《Runt: A tale from Demon's Land》


 Chapter 1: Names and Faces

    Chapter 1: Names and Faces


    His name was Runt and he lived in the kennels.


    He knew they were kennels because that¡¯s where the dogs lived. Runt wasn¡¯t a dog but he lived there, anyway.


    He knew his name was Runt because that¡¯s what the boss called him. Well, Tyron called him a lot of names, but the rest were mean, nasty things. Runt was not a nice name either. The others were much worse. And, besides, it was accurate. Runt was a runt. Even now, at thirteen years old, most of the dogs were taller than him.


    Runt knew he was thirteen because Tyron reminded him.


    ¡°Thirteen years I¡¯ve put up with your rubbish!¡± He would yell at Runt. ¡°Thirteen long years of getting food in your belly, clothes on your back, and a roof over your head. And if that weren¡¯t enough, I have to sit here and listen to your drivel! It¡¯s no wonder I drink too much.¡±


    Runt used to think he would grow as he got older. A loose plank made a gap between the kennels and the muck-yard out back. Runt could walk through this gap without ducking his head. Chucking dog poo out in the muck-yard was one of many jobs he did for the boss. ¡°One day,¡± he used to say to himself, ¡°one day, when I grow, I¡¯ll need to duck under this gap.¡± But he never did.


    Oh, and Runt was ugly. He knew because the boss said so. Everyone said so. Like the time the stablemaster came around and saw it for himself.


    Tyron and Gunther had a few things in common. For starters, they both looked after animals for the Captain. Tyron managed the dog kennels. Gunther managed the horse stables. The dogs protected the farmlands from the wolves that lived out in the Wilds Beyond. At night the wolves raided the farmlands for sheep and even, they said, the occasional small person. It was these wolves, and all the other horrible creatures that lived in the Wilds Beyond, that gave this island its fearsome name: Demon¡¯s Land. The Captain needed horses for, well, just about everything. Horses pulled carts to and from the farmland, the dockyard, and between all the businesses in the central city of Demonia.


    The Captain and his guards also rode horses on the wolf hunts, where the bravest men took dogs and rode into the Wilds Beyond. When a trooper killed a wolf they would bring it home and skin it and make a cloak out of the stripy fur. Only the most fearsome troopers had a wolf-skin cloak. Of course, the Captain had a lot of these striped cloaks, as a ruler should.


    Tyron and Gunther had other things in common, too. They both enjoyed swearing, and fighting, and drinking grog. They swore at each other, they swore at people passing by and, most of all, they swore at Runt. The grog was a secret. Tyron kept several bottles of the stuff hidden in a locked box in ¡°the office¡±, a messy shack leaning against the kennels. Gunther turned up regularly to help him drink the grog. It wasn¡¯t allowed, by orders of the Captain, but they drank it anyway. And when they drank, they swore louder, and fought more viciously.


    There were some differences between the two men, though. For starters, Tyron was a giant bear of a man.


    ¡°Seven feet tall, I stand¡± Tyron boasted, although he mostly slouched. Even when slouching, he towered over most men of the city. He was also extremely hairy, and strong, and very fat. A giant bear of a man. When he yelled his bulging lips pulled back to show a graveyard of teeth: brown, crooked, missing and broken. When he glared his dark eyes seemed to sink even deeper into his skull. And when he growled, he growled with his whole body, a noise so deep that windows rattled in their frames and water splashed out of cups. A giant bear of a man.


    Gunther was more like a weasel. He was much shorter, and thinner, and crafty. His pale watery eyes constantly shifted this way and that and squinted when he had to concentrate. His hands never stopped fidgeting, sometimes fiddling with his thin, ginger moustache, other times picking his nose or itching a scab. While Tyron was hairy almost from head to toe, Gunther¡¯s skin was pale and freckled. Even though he was short, he was fast. Even though he was thin, he was surprisingly strong. And he was crafty. Which meant he was smart in a nasty way.


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    If there was no one else to fight, the two men often fought each other and, when they did, they were evenly matched. Tyron was big but slow. A bloated, heaving mass of tree-trunk limbs coated in stubbly brown hair. His basic strategy in a fight was to get hit a lot without falling over until his opponent ran out of puff. Tyron¡¯s ears were mashed, shrivelled, and scarred because of this. He often boasted about them to anyone that would listen, and to Runt, if no one else would.


    ¡°Trimmed ¡®em up, I did.¡± He used to boast, pointing to his mangled ears. ¡°You got no idea how bad it hurts to get boxed on the ears. I trimmed ¡®em up so there¡¯s less ear to box.¡±


    Unfortunately, Tyron was lying. Runt knew exactly what it felt like to be boxed on the ears.


    Gunther was small but fast. In a fight he became a pale blur ducking and darting out of reach. The one advantage in favour of the stable master was his crafty brain. Tyron was as dumb as half a brick and would often lose due to Gunther¡¯s trickery.


    Runt knew to keep out of their way when they were drinking. It couldn¡¯t always be helped, though. That¡¯s how it was the day Gunther saw Runt¡¯s ugliness with his own eyes.


    ¡°Bottles empty,¡± Gunther complained, squinting through the upturned bottle as if it were a telescope, ¡°chuck us another.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re out¡± Tyron growled, ¡°that was the last one.¡±


    ¡°S¡¯more at my place. But I can¡¯t be bothered moving just presently. Legs feel a bit rubbery.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not going.¡± Tyron crossed his arms.


    ¡°Send the brat, then. Not like he does anything useful round here.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t. He¡¯s not to leave the kennels.¡±


    ¡°Guess we go thirsty, then.¡±


    They sat there for a minute, in silence, stubbornly glaring at one another.


    ¡°Runt! Get in here!¡± Tyron yelled without moving from his seat, which was, in fact, his bed, which was, in fact, a giant nest of rags, rugs, and straw heaped on the ground. ¡°Runt! Where the bloody hell are ya?¡±


    The small boy crept timidly into the room.


    ¡°Yes boss?¡±, he whispered, aware of Gunther squinting fiercely at him.


    Gunther saw a boy, barely three feet tall, with a mop of dark curly hair extending down to his shoulders and over his face. Runt¡¯s eyes could barely be seen through the narrow part in his hair. The rest of his features were hidden by the thick shock of curls. His clothes were not much better than rags, his skin was brown with a layer of grime, and he wore no shoes.


    ¡°See?¡± Tyron grunted, ¡°Can¡¯t send him. They¡¯ll lock him up for hair like that.¡±


    It was true. By order of the Captain, no boys, neither children nor adults, were permitted to have long hair. In the lands of Demonia the only male permitted to have long hair was the Captain himself.


    ¡°He could pass as a girl, though,¡± Gunther cackled, then paused, ¡°but he¡¯d have to tie it back, wouldn¡¯t he? Can¡¯t leave it loose.¡±


    This was also a rule. Girls tied their hair back or put it in plaits. The Captain¡¯s troopers took the law seriously. Anyone who broke the law was given the option of fixing their hair or spending a night in prison.


    ¡°Go on then,¡± Gunther urged, ¡°all you need is a bit of string. We¡¯ll have him looking like a sheila in a pinch.¡±


    ¡°Nah. Can¡¯t. He¡¯s too ugly. Watch.¡±


    In a flash Tyron leaned over, grabbed the boy by his ankle, and hoisted him into the air. Runt¡¯s vision swam as he tumbled upside-down and, when it came into focus, he was face to face with Gunther.


    The stablemaster¡¯s expression changed from a fierce squint to wide-eyed shock, followed by a look of disgust. Gunther leaned back as if to distance himself. His nose wrinkled like a person scraping dog muck off their shoe. Runt watched the man¡¯s expression change and felt his insides turn cold. This was the day he learned, for sure, that he was ugly. It wasn¡¯t just Tyron being cruel, after all.


    ¡°Christ, put it down.¡± Gunther croaked hoarsely. Tyron dropped the boy who sprawled awkwardly onto the dirt floor.


    ¡°Told ya. Too ugly.¡± Tyron settled back into his nest of rags and straw, and stared at the boy sullenly. Runt gathered himself together, brushed the hair back over his hideous face, and sat up.


    Gunther muttered to himself as his pale bony fingers first twizzled his weaselly moustache, then absently scratched at a scab on his cheek. His eyes darted around the room before settling on an object upon the shelf. ¡°You know,¡± he said, picking his nose thoughtfully, ¡°I might have a plan¡­¡±

 Chapter 2: Delivery Boy

    Chapter 2: Delivery Boy


    ¡°This,¡± Runt thought to himself as he stumbled up the dirt track, ¡°is a terrible idea.¡±


    In his hand he held a scrap of parchment. The crudely drawn map showed directions between the dog kennels and the horse stables. He knew because he watched Gunther draw an image of a dog, and a horse, plus a few more landmarks like the tannery he should find along the way. There were some squiggles underneath the pictures.


    ¡°Anyone asks what you¡¯re about,¡± Gunther said with a greedy smile, ¡°and you show ¡®em this here message.¡±


    Runt couldn¡¯t be sure what the message said because he had never learned to read or write. To be fair, Tyron couldn¡¯t read or write, either.


    ¡°Still,¡± he thought, ¡°even if I could read, I can¡¯t see a thing with this helmet on!¡±


    This was Gunther¡¯s dubious plan. Tyron kept a dented, rusting, trooper¡¯s helmet on a shelf; the souvenir from a fight years before. He had spent a night in prison for scrapping with a guard, but he got to keep the helmet, so he figured it was a fair deal.


    The helmet was far too big for Runt¡¯s head and the grille across the face did a great job of blocking his vision. It wobbled constantly as he made his way up the track, stumbling and nearly tripping over every stone, pothole, or branch lying beside the path. But it hid his hair, which was tucked up and under the helmet, and more importantly, it hid his ugly face.


    Runt¡¯s heart skipped a beat as laughter erupt from above. He froze, then started to move again. It was one of those laughing birds, a kingfisher. From the bird¡¯s perspective he was worth laughing at. The boy tottered up the track towards a busy intersection looking like a kid with his head stuck in a cooking pot. The helmet wobbled to-and-fro seemingly with a life of its own. A chicken, scratching in the dirt, clucked and squawked and flapped away from under Runt¡¯s wandering feet.


    The helmet made noises echo and distort. Runt¡¯s hearing was usually excellent. It had to be. He could tell, by sound alone, when Tyron was awake, asleep, hungry, bored, or angry. He could even tell if the boss was sitting or standing by the ¡°sound shadow¡± his body made. And he could tell all this from the next room. Tyron spent most his time in the office and Runt, in the kennels. As a game, he sometimes walked around the kennels with his eyes shut using only his ears as a guide. The helmet made that impossible.


    Sweat broke out across his face and back. His head began to ache. ¡°This,¡± he thought again, as he stumbled over another rock, ¡°is the baddest idea in the history of bad ideas.¡± It was then, just as he finished the thought, that Runt walked smack-bang into the legs of a trooper standing by the intersection.


    Tumbling back the helmet fell as Runt looked up in shock. Light flooded in. He could see again. Time stood still. This was Runt¡¯s first uninterrupted view of the outside world aside from peeking out of gaps in the kennel walls or looking over the fence of the muck yard. The imposing figure of a man filled his vision.


    The trooper spun around and looked down. ¡°What in bloody hell¡¯s name ¨C¡° he blurted and then froze. He and Runt stared for a second before the small boy¡¯s instincts kicked in. The squiggles on the note forgotten, Runt turned and ran.


    ¡°Oi! You! Stop there!¡±


    No chance of that. Runt dashed, quite fast for one so small, to the nearest shelter, a stand of bushes. He slipped under a gap in the shrubbery, pushed his way further in, and crouched breathlessly. The trooper stomped towards the bushes and paused. An oily snickering sound told Runt the man had drawn his sword. The bushes rustled as he pushed the branches back and forth with the blade. Then, with a grunt of defeat, he spun around and marched back to the intersection, stopping only once to line up and kick the rusty helmet off in the other direction.


    With his heartbeat slowly returning to normal, Runt figured he had two choices. He could go back to the kennels and face certain punishment: once for losing the helmet, and twice for not bringing any grog. Or, he could continue on and risk being caught, locked up, and who knew what else? Runt pushed on. Later, much later, when he had time to think about that moment, he realised it was not the fear of one punishment or another that made him decide. It was the lure of the unknown. For the first time in his life, he was Outside. With Permission.


    Runt was about to learn something else, almost by accident, as he ducked and darted from shadow to shadow, avoiding the guards and other townsfolk. He was great at sneaking about. Like, really great. Scarily great. Ghostly levels of greatness. But Runt didn¡¯t believe in ghosts, so what he actually thought, as he bolted from one hiding place to the next was ¡°I¡¯m a mouse. A scurrying mouse. I¡¯ve seen how they do it. Little bursts of fast. Long stretches of wait and look. And silence. Always silence.¡±


    The truth was he lived his whole life as a mouse. He hid, he crept, he stuck to the shadows. The safest way to stay alive around a maniac like Tyron was pretending not to exist.


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    He made it past the intersection, and the grumpy looking trooper, by ducking under a slow-moving cart carrying sacks of potatoes up the hill towards the castle. A toothless old woman nearly spotted him as she hung out a basketful of washing but he ducked behind a barrel, then a fence, then bolted to a nearby tree as a group of pigeons took flight. He could have sworn a young man pushing a barrow full of cabbages looked straight through him crouched, as Runt was, in the shadows of a fig tree, but he just kept rolling along, whistling tunelessly.


    According to the map, the tannery was up ahead. Runt could smell it before he saw it. The combination of dog poo, rotting meat, and stale urine meant that this business, like the horse yards and dog kennels, existed right on the edge of the city¡¯s outer region. He paused for a second in the shade of a boulder and looked up the hill. The inner region was there, up the hill: the real city. It had been explained to him before, but this was the most he¡¯d ever seen of it.


    There was not much to see of the city from the bottom of the hill. The main road, which Runt had recently crossed, snaked its way up the hill for several miles until it reached the main gates. These could just be seen as a dark gap in the otherwise bright stone wall that circled the inner region. Only the richest and most influential people lived behind those walls along with the most important buildings. The Captain¡¯s palace, for example, could partly be seen by the spires that reached above the city wall.


    Tracing the road back with his eyes, Runt saw how the buildings became less magnificent, and more practical the further down the hill he looked. At the base of the hill, on the very edge of the city, the toughest and dirtiest work was found. Loggers, tanners, millers and, of course, the animal handlers.


    The layout of the city literally existed in people¡¯s language. Someone having good luck or growing richer was said to be ¡°heading up the hill¡±. If their luck turned sour or their business failed, they were ¡°down on the outer¡±.


    Further past the city¡¯s outer edge, outside ¡°the fence¡± (which was not much more than a row of rough stones occasionally shifted further downhill) were the farmlands, and the Wilds Beyond. An occasional cottage dotted the grassy plains or snuggled into the side of a hill. The shepherds that lived out there were made of tough stuff. It took a lot of courage to live so close to the wolves and the rest of the terrors in that dark, dark forest at the feet of the mountains.


    Runt peeked around both sides of the boulder then continued on. He was right, the tannery was just ahead. And beyond that, the horse stables. Runt worked his way around the shaded side of the tannery. It was then he saw his first wolf.


    Well, parts of one, anyway. Several skins were pinned across a board, slowly drying before being tanned and turned into cloaks. Their bodies looked much like dogs must look if they were treated in this way, but the wolves were possibly a bit larger, and with dark stripes running down their sides. Runt stretched his hand up to feel the fur. Really, very much like a dog¡¯s. The main difference was Tyron¡¯s dogs were fluffy whereas this golden-brown fur was short and sleek. Runt hurried on to avoid being seen.


    Many of the horses were out during the day carting loads in every direction. The stables were practically empty. Runt found what he needed under Gunther¡¯s mattress and, aware he had been away a long time, immediately began the journey back.


    Runt made it to the kennels just before sundown. Tyron and Gunther were arguing about something or other. The usual. The boy decided to test his new skill even further and sneaked around the back, over the muck yard fence, past the stinking heaps of dung, under the loose plank into the kennels (still without ducking), and softly opened the door just fast enough to avoid the hinges creaking. He stood inside the office for a few seconds waiting to be noticed and, when he wasn¡¯t, he coughed.


    Gunther nearly jumped out of his skin. Tyron, being much slower in every way, barely reacted. The giant bear of a man turned slowly from where he sat and gazed down at Runt with glazed, bloodshot eyes.


    ¡°Grog?¡± he uttered and held out a hand.


    ¡°Wait, where did you come from? And where¡¯s the helmet? And how long have you been standing there?¡± Gunther babbled, waving his hands furiously.


    Runt passed the bottle to Tyron (who merely grunted in return) and began telling the story from start to finish. Meanwhile there was a pop, a glug-glug-glug, and a sigh of approval from Tyron. Once he got started the words tumbled out of him until he was left breathless and flushed with the excitement of retelling it.


    ¡°Waaaait a minute.¡± Tyron slurred. ¡°Are you¡± he gestured with the bottle ¡°telling me,¡± the clear liquid nearly slopped out the neck, ¡°that you snuck from here to the stables and back,¡± he waved his hairy tree trunk arm in the general direction, precious drops flying out the top ¡°in full daylight, and didn¡¯t once get caught? Snuck past alllllll them people, and then snuck back in here, just to see how good you got?¡± Grog trickled down his hand and onto his wrist. He held it to his mouth and slurped the booze out the hairs while staring intently at the boy.


    As Runt nodded Tyron¡¯s face broke into a grin, then a smile, then, slowly, a chuckle rumbled up from deep down in his guts. Seconds later he threw back his head and laughed a full-bellied laugh. He laughed louder and louder till tears began to stream down his face and stick to the rough hairs over his cheeks.


    ¡°Snuck past the guard, he did! Ha! And the rest! Bugger ¡®em! Bugger the lot of ¡®em! Aha! That¡¯s my boy!¡± Tyron laughed so hard that it became a wheeze. He had no air left. But he slapped his thigh over and over, and wheezed and rocked back and forth, and cried with mischievous joy.


    Gunther, meanwhile, had not moved, nor smiled, nor spoken a word. He glared with his squinting stare and clenched his jaw and continued to stare even as he stomped over to Tyron to snatch the grog and take a swig. He drank, swallowed, spat on the floor, wiped his lips with a dirty sleeve, and dumped himself on a chair. Only then did he look away. Gunther now stared sulkily and silently at the wall while Runt, a mouse once again, quietly crept backwards out of the office and into the kennels.


    There was very little noise for a few minutes. Then, a creak. Gunther stood. The outer door slammed open and the stable master, turning, only had this to say.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t your boy, you big jackass. Don¡¯t forget it.¡±


    Then he left.

 Chapter 3: A knock in the night

    Chapter 3: A knock in the night


    The office window rattled in time with Tyron¡¯s thunderous snoring. The sun had long set but Runt was still up and working. Several of the dogs went on a hunt the night before and their wiry fur was thick with prickles. Carefully, he combed through Fang¡¯s hair, trying not to pull too hard or fast. The wolfhounds grumbled and nipped if they felt they were being brushed too roughly.


    What Gunther said was true. Runt was adopted. He appeared on the doorstep of the kennels one night, alone, wrapped in rags, with no note or any sign of who the baby belonged to.


    ¡°What in blazes have you got there?¡± Gunther asked, incredulously.


    ¡°Dunno. A baby?¡± Tyron mumbled, with a puzzled expression.


    ¡°What kind of maniac would give you a baby? You didn¡¯t nick it, did you?¡±


    ¡°It was on the doorstep. Heard it squawking. Looks hungry.¡± Tyron peeked beneath the rags that wrapped the baby from head to toe.


    ¡°You should get rid of it. What are you gonna do with a flippin¡¯ baby, eh? You should feed it to the dogs!¡± Gunther grew more and more agitated as he spoke.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Tyron turned a puzzled glance towards the office window that overlooked the kennels. He stood, rocking slightly left and right, running that thought on loop.


    ¡°Go on. Just chuck it in there. You won¡¯t even know it¡¯s done. I¡¯ve seen how quick them dogs eat a rabbit. It¡¯ll be gone in seconds. Vanished. Looking after a baby is a massive pain in the arse, mate. You don¡¯t need that hassle.¡± Gunther whined, tugging nervously at his shirt.


    The kennel master straightened up from his usual slouch.


    ¡°Nahhhh,¡± he said, finally, ¡°don¡¯t reckon. You know what?¡± his eyes glimmered with mischief. ¡°Feed a baby to the dogs and they¡¯ll eat for a day. Teach the baby to feed the dogs and I¡¯ll never have to do that stinking job anymore.¡±


    Gunther argued some more but it was no use. Once Tyron made up his mind about a thing he became like a stone statue. Unmovable. The baby stayed and, true to his word, once Runt grew old enough to walk and carry a bucket, Tyron never fed the dogs again.


    The window continued to rattle and shake with Tyron¡¯s snoring as Runt replayed the story in his mind. He looked down the row of kennels and sighed. He was nearly done with Fang. Next would be Bruiser, then Gash, then Shank. It was going to be a long night.


    Runt knew what the word ¡®slave¡¯ meant but it never occurred to him that he might be one. It was only later, after getting a small taste of freedom, that the truth of his position became clear.


    The thundering snores were interrupted by a frantic banging at the office door.


    ¡°Bug¡¯r¡¯off¡± the giant man mumbled from his bed.


    The banging repeated. ¡°Open up!¡± A man¡¯s voice yelled out, ¡°It¡¯s an emergency!¡±


    ¡°Said bug¡¯r¡¯off.¡±


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    Runt heard Tyron roll over, not to get up, but to get more comfortable and fall into a deeper sleep.


    The banging intensified. The dogs up and down the kennel began barking and howling and jumping against their cage doors.


    Runt, frozen by indecision, tugged on one of the curly ringlets in his mop of hair. The man began yanking on the door, now, as if to break in. Runt put down the brush, left Fang¡¯s kennel, passed Tyron curled up in his nest, and crept towards the door.


    ¡°Who is it?¡± he asked in a tiny voice. The yanking stopped.


    ¡°It¡¯s Jeffrey. I¡¯m sent from McGregor¡¯s farm. There¡¯s a wolf about and our sheep are lambing. Please let me in!¡±


    Runt unlatched the door and a gangly young man, all arms and legs, stumbled in with a lantern clutched in one hand and a terrified look on his face.


    ¡°Mr McGregor normally comes himself, or sends Harvey.¡± Runt whispered. But then, none of this was normal. Runt never talked to the clients. He always hid in the shadows when others were around. Talking to people was Tyron¡¯s job. Probably the only job left in the kennels that Runt did not do himself.


    ¡°Harvey¡¯s at the other farm. They¡¯re lambing there, too. And McGregor¡¯s laid up with his bad knee. He sent me.¡± It almost sounded like an apology, but the gangly lad continued.


    ¡°And there¡¯s a wolf about and it¡¯s only me and I heard they sometimes attack people and I¡¯m not even fully grown yet and ¨C wait, you¡¯re very short. And your hair!¡±


    Runt just shrugged as if to say ¡°do you want a dog or not?¡± and walked back out to the kennels. Jeffrey followed behind. His lantern cast crazy shadows against the walls as the dogs redoubled their howls.


    ¡°Gosh, it¡¯s dark out here.¡± Jeffrey¡¯s voice wavered. Runt shrugged again. He could see just fine in the dark and Tyron never allowed a lantern, so the kennels were always like this.


    ¡°Fang¡¯s ready to go,¡± Runt indicated. The dog leaped against the cage door growling and flashing its teeth. Fang¡¯s shadow loomed and danced monstrously against the far wall.


    Jeffrey took several steps back. ¡°N-n-no. Not that one. Too mean! I need a nicer one.¡±


    Runt paused.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not a thing. They¡¯re killers. They¡¯re trained to be nasty. They don¡¯t bite people, though. Well, not a lot. And if they do bite people, they don¡¯t mean it. Mostly.¡± He looked down at his hand, still red from the nip Fang had given him only a few minutes ago when he¡¯d pulled the brush too hard.


    Jeffrey goggled at the bite mark and looked around wildly.


    ¡°That one!¡± he pointed frantically, ¡°I¡¯ll take that one! He looks alright. I¡¯ll take him! He¡¯s not barking.¡±


    The sign above the cage door read ¡°Daisy¡±. Jeffrey was half right.


