The Wolfstone Curse

by Justin Richards

  But there was no mistaking the wolf in the next crate; it was almost out and they kicked the crate across the floor. Peter braced himself against another, almost intact crate, and pushed with both feet. The crate shot through the door. But the wolf was already leaping free. Its paws scrabbled on the floor just inside the doorway as it tried to drag itself back in.

  Carys and Peter heaved another crate through the door. The crate collided with the wolf as it tried to climb back in. Crate and wolf disappeared in a melee of fur and wood.

  Peter turned back just as a wolf leaped at Carys. There were three crates left. Two were intact. But one was a shattered mess. The wolf had broken free and launched itself through the air with a howl of rage.

  Carys stood frozen with fear. The animal hurtled towards her.

  Peter was closer than the wolf. He dived at Carys, wrapping his arms round her legs in a rugby tackle. She slammed to the floor as the wolf flew through the space where she had been. It landed hard on the wooden boards behind them. Its claws bit into the floor, but it was travelling too fast to stop and skidded forward – out of the open doorway.

  Winded, Carys crawled out of the way and lay panting and coughing as Peter dragged the last few crates to the door. They didn’t seem as heavy – more cartons and boxes, probably. “No point in taking chances.”

  When they were gone, he flopped down next to Carys, exhausted.

  She grabbed his hand and held it tight. “Thanks.”

  “Might be a bit early for that,” Peter said.

  He had to shout over the sound of the hammering on the wagon door. The wood was shuddering under the onslaught. As they watched, claws pierced the wood – ripping and tearing it away.

  Peter got up and staggered over to the open side door. “You fancy jumping?”

  “No. We just threw a couple of angry wolves out there, remember?”

  “Good point. Next wagon, then?”

  “And do it all again? Any wolves in there will be awake and free by now.”

  “Then we need to jam that door shut too.”

  “That’ll trap us in here until they break in,” Carys said.

  But she helped Peter slam makeshift wedges into the gap between the forward door and its frame.

  “We’re not trapped if there’s still a way out.”

  Carys shook her head. “You’re not serious about jumping? God knows how fast we’re going. If we’re lucky we’ll just break our legs and lie there in agony until the wolves find us.”

  Peter was standing in the open doorway. He held on to the frame and leaned out, looking up rather than down. The wind tore at his hair and jacket. He clung on tight.

  “How about climbing?” he yelled.

  Carys stared back at him. “You are totally and utterly mad, you know that, don’t you?”

  “We can do it. And it’s so crazy that when they get in here, David and the wolves will think we jumped.”

  “Even if they don’t catch our scent, then what?”

  “We lie on the top of the wagon until the train gets where it’s going, or slows down enough that we really can jump off.”

  Carys stared at him, hands on hips and head to one side. From behind her the sound of the wolves attacking the door increased in volume and determination.

  “You go first,” she said.

  Reaching up, Peter managed to grab hold of the lip of the roof where it overhung the side of the wagon. He pulled himself up, battling against the wind rushing past as the train sped through the landscape. There were trees now – the beginnings of a wood.

  Carys grabbed his feet and pushed him upwards. He managed to get his hands, then his forearms onto the roof. Fortunately the surface was rough and he could grip the rusty metal and drag himself up.

  As soon as he was on top, he turned and reached back down. Lying on his front, the roof was cold and scratched his stomach, even through his coat and shirt. The wind was even stronger on the exposed roof, blowing him backwards and sideways.

  Carys caught hold of his hands, and Peter heaved her upwards. He could feel himself slipping under her weight, and tried to grip with his feet. She reached up over him, pulling at his coat as she desperately tried to get on to the roof. He could feel her slipping back, so Peter grabbed the waistband of her jeans. Somehow he managed to get a grip on her legs and drag her up and Carys collapsed on the roof beside him.

  “You all right?” he shouted, the wind whipping his words away.

  She nodded. “Just never do that again, okay?”

  Peter crawled to the back of the wagon, peering carefully over the edge of the roof. Several wolves stood on their hind legs, pummelling the disintegrating door below with their massive hairy paws. Others watched from the platform of the next wagon, gathered in the doorway, snapping their jaws in anticipation. One wolf threw back its head and howled.

  Peter crawled back quickly to avoid being seen. He was moving against the wind now, heading towards the front of the train. It felt like his hair was being torn out by the roots.

  “They’re nearly through,” he said, his hand cupped from his mouth to Carys’s ear, so she could hear him. “With luck they’ll think we’ve jumped. But if not…”

  She nodded. “We have to get moving. Maybe we can make it to the engine and stop the train.”

  They crawled forward. The wolves would be in the wagon below very soon, if they weren’t already. They mustn’t make any noise that might be heard inside. They clawed and scrabbled frustratingly slowly into the wind until they reached the front of the wagon. Again, Peter peered over the edge.

  And again, there were wolves on the platform below.

  Carys was looking too. They both edged back. Peter opened his hands and shrugged, asking, “What now?”

  Carys leaned close. Her breath was warm on Peter’s cheek as she said, “We have to wait till they get into the wagon. Then we can jump across.”

  Peter cupped his hand to Carys’s ear to reply. “Against the wind?”

