge of the chasm. He lengthened his stride and picked up speed.
“There’s only one end to this race, lurcher!” Dedbone shouted. “And you’re about to cross the finish line!”
Furgul’s forepaws hit the rim of the chasm. All his weight rocked forward as his hind legs left the ground to coil beneath him. For an instant he was almost falling into space. He powered his hind legs downward against the rock. As his thighs propelled him forward and up, Furgul flew into the void above the abyss.
Up ahead—a foot or so higher than the floor of the cave—he saw a ledge appear from the blackness just before him. The same ledge he had spotted from the box when he was just a pup. For an instant he wondered if he’d judged his leap correctly. Then he landed on the rocky shelf, and momentum carried him on. He gasped but didn’t yelp as his shoulder hammered into the wall. He scrambled to his feet. He turned and looked over and down.
He was perched on the opposite wall of the chasm, facing toward the cave. Beneath the ledge the wall disappeared in a sheer drop. He couldn’t see the hill of bones. He saw Dedbone’s silhouette lumber toward him from the cave. Furgul turned sideways so that Dedbone would see his pale coat.
To get across the abyss to the ledge, Furgul had jumped from a sprint, which gave him the maximum range. But the ledge was too narrow to allow him to build up another running jump. To get back across the chasm again, he’d have to jump from a standing start. From a standing jump he could gain more height—but he couldn’t make quite as much distance. Furgul reckoned that he wouldn’t be able to reach the safety of the cave again. He was trapped on the ledge—unless he could find a stepping stone to give his return jump a second boost.
Dedbone came closer and closer. His only guide was Furgul’s pale shape. And because Dedbone didn’t know about the ledge—and couldn’t see well in the dark—he thought that Furgul had stopped on the edge of the chasm.
But it was Dedbone who had now reached the edge.
One more step and Dedbone would walk into oblivion.
As Dedbone raised his foot, Furgul barked across the void.
“Dedbone! Watch your step!”
Dedbone looked down. He cursed in terror as the emptiness gaped at his feet. He stopped with his toes hanging over the edge of the precipice. For an instant he teetered in panic, his head and shoulders bent forward, his arms cartwheeling backward to regain his balance, trying to tilt his weight to the safety of the solid rock floor behind him.
Dedbone almost made it.
But Furgul judged that his moment had come. He seized it.
His haunches drove him upward from the ledge in a steep, high arc. Alone he wouldn’t have made it all the way to the far side. But Furgul used Dedbone as his stepping stone. He stretched out his forelegs, and his paws touched down on Dedbone’s shoulders. As he whipped his hind legs in, tight beneath his chest, he dug his claws into Dedbone’s broad back and used the slaver’s weight as a platform for a second, extra thrust.
As Furgul’s takeoff propelled him forward into the safety of the cave, his paws shoved Dedbone away. And pushed the slaver screaming over the edge.
Furgul landed with all four paws on the rim of the cave.
Dedbone plunged headfirst into the chasm.
His last scream faded to a distant, desperate wail as he fell.
And fell.
And fell.
Furgul heard a dull, splintering crunch. And then there was silence.
A wave of lemony sunlight rolled through the mouth of the cave and dispelled the gloom. The clouds above the mountain had helped Furgul—they’d made the cave even darker and Dedbone’s eyesight even worse. Now that Furgul didn’t need them anymore, the clouds had dispersed to reveal the sun.
Furgul went to the chasm’s rim. He looked down.
Dedbone lay sprawled on the bones of the hill of dead dogs. His mouth opened and closed, but he made no sound. Crimson stained his lips. His piggy eyes glinted. Broken shards of skeleton, ribs and femurs and jawbones, had impaled him through the back when he landed. He squirmed as the bloodstained greyhound bones jutted out of his belly like spears.
Dedbone tried to get up, but the hill underneath him began to collapse with his weight. The big man’s fall had shattered its delicate structure. Now Dedbone sank deeper and deeper into decay—as if the countless greyhounds he had killed were sucking him down into the dust to die among them. Dedbone raised a desperate hand toward Furgul. He was begging for his help.
Furgul wagged his tail and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE WIND
Once upon a time in the Doglands, a pup was born in the slave camp that the dogs called Dedbone’s Hole. He’d been born in chains and sentenced to die, yet neither chains nor death had held him. He’d broken their rules. He’d escaped their prisons. He’d defied their guards and their guns. He’d returned and set the wrong things right.
Furgul emerged from the cave and raised his face to the sun.
It was good to be alive.
He knew where he had been, but he did not know where he was going.
The wild and rambling road called him still.
A wind swept toward him from the jaws of Argal’s Mountain high above. It bounded down from outcrop to outcrop, then whirled about Furgul in a vortex so strong that it spun him around and around. Furgul grinned.
The wind was the spirit of Brennus saying hail and farewell.
It was Brennus who had rounded up the clouds to help Furgul beat Dedbone. Before Furgul could soak up the Brennus wind into his bones, it was suddenly gone. Mysteriously gone, for he saw no sign of its passing down the valley. No dust stirred, no blade of grass bent, no leaf fluttered on the trees.
A truck drove up the trail. It was Jodi.
The first thing Furgul saw was Skyver. He was strapped to a stretcher. He had a plastic contraption like a giant collar round his neck. The stretcher was fixed to the roof rack. Skyver stared up into space, and he was peeved.
“Is that you, Furgul?” called Skyver. “Do me a favor, will you?”