    ¡°Daisy¡¯s a female dog. Our dam. For making puppies. She doesn¡¯t go out much. But, yeah, she¡¯s nice.¡± She was, in fact, Runt¡¯s favourite. Each night he curled up in her kennel to sleep.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take her! I¡¯ll bring her back first thing in the morning. Thank goodness you answered the door! If that wolf kills any of our ewes it¡¯d be my head on the chopping block.¡± Jeffrey gushed, as he took a dog lead off the door post and handed it to Runt.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ Daisy¡¯s not supposed to¡­ You¡¯re only meant to¡­¡± The words shrivelled and choked his throat. Arguing was not in Runt¡¯s nature. He spent his whole life doing exactly as he was told. Moving on auto-pilot, he reached up and clipped the lead onto Daisy¡¯s collar and handed it to Jeffrey. Daisy bent her head down to lick Runt on the nose before ambling out the door. Jeffrey tugged on the lead and coaxed her out of the yard, through the office, and beyond.


    ¡°Thanks so much,¡± Jeffrey yelled over his shoulder, ¡°I¡¯ll bring her back directly. First thing in the morning. You¡¯ll see!¡±


    Wincing, Runt tugged at one of his curls as he watched her leave. Then his heart surged, thinking: Tyron will wake up. Tyron will see Daisy going out and he¡¯ll yell and stop Jeffrey taking her. Tyron will fix it.


    The window rattled again as another snore heaved up out of the giant¡¯s body, and the outside door slammed shut. The faint sounds of Jeffrey, running now back to the farm, faded into the darkness. Daisy was gone. Runt stood still for a minute, then sighed, and went back to the kennels. It was Bruiser¡¯s turn for the brush.


    Runt didn¡¯t know it at the time, but that one small action, sending Daisy to the farm, would set a chain of events into motion that would change his life forever.

 Chapter 4: A small problem

    A small problem


    Jeffrey did not bring Daisy back first thing in the morning. He did not bring her back second thing in the morning, either. Nor did he bring her back in the third. In fact, it was approaching midday and there was no sign of the dog or the farm hand.


    Groans could be heard from the office, now. Tyron was waking and, by the sounds, waking with an almighty hangover. This was normal. Waking to find their breeding dam gone, however, was not.


    Runt began practising excuses frantically. He needed some kind of cover story to avoid being flogged. Could she have escaped? Perhaps Jeffrey threatened him, or pushed him aside and stole Daisy by force? Perhaps he was asleep the whole time and didn¡¯t realise she was gone? Could he act surprised like that? Maybe he should just run away?


    He almost cried out in relief when he heard a rap at the door (a much more civilised knock than the one from the night before) and the friendly yap of his favourite dog. Runt forgot his fears and ran to the door. Flinging it open, Daisy bowled him over and began licking his face. He quickly got up again and fixed his hair. Jeffrey stood above him with crossed arms.


    ¡°I brought your dog back.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Fat lot of help she was. Bloody useless.¡±


    Runt did not reply. Jeffrey pushed on.


    ¡°Bloody useless mutt. Wouldn¡¯t come when I called. Wouldn¡¯t bark when I said. Didn¡¯t even chase the wolf. Are you listening to me?¡±


    Runt nodded.


    ¡°She just sat there and watched! And the blasted wolf came over to her and d¡¯you know what? She just bloody wandered off with it. Into the Wilds! I spend all morning near the edge of the woods yelling for her. Thought she was a goner. Thought she was snuffed. Then, out of nowhere, she just trots up, all chirpy and fine, and follows me back here!¡±


    Runt stared at his feet.


    ¡°Are you listening? She was bloody hopeless!¡± A finger was now being waved in Runt¡¯s direction.


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    ¡°Are the sheep ok?¡± Runt whispered. ¡°How many lambs did you lose?¡±


    ¡°Wait, what? Well, none. Like I said, the wolf left. But that¡¯s not the point!¡± Jeffrey¡¯s face went beetroot red. ¡°The point is ¨C ¡°


    ¡°Will you shut up!?!?¡± Tyron roared, sitting up in his bed, grimacing and clutching his head. Bleary eyes opened a crack to see a tall gangly youth with his finger extended threateningly at Runt.


    ¡°Runt! Get out back! And you,¡± he yelled, stumbling to his feet, ¡°come back later!¡± The door slammed in Jeffrey¡¯s face and, by the time the boss turned around, Runt and Daisy were nowhere to be seen.


    Nearly two months passed before Runt realised there was going to be a problem. The night sky covered everything in dark. He lay against Daisy in her kennel and prepared for sleep.


    A tiny paw poked him in the back of the head.


    Runt rolled over and sat up. Daisy snored faintly as she slept. He gently lay his hand on her belly. Another bump, a twitch, and a wriggle. He almost imagined the sound of a tiny heartbeat.


    Two weeks later the puppy was born. Just one. Of course, fate would have it that Gunther was there. He and Tyron were on their third bottle of grog. They stood outside the kennel looking down at the new mother.


    ¡°You can¡¯t keep it,¡± Gunther drawled, ¡°you¡¯ll lose the kennels. You¡¯ll get chased out of town. Go grab a sack and we¡¯ll chuck it in the creek. They don¡¯t feel nothin¡¯ when they¡¯re little.¡±


    ¡°Dunno.¡± Tyron frowned.


    ¡°Bugger it, gimme a brick and I¡¯ll dong it now. Get the runt to dig a hole out in the muck yard. But do it now. You gotta get rid of it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± The bearish man looked slowly down at his empty hands as if expecting a brick to appear.


    ¡°Look, just find a bucket and fill it with water. They can¡¯t swim when they¡¯re fresh born. It won¡¯t even make a noise.¡±


    Runt, listening to these horrible instructions while crouched in Daisy¡¯s kennel, did something different for the first time in his life. He argued.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill him!¡± he yelled, clutching the puppy. ¡°We¡¯ve got a spare kennel. And I¡¯ll look after him. I¡¯ll do everything. I¡¯ll even find food for him.¡±


    Gunther bristled and instinctively pulled his hand back to strike despite being nowhere near the boy. Runt stared back fiercely. The stablemaster, squinting slit-eyed at Tyron, pointed a shaking finger at the pup and made a slashing motion across his throat. Tyron just stared away, deep in thought.


    ¡°Nahhhhh. Gonna keep it. Could make a mean killer when it grows up. Or we could use it as bait. Need to paint it or something, though. Before anyone sees.¡±


    Runt beamed up at the giant man and hugged the puppy tightly. It wriggled free and stood, wagging its tail, then sneezed and shook its fur which, from shoulder to rump, was covered in the vertical stripes of a wolf.

 Chapter 5: Foraging

    Foraging


    In the dark of night Runt was close to invisible. He still moved silently, and with cunning, and with skill, but his job of staying hidden was much easier. The people of the city carried oil lanterns to guide their way, but this made them blind to anything beyond the flickering circle of light. Runt learned, from an early age, to rely on his night-vision and hearing. In the dark he became a ghost.


    The puppy changed things. Tyron kept Runt to his word and he was now required, every night, to forage. The rapidly growing hound needed food and Runt¡¯s job was to ¡°find¡± it. He would wait, impatiently, each night for dusk, peering over the fence every few minutes willing the sun to sink faster towards the mountains. He always paused, though, as the sun dipped, and admired the glow across the horizon. For a few minutes just as the sun set the mountain range would glimmer with a strange colour. He heard Tyron call that glow ¡°the spirit of the dragon¡± once but the kennel master only growled when Runt asked what that meant. Then, as dusk descended, the glimmer would fade, and Runt got to work.


    Chook-houses, pigpens, and scrapheaps were his hunting grounds. Runt darted from place to place with a bucket in his hand, collecting morsels of their food here and there, never taking it all and never leaving a trace. Some of the animals began expecting his arrival. One hairy boar liked being scratched behind its ears. One of the roosters seemed to enjoy chest rubs. Behind the tannery junk pile, where he scrounged for discarded scraps of meat and skin, a cat had made a nest and the kittens would curl in and around his legs while he foraged.


    The other nightly task was more risky. Tyron decided against painting the pup in the end. Paint was expensive. But the pup¡¯s stripes needed hiding. Runt put down his bucket of scraps, adjusted the leather pouch tied to his waist, and began climbing the wall of the tannery. It was delicate work. Some of the planks creaked, others were loose. These were avoided. He nimbly climbed to the roof and crept to the large chimney that, during the day, belched out clouds of black smoke. Each night the fire smouldered out.


    Opening the pouch, Runt carefully and quietly began scraping the insides of the chimney. He filled a pouchful of soot and pulled it shut. Another job finished. Runt turned and looked around from his perch up high.


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    Lantern lights dotted the hillside of Demonia in groups where the houses stood. Looking up the hill, the lights became larger, brighter, and more frequent. The inner-city glowed like a beacon. In the other direction, towards the Wilds Beyond, and the mountains framing the horizon, it was nearly pitch dark. A tiny island of light appeared, here and there, where a lonely cottage lantern stood against the inky blackness.


    One last job, the best of all, and the one he dared not tell Tyron about. Looking back towards the kennels, near the crossroads, Runt saw the cluster of torches encircling a campfire. Carefully climbing down the tannery wall, he collected the scraps, and made his way over.


    ¡°¡­easily as big as a horse. Bigger, even. And twice as wide.¡± The old man sat, wrapped in blankets, on a log near the campfire. His voice was low and raspy like a sword being scraped across stone. ¡°Mammoths. Ugly brutes. Long, shaggy, brown hair across their backs and down their four tree-trunk legs. Sometimes you don¡¯t see ¡®em right away coz they blend in. But if they see you first¡­ look out!¡± He was surrounded by children who sat on the grass, or on rocks, or on one of the long logs arranged around the fire. No matter where they sat, they sat in wide-eyed silence, while the old man recounted tales from the Wilds Beyond. ¡°Massive heads, they have, and big, ugly faces. But with beady little eyes that peek out behind a bulbous nose. A sort of squashed face. From pushing over the trees. That¡¯s how they eat, see? Push over trees to get to the tastiest leaves which, of course, are near the tops. Massive chompers. They can eat trees whole. Bark, sticks, and all.¡±


    ¡°Do they eat people?¡± one little boy asked, clutching a toy bunny tightly to his chest.


    ¡°Nah. But they¡¯re still dangerous. If they see you first, you¡¯re toast. They drop their head and charge. I was out there once. Chasing a sheep we lost the night before. Found it about half a mile in. But before I could grab it a mammoth burst out the scrub, outta nowhere, and lined that sheep up. Knocked the poor old thing about fifteen yards. The sheep never even knew what hit it. Killed it, of course.¡±


    Greybeard, the storyteller. He entertained the children who were too young to work but too old to be stuck at home. Runt always hid in the bushes nearby. Within hearing but out of sight. And when it was over, he would pick up the bucket and the pouch and sneak back to the kennels.

 Chapter 6: Storytime

    Storytime


    Storytime became one of highlights of his day. That, and playing with Dog. He tried many other names but none of them stuck. Just Dog. Well, the pup¡¯s real name, his secret name, was Stripes, but Runt couldn¡¯t use that name in front of anyone. The only stripy dog-shaped animals in Demon¡¯s Land were wolves, and wolves were killed, skinned, and turned into cloaks. Runt had a secret name for himself, too. He¡¯d been called it, just once, by mistake.


    As the weeks and months passed Runt needed more and more of the soot to cover Dog¡¯s secret heritage. The pup was nearly taller than Runt, now. The pouch needed to be filled until it bulged and even then, it was barely enough. And every night, on the way back to the kennels, Runt stopped to listen to the stories. Not just about killer creatures, but about the land, the people, and their history.


    ¡°¡­Demon¡¯s Land is an island. Completely surrounded by ocean. But you can¡¯t see much of the water because, to get there, you¡¯d need to walk through the Deep Wilds, and then cross the Dragon-scale Mountains. But you¡¯d be dead long before you got that far. That is, unless you live in the inner-city, at the very top of the hill. They say you can see the ocean in all directions from up there. If you really want to see a little part of the ocean, though, it¡¯s not too hard. You ride the carts down to the port where they load the trade boats with wool, wheat, and butter, all in exchange for gold. But the real ocean is out way past that, through the Drake¡¯s Maw, through the mouth of the Dragon. Only the best sailors can make it through the teeth of the Drake and into the open waters. The traders learned how to do it after we showed them.¡±


    Another time:


    ¡°Some people say the Dragon-scale mountains were a real dragon once. The legend says that it lived in Demon¡¯s Land and, one evening at sunset, it saw a giant snake wriggling in front of it. The dragon tried to swallow the snake and choked to death. Naturally, the snake turned out to be the Dragon¡¯s own tail. Now, every night on sunset, the dragon¡¯s spirit flies up into the sky. You can see it, just on sunset, the mysterious cloud rising above the mountains. The story¡¯s not true, naturally. But it sure looks like a dragon from here. The ridge of the mountain looks like a spine. And the mountain makes a full loop of the island. And the sides of the mountain look like they¡¯re covered in scales. You want to know truth about the scales? It¡¯s slate, a type of rock that breaks into sheets. They even use it on the houses up the hill, for the rooves. And the spirit of the dragon is probably just the saltwater spray of the ocean crashing up against the mountain. When the sun¡¯s at the right angle it looks like a colourful cloud. But the head, though. That looks pretty real. I sometimes even wonder, myself, if the story¡¯s true, when I see the head. You ought to see it for yourself one day. There¡¯s smoke that comes out the nose and everything, like a real dragon.¡±


    Another time:


    ¡°They say outsiders are jealous of how rich we are here in Demon¡¯s Land. If it weren¡¯t for the mountains, and the Drake¡¯s Maw, and the treacherous passage through the teeth, they would¡¯ve invaded us years ago. As it is, only one boat at a time can squeeze through, and even then, it¡¯s risky. Us Demonians, though, we¡¯ve been here for ever. No one¡¯s really sure just how long. Thousands of years, at least. My dad was a farmer, and his dad before that, and his dad before that. And so on. We used to grow wheat, but then my great grand-dad was allergic, so he switched to cows. My dad hated cows so he switched to sheep. I¡¯m not sure who runs that farm anymore. I haven¡¯t been out past the fence since my legs gave up on me¡­¡±


    And, another time, a small lad called Henry asked about the Captain and whether he could be Captain one day. This caused an uproar of laughter from the other children but Greybeard always answered his students seriously.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, Henry. The Captain passes on his title by blood alone. So, unless the Captain is your dad, you don¡¯t have a chance. And since your dad is Graham the butcher, you¡¯re out of luck. I¡¯ve seen three Captains of Demonia come and go. I can¡¯t remember the first one much since I was only your age when he died. The next two were different in their own way. One of them did a lot of building, I heard. He really moved the fence outward. Expanded the city. The next one was big on trade. I still remember that clearly because they really pushed us farmers to grow more of everything. To sell to the traders, see? But the latest one, well, he¡¯s an interesting character. He¡¯s made a lot of new laws. Like making it properly illegal to go into the Wilds. And the hair thing. Not that most people had a problem with keeping their hair short, but it was never a rule. People are happy enough with him, though, because our trade is booming. We¡¯re richer now than ever before. And with all these laws, there¡¯s plenty of jobs if you want to become a trooper. I tell you one thing, though,¡± and at this, Greybeard leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, ¡°they say he¡¯s a bit odd, and real fussy about women. He¡¯s no spring chicken but, at this point, no wife, and no child to make his heir and future Captain. So there you go, Henry¡±, he laughed, talking louder once again, ¡°you might just be Captain one day, after all!¡±


    But Runt loved to hear about the creatures of the Wilds most of all.


    ¡°Kiddners, they call ¡®em. As big and round as a sheep, maybe a bit rounder. Covered in spikes and with a long, skinny, trunk. They¡¯re called kiddners, I suspect, due to their diet. Their small mouth means they mainly eat babies. If you make ¡®em mad they shoot their spikes at you.¡±


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    ¡°Tell us about the hoppers, Greybeard!¡± another child, a girl this time, who came most nights holding the hand of her older brother.


    ¡°Hoppers! Gotta watch ¡®em. First time I saw one I thought it was a man. Stand on two legs, they do, about as tall as a man, or taller, but the legs are sort of folded up. They got these long, gangly arms they use to grab branches. And a tail as long and thick as my leg. They got this ugly round head and a flat face. Kinda like the mammoth¡¯s head but smaller. And big chompers for eating the trees.¡±


    ¡°Do they eat people?¡± the girl asked timidly.


    ¡°Nope. But I saw a hopper kill a dog once. I took it into the Wilds to hunt. Technically, you¡¯re not allowed to go there but the rule is mostly about the Deep Wilds, where the scrub is so thick its near dark all year round. There¡¯s good meat out in the Shallow Wilds and the dogs needed feeding. So I took my best dog and went hunting.¡± The story-teller paused for a second, remembering, then frowned.


    ¡°Anyway, like I said, we went out looking for meat and came across this hopper. It would¡¯ve been easily a head or two taller than me. They look bigger up close. The dog crept up from behind as best he could. Well, that hopper turned around at the sound of him and raised itself up proper. Like I said, its legs are sort of folded up, and this beggar unfolded them and stood up another three feet tall. It made this weird grunting noise, leaned back on its tail, and kicked!¡±


    In unison, the children, who had been leaning forward, all flinched and pulled back.


    ¡°Knocked the life clean outta him. Never saw anything like it. Kids, you stay away from them Wilds, and if you do have to go in there for any reason, stay outta the way of them hoppers and mammoths.¡±


    Silence filled the campgrounds for a few moments while the audience soaked in the terror of the unknown. A small, curly haired boy broke the silence. Jonathon. Runt knew this one as he sometimes tagged along behind his father to collect dog poo for the tannery.


    ¡°Does anything eat people out there, Greybeard?¡±


    The story-teller sighed and then grimaced.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ getting late. You lot had better push off.¡±


    A chorus of complaints broke out. The childrens¡¯ sing-song of ¡°one more story¡± and ¡°tell us tell us¡± caused several pigeons nesting in the tree above Runt to take flight. Greybeard waved his hands for quiet.


    ¡°You know about wolves, everyone does. They¡¯re killers but, with the dogs, we can keep ourselves safe from them. But there is one thing out there,¡± he paused again, and continued with a croak in his voice, ¡°one thing out there that¡¯s unstoppable. A real monster. Drop-bears. I only ever saw one, once. It was the last time I went into the Wilds apart from¡­¡±


    He stopped to pull the rugs closer around him as if the memory made him cold.


    ¡°Anyway. This was all a long time ago. There were two kids at the farm where I worked. Adventurous little brats. Always into mischief. Always exploring.¡± He smiled, then, but it was a sad sort of smile.


    ¡°There¡¯s a type of fruit found out in the Deep Wilds, see? I shouldn¡¯t be telling you this,¡± He paused for a minute, then sighed, ¡°just like I shouldn¡¯t have told them. We called it the forbidden fruit because it grows on a type of tree that you only find right out in the Deep. You¡¯d be mad to go for it but, oh boy, those fruit are sweet and juicy. They¡¯re heaven. You¡¯ve never tasting anything like it.¡±


    The story-teller paused for a second, as if eating one in his imagination, then his face went dark.


    ¡°Like I said, I shouldn¡¯t have told them. It was the day of my birthday and I found a note saying what they¡¯d done. What they planned to do. For my birthday.¡±


    His voice cracked, and choked. It was the only sound in the dark apart from the logs hissing in the fire.


    ¡°They were easy enough to track. Once you get into the Deep Wilds you need to beat a path through the ferns and scrub. I took a dog and followed their trail out. You can¡¯t see far when you¡¯re in the Deep. The scrub¡¯s thick on the ground, and the trees tower overhead and block out the sun. I heard them before I saw them. Just laughing and carrying on.¡±


    Greybeard¡¯s eyes glistened in the fire light with unshed tears.


    ¡°The girl was half-way up the fey-tree. That¡¯s what they call ¡®em. The trees that make the fruit. They call ¡®em fey-trees because there¡¯s a weird magic about ¡®em. She was up there knocking fruit down to the ground and the lad was scrabbling around on the forest floor to put them in a basket. He¡­ he never saw it. The drop-bear.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re about as big as a wolf, probably a bit bigger, but thicker if you get my meaning. Real muscular. More like a giant cat, maybe. With massive claws on their feet. If you came across one on the ground you¡¯d be ok. Their legs aren¡¯t made for running. That¡¯s not how they hunt.¡±


    He sighed again before continuing.


    ¡°I think the lad knew it, right at the last second. He looked up, anyhow. Looked up and screamed. You see, drop-bears hide in trees and wait for food to come to them. They wait. They pounce. And they kill. They cut you up with their big hooked claws. Sharp as a razor, they are. And they drag their meat back into the trees to eat. Teeth like knives. You wouldn¡¯t believe it till you saw one. Me and the dog managed to chase it off but it was too late. He was only eleven years old.¡±


    The tears flooded out of the old man, then, and he spoke no more. Story time was over. Silently, in groups of two or three, the children began moving off. They took the torches with them until there was no light left apart from the campfire, burning low.

 Chapter 7: Secret storytime

    Secret Storytime


    Something was different that night. Greybeard would usually leave with the last of them and totter off to his cottage. He used a staff to help him walk. Tonight, though, he sat in silence long after the children left.


    This created a small problem. Runt usually waited until everyone left before moving. It was safest that way. Perhaps the old man had fallen asleep? Runt shifted slightly, preparing to move, when the low, rasping voice called out across the clearing.


    ¡°I hear you out there, you know? As clearly as you see me, I hear you. You come here almost every night, but never closer. Why not come sit by the fire?¡±


    Runt held his breath and sat completely still.


    ¡°A shy one, are you? Perhaps you¡¯re not allowed out with the others? Would this help?¡±


    Greybeard leaned across and tipped over the water pot that simmered by the fire. The glowing coals hissed, spat and went dark. Runt grabbed his bucket and pouch and prepared to flee.


    ¡°You can run if you like. I don¡¯t mind. But there¡¯s something you want to ask me, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    Runt paused. Actually there were a lot of things he wanted to ask.


    ¡°You won¡¯t tell?¡± he called out timidly. ¡°You won¡¯t say I¡¯ve been listening? You won¡¯t say you saw me?¡±


    Greybeard chuckled. ¡°Lad, I haven¡¯t seen anything in more than ten years. I¡¯m blind.¡±


    Runt inched forward and then paused. Then inched forwards. Then paused.


    ¡°How do I know you¡¯re telling the truth?¡± he asked in a wavering voice, feeling scared and foolish at the same time.


    ¡°I guess you¡¯ll just have to trust me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust anybody, mister.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± Greybeard wheezed, ¡°but I can¡¯t stay here all night. The cold gets in my bones. Did you want to ask me something? Only one question tonight. Ask me another tomorrow, if you like.¡±


    Runt, by this time, had edged close enough to make out the old man¡¯s face in the starlight. His eyes, indeed, were clouded. ¡°Greybeard and grey eyes¡± Runt thought to himself. Funny that he¡¯d never noticed that before.


    ¡°Will you sit?¡± Greybeard asked, indicating the log nearby.


    ¡°No, thanks. Not this time.¡±


    ¡°And your question?¡±


    Runt had thought about this a lot. He went to sleep each night wondering.


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    ¡°I¡¯d like to know, what¡¯s the most dangerous creature out in the Deeps? Which one?¡±


    ¡°Ahhhh.¡± Greybeard sat back. ¡°That¡¯s a good question. Which do you think?¡±


    ¡°The hopper and kiddners sound bad, but only if you threaten them. The mammoth sounds bad, but only if you don¡¯t spot it first, and they¡¯re big, so if you miss it, that¡¯s your fault. And the drop-bears are deadly. But only if you don¡¯t check the trees. And if you see one on the ground you can get away.¡±


    ¡°Yes, all good points.¡±


    ¡°Which makes me think the wolf is the most dangerous. But I don¡¯t believe it.¡± Runt concluded. What he didn¡¯t say was, ¡°because I have one as a pet and it¡¯s lovely.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm. Yes, the wolves. You know, we talk about the wolves a lot because they aren¡¯t afraid to enter the farmlands. And they hunt at night which makes them more dangerous. I¡¯m going to answer your question but first I need to tell you a secret.¡± He leaned forward and whispered. His voice grated like a sword across stone. ¡°I once knew a little girl who kept a wolf as a pet. It was the friendliest creature I ever met.¡±


    Runt¡¯s hair prickled all over. Greybeard leant back and kept talking.