  “This is your idea, remember.”

  They had to time it exactly right. As soon as the wolves were through the door, Carys and Peter moved back along the roof. There wasn’t time to climb down to the platform, jump across and climb back up again. They’d almost certainly be seen.

  So instead, they had to jump the far wider gap from roof to roof.

  Holding hands, they stood up, leaning into the wind. Now it came to it, Peter hesitated. Was it such a great idea? But what choice did they have?

  “Let’s do it!” Carys yelled.

  Heart thumping, holding Carys’s hand tight, he ran. It felt like a dream where you run and run and get nowhere. But gradually they gathered speed as they battled into the wind. At the last moment, right at the edge, they jumped. Peter’s free arm flailed in the air. His other hand was torn from Carys’s grip.

  He thumped down belly first on the roof of the next carriage, the wind knocked out of him. Carys landed beside him, but further back – sliding away as her legs hung over the edge. Peter grabbed for her hand again – caught her by the wrist and managed to hold on to her.

  Slowly, he eased her back up onto the roof.

  “I’m not doing that again,” she said as she collapsed against him.

  “Me neither. So let’s hope we don’t have to.”

  They crawled along to the end of the roof. There was one more wagon between them and the engine. The wood was getting thicker now. Branches whipped at the sides of the wagon and along the roof. Several times they had to duck down below a branch and feel it scrape along their backs.

  There were no wolves on these platforms. Relieved, Peter dropped down. He turned to help Carys down beside him. They jumped easily to the platform of the front wagon, and cautiously opened the door.

  Inside it was hard to see. The sunlight was all but cut off by the thickening trees of the forest. As their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw that the floor of the wagon was strewn with splintered wood from several broken crates. But mercifully th
e wolves were gone.

  They ran through the wagon, and carefully opened the last door. The dark shape of the tender rose up in front of them. There was a ladder set into the metalwork, leading up to the top of the coal heaped inside.

  “There’s nowhere else to go,” Carys said. “And maybe the driver doesn’t know what’s in his cargo.”

  Peter thought he could hear the wolves howling angrily in the distance. But perhaps it was the wind whipping past the train as it sped through the trees.

  Climbing the ladder was easy compared with the journey they’d already made. But as Peter reached the top, smoke and steam stung his eyes. It was difficult to see through the acrid smog. The coal was hard and sharp-edged under his hands and knees as he made his way along the top of the tender.

  The smoke cleared for a moment – just in time for Peter to see that the pile of coal dropped away. He clambered carefully down, hands and clothes black with soot and coal dust. Carys was close behind him.

  When they reached the floor of the tender, they were both relieved at how far they’d come, and each managed a smile at the state of the other. Carys’s features, usually so pale and delicate, were smudged and blotchy. Her hands looked like black gloves.

  “Sooty and Sweep,” Peter joked.

  She grinned, and wiped a dusty finger down his nose.

  Ahead of them, the light from the fire broke through the smoke and steam. It cleared as they moved towards the engine. Soon they were beneath the cloud of smog belching from the engine’s funnel. The driver was looking through the front window, watching the track ahead. The fireman shovelled coal from a small pile at the back of the footplate into the open furnace. Their overalls were almost as sooty as Carys and Peter’s clothes.

  Neither of them noticed Peter and Carys watching. The driver’s attention was now on the various dials and controls, handles and levers.

  “We’re slowing down,” Carys shouted above the sound of the engine.

  She was right, the noise of the wind had lessened. The wheels were squealing on the track below as the driver pulled at the brake.

  “Because of us?” Peter wondered. “Or have we arrived?”

  As he spoke, the fireman slammed the door of the furnace shut, and turned. He stared right at Peter and Carys, his jaw open in astonishment.

  The driver turned too.

  Like the fireman, he had the face of a ravening wolf.

  Carys backed away into the smoke and scrambled back up the coal. Peter was right behind her. The climb was steep. The coal shifted under their feet and they slipped down almost as fast as they climbed up.

  Somehow Carys made it to the top. She turned. One of the wolves was climbing up after them. Peter was still scrabbling his way over the shifting mountain of coal. The wolf reached out and grabbed at Peter’s leg, dragging him back.

  Carys was too far away to help. She couldn’t reach Peter’s outstretched hand. Instead, desperate, she grabbed a lump of coal and hurled it with all her strength.

  The coal caught the wolf on the shoulder. It cried out – a howl of anger, surprise and pain all merged into one unholy sound. But it held on to Peter’s leg.

  The next lump of coal hit the wolf full on the jaw. At the same moment, Peter kicked out with his free leg. The wolf let out a screech of agony at the double impact. Peter tore free, and somehow managed to make it up to the top of the coal to join Carys.

  “Thanks!” he gasped.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Carys told him. “Look.”

  She pointed along the train behind them. Through the smoke and steam, they could see three wolves bounding along the roofs of the wagons, heading straight for them.

  “We’re trapped between them,” Peter said, looking back down at where the upright wolf that had grabbed him was recovering and climbing up the coal again.

  “Well done, Einstein.”