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t hear that from me. And I haven¡¯t answered your question. The most dangerous creature out in the Deeps is none of the ones we¡¯ve discussed.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not? But then what is?¡±


    ¡°Before I tell you, you must know, it¡¯s forbidden to talk about them. By orders of the Captain himself. I could get in a whole pile of trouble.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell, I promise!¡±


    ¡°Ah, but how do I know I can trust you?¡± Greybeard chuckled, and Runt could have sworn those blind eyes glimmered in the dark. Instead of answering, Runt simply sat down on the log next to the old man and waited. When Greybeard continued, he talked in a whisper.


    ¡°We called them Harpies. Strange little creatures, only one or two feet tall, with the face of a person, and with arms and legs. But they¡¯re not people. They¡¯re furry, and have a tail, and they live in the fey-trees. And they fly!¡±


    ¡°They fly?¡±


    ¡°Shhhhh. Yes, they fly. Not like a bird as such. They have this sort of skin stretched between their arms and legs. They move unbelievably fast. All you see is a blur of fur and wings if you disturb one.¡±


    ¡°But what do they do? Do they bite?¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand. They¡¯re intelligent. They don¡¯t just have the face of a person. They think like a person. But worse. They have some kind of magic. They¡¯re witches.¡±


    ¡°Witches¡­¡± Runt echoed. With the cold of night setting in this word came out of his mouth as a puff of fog.


    ¡°Witches. They can steal your soul with their magic. They can put you to sleep. And if enough of them gang up, they can carry your sleeping body back to their tree caves, where they suck your blood until you¡¯re just a dried-out husk. And you won¡¯t even know they¡¯re doing it because they hypnotise you, see? They put a spell on your mind! I know all this because the little girl, the girl from the farm ¨C¡°


    ¡°Hey!¡± A voice rang out across the clearing. A bright light streamed over the campfire. ¡°What are you up to here, mumbling to yourself, Greybeard? It¡¯s time you went home.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, officer. I must have fallen asleep.¡± Greybeard muttered.


    The guard helped the old man to his feet. Runt, of course, was nowhere to be seen.


    Greybeard was not at the campfire the following night. From atop the tannery roof Runt saw the lanterns mill around the clearing uncertainly, and then drift off again in small groups.


    The same thing happened the following night, and the night after. On the fourth night an old lady was sitting in his spot. She told the children fairy tales about dragons, princesses, orcs, and goblins. There were witches, dwarves, knights, and spells. There were pirates on boats, and great storms, and evil creatures from the deeps. Runt liked the stories, but he knew they were make-believe.


    No one asked about Greybeard or, if they did, Runt was not there to hear the answer.

 Chapter 8: Friday

    Friday


    That night, when Runt returned from his foraging, the office was empty. It was Friday. His favourite night. The one night he could say what he wanted, do what he wanted, and make as much noise as he wanted, without fear of being yelled at, or teased, or beaten.


    Runt wasn¡¯t exactly sure where the boss went on a Friday, but it was something to do with the grog. At the end of each week Tyron would hitch up half a dozen hounds, the biggest and meanest they had, and head out on the fall of dusk. It was a ritual so dependable that Runt didn¡¯t even question it anymore.


    Runt wasn¡¯t sure where he went, but he knew exactly how long the journey took. Tyron would return, each Saturday morning, just before sunrise. Guaranteed. It was something to do with the grog. He came back with bottles and bottles of it, stuffed in his backpack, clinking and rattling as he walked up the track with the red sun of dawn painting the horizon. The dogs, tails between their legs and heads down, would be covered in prickles and sticks.


    On Friday nights Runt was the Captain of the kennels. It was his one secret pleasure, the thing that made the rest of the week bearable and, since the birth of his puppy, Runt¡¯s Fridays became even more enjoyable.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Stripes.¡± Runt sang, grabbing a handful of the dried dog food meant for the wolfhounds. Stripes nearly bowled him over as the kennel door opened. The pup had sprouted like a mushroom. He was now easily as tall as the biggest wolfhound and showed no sign of stopping.


    The other dogs began barking furiously as Stripes left the kennel. Runt felt a familiar twinge of guilt each time this happened. The other dogs had not accepted him and, in fact, barely tolerated him. At best, they ignored Stripes. At worst, they sometimes tried to fight him. Tyron didn¡¯t mind. He encouraged it.


    ¡°He¡¯s got wolf blood inside, and they know it.¡± Tyron grunted, once.


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    Runt held out a fist, palm down. Stripes obediently sat, then, as Runt motioned, he lay. With a small flick of his wrist, the pup rolled over onto its back, and then, at the signal, rolled over again. He looked up at Runt with dark, thoughtful eyes.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± Runt said, scratching the pup¡¯s ears, ¡°have a treat.¡±


    Runt squeezed under the loose plank that led to the muck yards. A month ago, Stripes would have followed but he was much too big, now. Instead, he simply leapt over the fence that surrounded the kennels. Within moments they were out of the yards and racing across the clearing towards the city¡¯s edge.


    The ¡°fence¡± that surrounded the city was a simple line of rough-cut stones. Even Runt had no trouble jumping over that. Still, his hair stood with a prickle of excitement every time they crossed.


    Stripes loved fetching sticks, or sniffing out rabbit holes, or running rings around his master at full pace. The pup¡¯s large feet tore at the ground as it sprinted and turned. Then, at the slightest hand signal from Runt, he would drop to his belly in a flash and wait, in complete silence.


    Sometimes, when he was feeling brave, Runt would lead them further out, towards the farmlands, and hunt. The first time Stripes saw a sheep his eyes lit up, his ears pricked, and he barked and bolted straight for it. That night they both ran home in absolute terror after being yelled and chased by the farmer¡¯s lad. Next time they were more careful. Runt trained Stripes to creep, pause, and drop. Not a mouse anymore, but a silent, stalking predator. They never actually killed a sheep, of course. It was a game of pretend. The goal was to see how close Runt and his pup could sneak before the sheep was alerted. It was not long before they grew very good at this game.


    As they walked home together in the silent hours before dawn, a boy and his pup, Runt could feel himself growing bigger inside. He was, slowly but surely, discovering a world that stretched beyond the kennels. A world where he could laugh, and run, and play, without first checking over his shoulder. A world where he could speak his mind without fear of a flogging. A world where he didn¡¯t need permission from an ungrateful master. Where he could simply be himself, ugly and proud.


    Creeping over the muck yard fence, under the loose plank and into the kennels he thought to himself, ¡°One day. One day I will need to duck under this gap.¡±


    But he never did. Not even when, years later, he finally returned. By then the shack was rotted and crumbling, the kennels were empty, and the fear of the place was gone. But even in that unimagined, impossible future, so far from reach, still he passed under the gap.


    Some things never change.

 Chapter 9: Another Friday

    Another Friday


    It was on another secret Friday, months later, that Runt¡¯s world finally tipped upside down for good. The first hint of trouble came a week earlier. Tyron returned to the kennels just before dawn but this time something was different. Of the six dogs which left that night only five had returned. The dogs following behind him weren¡¯t just exhausted, they were torn and bleeding. Two of them limped. One was missing part of its ear. The shock of seeing such carnage made Runt forget himself.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Fang?¡± he blurted.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know!¡± Tyron roared, thrusting a sausage sized finger in Runt¡¯s face.


    The small boy shrank into the corner of the room. Tyron slung the backpack down with a rattling slosh. Whatever happened out there, it hadn¡¯t interfered with the grog. Tyron turned and saw Runt eying the backpack.


    ¡°Mind your own blasted business you wretched runt! Go and boil some bloody water and start cleaning up these useless mutts!¡± he yelled, and slammed the front door so hard that dust fell from the ceiling.


    They spent hours working together in complete silence. Runt washed the wounds with hot water while Tyron stitched up the worst of the gashes. Something had clearly bested the dogs in a fight. Something from the Wilds Beyond. Questions bubbled up in his throat but Runt swallowed them down. He knew the only answer he would get from the boss was a flogging.


    It was only later that afternoon, when Gunther came banging on the front door, that the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The two men began arguing almost immediately.


    ¡°What the bloody hell happened out there? You said those mutts of yours could handle a few wolves! One of them nearly got me!¡± Gunther screeched.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pin this on me, you mongrel! What about your so-called ¡®brave lads¡¯ that come along with us? A useless bunch in a tight spot, they were! A pack of cowards!¡± Tyron spat.


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    ¡°They¡¯re only there to lug crates of booze and you know it! Hired muscle. You¡¯re the bodyguard. You and your mutts. Fat lot of good you were.¡±


    ¡°Oh, nice, real nice. I¡¯ve been stitching ¡®em back together all morning and that¡¯s the thanks I get. The hounds gave as good as they got. If it weren¡¯t for us, you¡¯d be dead, all of you, and it¡¯d be your body drug off into the scrub, not my poor hound, Fang. Raised that one from a pup, I did. Just to see him dead and drug off into the scrub by a pack of blasted wolves.¡±


    They both paused to regain their breath. When Tyron started again, he spoke in a low voice, quiet enough that Runt¡¯s ears strained to make out the words.


    ¡°Somethin¡¯ ain¡¯t right about it, Gunther. That ain¡¯t how wolves hunt. Wolves don¡¯t move in packs like that. Wolves are loners. We was set up.¡±


    ¡°Set up?¡± Gunther hissed. ¡°Set up! Are you drunk? Who the bloody hell sets up an ambush with a pack of wolves? Who could even do that?¡±


    Tyron said nothing. Runt heard the giant man crossing his arms and he could picture the stubborn frown. Silent defiance screamed through the wall.


    ¡°Huh. So it¡¯s like that then?¡± Gunther growled. ¡°Well, there better not be any more bloody surprises next week. You¡¯ll run out of dogs.¡±


    Gunther was correct. They were running out of dogs. The week flew past and, in a blink, it was Friday again. Runt watched as Tyron peered into each and every kennel. He grunted and swore at the sight of each injured wolfhound. Their wounds, though healing, were still red and oozing, and the dogs with limps could barely walk. Tyron paused for an awfully long time as he stared into Stripes¡¯ kennel. Paused, and stared, and muttered. He was still a pup, but Stripes had grown rapidly and was easily as big and strong as any of the hounds. Runt said nothing, but cold worms of fear began oozing through his insides. Friday was no longer his favourite day.


    Tyron took Stripes with him that night.


    The kennel master left with Stripes and five other wolfhounds. The boy said nothing and had said nothing all week. The slightest noise caused Tyron to lash out. Fear, confusion, and anger still smouldered in his eyes. The boy said nothing as the kennel master wrapped the leashes around his ham sized fist. The boy said nothing as the kennel master slung the backpack over his shoulder and grabbed a lantern. The boy said nothing as the kennel master jerked fiercely on the leads, causing the dogs to yelp and follow meekly out the door. The boy said nothing. He had already made up his mind to follow.

 Chapter 10: The slow chase

    The slow chase


    The glowing orb of light led up the track. Runt followed from a distance in the dark, silent and watchful. Tyron grunted at the trooper standing at the crossroads and continued on. They passed several buildings, all familiar now, until, up ahead, he saw a cluster of lantern lights surrounding a loaded cart.


    ¡°The stables,¡± Runt thought to himself, ¡°it figures.¡±


    Runt crouched at a distance and watched. He could see the men, nine of them, and Tyron and Gunther, all holding lanterns and talking nervously. The dogs whined and grumbled as if they sensed the tension. All except Stripes, standing a head taller than the others. Runt¡¯s pup didn¡¯t seem bothered by any of it.


    Tyron jerked the leads and began tramping down the hill. Once or twice, he was forced to lay the boot into one of the dogs to stop it scrapping with Stripes. Gunther slapped the horse¡¯s rump and then legged himself up into the cart with weasel-like agility. A couple of the men jogged up ahead to the rocks of the outer fence line and rolled several out the way. The rest of the men stayed near the cart. The party rolled on out towards the farmlands.


    Staying hidden was not a problem for Runt. The cart rattled and bumped along the crude track. The men held torches aloft and talked in low mutters to one another. The pace was slow. Runt increased his speed a little to get closer. He could make out, now, the contents of the cart. There were crates stacked upon crates of empty, rattling bottles. There were piles of empty buckets stacked next to them. Also, several bulging sacks were heaped near the front, behind the driver.


    Up ahead, in the moonlight, Runt saw the shadow of a farm cottage, but when they drew near he saw that it was deserted and crumbling into ruin. The cart turned here and now headed on, directly towards the Wilds Beyond.


    From a distance, the edge of the Wilds looks like a neatly drawn line of trees. Up close, Runt saw that it was more messy than that. There were trees, shrubs, long grasses, and ferns. The cart quickly disappeared into the scrub. The shadows cast by the lanterns became twisted giants frantically leaping to-and-fro. The talking mostly stopped and the men trudged on in nervous silence. The scrub, though, was anything but silent. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, the bushes rustled with unseen travellers, and all kinds of night bird sang, squawked, and hooted.


    Runt knew they were close when the smell of the scrub changed. It began as a faint tickle in his nose but rapidly developed into an overpowering odour of bread, and apples, and oily whiffs of grog. He heard Gunther call the men to a halt and one of the horses whinnied as he pulled in the reins. The cart stopped in a clearing up ahead. Runt crept to the edge of the scrub and watched.


    The men methodically unloaded the crates of empty bottles off the cart and into a crudely built shed. The doors were flung open wide and, inside, Runt saw a confusing assembly of iron tanks, pots, and wooden barrels connected by pipes. A small fire burned under one of the tanks and the smell of bread, apples and booze was much stronger here. As soon as the crates were unloaded, the whole process was repeated, in reverse. Near the back of the shed, in the flickering lantern light, glimmered hundreds of bottles of neatly stacked booze. The men started lugging the crates out, one by one.


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    Gunther, meanwhile, had alighted from the cart. Several of the sacks he carried into the shed. Runt guessed they contained ingredients for making more of the booze. Another of the sacks he carried around the back of the shed. Runt was forced to scramble around the edge of the clearing to see where he took it.


    A small, dingy cottage, no more than a hovel, stood behind the shed. It was roughly made with irregular sized planks of wood and small, unsplit logs. Gunther rapped on the door, but it didn¡¯t open. Instead, a curtain was flung aside, and a pale face appeared in the nearby window.


    Well, it was something like a window. In reality, it was just a place where the planks were spaced a little wider apart allowing small gaps to see through. There was no glass, and Runt saw that the curtain framing the gap was made of an old rotting sack.


    ¡°You gonna open up, or what? I brung your food and whatnot.¡± Gunther growled.


    ¡°Just¡­ just leave it there. I¡¯ll get it in the morning. In the daylight. No, actually, leave it in the shed. In case¡­ in case they get it. They might steal it.¡± The man¡¯s high pitched voice wavered desperately and his fingers were clenched over one of the planks. His face was not much more than a silhouette.


    Gunther shrugged and started to walk away.


    ¡°Wait¡­ w-wait! I¡­ I want to come back with you guys.¡± Runt saw the man licking his lips nervously.


    ¡°Huh? You ain¡¯t due back for another month. Who¡¯s gonna work the still if you come back?¡±


    ¡°To hell with the still! And to hell with the booze! I¡­ I¡¯m done with it! I¡¯m coming back with you guys. I can¡¯t take it out here anymore.¡±


    Gunther¡¯s head tipped back and he brayed with laughter.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? You need more money? You¡¯ll have to sort that with the boss when you get back. Here¡¯s your pay for this week, though.¡±


    Gunther pulled a leather pouch out his pocket and poked it through one of the gaps. The gold coins clinked together as they tumbled to the floor inside the cottage.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the money,¡± the man whined, and his fingers gripped the wooden planks tighter till the knuckles turned white, ¡°there¡¯s weird stuff going on out here in the scrub. I hear¡­ noises. And I¡¯m seeing things. Shadows. Creatures in the treetops staring with big bright eyes. And when I turn to look at them, they disappear. Sometimes I hear things flying overhead. And it¡¯s not just at night, anymore. I tell you, there¡¯s something out there and it¡¯s going to get me! Please ¨C ¡° and, at that, the man burst through the door, ¡°please! Take me with you. Here ¨C¡° his shaking hands scrabbled in the dirt, picked up the pouch of gold, and forced the coins back into Gunther¡¯s pocket, ¡°take the money. It¡¯s yours. And take me with you.¡±


    Gunther grabbed two handfuls of the man¡¯s collar and thrust him up against the wall.


    ¡°Get a bloody grip of yourself, son.¡± He hissed through gritted teeth. ¡°You¡¯re out here another month, right? Cooking up some booze. Four. More. Weeks. Then we take you back. We¡¯ll turn up with another bloke and they¡¯ll take over. Just like you did before. Got it?¡±


    The man slumped down and started sobbing. Gunther stood back, hesitated, then threw the pouch of gold through the door into the cottage. He left the sack of food where it lay and walked back to the cart.

 Chapter 11: Attack of the wolves

    Attack of the wolves


    ¡°Get a bloody move on, you louts!¡± Gunther yelled, rounding the corner of the shed. ¡°We ain¡¯t got all night! Tyron, you lazy sack of fat, what are you doing?¡±


    Tyron was slouched up against the cart. The dogs, all six of them, were mostly huddled on the ground, bored and motionless.


    ¡°I¡¯m just the bodyguard, remember?¡± he grunted.


    Gunther threw his hands up and swore. He marched into the shed and came out with a crate. Before long the cart was loaded full of booze. Runt noticed that several sacks had not been taken from the cart. The empty buckets, too, were left in the back. Was there another brewery hidden further in the scrub?


    It seemed not. The cart turned and, as a group, the party began marching back towards the farmlands. If anything, the men seemed more nervous, now. They clutched the lanterns tightly and constantly waved them left and right, squinting past the glare into the dense scrub. They jumped at the slightest noise from beyond the circle of light. One of them actually screamed when, as they pushed through some bushes, a raven burst out and flew overhead.


    The fear seemed infectious. The horse began pulling at the bit and rearing its head. The dogs, too, were restless. The horse reared again and stomped its feet. Gunther swore and jumped down. He walked to the front, grabbed it by the brace, and began leading the horse by the head. It moved only reluctantly.


    Runt watched from a safe distance. The men continued waving their lanterns to-and-fro trying to pierce the darkness. The shadows loomed. Gunther swore again as the horse broke his grip and reared back. The dogs began to growl with their hackles raised and their ears pricked up.


    Runt became aware, in degrees, of a silence falling around the party. It felt like a thick blanket was being draped over the scrub, starting from behind, then over, then in front. The crickets, frogs, and birds were all, one by one, falling silent. Runt¡¯s hair prickled and his heart thumped. Something was coming.


    Standing perfectly still, as he was, the pack of wolves marched straight past him. Runt held his breath and stared. The wolves really were quite similar to dogs in their size and the way they moved. Beneath the silver moonlight, the dark vertical stripes across their backs and down their sides stood out against the sleek golden-brown fur. One of the wolves yawned nervously as the pack slowly padded forwards and its mouth opened enormously wide. Runt immediately saw the resemblance in Stripes, who could open his mouth wide enough to fit the boy¡¯s head inside.


    As a pack, the wolves paused, then all at once galloped forwards. Chaos erupted.


    Several of the men screamed. One of them scrambled at the side of the cart trying to climb up. Runt heard Tyron curse and fumble at the leads. Gunther screeched and swung his boot at the nearest wolf. The dogs were free, then, and a bloody fight commenced.


    The wolves attacked soundlessly in contrast to the growling, barking, and snapping of teeth from the hounds. The dogs were hopelessly outnumbered. Runt saw four wolves surround Bruiser, biting him from all directions. Two others attacked Shank head on, while a third grabbed the dog¡¯s hind leg and started dragging him backwards.


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    Runt¡¯s pup, meanwhile, stood apart, frozen, neither attacking nor being attacked.


    The grim battle continued. Several of the men, now, made it up onto the cart. Gunther swore and ripped a lantern out the hands of the nearest one. He slung it down hard in amongst the pack of wolves and cackled as the flames erupted. The wolves leaped back. One of them, on fire, raced off into the scrub. The others paused.


    ¡°Fire! Fire, you layabouts! They¡¯s afeared of fire! Throw down!¡±


    Gunther snatched a second lantern and hurled it. As a fireball ballooned up the remaining wolves turned tail, and ran. Gunther garbled a string of wordless insults as they fled and then stood there, panting.


    ¡°Fire, lads.¡± He croaked, grinning madly. ¡°Looks like they don¡¯t like fire. Next time, we bring torches, soaked in pitch. A whole stack of torches. They won¡¯t get the better of us.¡±


    He turned slowly and his grin faded to a look of disgust. He cast his eyes first over the cowardly men piled in the cart, then the dogs, covered in bloody scratches and bites, then at Tyron who stood clenching and unclenching his large fists. Finally, his gaze fell upon Stripes.


    ¡°That blasted mutt,¡° he growled, ¡°was completely bloody useless! I told you we should¡¯ve killed him! Did you see? He didn¡¯t attack. He didn¡¯t help. He don¡¯t know what bloody side he¡¯s on.¡±


    Gunther reached under the seat of the cart. Runt heard the oily snicker of a sword unsheathed, and saw the orange glow of the fires reflected across the blade.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill him and you ain¡¯t gonna stop me this time, you fat dope.¡±


    Tyron, though, didn¡¯t even seem to be listening. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his ham-sized fists, looking off in the direction the wolves had fled. Gunther marched forwards and raised the blade.


    A sharp whistle cut through the darkness, and a high-pitched voice.


    ¡°Stripes! Here!¡±


    Runt ran forwards into the carnage. Gunther, sword still raised, twisted his head, and glared across in confusion and anger. His mouth formed a perfect O as he saw Runt emerge into the torchlight.


    ¡°What the bloody hell is that thing doing here? Tyron! What¡¯s it doing here?¡±


    Gunther began lurching towards the boy and his dog. Tyron turned slowly in a dreamlike state.


    ¡°Wait,¡± he said, ¡°what? What¡¯s the runt doing here?¡±


    Runt hugged Stripes around the neck, trembling, and yelled in a high and wavering voice ¡°You shan¡¯t kill him, you shan¡¯t! Not my Stripes!¡±


    ¡°Tyron, you idiot! I warned you this would happen. It knows! That creep seen the whole bloody setup. It¡¯ll rat on us to the troopers. If the creep dobs us in we¡¯ll be done for. I told you we should¡¯ve killed it!¡±


    Gunther gripped the sword in both hands and raised it directly overhead. Without thinking, Runt rolled to one side as the sword slashed down. To his joy, he saw Stripes roll, too. Just like they practised. The sword clattered on the ground. Gunther threw his head up and seethed through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Run, Stripes, run!¡± Runt yelled and, instinctively, he leaped across the shoulders of his dog. Stripes took his weight easily and, in a flash, they were both gone into the dark.

 Chapter 12: Flight into the Deeps

    Flight into the Deeps


    The remainder of that night was filled with competing fears. Runt worried Gunther and his men were chasing him down, so he pushed on into the Wilds. But every step forward took him further into the grip of the terrors from the Deep.


    The trees began to change. Thicker, taller, more ancient. The scrub, too, became more dense until it was hard to even find a way forwards. Runt climbed off Stripes and stood in the dark, listening. The blanket of silence had long since lifted. Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. Owls hooted. With every passing second Runt identified a greater number of sounds. For example, if he concentrated hard enough, he could identify at least five different types of frog, each with their own peculiar call and their own unique timing. The number of creatures around him seemed to swell as he focused on the sound.


    It was a bush orchestra, or more accurately, a choir of the Wild. Runt could hear, amongst the chaos and cacophony, a pattern to it all, a complex rhythm, a chorus that, at once, was perpetually repeated and yet never the same. It was hypnotising, intimidating, and beautiful.


    He peered up into the branches of the nearest tree. No drop-bears, as far as he could tell, but wasn¡¯t that the point? They hid up there. Still, it seemed safe.


    Not knowing what else to do, Runt scraped together a pile of leaves and sat. Stripes soon curled up in front of him and, before long, they both fell soundly asleep.


    Runt woke to a warm wet nose snuffling his face, then his neck, then under his head. As he opened his eyes a crack he quickly learned two things. Firstly, he fell asleep on an ant nest. Secondly, a kiddner doesn¡¯t actually eat children. It eats ants.


    He saw a nose longer than his arm snuffling around him. A tongue, almost as long again, flicked in and out of its tiny mouth at the end of the nose, licking up ants off the leaves, and off Runt. Looking up along the nose, two tiny, black, beady eyes stared back. Its plump, sheep-sized body was covered in a mat of spikes, each several inches long. The kiddner took a step forward and Runt saw that its feet ended in long, sharp claws.


    Runt scrabbled backwards until his back hit the tree. The near-blind creature, sensing movement, immediately took fright. The kiddner¡¯s spikes stood up across its back and its body seemed to swell in size. ¡°It¡¯s going to shoot its spikes at me!¡± Runt thought and, turning, rushed up the tree.


    The kiddner did not shoot any spikes. Runt later learned the spikes were a kind of hair and, as far as he knew, most creatures did not shoot hair. What the kiddner did was dig. The long claws began slinging dirt in all directions. Within seconds it was half-buried in the soil and leaf litter beneath the tree. It became something like a spiky bush with its head, feet, and belly all hidden beneath. Runt lay very still across the branch. The kiddner-bush sat very still but Runt could hear the creature puffing from the effort of digging and the spikes across its back rose and fell in time with each breath.


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    Runt slowly and carefully climbed back down the tree. His curiosity got the better of him and he approached the creature. With one trembling finger extended he touched a spike. They really were as sharp as they looked. And hard, too. Like a long, sharp metal nail.


    A rustling noise from the bushes nearby gave Stripes away. The dog padded in holding a dead rabbit in his mouth. It soon disappeared into the dog¡¯s belly.


    ¡°Well I see you¡¯ve sorted out your breakfast, boy.¡± Runt said, scratching the pup¡¯s ears. His own stomach rumbled, reminding him that he, too would need something to eat.


    ¡°Bye, kiddner.¡± He sang as they left in search of food.


    Finding things to eat was easy. Finding things to eat that didn¡¯t taste like poison was hard. Runt tried several different types of leaves, flowers, and seeds. He nibbled on three kinds of mushroom, and even contemplated eating a hairy caterpillar. Runt spat out anything that tasted sour or bitter which was just about everything. The caterpillar he put back, unharmed.


    ¡°Greybeard said there were fruit trees out here,¡± Runt thought to himself, ¡°forbidden fruit trees. Fey-trees, he called them. I hope I find one before I starve.¡±


    Runt remembered the rest of the fey-tree story. It ended with a drop-bear killing a young boy. He started looking up whenever a tree stretched overhead. His neck very quickly began to ache. It was also why he very nearly walked directly into the enormous rear end of a mammoth.


    The rear end of a mammoth is an intimidating sight. Its legs are like tree trunks with long claws sprouting from its toes. Standing six feet tall, Runt¡¯s head only reached knee height to the enormous beast. Later, when Runt saw them more often and learned their ways, he decided they were basically fat shaggy cows, and about as scary as one, which is to say, not at all. That was later, though. Right now, he was frozen with fear.


    The enormous beast snuffled and tore at the tall ferns that grew thick amongst the scrub. Its massive rump rocked left and right as it fed. Runt, realising he hadn¡¯t been spotted, began to back away slowly, motioning Stripes to do the same. To his horror, the rear underbelly of the beast began to squirm.


    It was the stuff of nightmares. In the fork of the mammoth¡¯s legs, in the loose skin of its tummy, something moved, kicked and wriggled. A pair of nostrils suddenly poked out and snorted. This was shortly followed by a whole head. Runt now stood face to face with the head of a mini-mammoth that had somehow emerged from the rear underbelly of the mega-mammoth.


    There was no time to think or wonder about this miracle of terror, though. As soon as the mini-mammoth caught sight of Runt it bellowed. The mega-mammoth flinched, stood up tall, and began to spin around. The ferns and brush crunched and snapped beneath its massive paws. Fortunately for Runt, it takes a long time for a creature that large to turn. The boy and his pup disappeared deeper into the Wilds before the creature could spot them.


    ¡°Two heads?¡± Runt puzzled to himself. ¡°Is it so they can see danger coming from behind?¡±

 Chapter 13: Fey-trees

    Fey-trees


    It was only later that afternoon, when Runt saw his first hopper, that he understood the reason for the two heads. This time he saw the creature, the hopper, across the other side of a clearing. Balancing on its tail and the tips of its toes, it stood nearly ten feet tall, and used its long arms to grab branches from above its head. Runt watched in fascination as a second head popped out of the belly of this creature, just like the mammoth, and he nearly clapped with joy when he saw the baby hopper emerge completely.


    ¡°A pouch!¡± he whispered to Stripes, excitedly. ¡°They have a pouch. They somehow keep their baby in a little bag on their tummy. How clever.¡± He looked down at his own tummy and poked it disappointedly.


    The hopper¡¯s ears pricked up at some unexpected sound and it turned to leave. The baby promptly clambered back into the pouch and they both disappeared into the scrub.


    The clearing itself now drew Runt¡¯s attention. It was roughly circular and approximately a hundred yards across. Runt realised with a jolt that the clearing was not natural. Something had cleared it. The remains of many trees were scattered across the clearing, knocked down and busted up into piles. Each of the piles was a similar size, circular, and shaped like a cup. They reminded Runt of a bird¡¯s nest but, if that was true, the birds must be giant. The piles were enormous.


    A single, magnificent tree stood at the centre of the clearing. Runt knew at once that he had found his first fey-tree. He stumbled towards it, almost in a trance, eyes goggling and mouth agape.


    A shock of bright green glossy leaves covered the tree from top to bottom. It stood at least half as tall again as any other tree in the nearby scrub. Branches as thick as the trunk of a normal tree stretched out horizontally at regular intervals seemingly in defiance of gravity. The main trunk, itself, was enormous. Thick roots snaked out over the ground in all directions like twisted fingers clawing at the earth. The tree loomed over everything.


    Size alone, though, is not what caused Runt to wander forwards as if hypnotised. It was a fey-tree, and he now knew why they earned that name. The tree was cursed.


    Here and there, up the trunk and along the branches, huge chunks had been gouged out of the tree, as if a giant creature wandered into the clearing, crouched down, and chomped bite after bite in random places along the wood. Runt estimated the largest holes to be three feet around, and nearly a foot deep ¨C literally big enough for him to climb inside and huddle in comfortably. These wounds in the tree bled freely. Dark sap oozed from the cavities and trickled down the trunk like bloody mouths. Walking closer, Runt saw pale grey boulders piled in regular intervals around at the very base of the tree, in the gaps amongst the snaking roots.


    Runt didn¡¯t believe in ghosts. He didn¡¯t believe in magic. But there was something ghostly and magical about these trees. An ancient power. Something dangerous but exciting. The tree almost seemed to be trying to tell him something. Runt stumbled forwards.


    Stripes began to growl. The dog was looking back where they came from. Runt heard it, then. The crashing of scrub. Wild beasts about to barge through into the clearing? But then, the worst sound of all. Human voices. Tyron¡¯s voice. They had come for him.


    Runt was only a few yards from the nearest cup-shaped pile of branches. Without a second thought he clambered up, over, and tumbled into the centre of the ¡°nest¡±. Stripes leaped over in a single bound. They both lay down in the shadows of the hollowed middle, quiet and still.


    ¡°His trail definitely comes this way, no mistake. We¡¯ll have him before the days out.¡± Runt wasn¡¯t sure who this voice belonged to, but the reply was definitely Tyron.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± The boss really was a man of few words.


    ¡°Oh, great! Where now? The trail ends at this clearing. We can¡¯t stay out here all day after the night we¡¯ve had, you know?¡± A third voice.


    ¡°He¡¯d be hungry. Food up ahead.¡±


    ¡°In the tree? Well, I don¡¯t see him there. This is hopeless. We should¡¯ve brought a dog to track him properly.¡±


    ¡°Nah. All injured.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s the point of all this, anyway? He¡¯s just a midget kid with a bad haircut. Who cares if he saw us running booze? It¡¯s not like he knows about us taking it to the quarry to keep the slaves happy.¡±


    This caused the other man to snort, and Tyron to frown. Runt stifled a gasp. Nobody spoke about a quarry back in Demonia. Or slaves. The only slave Runt knew about was himself.


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    ¡°You talk too much, Jethro.¡± Tyron growled.


    ¡°Yeah well you don¡¯t talk enough. Me and Darren wanna know what the big deal about this kid is. Gunther was practically frothing about the whole thing last night. All the way down to the port, up to the quarry, and back home again. He told me I¡¯d get paid double if we brought him back. Dead or alive, he said. Dead or alive. A kid!¡±


    Runt found that, if he sat in just the right spot, he could see out the gaps in the sides of the nest. Across, at the edge of the clearing, he saw Tyron with two of the men from the night before. The taller one talking was Jethro. The shorter one must be Darren. They were, all of them, red faced and sweating profusely. The trio began walking towards the fey-tree. The direction they took was going to bring them within a few yards of Runt¡¯s hiding place. His heart began to pound, wondering, if he could see out, could they see in? Fortunately, they seemed more interested in studying the tree.


    ¡°What do you reckon makes those marks on the tree, hey? They¡¯re huge!¡± Darren said.


    ¡°Some kind of wild animal, I reckon.¡± Jethro replied. ¡°The same thing that makes these nests. I bet there¡¯s eggs in them, big enough to feed a whole family.¡±


    ¡°Grubs.¡± Tyron grunted tersely.


    ¡°What? What did you call us?¡± Darren asked hotly.


    ¡°Grubs. Grubs make the holes.¡±


    Both men erupted with laughter, fell against each other, and stumbled on.


    ¡°Grubs? Imagine the size of them.¡± Jethro cackled. ¡°Caterpillars as big as your bloody dogs, eh?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Get a move on.¡± Tyron barked as he marched on towards the tree. He paused at the outer edge of the canopy. The three men had their backs to Runt, now.


    ¡°I heard the fruit is like nothing you¡¯ve ever tasted.¡± Darren said. ¡°That you can go mad once you¡¯ve eaten it, if you can¡¯t get any more. You gotta keep eating and eating until you burst. That¡¯s what I heard. The taste drives you mad. We should pick some.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nothing.¡± Jethro replied. ¡°I heard there¡¯s Gorgon statues at the base of the fey-trees, all around it, and the Captain pays a thousand gold if you bring him the head of one.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s bloody daft,¡± said Darren, ¡°the Captain¡¯s the one who says we¡¯re not allowed out here. Why would he pay people to go where he forbid it? And, anyway, who went and made statues of a bunch of bloody monsters?¡±


    ¡°Gorgons turn you to stone if they look at you in the eye for long enough,¡± Jethro replied, ¡°and they turn to stone when they die. As for being forbidden to come out here, well, that¡¯s why he pays so much, isn¡¯t it? Coz you gotta be a pair of cheeky brave lads like us. And, look! There are statues. I wonder how hard it is to get a head off?¡±


    Jethro picked his way over the thick roots that twisted and turned across the ground until he stood before the base of the tree. Runt saw it now. Not boulders, but statues, nestled in the gaps.


    ¡°Here, gimme a hand. It¡¯s stuck on tight.¡±


    The man bent his leg up against the chest of the statue for leverage and strained. At the edge of his vision, Runt saw the faintest hint of movement. Something crouched along the branch directly above Jethro¡¯s head. Something big. Almost like a giant cat. A drop-bear. The little boy gasped.


    Tyron flinched almost at the exact same moment, then burst forward in a sprint. Runt had never seen the boss move that fast. Jethro continued yanking at the statue, unaware that Tyron barrelled towards him until the giant man grabbed his arm and yanked.


    The creature hissed as it leaped towards the men with forelimbs extended. A long claw raked down Jethro¡¯s torso and he cried out in pain. Tyron flung the wounded man behind him and roared in the drop-bear¡¯s face. It crouched on all fours facing him, tensed, hissing, mouth wide open revealing horrific knife-like teeth. The bearish kennel master roared again and swung his arm, slapping it across the face. The creature¡¯s nostrils flared. Tyron roared again, slapping it with his other arm. This time his fist connected solidly and it made a satisfying whack.


    The drop-bear shook its head, hissed, and retreated a step. Tyron roared again, waved his arms, and stomped forward. It was clearly too much for a creature familiar with being the hunter, not the hunted. It turned and loped off in the other direction. Tyron stared as it fled then turned back to the wounded man. Jethro sat, hunched against the tree root, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± Tyron grunted, then motioned to Darren. ¡°Help him up. We¡¯re going.¡±


    Darren stumbled over, more preoccupied with looking up into the branches than watching where the roots lay. Jethro cried out as he was lifted under the armpits. Darren helped him to a standing position and the wounded man stood there, swaying.


    ¡°What about the kid?¡± Darren muttered, frowning. ¡°What about our money?¡±


    ¡°Kid¡¯s dead,¡± Tyron said flatly. ¡°Drop-bear must¡¯ve got him. Besides, he wouldn¡¯t last a week out here. No place for a kid.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll say that for us? To Gunther? So we get paid? I didn¡¯t come out here for nothing!¡±


    Tyron shrugged and the trio departed once again. The two men staggered behind the giant bear of a man as he led them back to the farmland, and safety.


    Runt looked down at Stripes who sat silently and still through the whole encounter and gave his dog an enormous hug.


    ¡°You know, boy,¡± he said, almost laughing, ¡°I could have sworn the boss was looking right at us, then. Man, are we lucky!¡±

 Chapter 14: Forbidden fruit

    Forbidden fruit


    Runt did not leave the nest until he found a nice sturdy, straight stick. He gave it a few practise swings and nodded. Later, he would sharpen the end to make a spear, but a stick would do for now.


    The statues under the fey-tree were hideous. Runt wasn¡¯t sure what creature they were meant to be, but every statue was the same kind. They were a bit like a person, but shorter (though still taller than Runt), rounder, and extremely hairy. Jethro called them Gorgons.


    ¡°Whoever made these statues,¡± Runt decided, ¡°had a lot of spare time.¡±


    The hair on the Gorgons was literally carved into the rock. It must have taken great skill. Runt ran his fingers over some of them. The hairs, being made of rock, were very spiky. It reminded him of brushing the kiddner¡¯s prickles earlier that day.


    The statues were all sitting with their backs resting against the tree. They had short, stumpy legs that poked out from under their large, round stomachs. Their arms were much longer, almost twice as long as their legs. The arms looked strong. The Gorgon heads were round and had pointy ears poking up on either side. It was the position of the arms, and the expression on the faces, that made the statues hideous. Every one of them appeared frozen in a scream.


    Some of the Gorgons held their arms forward, with fingers hooked out like claws, their eyes frowning and their mouths open wide showing rows of vicious flat teeth. Others grimaced with fists clenched and arms in a position as if ready to strike. One had its eyes crossed, its arms twisted, and its tongue poking out sideways as if it were demented. Each pose and facial expression was different but they were all clearly intended to be scary.


    ¡°But who, or what, is it meant to scare?¡± Runt wondered, ¡°And why? Something to do with the drop-bears, perhaps?¡±


    It was an interesting idea. He thought back to how Tyron had stood, and roared, and loomed over the drop-bear to intimidate it into fleeing.


    Were these the harpies Greybeard had talked about? Runt couldn¡¯t be sure. The old man was adamant that they flew, and had folds of skin connecting their arms and legs. These did not. But, then again, Runt was slowly discovering several of Greybeard¡¯s stories, while holding grains of truth, also contained inaccuracies.


    One thing was for sure. He wasn¡¯t going to solve the mystery on an empty stomach. Runt eased past the statues and up the trunk. Carrying a stick while climbing wasn¡¯t easy, but he managed. A stick, he decided, was a very useful tool out in the scrub. It could poke spider webs before they got to his face, push branches out the way, help when balancing over rocky ground and, most of all, it could keep a drop-bear out of chomping distance. Or, at the very least, he added, the drop-bear would have to eat the stick before it could eat the boy.


    He paused at one of the scars and found that he could indeed fit inside one. The sap that dripped and drooled down the edges was hard and dry. Old wounds, then. Interestingly, the gouged out wood on the insides was mostly smooth, but rippled. Runt thought back to Tyron¡¯s comment. Could grubs really do such a large amount of damage? And what happened to them?


    He continued to climb. Runt could see coloured bulbs further up, along, and out. The fruit appeared to grow up high, right on the edge of the trees upper canopy, where the freshest leaves were growing. He made it to a thick, horizontal branch that was wide enough to be a footbridge. Runt balanced along it towards the edge. He was very high up and, if he was not so intent on finding fruit, Runt would have found the view to be breathtaking. Right now, though, his eyes were fixed on the fruit and his mind focused on not falling. Runt carefully stepped over a hollowed-out scar on the top of the branch and made it to the leaves.


    Collecting the fruit proved to be its own challenge. They grew where the branches fanned out and thinned. Runt decided the best way to collect fruit (after he nearly tumbled and fell more than once) was to bend the thin branches back towards himself, while standing on the thicker branches. The fruit were delicious, Greybeard had not lied about that, but unlike Darren¡¯s suggestion, Runt didn¡¯t think they were worth going mad over. He began picking handfuls at a time and tossed them into the hollow of the scar behind him which made a handy natural basket.


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    Stripes, meanwhile, was busy snuffling in amongst the many nooks and crannies made by the roots that twisted over the earth. Runt threw a few berries down but the dog, after inspecting them, didn¡¯t seem interested.


    ¡°More for me then,¡± Runt giggled, and lay back in the scar-basket, munching fruit until he wondered whether he might burst.


    Runt was lucky. Had he simply perched near the edge of the branch and eaten handful after handful of the fruit it was quite likely he would have dropped to his death. Or, at least, fallen and broken a few bones. What he didn¡¯t know, and hadn¡¯t been told, was the fruit contained a chemical that made people quite sleepy when eaten in large amounts. Lying there, in the scar-basket, Runt felt his eyes grow heavy. Within seconds he was fast asleep.


    Hours later Runt was buffeted awake by a storm of wind. He bolted upright, remembered where he was, and gripped onto the edges of the scar-basket. His hair whipped around his face as the tree rocked back and forth in time to the strong gusts. Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. Runt¡¯s thumping heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Off in the distance he heard a similar sound. It was like a breath of wind that began as a whisper, built to a screaming gust, then tapered off into silence. Runt listened closely. It happened again, this time much further off, almost too far to make out, but definitely there.


    Dust began filtering down through the canopy. It shimmered and glinted in the dying light of dusk. The sun had dropped behind the mountains. Only its dull red glow, lighting up the mountain ridge, remained. The dust was all around, now, slowly meandering down to earth. Runt held out his hand and caught some. It was colourful and it smelled sweet.


    ¡°Pollen, from the tree flowers,¡± Runt said, ¡°not dust at all. The wind must have knocked it out.¡±


    Runt looked around, and gasped. At this height, he sat above the main canopy of the other trees. At this height, other fey-trees could be seen. Their shock of glossy green leaves poked a full head and shoulders above the rest of the trees. At this height, he could see that the next nearest fey-trees had done the same thing. Vast clouds of pollen surrounded each tree like a glittering haze, slowly and delicately wafting back to earth.


    ¡°The spirit of the dragon.¡± Runt said, thoughtfully. ¡°It¡¯s from the trees?¡±


    While he watched he saw another tree burst forth with pollen, and then another. And every time the pollen burst forth it was preceded by a gust of furious wind seemingly coming from the tree itself. This continued in a curving line that followed the edge of the mountains until, despite squinting, it became too distant to view.


    Runt looked from right to left along the line of fey-trees. Now that they were highlighted by clouds of pollen it was easier to make them out. Further along to the left, though, there was a break in the line. A blank spot where no pollen, or ¡°dragon spirit¡±, had erupted.


    ¡°That gap is because of the road,¡± Runt thought, ¡°That means the port is down there. And the quarry. And the slaves.¡±


    Stripes stood at the base of the tree, barking up at him impatiently. It began to sink in, then. His situation. He had a dog that depended on him and no secure source of food or shelter. He was essentially an exile from the city and the safety it represented. If Gunther or Tyron saw him, well, who knows what they would do? Runt didn¡¯t want to find out.


    On the other hand, according to Tyron and Gunther, he was missing, presumed dead. He was a ghost to them, now. He was free.


    ¡°Could I survive out here, in the Wilds?¡± Runt wondered to himself. Stripes could probably find enough game to eat. There seemed plenty of fruit. And if he ate all the fruit on one fey-tree he could walk to the next. He decided they probably could survive. But was surviving the same as living?


    What Runt really wanted was answers. Why was Gunther so intent on killing him? What was the purpose of all the booze? Where were the slaves being kept and for what purpose?


    Runt made up his mind. If he had become a living ghost he would act like one. He would stay hidden in the shadows and watch, and learn the secrets his boss kept from him. Starting with the port, and the quarry, and the slaves they kept there.


    ¡°Because, maybe,¡± he thought, ¡°maybe the slaves are people just like me. Maybe the people there are where I really belong.¡±

 Chapter 15: Wolves and ants

    Wolves and ants


    Travelling the Wilds at night brought its own set of challenges but, for the most part, they made decent progress. Runt jogged alongside Stripes until his legs got tired then jumped on his back and rode. They stumbled across another fey-tree after an hour or so of travel, and another one half an hour after that. Each time it was roughly the same layout with the clearings, the large nests of broken branches, and the horrible statues. The statues looked even worse in the dark. They stopped to rest at the next clearing. Runt emptied out his soot pouch (Stripes¡¯ fur gradually returned to his original colour and it didn¡¯t seem important anymore) and filled it with fruit. They clambered into the nearest nest and curled up together. It was this second meal, after once again falling asleep, that Runt realised the sleepy side-effects of the fruit. He made sure to eat fruit only in the nests after that. At least that way, they were hidden, and there was no chance of falling.


    Most of the creatures in the Wilds were asleep at night but this didn¡¯t make them less dangerous. As they brushed past a small shrub Runt realised it was actually a kiddner curled up, asleep. A set of large boulders they saw from a distance turned out to be a family of mammoths all snoring gently. They tiptoed past them (well, Stripes padded past quietly, anyhow) before jogging on.


    Not long after that they encountered their first wolf.


    It stood on the crest of a hill, watching silently. Stripes spotted it and bounded over, wagging his tail and barking excitedly. The wolf crouched, raised its hackles, and growled. The pup skidded to a halt, tilted its head, and cocked an ear. It was the dog equivalent of ¡°Sorry, did I hear you correctly?¡±


    The wolf growled again, more menacingly, then barked three short, coughing barks. Stripes turned tail and raced back to Runt. The boy gripped his spear and wondered if he had the courage to use it. He didn¡¯t need to find out, not today, anyway. The wolf melted into the shadows and was gone.


    Stripes whined and dropped his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, boy,¡± Runt said, scratching behind his ears, ¡°I¡¯m sure at least some of them are friendly?¡± but even as he spoke those words a tiny whisper of doubt emerged. A little voice, but somehow deep and booming, bubbled up from somewhere down below. It was Tyron¡¯s voice, Runt realised, and it spoke in gloating tones the secret fear that Stripes would never belong. Not out here, in the Wilds, just as he hadn¡¯t been accepted by the dogs back at the kennels. Maybe, just maybe, there was no place for either of them, anywhere. Maybe they were cursed to be outcasts, forever, wandering the Wilds like a pair of ghosts.


    The next fey-tree Runt saw was torn apart and lying in pieces over the clearing.


    The hour approached dawn when he found it. He knew because the birds knew. Their songs changed in the build up towards dawn. Or, rather, the night birds began to quiet down, and daytime birds began to perk up. Runt rode across Stripes¡¯ shoulders, so they were covering a lot of distance quickly.


    He heard it first. Or, rather, what he heard first was an unnatural silence. It reminded Runt of the wolf attack on the booze cart. Right before the attack it felt like a blanket of silence had been laid over everything. It was an expectant silence. A silence of waiting. This time, something was different. This was a terrified silence. A silence of hiding, of holding breath, of hoping not to be found and hurt¡­ or worse.


    The silence was broken by the noise of a tree falling. In the dark, and the quiet, the sound was amplified and horrible. To Runt, who had never heard a whole tree being felled, the sound was the stuff of nightmares. There was a long, drawn-out groan, followed by several sharp cracks and, finally, an enormous crashing thud. His imagination painted pictures of giant creatures at war. Enormous insects, perhaps, hacking and clawing at each other, one of them snapping the other in two. The nest makers and tree gougers, perhaps? Something giant and terrible. A monster, as tall as the sky, able to rip trees out the ground like a farmer plucking weeds from his vegetable garden.


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    It was only after the thud, when he heard cheers and clapping, that his imagination put the monster back into its proper shape. The shape of people.


    He dismounted and crept towards the clearing. What he saw was carnage.


    Runt loved to watch nature at work. He would sit for hours and watch a spider spinning its web, methodically attaching the silk one strand at a time. He would cheer for it (silently) as a fly or moth hit the web, and then lean closer to watch the spider leap onto its prey, bite it, and wrap it in sticky strands of silk. Sometimes, if he felt like the spider was going hungry, he would even find a moth for it, and launch it into the trap.