  The train jolted as it slowed. The shudder made one of the wolves lose its footing, and it skidded across the roof of the nearest wagon, almost sliding off the edge. Which gave Carys an idea – it was desperate, but what choice did they have?

  “Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, feeling the coal shift under her.

  “What? Where to?” Peter demanded.

  She forced a grin, hoping she’d seem more confident than she really was. Because she felt terrified. “We’re going to do what you suggested before – and jump for it,” she said.

  Peter stared at her in horror. “Right,” he said. He looked from the wolves bounding along the wagons to the creature clambering up the coal, as if weighing up the alternatives. “Okay.”

  The train jolted again. A mass of steam erupted from the engine as the brakes came on. Peter and Carys were lost in a sudden fog. Carys felt for Peter’s hand, and gripped it tight.

  “Now!” she shouted above the noise of the screeching wheels.

  Together, they leaped into space.

  The ground appeared as the last wisps of steam faded and the air cleared. Undergrowth and bracken raced towards them.

  The ground slammed into Carys’s feet. Her legs buckled under her and she rolled. Peter’s hand was torn from her grip. Branches of a tree whipped at her face and body and she rolled, trying to lessen the shock of impact.

  She finally tumbled to a stop, bruised and battered. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, getting her breath back. When she opened them, a shape appeared right above her, and she cried out.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” It was Peter. “We have to get out of sight. The train’s stopping. We were lucky with the steam, but it won’t take them long to realise we jumped.”

  They ran through the forest. Daylight penetrated the canopy of trees in scattered puddles, dappling the forest floor. The noise of the train receded, and was replaced by a distant howling and barking.

  “We’re covered in coal and smoke,” Carys whispered. “Maybe it’s masked our scent.”

  “Or maybe they”ve got better things to do now they”ve arrived. Wherever we are,” Peter said.

  Carys shrugged. “Somewhere in Poland?”

  “Maybe we can work it out,” Peter suggested. “If we know how many hours we were travelling, and can guess the average speed.”

  “Yeah, because we’re both experts at estimating train speeds.” She was tired and scared, and that made her scratchy and irritable. He was trying to help, and they were both in this together. She was cross, but in truth, there wasn’t anyone else she’d rather be in this with. “Let’s just see where the train stopped.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “If it’s a station, there might be people. Other trains to get away from here.”

  “Fair enough. That is a good idea.”

  They made their way back towards the railway track, keeping low to the ground and as quiet as possible. Following the track, they found the train had stopped in a clearing. The trees thinned until the area was completely open. In the distance, ragged mountains thrust up into a dull grey sky.

  The train was wreathed in smoke. The driver and fireman stood close to the engine, lit from behind with an eerie orange glow from the furnace.

  At the edge of the clearing, several more figures stood on guard between Carys and Peter and the train. They wore dark uniforms and carried guns and were constantly alert. Carys caught their musty smell and crawled back into the bracken, beside Peter.

  “More of them,” he said quietly. “Two types of creature.”

  “Wolves and werewolves,” she agreed. “The wolves must be on their way to the sanctuary at Wolfstone.”

  “Are they in different stages of the same process?” Peter wondered.

  “It’s Einzel’s doing,” Carys said, though she didn’t know what Einzel had actually done. It wasn’t good, that was for sure. But it could wait. “I don’t see another way out of here.”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Peter agreed. “No station, no town, nothing. Why are they unloading the wolves here?”

  “They must hav
e some way of transporting them on to the next stage. This might be just where the train tracks stop.”

  They broke off as the nearest guard turned and looked in their direction. His red eyes glinted hungrily in the light from sun shining between the peaks of the mountains. He snapped his jaws, yellowed teeth clicking together. There was a faint crystal gleam from a ring on his hairy finger – a ring just like the one David had worn.

  Carys didn’t dare move. The guard was coming towards them, looking round all the time, sniffing the air. Did he know they were there? He gave a low, throaty growl of anticipation.

  David appeared out of the drifting smoke from the engine, back in human form. He hurried up to the wolf-guard, just a few metres from where Carys and Peter lay hidden in the undergrowth. His face was a contorted mask of rage.

  “The Old One wants the wolves recalled,” he snarled. “I’drather let them hunt those two down and tear them apart for what they did at Vrolask. But he doesn’t think they’ll get far. After all, where can they go?”

  The guard looked at David. His expression was impossible to read.

  “Just call them back,” David said.

  Carys pressed deeper into the undergrowth as the guard turned towards them. She could smell the cold, damp of the grass and leaves – fresh and clean after the stench of the railway wagons. Peter’s leg pressed against hers as he shifted position slightly, warm and reassuring.

  The guard threw his head back and let out a long, low, mournful howl. It was answered almost immediately – wolf calling to wolf. Then the sound of something running through the undergrowth. The wolves were coming.

  Carys could feel the ground vibrating beneath her as the wolves approached. They ran past, either side of her and Peter. One leaped over them, hurrying to answer the guard’s call.

  She risked raising her head slightly, and saw the wolves bounding past the guard, following David as he turned and ran ahead of them. His legs kept the same rhythm as the animals as he disappeared into the distance, the wolves close behind him. The wolf-guard turned to watch them go.