    Ants were equally fascinating. Runt remembered watching a cricket which had landed in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Ants swarmed all over it, nipping and dragging at it. Runt imagined himself, the size of an ant, and at this size the cricket must have appeared as a giant beast to him and his tribe. The cricket tried to escape but the strength of numbers outweighed the cricket¡¯s superior size, and it was doomed. Piece by piece, the ants picked the cricket apart. He imagined the ants cheering as another leg, or a wing, or a piece of shell was torn off the beast and carried back to feed their young. It would take hours but, by the end, the cricket would be completely dismantled and dragged away.


    Runt was strongly reminded of the ants tearing a cricket apart as he sat on the edge of the clearing. The fey-tree was lying horizontally and already being methodically torn into pieces by a swarm of people. Every part of the tree was crawling with them. Some of the upper branches were already bitten off and being carried away. Yes, bitten off. With every branch dismembered, the attackers gave another cheer, and the other workers redoubled their frenzied efforts.


    They were clearly people because they yelled, cheered, clapped, and moved like people. But they were not human. Runt realised, with a jolt, that they were the same creatures as the statues, but alive. Gorgons. They had round stomachs, stumpy legs, pointy ears, long arms and were covered in hair. They were maybe four or five feet tall. Taller than Runt but shorter than most people from the city. Against the tree they used their teeth to bite, and strong arms to bend, until a branch would break away from the main trunk. A few of them would then snarl their approval before forming up, heaving the branch over their heads, and dragging it away.


    Like ants, they formed a long line of workers carrying away the spoils of their victory into the scrub. Runt saw that the statues, too, were being dragged off. Desperate to learn more, Runt sneaked around the side of the clearing.


    The creatures marched past in single file on either side of the long branches that were hoisted on their shoulders. Their long arms wrapped over the branch to steady it. Hiding in a nearby bush, Runt noticed that their eyes glowed a sickly shade of yellow. They rarely spoke, but when they did it was only simple phrases, and mostly complaints.


    ¡°Slow down up front!¡±


    ¡°Hold ¡®er steady!


    ¡°Lift more in the middle! More!¡±


    ¡°Get a move on!¡±


    Their voices sounded like gravel rattling in a can. But mostly they just huffed, puffed, and swore as they tramped through the scrub. If a tree or bush got in the way, they barged over it. If an animal got in the way, they kicked at it. If a boulder lay across their path, one of the gorgons would drop out of line, jog up, and heave it aside. Runt watched one boulder being moved. It must have weighed at least a ton, but the creature rolled it out the way like it was an empty barrel.


    They marched on in a near-perfect straight line. Runt sat, in wonder and fear, as hundreds of these glow-eyed creatures passed him by. The size of the tree branches being carried gradually got thicker as they pulled apart the remaining sections of tree. Finally, following in the rear, a large group of them slowly made their way past heaving the central trunk up the path.


    They were headed towards the mountains.


    Runt hesitated as the sounds of the bush slowly returned. His curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

 Chapter 16: The quarry

    The quarry


    Tracking the gorgons was not difficult. Even Greybeard, the blind old man, could have managed it. They carved a path of destruction towards the nearest mountain peak and, although the gorgons were out of sight, the sound they made echoed through the scrub for miles around. Following while also staying hidden, though, became more tricky as they continued on. The path became increasingly rocky as they slowly ascended into the foothills. The bush became more scarce, the trees thinned, the sky became more visible. Runt occasionally found a ¡°dragon scale¡± and, just as Greybeard said, they were not scales at all but rather they were thin, flat sheets of dark grey rock.


    The skies began to lighten with the pinks of dawn, now. Runt¡¯s anxiety increased along with the increasing light. The scrub thinned to the point of vanishing. Their path was more like crushed rock rather than soil. The occasional weedy looking tree that struggled upwards would not offer much in the way of protection should someone appear suddenly.


    And then, without warning, Runt found himself on the edge of another clearing. Not a fey-tree clearing, though. A clearing of the mountain side itself. The track, which unerringly sloped upwards suddenly flattened. The trees vanished. What stretched beyond was a vast flat wasteland of rock. Here and there he saw piles of rubble and the occasional puddle of water. If Runt could read, a sign nearby covered in large squiggles would have told him he was at the quarry. He figured it out for himself, though. The colour of the stones looked very similar to the bricks that made up most of the buildings in the city. In a way, this quarry was where the city had been born.


    Further up ahead, looking more like ants than ever before, the gorgons inched across the bleak landscape. They were making for the far end of the quarry where the flat ground abruptly met the vertical wall of the mountain. The gorgons seemed to vanish when they reached this far end. The line must have halved in size and, as Runt watched, it continued to shrink to nothing.


    It was a great risk. There was no cover apart from the occasional pile of rubble and stone but Runt suddenly, and desperately, wanted to know where these creatures were taking the trees. He climbed onto Stripes and they raced across the clearing. As they approached it became apparent that the gorgons were tramping into a hole that led deeper into the mountain. A cave! They were carrying the trees underground.


    As they neared the cave entrance Runt dismounted from Stripes and they hid behind a pile of rock to watch. The gorgons heaved the final section of tree through the dark tunnel cut into the mountainside. Several of the hairy creatures let go of the trunk causing the others to grumble and swear but the pack continued into the dark, nonetheless. These last gorgons paused, wandered back outside, and looked around slowly. Runt ducked back behind the rocks. He heard an awful scraping sound of rock on rock and then silence. When he finally screwed up the courage to peek around the corner again the gorgons were gone, and the cave entrance had disappeared.


    The sun continued to rise as Runt sat and waited. Stripes began snuffling around the pile of rubble. The sounds of the Wilds returned. The mountain wall remained unchanged. Runt approached the wall where, only a few minutes before, he had seen a tunnel disappear. The rock face along the wall was rough and bore the scars of quarry work. To a casual observer there was no obvious sign that one patch of wall was any different to the other. Runt knew better, though, and there were clues.


    A few leaves were scattered here on the ground, and nowhere else. Fresh leaves, from a fey-tree, still green and waxy. The dirt and gravel at the base of the wall here showed scuffs of footmarks and the signs of branches being dragged. There were cracks in the rock, that, with enough imagination, made a roughly arch-shaped outline. The gorgons, Runt decided, used some kind of cleverly crafted stone doors that only opened from the inside. Doors of rock that were made to look just like the wall around it. He marvelled once again at the brute strength of the creatures that could heave such enormous chunks of rock around as if they were planks of wood. But he wondered also, at their intelligence, to be crafty enough to make such a secret entrance.


    Stripes, meanwhile, decided his master was doing a boring thing and wandered off behind one of the many piles of rubble lying nearby. When Runt turned to look for the pup he saw only the tip of a wagging tail. He crept over silently, thinking to start the game of tag they sometimes played together. The game involved one of them stalking and pouncing on the other before swapping turns.


    ¡°Gotcha!¡± Runt laughed as he raced around the side of the rubble pile before skidding to a stop. Stripes was busy sniffing the wheels of a familiar looking cart. Only, the last time he saw it, this cart was filled with bottles of booze.


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    ¡°Well, it¡¯s definitely Gunther¡¯s cart,¡± Runt said, after circling the vehicle for the third time, ¡°but what¡¯s it doing here?¡±


    The cart was mostly empty. He found a pile of sacks in the tray behind the driver¡¯s seat but there was nothing in them. The clips under the seat where Gunther hid his sword were there, but the sword was gone. An uncorked bottle rolled around in the foot space of the driver¡¯s area with a few dregs left in it. A tentative sniff confirmed that, indeed, they were dregs of booze. A pile of horse manure nearby looked fresh enough to assume that it was left there only a day or so ago.


    The sun had risen properly, now, and Runt began to feel exposed. There were not enough shadows in the quarry, not enough places for a mouse to safely sneak amongst. He was about to hop down from the tray when something shiny caught his eye in the back of the cart. It was wedged in the gap between two planks. ¡°Some kind of silver coin?¡± Runt wondered. It was fairly well stuck in the gap. Runt got on his hands and knees and tried to wriggle it out and gave a little cheer when it finally came unstuck. It was a dog tag.


    Although Runt couldn¡¯t read, he knew what these squiggles said. It was Shank¡¯s tag.


    ¡°It must¡¯ve come off in the big scrap with the wolves,¡± Runt thought, ¡°so this is definitely the cart from the other day. But why did they leave the cart here? And where did all the booze go?¡±


    His thoughts were interrupted by a terrible sound. From behind, he heard the scraping of rock on rock as the tunnel entrance opened once again. Runt was stranded in the cart.


    ¡°Run Stripes, run!¡± he hissed as he motioned to the rubble piles further off. Stripes paused, then ran away, thinking it was another game. Runt, meanwhile, dived under the sacks behind the driver¡¯s seat.


    A small gap in the planks of the cart allowed him to peek across to the entrance. Something like twenty of the gorgons emerged. One of them turned and signalled. The doors were rapidly crunched shut again. Most of the gorgons wandered out a few yards then slumped to the ground in untidy heaps. One or two leaned up against the nearest pile of rubble. Several more were carrying something and, Runt realised with a fright, they were crates of empty bottles, and they were coming this way.


    Fortunately, the gorgons barely even looked in the back of the cart. They heaved the crates up and in with barely a thought for the bottles. It was a miracle none of them smashed. Runt began to itch and sweat under the heavy fabric. He could feel the gaze of one gorgon who paused and stared at the pile of sacks. Then, one of the others called out.


    ¡°Hey, wolf! Wolf there!¡±


    The others all joined in the call. Their gravelly voices echoed harshly across the quarry.


    ¡°Wolf. Wolf there! Get ¡®im!¡±


    The gorgon at the cart turned and walked back to the others. They had spotted Stripes who stood about a hundred yards away, near one of the rubble piles. Runt could tell Stripes was torn between running, like he was told, and returning to his master.


    One of the gorgons heaved itself off the ground and grabbed a fragment of rock.


    ¡°Watch. Watch me.¡± It grunted.


    Runt assumed, from a hundred yards, that Stripes was fairly safe, so he nearly cried out loud when the gorgon wound back its arm and slung the rock. It fizzed across the quarry as fast an arrow and caught the ground only a few feet from where Stripes stood. The dog yipped, jumped, and turned. The other gorgons laughed at the miss. Another stood up.


    ¡°Me! Me!¡± grumbled the gorgon as it, too, found a fist sized rock to throw. This rock landed just in front of Stripes and caused some gravel to ricochet up into the dog¡¯s flank. Stripes yelped and began running further off. This caused more of the gorgons to laugh. Most of the others stood up now and, to Runt¡¯s horror, began slinging rock after rock in the direction of his pup. Some of the throws travelled close to two hundred yards. Eventually they gave up. Runt assumed Stripes made it to safety but, he realised with a sinking feeling, the gorgons forced his dog up into the mountains rather than allowing him into the relative safety of the Wilds.


    The gorgons were obviously inspired by throwing rocks at Stripes because the game continued.


    ¡°Me. Me. Rock pile, there!¡± one grunted with its metal-on-stone voice, while pointing at a distant pile. The rock in its hand sizzled across the quarry and smashed into the heap. A few clapped, others swore in approval. Another gorgon stepped up.


    ¡°Me. Me. More far rock pile, there!¡± this one said, pointing away. It wound its arm back and heaved this rock in an arc. The rock blurred up and across the quarry, smashed down into the pile, and created a large cloud of dust and rock chips.


    Runt¡¯s heart sank. How long would they stay at the entrance for? Were they going to collect more wood? Was Stripes alright?


    A new sound emerged and, immediately, the rocks fell from gorgon hands. Horse hooves echoed against the mountain wall. Off in the distance, two riders approached.

 Chapter 17: Instructions

    Instructions


    Most of the gorgons sat back down in the dust from wherever they were standing.


    ¡°What now?¡± Runt thought nervously. His decision to investigate the quarry seemed to be going from bad to worse.


    Runt recognised one of the riders from Gunther¡¯s gang as they dismounted nearby. Through a gap in the cloth, he made out Darren¡¯s face.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re a sorry looking bunch if I ever saw one.¡± Darren laughed, adjusting his felt hat to sit more firmly on his head. ¡°On your feet, you lot. There¡¯s work to do.¡±


    The nearest gorgon heaved itself off the ground. Darren, not a tall man, still stood head and shoulders above the hairy beasts. When the gorgons spoke, they didn¡¯t look at the men directly in the eyes. Instead, they flicked their eyes up and down. A little peek, then away. It reminded Runt of himself and how he talked to Tyron.


    ¡°Who that one?¡± the gorgon grunted, pointing at the man to Darren¡¯s left.


    ¡°This? This is Graham. But you lot don¡¯t need to worry about that. C¡¯mon, I said on your feet!¡±


    As he spoke, he pulled a long whip off the side of his saddle and gave it a crack above the gorgons¡¯ heads. They all groaned and then, as a group, begrudgingly stood up.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± Darren hissed through gritted teeth, ¡°now, where¡¯s the rest of you? There¡¯s normally more.¡±


    ¡°Dunno. Missing.¡± The first gorgon replied. It was clearly the spokesperson for the group.


    Darren laughed a joyless laugh.


    ¡°Missing, hey? More like they¡¯re sleeping off a big hangover. I can see the empties in the back of that cart. Just remember, there¡¯ll be no more booze till next Friday. So when it¡¯s gone, it¡¯s gone!¡±


    The gorgon just shrugged, and waited.


    The other man, Graham, fished around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He muttered something to Darren quietly.


    ¡°Righto you lot. The boss says we need a hundred bricks today. A team will come past later to pick it up. And if you¡¯re not done by the time they get back, they¡¯ll be using whips and dogs on you.¡±


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    This news was met with a chorus of grumbling and muttered swear words.


    ¡°Boss? How much a hunnerd?¡±


    Darren rolled his eyes, looked over to Graham, and sighed.


    ¡°I said a hundred. One. Hundred. One. Hun. Dred. Don¡¯t you know what that is?¡±


    The gorgon simply shrugged and stared at the dusty ground between it and Darren.


    Graham stifled a mocking laugh. Meanwhile, Darren threw his hands up and cursed.


    ¡°Follow me.¡± He said and beckoned with his finger. The guard and the gorgon walked to the cart. Runt¡¯s heart began pounding furiously and he held his breath.


    Darren bent over and collected some rocks. He placed ten of the rocks along the side of the cart. Then he turned and looked down at the gorgon.


    ¡°See these fingers. Hold your hands up. Like me.¡± He said, and held up both hands, palm out.


    ¡°Look up at me, when I¡¯m talking to you, dolt!¡± The gorgon strained it¡¯s thick neck to stare up at the man. ¡°Right. These are ten fingers, yes? Every time you can count ten bricks finished, you take off one of these rocks, see?¡± He then flicked one rock off the side of the cart.


    ¡°You count ten bricks, then flick off one rock. Then ten more,¡± flick, ¡°then ten more,¡± flick, ¡°and once you take all the rocks down, you have one hundred bricks. Understand?¡± He began putting the rocks back on the side of the cart.


    ¡°Ten finger. Ten rock. Hunnerd brick.¡± The gorgon mimicked, frowning. ¡°Boss? Is hunnerd many brick?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the same amount we ask you for every day, you twit!¡± Darren yelled, throwing his hands up again. ¡°And we have this same blasted conversation every day. And you get it wrong just about every day. So just get out there and chew some bloody rocks and be quick about it. Oh, right,¡± he said, turning to Graham, before turning back. ¡°The boss said we need pink granite today. So you need to head down the dragon¡¯s neck a-ways,¡± and he pointed down along the mountain side, back toward the scrub, ¡°because that¡¯s where the best pink rock is. Got it? Now, get moving!¡±


    With that, he cracked the whip again, and the gorgons slowly and reluctantly began stomping off in the direction Darren had pointed. The two men watched them move off.


    ¡°I swear those stumpy legged buggers are getting more and more defiant.¡± Darren said, muttering to Graham.


    ¡°I dunno,¡± Graham replied, ¡°I heard Gunther tell about the old days. We was forced to keep men out here non-stop to watch them. And had to use whips all the time. And dogs. Otherwise, the brutes would just wander off into the scrub. At least they come back on their own, now. The booze supply keeps them in line for the most part, they says.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I don¡¯t trust ¡®em.¡± Darren said and spat in the dust. ¡°They never look you in the eye when they¡¯re talking and, if they do, they look shifty, like they¡¯re plotting some kind of mischief.¡±


    ¡°But I heard they can turn a man to stone if you look in their eyes?¡±


    ¡°Haha, nah. That¡¯s the sort of bollocks we say to keep regular folk away, see? Don¡¯t need the commoners up here nosing about, do we? But they¡¯re up to something. Mark my words. They can¡¯t be trusted. Good workers, though. And cheap.¡±


    The two men mounted their horses again and turned to depart, leaving Runt with more questions than answers.

 Chapter 18: Lost and found

    Lost and found


    It was too dangerous to try and return to the safety of the scrub. The gorgons went that way and, besides, Stripes fled in the opposite direction. Once Runt was absolutely sure he was alone he slowly emerged from under the sacks.


    He picked up the dog¡¯s trail a few hundred yards further from the cart. Small drops of blood, starting to dry brown, led further up the mountain. Runt was, at once, grateful the pup had fled, but also worried about the blood, and where the pup was now.


    There was a rough trail leading into the foothills of the mountain. Weeds overgrew most of the narrow path but, here and there, bare rock and the occasional drop of drying blood encouraged Runt to push on. He used his spear as a walking stick when the ground became uneven. Later, when he rested, he braided some twine taken from the sacks into a rope and the spear, from then on, was either in his hand or tied across his back.


    He was so focused on scouting the trail, straining his eyes for signs of Stripes¡¯ passing, that it took a startled pair of pigeons to cause him to look up. He gasped, and stared, and, for a second, his head swam at the height. Without realising, Runt found himself halfway up the side of the mountain. From here, he saw the scrub stretch away down below in both directions, a strip of brilliant dark green hugging the inside loop of the mountains. He saw the fey-trees, those islands within the Wilds, and the light green pastures of the farmland beyond. He saw the city of Demonia, with the outer ring that clung to the hillside and wound its way up to the white walls and grand towers of the inner circle. He saw the road that led to the port, grey on green, cutting directly through the Wilds to connect the city to the sea.


    From here, the road looked like a festering gash on one of the hounds after the wolf fight. Tyron trimmed the hairs one either side of the wound to stop infection. As the wounds began to heal, they scabbed over and oozed. The destruction of the Wilds on either side of the road was like that. The scrub¡¯s various shades of green and yellow became brown, grey, or black where the trees were cut and removed, or burned, or left to rot.  It was for the safety of the traffic, of course. Horses, humans, and the cargo in the carts were safe from the wolves when there was no scrub for the monsters to hide in.


    The port, too, could be seen from here. Two boats bobbed in the water by the jetty. Several carts were there, unloading their goods into the boats. Trade was the source of Demonia¡¯s riches. They said every aspect of the inner city was lavished with gold. Door handles, helmets, cutlery, chamber-pots ¨C if it could be made of gold there was every chance that it was, within the inner city. The boats took away the wool, wheat, and butter, and they brought back bars of gold. Just where this gold was coming from, Runt wasn¡¯t sure, but there must have been an awful lot of it, if you believed the stories. A jet black, heavily armoured cart, pulled by four imposing horses, sat by the port. Runt didn¡¯t know where the gold came from, but this is where it was loaded, before being towed up into the city treasury.


    Runt looked across and up from the port to see the Head of the Dragon. He stood, in fact, halfway up its cheek. This final mountain in the long chain loomed over the waters beneath it. On the other side of the waters, barely poking above the waves, the Tail started the chain again and, from there, the peaks grew up and swept around, forming the near perfect circle of the Dragon-scale mountains.


    It was called the head for very good reasons. Whether by the action of the waves, or some vast calamity, the mountain had been hollowed into a half-arch. Below, spears of rock jutted up through the ocean waters. These were the lower jaw and teeth of the beast. Sailors called the dangerous passage ¡°the Drake¡¯s maw¡± and, every few years, a careless ship would wreck itself against the rocks while navigating into port. The upper jaw of the Dragon¡¯s mouth boasted vast, deadly fangs as well. Stalactites hung over the waves from the inner arch of rock. The boats were forced to sail beneath the shadows of the maw to enter the port of Demon¡¯s Land and, it was said, only the bravest sailors could bring themselves to look up while doing so. The vision of death lurking in the archway above could drive a man insane.


    Up ahead, Runt saw the Eye of the Dragon. It glittered in the rays of the sun rising towards midday. Many stories were told of this eye and the reasons why it glittered but, much later, Runt would learn it was merely a rich vein of quartz, a glassy type of rock. Still, without knowing that, and from where he stood, he could feel the Eye¡¯s gaze fixed upon him, frowning at the intrusion. Beyond the Eye, at the end of the arch, the Nose. Plumes of orange smoke occasionally belched from the end of the arch and, it was said, to smell those fumes meant certain death.


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    One night in the city, months ago, while foraging for the pup¡¯s meal, Runt was forced to hide from a terrible commotion. A group of people were walking together, calling someone¡¯s name.


    ¡°Ruth, Ruth!¡± one older woman cried while twisting her apron in knots. ¡°Where could my poor little girl be?¡±


    The others in the group were Ruth¡¯s older sisters, brothers, and an aunt. They spread out and looked in all sorts of places while the mother grew increasingly frantic. She literally wept for joy when, calling out from across the way, a trooper appeared, carrying a lantern in one hand, and holding a small girl¡¯s hand in the other. Ruth, it turned out, was picking dandelions down by the water hole and lost track of time. The small girl gave the trooper a necklace of flowers to thank him for the light.


    The woman then proceeded to yell at the poor girl all the way home.


    Runt knew just how the mother felt when, as he rounded the corner of the track, he found Stripes dashing and splashing in a shallow pond. The dog¡¯s tail wagged excitedly as he pounced, pawed, and snapped at the water.


    Only minutes before Runt had been preparing himself for the worst. In his mind, he imagined finding Stripes on the track, bled dry from the gorgons¡¯ attack.


    ¡°Stripes! Get here!¡± Runt yelled. The pup nearly tumbled over in his haste to turn and greet his master. Runt tried to growl again but found it difficult to stay angry. Stripes licked his face from top to bottom before rolling over and demanding a tummy rub. His tail wagged so furiously now that the dog¡¯s entire rear end wobbled. Runt saw the red spot on the dog¡¯s shoulder. It was only a small nick and had dried to a scab nicely.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ve both been a bit lucky there, haven¡¯t we pup?¡± Runt said, laughing and rubbing the dog¡¯s belly.


    They rested through the hottest part of the day by this small pool of water. Runt ate some of the forbidden fruit stored in his leather pouch and, like most times, only realised he ate too many after snoring himself awake hours later. They sat in full shade now. The sun, moving westward, fell behind the mountains which began casting their long fingers of shadow across the Wilds and into the farmland beyond.


    Only one patch of trees, Runt noticed, remained fully in the light. The sun still blazed in the gap between the head and tail of the dragon. It illuminated the road, the carnage of cleared trees around it, and the Wilds to the left and right of the destruction. The head threw terrifying shadows across the port.


    The boy and his dog sat somewhere beneath the magnificent eye of the dragon. If he craned his neck, Runt could just make out the glassy rockface far above. He would learn, much later, the pool they sat near was called the Lake of Tears, laying, as it did, directly below the eye. The pool collected the teardrops shed by the giant eye of the beast. Of course, the tears were simply water. And they didn¡¯t fall from the eye itself, but from a natural spring somewhere up above where the water oozed out of a crack in the rockface. Runt could picture Greybeard, sitting by the campfire, explaining both sides of the tale. And he always used to finish by reminding the children ¡°don¡¯t let the truth get in the way of a good story.¡±


    It was the gorgons who named it. In times now forgotten by all but a few, those abominable creatures walked this trail to the lake when the need arose. It was they who fashioned the track, long ago, now grown over with weeds. In ages past they would walk, in single file, up the track, to sit around this lake and sing. Yes, they would sing, and to a passer-by it would, no doubt, sound like one hundred screaming children rattling one hundred metal buckets filled with gravel. But they sang, nonetheless, and to the gorgons it sounded just as it should.


    They sang, it was said, to appease the dragon. In gorgon tales the dragon was not dead. It was not choked to death on its tail, as Greybeard told. According to the gorgons, the dragon slept, and waited for the world to end. At the end of the world the dragon would awaken and shudder violently, and belch fire, and vomit flaming rock, and cast destruction across the island of Demon¡¯s Land, and all would be burned, and all would be lost. Occasionally the dragon would dream, and take fright, and breathe gusts of orange smoke out its nose. Whenever this happened the gorgons would march up the mountain, and sing to the dragon, and soothe it back into a deeper sleep.


    All this happened a long time ago. The gorgons no longer followed the old ways. They drank, they fought, they swore, and they hid from the world in their tunnels of rock. The track was overgrown. The ancient customs were forgotten. But the dragon still dreamed, and occasionally took fright, and breathed gusts of orange smoke out its nose. Only, no one came any more to sing, and soothe it back to sleep.


    Orange coloured smoke could be seen billowing from the Dragon¡¯s nose almost every day now. Humans, with their short and fickle memories, assumed it had always been that way.

 Chapter 19: The plan

    The Plan


    Stripes found a warm patch of rock by the lake to lay and dry his fur and soon fell asleep. Runt, meanwhile, sat and thought, and wondered. The sun slowly dipped lower, and the shadows lengthened, and still he sat. He planned to move on after nightfall but was now, more than ever, unsure of his plan. He came to the quarry to learn about the slaves, maybe even help them, but the people he found were wild and vicious creatures who seemed to need no help that he could offer.


    Runt looked longingly down at the boats, now fully loaded, and hauling out of the harbour. Part of him dreamed of stowing away aboard one of those ships. Surely there was a place out there, in the Great Beyond, where he would be welcome, where he could find a family? Runt wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would have left him as a baby on Tyron¡¯s doorstep. Who could have imagined that was a good idea? Were they so desperate to be rid of him that the nearest doorstep was far enough? He wondered how his life might have changed if he had been dropped, say, by the baker¡¯s doorstep. Their family seemed nice enough, from a distance, and their building always smelled of the delicious things they were cooking. He could¡¯ve had a good life, as a baker¡¯s son. He thought, once more, about who must have dropped him there, by the kennels. Were they still alive? Did he have any other family left, any real family?


    His gaze fell onto Stripes. He didn¡¯t think the dog would like travelling on a boat very much. Plus, the pup was not that good at hiding. They would probably be spotted before the boat even set sail. Then what? The troopers would drag Runt up to the city and lock him in the dungeons. Or, worse, they would take him back to the kennels. And who knows what they would do to a pup with the stripes of a wolf?


    It was decided, then. Safety was in the Wilds. They could find food, water, and craft a shelter. They would remain as ghosts. If they were in want of anything they would forage for it by sneaking, in the dark of night, in the cottages and the shacks, and take whatever they must.


    One other thing happened as Runt sat waiting for sunset. He moved to the lake to drink and marvelled at the completely still, crystal clear water. Water like this, he decided, was a luxury. Out in the scrub water was hidden in juicy leaves, or in fruit, or by digging where the earth felt damp. The water here oozed out of the rock in a trickle that collected in this pool. Tears from the dragon itself.


    Runt paused and saw his reflection clearly for the very first time in his life. The waters acted like a mirror, a thing he had only imagined and heard tales of. He regarded himself. His bushy mop of hair hung low towards the water. He froze for a second, then quickly grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled it back from his face while squeezing his eyes shut. Then, slowly, he opened them again. He looked, of course, for the thing that made him so hideous. For the thing that forced Tyron to keep his hair long against the rules. For the ugliness that made him unfit to walk in the daylight.


    Were his eyes a bit large, a bit too wide? His nose too small? His lips too plump? Runt stared for a long time. He turned his head to one side to see what his nose looked like from an angle and then froze.


    ¡°Oh.¡± He said. ¡°Well. That solves that question.¡±


    He let his hair fall back, sat against the rock wall, and thought some more.


    Although he didn¡¯t know it at the time, Runt was about to see something that changed his life forever. He might not have felt so bored and irritated if he had known the importance of this moment. Stripes slept on, occasionally twitching and wuffing, chasing rabbits in his dreams. Runt watched the shadows growing ever longer as the sun sank towards the horizon. He was itching to move but, the more he wished the sun to set, the longer it seemed to take.


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    He had decided on The Plan. He and Stripes would search the Deep Wilds for the perfect hideout. He would choose a fey-tree, naturally, as his base, and convert one of the nests into a shelter. Ideally, he wanted easy water. Runt suspected he could find more of these springs in the foothills of the mountains. A fey-tree near a spring, then.


    Runt looked across the Wilds at the fey-trees. They stood out due to the clearings around them, and because of their height. He noticed, though, some clearings were missing their trees ¨C those nearest to the quarry. Runt started to count how many were missing and gave up after he ran out of fingers and toes. The gorgons had been busy. His base, then, should be further away. It would be a shame to find the perfect hideout only to have the gorgons tear down his tree in the middle of the night.


    All the Wilds were in shadow, now, as the sky reddened towards dusk. All, besides the small wedge of green that grew this side of the port road. Those trees were still illuminated as the sun, in its final descent, shone directly through the maw of the dragon. Runt watched the shadows creep without really looking. Then, something strange appeared: small dark dots, moving from right to left, across the road.


    Runt rubbed his eyes and squinted. He wasn¡¯t imagining them. Something flew from one side of the road to the other. Some kind of bird, he guessed. A bunch of pigeons? They often flew in groups. Something about the way they moved, though, didn¡¯t seem right. He traced their movements back and saw they were coming from a fey-tree. An enormous fey-tree on the south side of the road. Runt had already thought to visit this one but knew he needed to wait till full dark to cross. This tree was nearly twice as large as the next tallest, a real giant, and from it came a stream of these small, dark dots heading over to this, the north side of the Wilds.


    Runt continued watching them and realised they were flying towards the fey-trees on this side of the road. The cluster of tiny dots split up as they flew. Some came nearer, others further, but all of them reached a fey-tree and vanished into its foliage.


    At the very moment of sunset, the light shining through the Drake¡¯s maw developed a brilliant red hue. This ruby glow fell upon the fey-trees nearest the roadside and, in a flash, clouds of pollen burst forth.


    ¡°The spirit of the Dragon!¡± Runt gasped, as he leaned forwards to watch the gust of wind shake the trees and carry the pollen high above the canopy. This time, though, something rose with it. Those dark dots spiralled up and up, darting through the haze of pollen, until they reached the top of the cloud. Then, they began flying away, onto the next fey-trees, the cluster of specks fragmenting into smaller groups as they moved on.


    The fey-trees further north sat in the shadow of the mountains. The flying creatures were almost invisible in the twilight but, squinting till his vision blurred, Runt saw them crash into the foliage and watched the pollen burst forth from this next set of trees. The pattern repeated. The creatures spiralled up, flew on, reached another tree, and the pollen burst forth. On and on they flew away northward around the loop until they were too distant to make out. The clouds of pollen, though, were still visible, glowing in the dying light of dusk.


    ¡°The spirit of the dragon,¡± Runt whispered, ¡°What were those things? Were they eating the pollen? And where are they going?¡±


    This last question, at least, was answered a little while later. Runt shook Stripes awake and they headed down the mountain. He had a hunch about the creatures and their destination. As the boy and his dog followed the track Runt occasionally paused and looked over towards the giant fey-tree across the road. A little while later, his guess was confirmed.


    ¡°They¡¯re back!¡± He yelled, then immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. The cry echoed off the mountain face.


    Looking towards the giant fey-tree Runt saw the dots approaching. They were harder to make out, now, as the skies were darkening towards true night. The pollen clouds, though, were easy enough to spot. They ascended above the shadows and glittered in the fading light. Like a series of technicolour candles being lit along a bench, one after another the trees burst forth their pollen in a line headed back towards the port. Runt watched as the first of the creatures made it back to the giant fey-tree and nearly cried out again. This tree, too, erupted into a cloud of pollen. It was the biggest cloud by far, and in amongst it, hundreds of the dark dots began circling up, around, and through the pollen.


    ¡°They did a full lap of the island! That¡¯s incredible!¡± he whispered to Stripes excitedly. Stripes simply wagged his tail.


    Finding the perfect hideout would have to wait. Runt wanted to learn everything he could about these new creatures. How quickly plans could change!

 Chapter 20: The new plan

    The New Plan


    There was no sign of the rock throwing gorgons from that morning when they returned to the quarry. Runt resisted the urge to go back to the cart and see how many stones were flicked off the edge.


    ¡°Either they have finished making bricks and are back in the tunnels,¡± he figured, ¡°or they¡¯re still out there. Regardless of which it is, they¡¯re not here, and I can¡¯t wait forever.¡±


    Speed was the key, this time. Runt climbed onto his pup¡¯s shoulders and they sprinted across the quarry, heading for the port road. They made it nearly two thirds of the way across before he heard the scrape and groan of the cave opening. They skidded to a stop behind a pile of rubble. Runt dismounted and watched as gorgons poured out the tunnel.


    ¡°There must be easily a hundred or more of them,¡± Runt thought, ¡°and they¡¯re different somehow.¡±


    The difference, he decided, was the way they walked. The gorgons he saw that morning had slouched, dragged their feet, and lazed about. These gorgons marched with purpose in single file. Runt probably could have sped on safely. The monsters barely turned their heads or twisted their long, pointed ears. They just marched. The other difference was in their eyes. Runt was certain the gorgons he saw that morning did not have eyes glowing with a yellow fire. From this distance it was like watching a line of fireflies trailing into the scrub.


    Runt hesitated for a second more. He wanted to learn about these creatures. Men from the city called them slaves. Were they? Could they be helped? And why did they tear down the fey-trees? These questions and more he would have asked of them. He was sure, though, that if he appeared they would simply throw rocks at him like they had at Stripes.


    He watched them leave before climbing onto Stripes once more. ¡°Let¡¯s go boy!¡± he whispered and gripped his pup¡¯s fur tightly. They were quickly swallowed by the darkness.


    The ocean end of the port road was deserted after nightfall. If anyone was on the road it would be at the city end and, even then, they would simply be the people returning home late. Almost no one stayed out after dark in Demon¡¯s Land. Runt and Stripes galloped on.


    On his right, across the wasteland of burned and broken scrub, he could make out the giant fey-tree against the night sky. Runt hopped down and they began walking together, picking their way among the tree stumps. At first, they appeared to have been chopped by axes. Further in, though, the stumps were more roughly splintered and broken. There were gouges in logs and snapped branches and even, occasionally, a tree had simply been pushed over roots and all.


    The ground slowly fell away on this south side of the road. They soon reached the edge of the scrub and plunged in, and down. It was more difficult to travel, here. There were boulders, real boulders this time, not sleeping mammoths, and loose gravel, and crevasses in the rock. The ground continued to slope away and now, here and there, were muddy pools, and fallen trees with bizarre fungi growing along their trunks.


    The chorus of frog calls out here became a cacophony. The air was thick with the noise, but also heavy with moisture. The forest closed in on all sides. The trees were thicker and draped in vines. In places the ground became a bog and several times he and Stripes were forced to backtrack to find a way around. They pushed on though, and, finally, made it to the clearing and the giant fey-tree. Except, it wasn¡¯t the sort of open space Runt expected.


    The fey-tree didn¡¯t just dominate the area, it overwhelmed. It intimidated. Half the sky was blotted out by its looming canopy. Its trunk must have been fifty yards around. Like all fey-trees, its roots stretched out in all directions across the ground as far as the canopy reached overhead. The tree itself sat on a round hill.


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    The hill was surrounded by a lake.


    The entire clearing, in fact, was a lake. Runt stood at the edge of it. This area was bigger than usual for a fey-tree and almost entirely under water. In the stillness of the night the lake reflected the stars, and the trunk, and the broad canopy, making the enormous image of this tree doubly vast as it shimmered across the water¡¯s surface. Other things, too, made this tree remarkable. For one, tiny lights flickered here and there up and across the trunk and branches. Runt thought again of fireflies but, this time, the lights didn¡¯t move, and they were all sorts of colours, not just yellow. A type of glow worm, then, sitting on the bark? The only way to find out was to get closer.


    The other remarkable thing about this tree was the noise. Once, when Runt was younger, a pair of laughing kingfishers made a nest in the hollow of a tree near the kennels. Pretty soon there were four baby birds poking their heads above the gap and, as the chicks grew, they joined their parents in the branches above. The noise that these birds made! One kingfisher would begin its peculiar song, starting with a chuckle that gradually built into raucous laughter. Then, the others would join in until the entire tree shook with cackles and hoots. Runt could still picture the morning they stopped laughing. Tyron, hungover and murderous, cast rock after rock at the tree until only a few lonely feathers remained. The boss was deadly with a rock. All the dogs knew it, and Runt did, too.


    That noise, though, of six kingfishers competing for the title of ¡°most annoying laugh¡± was only a fraction of the chaos Runt heard, now. He heard singing, and laughing, and whooping, and chanting. It almost sounded like speech, but Runt couldn¡¯t make out what was said. It was too fast, too chaotic. Every now and then, though, he could have sworn a word or two echoed across the lake from out the babble of noise.


    The night was calm, but the tree moved to-and-fro as if buffeted by unseen winds. No part of the canopy was still. If someone stood next to Runt at that moment and told him a hundred children were up that tree, swinging from branches, chasing, dancing, leaping and climbing, he would have believed them. Except there was no one to tell him that. And he could see the creatures were not children.


    For starters, no child he ever saw could fly.


    Now that he was close enough, Runt could tell they were not birds. They flitted in and out of the tree in swooping glides. Some of the creatures whizzed overhead into the scrub. Others flew back from the scrub and crashed into the canopy before disappearing within. They were fast enough to be a blur, but Runt made some observations after long study.


    They were furry, not feathered. He didn¡¯t think birds could be furry. They didn¡¯t have wings, either. Not really. Instead, there was a kind of skin stretched between their arms and legs. They didn¡¯t fly as much as glide, with those arms stretched wide and the skin taut, until they reached the next tree branch. They also had a fluffy long tail and furry, pointed ears. All in all, they looked a little bit like a flying cat.


    ¡°Surely these are the harpies Greybeard warned me about.¡± Runt whispered to Stripes. ¡°Witches, he called them. Witches that will suck my blood and steal my soul. Neither sounds much fun. And yet, I would dearly love to watch these creatures from up close.¡±


    Runt stared across the water doubtfully. It was impossible to judge the water¡¯s depth by eye, and even a shallow swamp was deep for a person of his height. Despite this he was determined to get across. He unslung the spear from his back and dipped it into the lake to test the depth. He couldn¡¯t feel the bottom of the lake, even when lying down with water up to his shoulder.


    ¡°So it¡¯s really deep, then,¡± he muttered, ¡°which doesn¡¯t make sense. Shallow muddy puddles and bog all the way here and then, out of nowhere, a lake deeper than I can reach.¡±


    The giant trunk, the tiny pinpricks of light sparkling, the harpies swooping and whooping ¨C Runt had to get closer. So he did a thing that was, in hindsight, really dumb.


    To be fair, Runt was young, and na?ve, and had never been near water deeper than a puddle in his life. He knew what swimming was but, up until now, never really thought of it as something he would need to do.


    ¡°How hard can it be?¡± he shrugged and stepped into the water. He sank immediately. Seconds later Runt was back on land, on his hands and knees, coughing up a lungful of water.


    ¡°Thanks boy,¡± he spluttered, ¡°I owe you one.¡± Stripes gently let Runt¡¯s collar go, sat back, cocked his head, and frowned.


    Runt looked across the lake. The secrets of the tree would have to remain a mystery for now. The harpies, on the other hand, didn¡¯t just stay in this one tree. He knew of other places they visited where he could get very close to them, indeed.


    ¡°Well, maybe we could try Plan B?¡± he said, coughing again, before leading his pup back up the slope, back to the road, and over into the Wilds beyond.

 Chapter 21: A close encounter

    A close encounter


    Silent and still. It was a lesson Runt learned from his earliest days in the kennels as a way of avoiding punishment. Now, in the forest, it meant safety from a frightened animal. Runt learned that almost none of the creatures in the Deeps were aggressive, merely easily scared. And, though it¡¯s rude to say it so bluntly, they were mostly quite daft. By simply sitting still and making no noise the creatures of the Wilds would ignore Runt and continue munching the trees. After mastering his instinct to run, and learning instead to freeze and watch, he began to learn so many wonderful things about these creatures. In the months and years that followed, long after this story was done, once Runt became a true Wild One from the Deeps, he made some startling and outlandish discoveries.


    For example, the kiddner¡¯s laid eggs. One at a time, usually. Then, instead of keeping it in a nest, they carried the egg around in a fold of skin in their belly. Mammoths and hoppers, on the other hand, gave birth to live young. But not in the same way that, say, dogs gave birth. When Stripes was born, he was covered in fur. Within a week he¡¯d opened his eyes and began tottering around the kennel. Some babies, like those from sheep and cows, were born almost as a mini-adult, up and running within hours. A baby mammoth, though, was nothing like its parent. They were born hairless and helpless, looking, more than anything, like a deformed slug. A full-grown mammoth weighed up to three tonnes. A new-born mammoth, slimy, hairless and with translucent skin, could be held in one hand. They crawled, inch by inch, over their mother¡¯s fur, into the pouch, and wriggled inside where they stayed for months and months.


    The striped wolves of Demon¡¯s Land had pouches, too. They were just one of many mysteries Runt would uncover in the months that stretched ahead.


    Silent and still. Runt waited in the canopy of a fey-tree close to the port road. The tree soaked up the last rays of sunset while ones further off already sat in the shadows. It was one of the trees that he saw the harpies flying to first the previous night as the sun grazed the horizon.


    The head of the dragon was on fire. The sun sat in the middle of the mouth, now, and illuminated the outline of the mountain while casting its near side into darkness. The teeth glowed red, the smoke billowing from the nose darkened menacingly, and the eye seemed to shimmer and stare. Runt reminded himself it was just a pile of rocks ¨C he climbed it only yesterday ¨C but it was easy to see why people told stories about it.


    Silent and still. He watched the sun dip lower, sinking into the belly of the dragon now, and, for a moment, actually forgot why he was up the tree, so entrancing was the sight. Runt heard the harpies coming before he saw them.


    One by one, and then in a swarm, they began crashing into the foliage. Runt, sitting in the shadows, watched intently. They really were like a fluffy, flying cat, with skin stretched between their arms and legs. Their faces were not cat-like, though, nor were they human-like either, despite what Greybeard said. They had overly large eyes that faced forwards, triangular ears, a pointed nose, and a dainty mouth. Their faces were entirely covered in fur. Their hands, though, could easily belong to a person, only shrunk down to a tenth of the size. The skin of their hands was leathery, brown, and wrinkled, the fingers long and nimble. The harpies used them to grab branches and swing about. Their feet were a similar size, but furry, with long toes that curled around the trunk when standing. Runt saw them sometimes run along branches like a person but, other times, hang upside down using only their feet and tails for support.


    Oh, and they talked. They literally talked non-stop in a high-pitch, melodic voice. Like the night before, there were so many harpies chattering at once that their voices became a blur but, closer up, Runt began hearing snippets of sentences.


    ¡°¡­ told you I was gonna beat you home¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­saw one of the wolf pups got its first hairs¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­I got the most stardust, it¡¯s not about¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­teacher got really cross when they saw¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­not a competition¡­¡±


    Not much of it made even a little bit of sense. Then, suddenly almost every single one of them as a group sang ¡°ready, steady, go!¡± and, without any further warning, the tree burst forth its pollen. An enormous gust of wind swirled upwards. The harpies cheered and spread their wings apart as they were sucked up and out of the tree. Up and up, they spiralled, singing and laughing and swooping through the pollen. Within moments they were gone, moved on to the next tree.


    Silent and still. Runt sat, dazed, in the fork of a tree and wondered at what he saw. He watched the harpies glide to the next fey-tree, this one in shadows, crash into the foliage, then soar up and away again. On and on this continued until they disappeared from sight, leaving a trail of pollen clouds in their wake.


    His ears tingled with a new noise from the other direction.


    ¡°Waaaait¡­. Waaaaaaaaaaaait!¡±


    Runt turned just in time to see two more harpies crashing into the foliage. They immediately began arguing.


    ¡°I told you we¡¯d miss it! You do this all the time!¡± The bigger of the two harpies spoke with a frown.


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    ¡°I just wanted to check the kiddner puggles coz another one hatched yesterday and they¡¯re soooo cuuute when they¡¯re freshly hatched and then I saw there were tadpoles in the lake again and some of them already had legs and ¨C ¡°


    ¡°You could spend as long as you want looking at those after the loop. Now we¡¯ve missed it, again.¡±


    The bigger harpy crossed its arms and glared. The little one didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    ¡°Well the kiddners go to sleep at night so I wanted to look before ¨C ¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s enough. We¡¯ve talked about this. Flying the loop is more important than kiddner puggles or tadpole legs or your odd-shaped rock collection or any of your distractions. Tell me again: why do we fly the loop?¡±


    ¡°To collect the stardust,¡± the little harpy replied in a flat, dejected voice. Runt suspected this conversation happened on a regular basis.


    ¡°And why do we collect the stardust?¡±


    ¡°To feed our friends too old to fly the loop.¡±


    ¡°And what happens if we stop?¡±


    The little harpy rolled its eyes before replying.


    ¡°If we stop our old friends go hungry. Their tummy eggs won¡¯t grow. And¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°And then there will be no more harpies.¡± This last part, the small harpy nearly whispered.


    ¡°Right. So, you¡¯ve missed flying the loop. But you can still get some dust. You need to go back to the mother tree to wait for the others.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re not coming? You¡¯re making me go back on my own?¡±


    The bigger harpy looked down sternly.


    ¡°The great teacher asked me to investigate something.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C ¡°


    ¡°No buts. I¡¯m off. I can¡¯t watch over you all the time, you know.¡±


    ¡°But ¨C ¡°


    ¡°I said no buts. Oh, and little one?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Make sure you check for drop-bears before you land. They¡¯ve been getting bolder, lately.¡±


    Then, with a flurry, the bigger of the harpies vanished into the darkening sky. The smaller harpy sat, twirling a stick between its fingers for a few moments. It didn¡¯t seem in any hurry.


    ¡°mAke SuRe yOu cHeCk fOr DrOp-bEaRs,¡± the little one said in a mocking, sing-song voice, tipping its head from side to side as it repeated every word, and then shouted ¡°I hope you check for drop-bears! Wouldn¡¯t want you to get eaten!¡±


    It stood up, then, holding the stick out and started swishing it around.


    ¡°Boy, if a drop-bear jumped at me, they¡¯d be sorry. I¡¯d whip ¡®em,¡± the stick whizzed over its head, ¡°and whack ¡®em,¡± the stick crashed into a nearby trunk, ¡°and poke ¡®em and smack ¡®em!¡±


    The harpy leaped and danced over the branches, whipping and whacking this way and that until, by chance, it landed on the branch right in front of Runt. It froze, and stared.


    ¡°Um, hey there.¡± Runt said timidly.


    The harpy scurried back a few paces and held the stick out in a trembling hand. It was about a foot tall, mostly grey, with small dark stripes, a white belly with the hint of a pouch there, a pale grey furry face, but with a dark coloured patch of fur around its left eye. Runt very slowly reached into his bag.


    ¡°You want one?¡± he said, holding out some fruit.


    The harpy tilted its head, stared at the fruit, the bag, then up at Runt.


    ¡°Are you lost?¡± the harpy asked him.


    ¡°Uhhhh. Sort of?¡± Runt replied.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, I won¡¯t hurt you.¡± the harpy said, throwing aside the stick. ¡°You should follow me, little guy. You can put your food back, though. We don¡¯t eat those.¡±


    ¡°Oh, ok.¡± Runt put the fruit back sheepishly and, when he looked back up, the harpy was gone.


    ¡°Hey, wait!¡± he yelled, running along the branch to the edge of the canopy. The harpy was already not much more than a small dot, headed towards the giant fey-tree over in the swampy lands beyond the port road. Suddenly he slipped and the world tipped upside-down. The ground swayed back and forth above his head.


    There was a crash in the foliage. He found himself face to face with the harpy again. Runt looked down at his feet, which were actually up, and saw them hooked over a branch. ¡°Lucky catch.¡± He thought. The harpy was hanging by its tail within arm¡¯s reach.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you follow me, little guy?¡± the harpy said.


    Runt gingerly held his arms out wide.


    ¡°Ohhhh, right right right. No wings. Hmm. Forgot about that. Guess we better walk? Gotta look out for drop-bears, though.¡±


    The harpy looked at him quizzically and reached to touch his hair.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got funny hair, though. Different to what the teachers told us. Hmm.¡±


    Runt, realising gravity had done its thing, instinctively grabbed at his hair to pull it over his face, before slowly letting it go again. Would a harpy even think of him as ugly? He let the hair fall back and grabbed, instead, for the branch above and heaved himself up.

 Chapter 22: The odd couple

    The odd couple


    They made an odd pair, Runt and the harpy, as they travelled over the road, across the blackened and blasted clearing, and into the swampy southern Wilds. The harpy made a big deal when Runt called Stripes over. It knew about wolves, and knew about dogs, but had never seen a wolf-dog before. For his part, Stripes simply sniffed at the creature, sneezed, then decided it was alright.


    They were halfway to the giant fey-tree when its pollen cloud burst forth. The harpy just shrugged and said that bringing Runt back to the tree was more important.


    The harpy barely sat still the whole trip. It darted onto the pup¡¯s head, or leaped onto Runt¡¯s shoulder, or scampered down onto Stripes¡¯ rump to watch his tail wag back and forth. Other times it jumped up into trees to look inside a bird¡¯s nest before gliding back down again, or raced across the ground to stare deeply into a puddle. And, all the while, it chattered constantly as they continued on, pointing out plants, animals, boulders, and ponds.


    ¡°¡­and that pond, there, see that? That one grows Red Eye frogs. And other frogs, too. But I like the ones with red eyes. Do you like them, Little Guy?¡±


    ¡°Runt.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Runt. My name¡¯s Runt.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± The harpy turned to look at him closely. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Pretty sure. Why, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a harpy, of course!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what¡¯s your name? What do I call you?¡±


    This stumped it. The harpy looked at him as if he¡¯d asked about its favourite flavour of rock. Or whether it preferred purple or yellow handshakes.


    ¡°I¡­ we don¡¯t¡­ that¡¯s not a thing.¡± it said slowly. The harpy was thinking so hard it started to frown. ¡°I¡¯m just a harpy¡­¡±


    ¡°Can I call you Patch, then?¡± Runt asked, pointing at the streak of dark fur across its left eye.


    ¡°Oh? Patch?¡± it said, clutching its face, then laughed. ¡°Good one! Sure, why not? Patch!¡± and then it laughed again.


    Runt laughed too. Patch had the kind of laugh that was infectious. It was nearly impossible not to laugh when Patch did.


    ¡°Patch?¡± Runt asked. ¡°Are you a boy, or a girl?¡±


    This time the harpy gave Runt a look as if he¡¯d asked which road led to the moon. Or what temperature the word hello felt like.


    ¡°It¡¯s just,¡± Runt continued quickly, ¡°I noticed your pouch and wondered if you were a girl. Because I think that¡¯s where mothers hold their babies.¡±


    Patch looked down at its pouch as if they¡¯d seen it for the first time.


    ¡°This? No. Babies don¡¯t go in there. That¡¯s so funny!¡± and burst out laughing again.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re a boy, then?¡± Runt asked hesitantly.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m a harpy. Or Patch. Didn¡¯t we just talk about this?¡± Patch said, and stared at Runt quizzically. ¡°You are a strange creature, Runt.¡±


    They stood together at the edge of the lake. The tree was, once again, a riot of sound and movement. Patch looked up at Runt expectantly. Runt looked down at Patch.


    ¡°So¡­ I can¡¯t swim.¡± Runt said, almost apologetically.


    ¡°I know. Me neither. I¡¯ll see you on the other side?¡± Patch said, leaping into a tree.


    ¡°No, wait. How am I meant to get across?¡± he asked hotly.


    Patch paused, and said, ¡°I thought your lot just walked across?¡±


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    ¡°I can¡¯t walk across water!¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, I mean, walked across the bottom.¡± Patch replied, making a U-shaped dipping motion with its arm.


    Runt simply shook his head. The harpy jumped back down and looked closely at Runt with a cocked head.


    ¡°Your kind are much stranger than I realised. And different to what the teacher told us.¡± Patch said thoughtfully. The harpy looked at Stripes for a second then seemed to come to a decision.


    ¡°Hop on again,¡± Patch said, ¡°the wolf-dog can swim you over.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know whether Stripes could do that.¡± Runt protested, but the harpy had already climbed onto Stripes¡¯ head. It began murmuring and tracing lines around the pup¡¯s eyes, and occasionally reached into its pouch to extract and sprinkle a pinch of something that looked like the colourful pollen of the fey-trees.


    ¡°Wait, what are you doing to my dog?¡± Runt demanded, but it was already over.


    ¡°Just talking. Now hop on!¡± Patch sang, as the dog plunged into the lake. Runt leaped forwards and clung to the dog¡¯s neck. Stripes began pumping his legs and was soon halfway across. Runt watched as the harpy continued to murmur to Stripes and was reminded of Greybeards warning, that harpies were witches that hypnotised their prey. He wondered, with a jolt, whether the harpies ¡°talked¡± to other animals, like wolves, in the same way Patch was talking to Stripes. Could the harpies convince a pack of loner wolves to group together and attack a booze cart?


    ¡°Was that pollen in your pouch?¡± Runt asked.


    Patch, delicately balanced between Stripes¡¯ ears, looked down at its belly and pulled the furry fold of skin back a little. ¡°We call it stardust. It comes from the mother trees.¡±


    ¡°You mean the fey-trees?¡±


    ¡°Oh? Is that what you call them? How odd. Yes, it comes from the fey-trees, and we sometimes keep a little in our pouches. To eat, you see? Or for other things. Just like how you keep the fruit in your pouch to eat.¡±


    Stripes clambered out of the lake as Runt and Patch alighted on the broad hill at the foot of the giant fey-tree. The dog immediately shook himself dry before finding a nice spot to curl up in amongst the twisting roots of the tree. Runt saw there were no gorgon statues around the base of this tree, only piles of smashed rock here and there where statues might have been. The noise in the canopy above was intense. Looking up, Runt saw hundreds of the harpies, all playing and chattering amongst themselves.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Patch said, climbing up the trunk, ¡°follow me!¡±


    Runt¡¯s heart began to pound. He liked Patch, Patch was friendly, but there was no guarantee the others would be. He thought back to the little harpy sprinkling pollen and whispering things to Stripes to make his dog swim over the lake. Would they use their magic on him, too? Had they already?


    ¡°Come on,¡± Patch repeated, ¡°I¡¯m going to take you to visit our Great Teacher, the eldest of harpies. They¡¯re going to be so pleased to see you. And they¡¯ll be so pleased with me for finding you! It¡¯s just a little way up the trunk.¡±


    Runt licked his lips, shrugged, and started to climb. Before he did, though, he checked his spear was tightly knotted over his shoulder and he gave Stripes one last pat, for good luck.


    It was amazing this fey-tree was still alive. There were gaping wounds all over the tree. Almost no section of trunk or branch was untouched by the gouges. The tree was literally covered in scars. Sap leaked over everything. As he climbed Runt spotted some of the little glowing lights. One was just above his left hand.


    There was a tiny hole in the bark. The glowing light came from there. Intrigued, Runt got closer until his eye was right next to the trunk. He could barely see inside, the hole was covered in a web that continued into the hole, but there was a tiny creature burrowed into the wood, no bigger than a caterpillar, pulsing and glowing.


    Runt stared in fascination at the tiny creature. It glowed with colours that slowly changed, from red, to blue, to orange, to white, to yellow. Sometimes the colours swirled together. Other times it seemed to fade almost to black. Runt looked up to ask Patch about it and saw the harpy, well above, waving at him to follow.


    A few other harpies noticed him climbing now and, one by one, their laughing, singing, and boasting quieted. Runt felt hundreds of eyes drawing to him as he struggled up onto a broad, horizontal tree limb in relative silence. He was relieved to find Patch standing there, by a hollow, leading into the main trunk. The harpy beckoned him inside.


    Runt groaned as he barely managed to squeeze through. He could¡¯ve sworn he heard a pop as his bottom eased past the gap. He fell awkwardly to the floor and looked around in amazement. The insides of the tree were carved out to form a spacious chamber. Craning his neck up, Runt could barely see the ceiling. Multiple entrances like the one he came through lined the trunk and, from most of these, harpies hung and groomed themselves.


    The entire room glowed with an everchanging, eerie light. The same colours, Runt decided, as the small caterpillar burrowed into the bark. There was no one source of light but, in the centre of the room, taking up most of the floor, a wooden cauldron glowed brightly. The air in the room, though, also glowed.


    ¡°It¡¯s the pollen!¡± Runt exclaimed. The harpies above paused their grooming as the pollen shaken off their fur continued to drift down into the chamber. The dust twinkled and sparkled as it fell until it collected in the cauldron. Runt sat at the edge of this broad, shallow container.


    The room, previously filled with chatter, banter, and singing, fell into deathly silence. All eyes turned down. Never in the history of the harpies had a human voice spoken in the chamber of the great mother tree.


    ¡°Great old ones, teachers, and fellow harpies,¡± Patch boasted, ¡°I have, today, been so lucky to find one of the lost children. I would like you to meet ¨C ¡°


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± A small, light grey harpy yelled from across the cauldron. The creature grunted as it hobbled in quick, jerking movements around the broad bowl, before pointing a trembling finger in Runt¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Why have you brought this demon to our final, sacred place? The one last refuge of the harpies? You have brought death to us with this demon!¡±


    ¡°Demon?¡± Patch said, frowning. ¡°It¡¯s not a demon. It¡¯s a little gorgon!¡±

 Chapter 23: The little gorgon

    The little gorgon


    The next ten minutes was pure chaos. The news that Patch brought a demon back to the hollow spread quickly and everyone fancied a look. Runt, who wanted nothing more than to leave, found that every exit was crammed full of harpies trying to sneak a peek at the newcomer. The great teacher, a small, grey, wrinkled harpy who seemed to be in charge, yelled at everyone to leave the hollow but, instead, more and more heads wedged into the holes. Hundreds of eyes now looked down upon them.


    Patch, meanwhile, was arguing with the great teacher.


    ¡°¡­and you said, over and over, that if we were ever to find a gorgon joey by the fey-trees, looking lost and alone, that we were to bring the gorgon joey back here to the great mother tree.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but this is not a gorgon. Have you never seen a demon before?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Patch answered hotly, ¡°Well, sort of. From a long way away. In the dark. But this is definitely a gorgon. Observe!¡± The little harpy pointed to Runt¡¯s pouch.


    ¡°A pouch! Where it keeps the fruit of the mother tree. When I met the gorgon it offered me some fruit, not knowing that we harpies eat only stardust and nothing else. But the gorgons eat fruit, as does this one.¡±


    This evidence was met with a chorus of oohs and aahs from the crowd of harpies. Patch, emboldened, pushed on.


    ¡°Observe! The gorgon has no wings.¡± Here, the harpy lifted one of Runt¡¯s arms. The boy blushed and let it fall back, limply. ¡°As we all know, the gorgon cannot fly. I saw this for myself when the poor creature nearly fell from the mother tree while it was collecting fruit. Which leads me to my last point. While hanging upside down, I noticed ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± barked the teacher. ¡°You there, stand up!¡±


    Runt stood but looked down at his feet. Even though he towered over the nearby harpies he felt tiny and insecure. He was back in the kennels again, being yelled at by the boss, accused and punished for things out of his control.


    ¡°Tell them. Tell this little harpy. Stop lying and tell us what you are.¡±


    Runt wished he could disappear.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t lie,¡± he mumbled, ¡°but the teacher is right. I¡¯m not a gorgon. But I¡¯m not a demon either. I¡¯m a human, a human boy.¡±


    The crowd gasped. Patch looked up with wide eyes and took several steps back. The little harpy looked from Runt, to the teacher, and back.


    ¡°You¡¯re a¡­ demon?¡± Patch said, with tears welling up in the harpy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a demon, whatever that is. I said I¡¯m a human.¡±


    The room was silent apart from a small, bitter laugh from the teacher, and a quiet sob from Patch.


    ¡°We know what you call yourselves,¡± the teacher replied, ¡°but to us, you are demons. We learned it the hard way. The word human means oath breaker, thief, and murderer.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m none of those things!¡± Runt yelled, feeling his face blush hot. ¡°Patch, don¡¯t listen to them. I¡¯m not like that.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the teacher said sharply, spinning around. ¡°What did the demon call you, harpy?¡±


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    ¡°I call this one Patch because of the mark over their eye. What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±


    ¡°Harpies!¡± the teacher said in a booming voice that did not match its tiny size, ¡°listen and learn. When a demon sees a thing, it names it, and it says, ¡®Now this thing is mine.¡¯ When the demons came, did they ask us for the name of this land? No! They planted a flag, and said ¡®we name this place Demon¡¯s Land, and it belongs to us.¡¯ They named this land and then they took it.¡±


    ¡°Wait, they took this land from you? You were here first?¡±


    ¡°Ah, observe the thoughts of a demon. Harpies did not own this land. Land cannot be owned. But demons named it and took it, anyway. They named the mountains and dug up the dragon¡¯s bones. They named the forest and cut down the trees. Listen to me, harpies: Do not suffer to be named by a demon thief. They will make you a slave.¡±


    ¡°No! You¡¯re wrong. That¡¯s not why I did that!¡±


    ¡°Tell me, demon thief,¡± the teacher continued, ¡°tell me the name of the wolf that sleeps at the feet of our great mother tree.¡±


    ¡°His name is Stripes. But what¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡±


    ¡°And who does Stripes belong to?¡±


    ¡°Well, I mean, he¡¯s mine. He¡¯s my dog. What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±


    Gasps from the onlookers echoed up and down the trunk. The teacher merely nodded.


    ¡°And so we see the nature of the demon thieves that name things and claim them as their own. That wolf is a person. You claim to own a person. That makes the wolf your slave.¡±


    Runt shook his head furiously. He would never own a slave, never!


    ¡°Very well, demon. Answer this. You wander through the Wilds until, one day, your wolf slave stops. It finds a friend, another wolf, and sits, and asks to stay. Do you let it? Do you let your slave be free?¡±


    Runt felt his eyes grow hot and damp as he pictured the image of Stripes walking away from him, into the shadows, beside another wolf.


    ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t ¨C he¡¯s my friend! He¡¯s my only friend! But ¨C¡° he paused, and thought about wolf pups, and visiting Stripes in his new home, and meeting his friends, ¡°but, yes. If he chose to leave, I wouldn¡¯t stop him. But I would dearly miss his friendship.¡±


    The trunk echoed now with a collective sigh and many of the harpies nodded or murmured to each other.


    ¡°Hmpf,¡± the teacher grumped, ¡°demons will say anything to please their enemies. But you answered well, demon thief. Only time will tell if you are true to your word.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a liar,¡± Runt shot back, ¡°and I¡¯m no thief, either.¡±


    ¡°Ahhh, is that so? Tell me, from where did the cloth come from to make your clothes? From where did the wood come from to make your house? From where did the fruits come from to make your food? Demons steal without thinking because it is in their nature to steal. To a demon, stealing is as natural as breathing.¡±


    ¡°Not me!¡± Runt said hotly, ¡°I left. I live out in the Wilds, now. I don¡¯t do any of those things.¡±


    ¡°You ran away? A coward¡¯s act, nothing more. A decent person would stay and try to make things right.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t go back,¡± Runt said, thinking of Gunther, and Tyron, and the troopers, and the secrets he knew, ¡°but I want to make things right, I really do. Only, I¡¯m so small. I¡¯m just a kid. What could I possibly do to help?¡±


    The harpy¡¯s eyes glittered in the eerie light of the hollow and its lips formed a crafty smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you asked.¡±


    The harpies resumed their grooming after Runt was sent away. Pollen began drifting down into the wide cauldron at the base of the hollow once again. The teacher sat by it, swirling the contents, staring into the glowing bowl thoughtfully. Somewhere behind, it heard the quiet noises of a little harpy trying to edge towards an exit.


    ¡°Little harpy?¡± the teacher said gruffly.


    ¡°Ah, yes, greatest and wisest teacher?¡±


    ¡°You are to follow the demon as¡­ a punishment. You must follow him but stay hidden. Watch what he does. Make sure he tells the truth. Oh, and harpy?¡±


    ¡°Yes great teacher?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bring any more gorgons back unless they actually are gorgons, hm?¡±

 Chapter 24: Hunting the hunter

    Hunting the hunter


    Runt lay in the long grass watching the cottage. It was on the edge of the Wilds, a simple farmer¡¯s house. A small fireplace illuminated the single room with a dull red glow. As far as he could tell, there were two men in the cottage, one older, one younger. Hanging above the fireplace was the object Runt was sent to retrieve.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± the teacher had muttered bitterly to the group of harpies, ¡°the demons wear the skins of wolves? Our brothers and sisters: murdered, skinned, and paraded as trophies. They do it to boast of their bravery because they consider it heroic to take many men, dogs, and spears to hunt and kill a lonely wolf. Tell me, little demon,¡± the teacher said, hobbling closer to Runt to stare into his eyes, ¡°what would you do if you saw a person wander past and, across their back, you saw the skin of your beloved wolf?¡±


    There was a fenced off area nearby the cottage. Inside, a mob of sheep dozed and dreamed sheepish dreams. Runt crept forwards silently. He grimaced as the gate¡¯s latch squeaked. He gritted his teeth when the hinges groaned but then it was done. Waking up a sheep was harder than he thought. He pinched, and poked, and pulled their ears until finally, and grumpily, some of them stumbled up.


    Runt waved his arms and Stripes, still waiting and watching from the long grass, bounded over. Moments later the pup was herding the sheep directly past the window of the cottage. There was a crash from inside, and swearing, and the clatter of boots being hastily thrown on feet. The younger of the men burst out the door.


    ¡°Wolf! Wolf!¡± he cried out over his shoulder. The youth grabbed an axe from beside the door before running after the animals. Runt heard the older man fumbling inside before he, too, emerged from the cottage. The crossbow in his hand glinted under the light of the crescent moon. He ran out after the youth and then stopped to take aim.


    Runt stood, frozen with panic. He hadn¡¯t expected the crossbow. He hadn¡¯t expected the man to stop only yards from the cottage door. The farmers were both meant to chase after Stripes or run into town and fetch a wolfhound. Runt¡¯s limbs felt heavy with dread. His eyes darted back to the scrub and the promise of safety in the Wilds beyond.


    A voice inside his head began whispering words of doubt. Tyron¡¯s voice, tiny, but somehow deep and booming, bubbled up from down below. Fearful and frozen, Runt stood as his master¡¯s words washed over him.


    ¡°Pathetic! Useless! Weak!¡± The voice screamed silently.


    Runt trembled and took a half-stumbling step towards the scrub. From the corner of his eye he saw Stripes dashing to-and-fro, yapping and bounding and wagging his tail. Did the dog not understand they were in mortal danger? If he knew, he didn¡¯t show it.


    Runt turned back to the cottage. Through the window, on the other side of the room, a wolf skin hung from the wall.


    ¡°What would you do?¡± the great teacher had asked, ¡°if your friend was killed, skinned, and used for decoration?¡±


    ¡°I would take it back,¡± Runt had replied, ¡°if someone did that to Stripes, I would take the skin back.¡±


    Despite the terror Runt forced his rubbery legs into action. Quiet as a mouse, he darted into the cottage. He scurried across to the far wall and pulled at the skin hanging above the fireplace. It was stuck. He yanked again to no avail. It was nailed in place. Runt dragged a stool over.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± a voice from the opposite end of the cottage whispered. Runt nearly screamed. He saw a kettle nearby and quickly dashed it over the fire. The coals immediately blackened. A smog of smoke and steam filled the room.


    ¡°Who is it? Who¡¯s there?¡± the person repeated. The voice had the trembling quality of an old woman. Runt clambered up the stool and yanked at the wolf skin again. Still it resisted. He climbed up on top of the fireplace and ran his hand over the skin until he felt the spike that nailed it to the wall. He heard the rattle of a matchbox. Runt grabbed the spike with both hands and leant back with all his might. The spike gave way and he tumbled to the floor.


    ¡°William! William, there¡¯s someone in here! Help!¡± the voice screamed, and Runt heard the striking of a match. For a split second, an old woman¡¯s terrified face was illuminated as she moved to light a lantern next to her mattress in the back corner of the room. The match was blown out by a gust of wind as Runt raced out the door.


    Stripes ran in circles around the young man and the sheep. The old farmer trained the crossbow on them but couldn¡¯t get a clear shot at the dog. Runt ran away from the cottage, but then stumbled and fell. He looked up from the ground towards the safety of the scrub. The distance to the nearest tree seemed to stretch into miles from where he lay.


    ¡°William! William!¡± the old woman screamed, as she appeared at the door clutching the glowing lantern, ¡°there¡¯s a thief, and he¡¯s getting away!¡±


    The crossbow swung around as Runt flattened himself against the ground. The grass was well chewed by sheep here. He was exposed.


    ¡°Who¡¯s out there?¡± the old man growled as he stomped towards Runt. There was an enormous bellow and crashing of foliage from the scrub. Runt could feel shock waves of force vibrating through the ground. A mammoth burst out of the tree line and charged towards them.


    The old farmer panicked, and his shot went wide. He dropped the crossbow and ran back towards the cottage. Runt leaped to his feet and sprinted towards the safety of the scrub and whistled for Stripes to do the same. The mammoth, meanwhile, ran in a long arc around the cottage and disappeared in the scrub further down. Runt plunged into the tree line and his heart burst with joy as Stripes joined him.


    ¡°Stripes, you were brilliant!¡± he whispered, gripping his pup¡¯s shoulders, and prepared to jump on. He paused in shock. Holding the wolfskin up against the flank of his dog, Runt noted the similarity in the pattern of stripes. Had things turned out differently, his pup¡¯s fur would be nailed above that fireplace. He turned and crept back to the edge of the scrub.


    As Runt approached the farmlands his inner voice of warning, fear, and doubt began heckling him again. Across the clearing he saw the old farmer holding the lantern now. The grey-haired man gingerly crept back to retrieve his fallen crossbow and cursed to see it broken. Clearly it was not built to withstand the weight of a full-grown mammoth. He stood there, holding the broken crossbow lamely, and peered out into the scrub.


    Runt cupped his hands around his mouth and tried to call out but the words choked in his throat. His hands fell limply to his sides as Tyron¡¯s deranged laughter echoed in his ears.


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    ¡°The teacher would know what to say.¡± Runt thought desperately. ¡°I¡¯ll pretend to be someone like that. Someone brave.¡±


    Runt, in the night shadows, raised his hands to his mouth again and his voice carried, clear as crystal, across the farmlands.


    ¡°You leave the wolves alone, old demon!¡± Runt yelled, ¡°Or we¡¯ll be back! We¡¯re watching you! And we know what you¡¯ve done! Leave the wolves alone and maybe we let you farm in peace!¡±


    Runt climbed onto the shoulders of his pup and raced off into the Deeps with his heart pounding so fiercely he worried it might burst. The farmer, meanwhile, simply stood there, gripping the busted crossbow, and staring out into the dark. Then, turning, he flung it aside and walked back to his cottage.


    Stripes barely hesitated at the edge of the lake, this time, and they plunged in. The night grew long. Runt¡¯s eyes felt heavier with every blink. As they approached the shore he realised something was different. The fey-tree was close to silent, the harpies were still, but they were not asleep. A voice echoed across the waters.


    ¡°¡­threw the water right across the fire, he did. Whoooosh! The room disappeared into dark and smoke.¡±


    Runt looked up. Patch was there, standing atop a branch, waving their hands and hopping around as the scene was re-enacted. The rest of the harpies hung from the canopy in rapt silence.


    ¡°¡­and he had it! He had the wolf skin! But he wasn¡¯t safe yet. The big wrinkly demon had the stick-shooter and he pointed it at Runt!¡±


    All the harpies gasped. Stripes made it to shore and immediately collapsed onto some soft grass. The pup was snoring before his head even touched the ground. Runt watched him jealously, wishing for sleep. But first, there was a job to do.


    ¡°¡­came crashing through the scrub. A mammoth! It scared the demons and Runt was saved. What luck! And then, oh, this is the best part, and then he said ¨C¡°


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t luck. You made it run out, didn¡¯t you? Like you did with Stripes. You hypnotised it, somehow, and made the mammoth risk its life. For a piece of skin.¡± Runt said, while throwing the bundle of wolf fur down at the base of the tree. ¡°And you followed me without telling. Guess you wouldn¡¯t trust a demon, though. Figures.¡±


    The tiny grey form of the great teacher appeared out of the shadows from behind one of the enormous tree roots. It slowly crawled atop the root until it was at eye level with Runt. Meanwhile, the harpies, all of them, descended quietly. Most hung from the lowest branches. Others glided to the ground. Runt was surrounded.


    ¡°You can hypnotise animals, can¡¯t you? You force them to do what you want. And then you tell me off for making an animal my slave.¡±


    Runt slumped to the ground with his legs crossed and head down.


    ¡°The demon has seen our magic, harpies,¡± the teacher began, in a croaky, whispered voice, turning to the crowd, ¡°he knows the truth. But his truth is a lie. Do not be too harsh. It¡¯s not his fault. Demons are born innocent, like all creatures, but brought up surrounded by lies. They are wrapped up in lies from their earliest days, swaddled in deceptions, and gently laid down in a bed made of falsehoods. The lies are repeated over and over until they become the only truth they know. I have watched this from afar¡­¡± and at this, the teacher sighed and turned back towards Runt.


    ¡°We do not enslave our friends, demon, we do not control them. We love them. It is you demons that control animals, using fear to coerce, and violence to convince. Harpies only encourage animals. The creatures do some of the things we ask because they love us. The mammoth would not charge out if it was afraid. It wanted to help. And those stick-shooters don¡¯t scare a mammoth. Not even a drop-bear scares a mammoth.¡± The teacher finished with a small chuckle.


    ¡°Was the pack of wolves afraid when you asked them to attack our dogs? Or did they kill my friend, Fang, out of love?¡± Runt asked bitterly.


    The teacher¡¯s eyes opened wider, and it drew back a little.


    ¡°Harpies,¡± it said, harshly, ¡°listen and learn. Here is a lesson on the heart of a demon. They love like a fire that burns everything else away. How many wolves have you demons killed? Do you know? How many skins like this one are pinned to your walls, or slung across your backs? Harpies know the number. Harpies know each and every creature in the forest. Brothers and sisters, they are to us. We know the smell, the sound, the look of them. We mourn the death of every single child, and more of them are killed every day.¡±


    ¡°But see, harpies, see into the heart of the demon. They love with a fierce passion, but anything they do not love, they kill without thought. How many wolves, demon? Do you know the number? Hundreds have died. But you come here, to our last place of safety, and call us murderers, for the death of one dog. A demon¡¯s love burns hot until that love is lost and then, harpies, then a demon will seek revenge. And they will kill every creature in sight to quench those fires of vengeance. Everywhere the demon goes, it will bring death, until it has forgotten the pain of loss.¡±


    Tears flooded down Runt¡¯s cheeks. The teacher sighed and continued, more softly.


    ¡°The truth is, the demons are trying to destroy us, and the forest, and all the creatures within it. We harpies do not have the skills for war, but war is forced upon us. We are desperate. I fear that you have met us in our final days. Already, so many of us are gone.¡±


    The teacher slowly eased down the log and approached the wolf skin. He unrolled it to reveal the stripy fur.


    ¡°Harpies, do any among you recognise our fallen friend? Look closely. Touch it. Smell it. We should bring its memory to life again. And then I will take it to rest forever at the remembering place.¡±


    One by one the harpies walked past the wolf skin. Some stroked the fur, others sniffed it, others simply looked on with unshed tears. One of the harpies stopped, sank down, and clutched the skin in its tiny hands.


    ¡°I remember this wolf.¡± The harpy said, breaking the silence. ¡°I remember their birth. I remember the day they wriggled out of the pouch. I remember these stripes. They were a good friend. I miss them. But they live on in my memory.¡±


    Others crowded around the mourning harpy, stroking its fur, and whispering words of comfort. Patch, meanwhile, stood up atop the tree root.


    ¡°Harpies! You didn¡¯t let me finish my story, and I was up to the best part! The mammoth helped Runt to escape. He rescued the wolf skin and made it to scrub. Did Runt hide? Did he run away? No! He was not afraid. He turned back to the demon! He turned to face the demon with the stick-shooter and he said this,¡± the young harpy stood up straight, puffed out its chest, and did its best to make its voice sound deeper, ¡°You leave the wolves alone, old demon, or we¡¯ll be back! We¡¯ll be back for you! Leave the wolves alone!¡±


    Runt felt the pressure of hundreds of eyes now glued to him in shock and admiration.


    ¡°Teacher?¡± It was the mourning harpy, still sitting by the wolf skin. ¡°My friend is gone, but their spirit remains. I asked the spirit of my friend ¡®do they want their skin to be taken to the remembering place?¡¯ and the wolf said no.¡±


    ¡°The spirit told you no? We are not to return the skin?¡± the teacher replied, eyebrows raised.


    ¡°They said the boy should take the skin as his own. To become a hunter.¡±


    Runt¡¯s head swam with exhaustion. He was too tired to object. A group of harpies picked the skin up and draped it across Runt¡¯s slumped shoulders. As they did so, something fell in his lap. It was the spike from the cottage that nailed the skin to the wall. Runt reached down and held it up in front of his tired eyes then let it drop again as he rolled over and fell asleep.


    Patch crept over and picked up the spike gingerly. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Patch said, gasping.


    ¡°Drop-bear claw.¡± The teacher replied gruffly. Somewhere in the distance, birds began to sing in anticipation of dawn.

 Chapter 25: Wolf-ghost

    Wolf ghost


    Runt woke to the sounds of his pup splashing in the shallows of the lake. He rolled over and squinted in the morning light to see Stripes catching frogs. His stomach rumbled, too, but frogs were not on the menu. Runt sat up and felt the tickle of fur against his neck. The memories of the night flooded back as he felt the fur skin over his shoulders. While he slept the harpies had fashioned a clasp out of bark and yarn to fasten the cloak together.


    He stood up and, looking around, found his spear lying up against the fey-tree. His shadow against the tree looked different. Runt slowly reached his hand above and felt his head. Two pointed ears poked up. The head of the wolf made a hood that covered most of his mop of hair and, from behind, Runt looked something like a wolf walking on two legs.


    His spear, too, had been renovated in his sleep. Runt picked up the stick and stared closely at the tip. He saw a long, hooked claw embedded in the end of the wood, wrapped with more of the yarn to hold it securely. Runt tested it for strength and gasped as the claw left a long scratch across his hand.


    ¡°Strong and sharp,¡± he marvelled, and looked up the tree for fruit.


    The harpies were nowhere to be seen. Runt filled his pouch with fruit after eating a few of them. Trial and error had taught him how many could be safely eaten before their sleep-inducing effects became too great. Still, he leaned up against the trunk in the fork of a branch while he ate, occasionally wiping the juice away that dribbled down his chin, and listened to the forest. The sounds were more familiar to him now and less intrusive. Trees whispered, birds sang, insects chirped, and the noisy quiet was sometimes broken by the crash and tumble of a large creature like a hopper moving to a new patch of food.


    There was another sound, though, new and harsh: a kind of grating rumble that rose and fell like a mammoth snoring with a mouthful of pebbles. The noise, Runt realised, came from right beside his head. He turned to feel the trunk and marvelled how the wood vibrated in time to the sound.


    ¡°Do trees snore?¡± Runt wondered, and then saw one of the tiny holes bored into the bark just above his hand. Could the sound have something to do with the little glowing grubs dotted up the trunk? He looked into the hole but, in the light of day, he saw nothing but dark.


    There were other holes in the trunk, though. Runt¡¯s curiosity got the better of him and he crept towards one of the hollows. Poking his head inside, he saw harpies nestled in every nook and cranny of the carved-out interior. The sound of hundreds of tiny creatures gently snoring echoed through the air.


    Runt wriggled inside and gently lowered himself to the floor. Beams of light cut through the hollows, here and there, giving a little natural light. Most of the light in the room, though, came from the large, shallow cauldron rising from the floor that still glowed with its ever-changing eerie glimmer. Runt found himself drawn to it. He called it a cauldron, but it was more like a large, round table where the tabletop was shaped into a wide, shallow bowl.


    Looking underneath, he saw that the cauldron was carved out of the tree itself and still attached to the floor by a single, central leg. There were also rows of shelves carved into this column of wood with large seed pods lining the shelves like wooden jars. Runt recognised the pods from a type of tree found out in the Wilds. The entire base of the chamber was clearly designed for catching the pollen, or stardust as the harpies knew it, while allowing room to walk around the edge.


    Runt leaned over and stared into the glittering contents of the cauldron. The colours shifted and swirled constantly. He watched intently and marvelled at how one area of the pollen could be a bright yellow at one moment, but then, over time, slowly morph to blue, then green, while a patch nearby could be cycling through different colours, at a different speed.


    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± a voice croaked nearby.


    Runt exhaled sharply and realised he had been holding his breath the whole time. And how long had that been? He could have sat there for a minute or an hour. Time vanished while looking into that eerie cauldron of stardust.


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    The teacher sat across the other side with eyes shimmering in the reflected glow.


    ¡°I thought you were all asleep. I¡¯m sorry. I probably shouldn¡¯t be in here.¡±


    ¡°No, you shouldn¡¯t.¡± The teacher said firmly. ¡°Not on your own. The stardust is beautiful but, like many beautiful things, it can also be dangerous. Do not come in here without a guide. And, yes, I should be asleep. But there is so much to do, and my time draws near. Ancient, I am. Old and weak. And yet, it is left to me to look over these harpies, and the trees, and the creatures of the forest. It is left to me to¡­¡± the teacher¡¯s voice trailed away helplessly.


    ¡°I want to help,¡± Runt blurted out, ¡°if I can, that is. You called me a demon but I¡¯m not like them. I want to make things right, only,¡± he paused for a second, and sighed, ¡°I¡¯m just so small.¡±


    The teacher chuckled. ¡°Not to harpies, you aren¡¯t. A giant among us, with a wolfskin cloak and a drop-bear spear. You could be a formidable ally or,¡± it stopped, frowning, ¡°or you could be the end of us all. Only the mother knows.¡±


    The teacher hobbled around, sat near Runt, and shushed him when the boy tried to speak. The harpy reached into its pouch and withdrew a handful of pollen and motioned Runt to turn around. He felt the tiny hands ruffle the wolfskin and, now and then, a whiff of the glittering powder puffed in a cloud in front of his face.


    ¡°Demon, do you listen?¡± the teacher asked him. Runt nodded and the teacher continued.


    ¡°Harpy magic is mysterious and fickle. It can raise mountains and summon hurricanes, it can make flowers bloom and rivers run, it can make birds sing and wolves kill. It can also do none of these things. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°Uhhh¡­ not really?¡±


    ¡°Good. Harpy magic takes long years of study and longer years of practise. I am older than the hills but younger than a hatchling tadpole. One day you may understand but, for now, all you need to know is how.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Runt murmured, ¡°How what?¡±


    ¡°How to become a Wolf-ghost. Harpy magic can do many things. To hide, and stay hidden, is one of them. With the help of my harpy magic you could become invisible. It is one of the first skills we teach the young harpies for their protection. I have treated your wolfskin with a special mixture of the stardust. In the shadows, with the correct thinking, you can now become invisible. But it takes strength of mind. Will you try?¡±


    Runt nodded. The teacher tugged at his cloak and turned him around. The harpy looked deep into his eyes and continued.


    ¡°You must quiet your mind. You must become one with the dark, with the shadow. You must think of yourself as a shadow, no longer a boy, but a patch of dark on dark. A shadow does not breathe, does not move, does not think. Your mind must be empty like the darkness is empty. Will you try?¡±


    Runt nodded and shut his eyes.


    ¡°No!¡± The teacher whispered harshly. ¡°Eyes open. The shadow must lay over you, not sit inside of you.¡±


    Runt stared at the shadows on his skin and frowned. What would it feel like to be a shadow? It didn¡¯t make sense. He could feel the teacher¡¯s impatience growing as he sat there trying to imagine being a shadow.


    ¡°You need to concentrate, but not like that.¡± the teacher scolded. ¡°Stop thinking about being a shadow and be one. You are good at hiding, yes? Becoming a Wolf-ghost is like hiding in plain sight.¡±


    Runt nodded again and took a deep breath. ¡°Scurrying mouse, I¡¯m a scurrying mouse,¡± he thought, and then, ¡°No. I¡¯m the shadow of a scurrying mouse. I¡¯m less than that. I¡¯m nothing. I¡¯m dead. Or, at least, I might as well be. No one noticed I left the city because no one knew I existed. Nobody misses me, or even remembers me, because I was never there. Not really. I¡¯m nobody. I am no one.¡±


    His mind drifted back to the kennels and, suddenly, he was there again. Tyron raged inside the office, throwing furniture, yelling insults, punching walls with his ham-sized fists. Runt crouched in the dark outside wishing, more than anything, to simply disappear. To be gone. To have never existed.


    A small cough brought him back. The teacher sat, wide-eyed and thoughtful.


    ¡°Did¡­ did it work?¡± Runt asked sheepishly.


    ¡°A formidable ally,¡± the teacher whispered, ¡°or the end of us all. Only the mother knows.¡±

 Chapter 26: Hide and seek

    Hide and seek


    He practised some more outside, under the giant fey-tree. Stripes lay in front of him with his head resting on his paws. Runt sat in the shade and concentrated. It was difficult at first but, gradually, he learned to feel for the dark. The experience was something like wading into a cold pool of water, feeling his body grow numb inch by inch, until the dark lapped at his neck, and then swallowed his head.


    Stripes pricked his ears, sat up, and barked. Runt felt the coolness evaporate and the pup wagged his tail in recognition. He took a deep breath and tried again. Stripes whined as his master disappeared. Runt shushed him and felt the coolness evaporate. He tried again. This time, when Stripes barked, he managed to shush him without reappearing. Stripes cocked his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, boy, I¡¯m still here.¡± he whispered, with sweat beading across his forehead from the exertion. Stripes wagged his tail, satisfied, and lay down again. Runt tried to stand and felt the coolness evaporate. He tried again. And again. By degrees he began to master the skill. Runt found he could look around, whisper, and move slowly, without breaking the spell. Looking down, he realised he could see himself, but also through himself. The shock of it caused the coolness to evaporate and his body solidified once more. He tried again. And again. And again.


    Runt smiled, but without joy. The scurrying mouse had become a Wolf-ghost. He was ready to hunt.


    Stealing wolf skins from the farmhouses became a deadly game of shadow hopping. Stripes remained in the nearby scrub as Runt moved silently, darting from one shadow to the next. It took all his courage to freeze whenever someone passed by, to fight all his instincts screaming at him to run, to stand there and feel that coolness wash over him. But it worked. He was invisible.


    At one point, sneaking towards a cottage, a mob of sheep started heading his way. A grumpy farmer followed. Runt froze in the shadows cast by a tall tree nearby. The sheep, somehow knowing, walked straight over his position, yet around him. From above it looked like they walked around a boulder or tree stump rather than a shaded patch of grass. The farmer, less than five yards away, squinted straight at him as he jogged past but simply shook his head in confusion and moved on.


    People did see him, though. In flashes. The sunlight broke the spell. A gangly youth, mucking out a pig pen, saw Runt directly as he ran from one patch of shade to another and cried out ¡°Wolf! Wolf!¡± instinctively. Three other men quickly appeared and Runt, chuckling silently, watched them all tease the boy for the next five minutes about his overactive imagination.


    All of them, though, were left scratching their heads later that day when they found the wolf skins were gone, and saw the mark carved on the wall in its place.


    Though he didn¡¯t know it then, the seeds of a rumour were already planted and sprouting. With every cottage raided, the rumour grew. Stories of a Wolf-ghost that people saw out the corner of their eye began to spread over the following weeks. It was a vengeful spirit, the people said, come to reclaim the skins of its brothers and sisters. The mark the Wolf-ghost carved on the wall was left as a warning.


    Of course, like all good rumours, it mutated as it spread, and soon the Wolf-ghost was being blamed for all manner of ills. A group of hens that stopped laying was an indication of the visiting terror. If the milk went sour, it was a sign. A child taking ill, a missing piglet, a cake that didn¡¯t rise: people saw the Wolf-ghost in places that Runt hadn¡¯t visited and never would.


    That was later, though, and it almost didn¡¯t come about. Runt was exposed on the very first day. As luck would have it, the first person that caught him kept it secret.


    Stripes sat patiently in the scrub as the afternoon wound down towards dusk. The pile of wolfskins he lay next to was large enough that the dog became a sort of packhorse when they moved between targets. Runt, inside the next cottage, was already rolling up the wolfskin. With the sharp claw of his spear, he scratched a crude mark upon the wall. It was not much more than an inverted triangle with two points emerging from the top, and a few lines inside for eyes and stripes, but it was enough. Runt stood back to admire the wolf¡¯s head carved into the wall. It was then he heard the girl clear her throat.


    As always, his first instinct was to run, then to hide. It was only after much more practise that he trained himself to the third instinct, to become a shadow. He disappeared.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re there, still,¡± the girl spoke softly, ¡°I saw you come across the way, in and out of the shadows.¡±


    Runt began slowly edging towards the door concentrating furiously on staying invisible.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok. I won¡¯t tell. I¡¯ll say I was asleep. They wouldn¡¯t believe me, anyway. I¡¯m a daydreamer, that¡¯s what they say about me.¡± She said, and sighed before continuing. ¡°They¡¯d say I had a dream or that I was telling another of my fairy tales.¡±


    The girl sat by a window behind the door. Runt must have literally walked past her. Then he saw how she was sitting and decided to let the coolness evaporate. It wasn¡¯t like she could chase after him.


    ¡°Oh, there you are again. I¡¯m Charlotte. What¡¯s your name?¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯d rather not say, if it¡¯s all the same to you. What happened to your leg?¡±


    Charlotte looked down sadly for a moment and sighed again. She sat on a chair, but her leg poked out straight in front of her. It was strapped and splinted.


    ¡°I was climbing a tree when I slipped and fell and now it¡¯s broken. There was a bird¡¯s nest up there. I wanted to see what colour the eggs were. Now I won¡¯t find out,¡± She said, frowning as she grumped, ¡°they¡¯ll be hatched and gone before it¡¯s healed. You can take that, by the way.¡± She said, indicating to the wolfskin rolled up under his arm, ¡°I won¡¯t tell. I think it¡¯s disgusting. Such a waste.¡±


    Runt moved to the door.


    ¡°Your hair,¡± Charlotte said, tilting her head, ¡°it¡¯s so curly and long. It¡¯s great! But you should tuck it behind your ears so people can see your face.¡±


    Runt flinched and pulled back as she reached out to him.


    ¡°No,¡± he said flatly, ¡°it¡¯s hiding something that you wouldn¡¯t like.¡±


    Charlotte looked at him quizzically but Runt didn¡¯t notice. He was already staring outside, looking for the next shadow to disappear in.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you stay for a bit?¡± Charlotte asked, ¡°I¡¯m so bored and lonely. The others won¡¯t be back for ages.¡±


    Runt shook his head, then paused. He reached into his pouch and handed her a few of the forbidden fruits.


    ¡°Have you tried these? They¡¯re from the Deep Wilds. The best thing you¡¯ve ever tasted, I bet.¡±


    Charlotte¡¯s eyes widened and she took them eagerly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard about these!¡± She said, beaming. ¡°But how did you get them?¡±


    Runt just shrugged in reply.


    ¡°You go out there? Into the Deeps? How do you survive? There¡¯s so many dangerous creatures in the forest.¡± she asked, looking at him in wonder.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you think. I mean, sure, it¡¯s still risky. You do need to be careful. These fruit, in particular. Remember to look up if you decide to go out there. The drop-bears hide up the fey-trees, but they¡¯re slow. They won¡¯t chase you. Just remember to look up, and if you spot one, you can scare it off with rocks. Or you just find another fey-tree. That¡¯s what I do.¡±


    Charlotte hung off every word, fascinated. Runt continued.


    ¡°Mostly you just need to learn how to behave around the animals. Stand still. Keep your distance. Don¡¯t bother them and mostly they leave you alone. The animals are not killers. Not like they told you.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not? You mean they lied about it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I think they might have lied to us about a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°I knew it!¡± said the girl, pumping the air with her fist. She looked down at her leg, frowned, then looked longingly out the window.


    ¡°As soon as it¡¯s better,¡± she said, staring into the Wilds, ¡°as soon as it¡¯s fixed I¡¯m going out there. Would you take me? Could you ¨C¡° and she turned to find Runt had vanished.


    ¡°Hmpf. Boys are so annoying.¡± She muttered, and rolled her eyes.


    Runt felt guilty urging Stripes to move faster. They had travelled many miles that day, but dusk was approaching, and time was running out. Runt desperately wanted to see the sunset from the treetops near the road again. The wolf skins were bundled up in such a great number that there was barely room for Runt to fit on his dog¡¯s shoulders. They pushed on.


    The sky was just beginning to bleed red as they entered the next clearing. Runt jumped off his dog and raced up the fey-tree. Puffing and panting, he finally reached the canopy and looked out towards the mountain they called the Dragon¡¯s head. Runt¡¯s heart sank. The sun was still in the sky, but barely a sliver of it was visible from this angle. He looked across jealously to see that the very next fey-tree, several hundred yards away, was soaking up the last rays of sunset. Beyond that, the swarm of harpies approached.


    Runt watched as they landed, hooting and hollering. He watched as the treetops in the light of sunset once again turned an amazing shade of ruby red. He watched as the fey-trees within the light burst forth with their clouds of pollen. The tree he sat in, out of the light, remained dormant but Runt swore he could feel the tree trembling in anticipation.


    The harpies began circling skyward in the updraft. Several of them made a beeline for Runt¡¯s tree. It was only as they crashed into the tree, as tiny clouds of pollen on their fur puffed over the leaves and flowers, that this tree erupted. He heard the harpies laugh and sing as they ascended once more. Runt traced their flight to the next trees along the loop, and the next, and the next, until the skies darkened, and they shrank from view.


    Runt clambered back down and rubbed Stripes under the chin.


    ¡°Maybe tomorrow night, hey boy?¡± he laughed, and they started walking together towards the road and the great fey-tree that lay beyond.


    He heard them first. Before he saw. Runt and Stripes were halfway to the next fey-tree, one of the ¡°sunset fey-trees¡± as he started calling them, when it happened. Scrub crashed. Rocks tumbled. Gravel-rattling curses echoed across the Wilds. He saw the sickly yellow glow of eyes. Pairs of them, in a long line, snaking back towards the quarry. The gorgons.


    For a few panicked moments he thought they were headed directly for him and prepared to flee. Then he remembered. He and Stripes crept slowly towards the fey-tree and watched with fascination and dread as they began tearing into it. The boy and his pup crouched at the edge of the clearing like that for some time. Runt became increasingly anxious and angry about it. It seemed like such a senseless waste of tree. What could they possibly be doing with it in their underground lair? He considered stalking them, disappearing into the shadows and following them deep under the mountains, but the risk of Stripes becoming lost, or captured, or worse, was too great.


    Runt heard a rustle in the treetops above. He saw a flash of fur and the blur of wings as a creature sailed back towards the great fey-tree.


    ¡°Someone else,¡± Runt decided grimly, ¡°might be able to answer my questions.¡±

 Chapter 27: Dinner time

    Dinner time


    The harpies were back from flying the loop when he reached the great fey-tree. Gleeful laughter and singing echoed across the waters as they crossed. Runt saw harpies, covered in pollen, waiting patiently by the hollows to be groomed. Most, though, were already cleaned. They whooped and flew and chased each other through the canopy.


    Not for the first time, Runt and Stripes collapsed at the foot of the tree upon reaching dry land. He watched Stripes jealously as the dog swiftly fell asleep.


    ¡°No time for that, now,¡± Runt thought. He placed the bundle of wolf skins further up the bank and proceeded to climb.


    The last of the harpies groomed themselves as Runt entered the hollow. As usual, the teacher stood down by the cauldron. Tonight, though, the teacher was joined by many others. Harpies made a near complete circle around the shallow bowl. As one they turned when Runt squeezed inside. He felt the weight of many eyes resting on him.


    ¡°Welcome back, Wolf-ghost.¡± The teacher murmured, ¡°I hear you have reclaimed many skins today. The harpy friends of these wolves will be sad but grateful.¡±


    ¡°How did you hear that, I wonder?¡± Runt shot back, ¡°I¡¯ve only just got here. Were you spying on me, again? Was it you spying on me again, Patch?¡± He asked the little harpy who sat, with the others, around the edge of the cauldron.


    Patch¡¯s mouth opened wide but no words came out. Instead, the teacher spoke.


    ¡°This young harpy flew the entire loop tonight and we are very proud of them. The pollen is plentiful. Our friends too old to fly the loop shall eat and their tummy eggs will grow.¡±


    ¡°Not everyone was flying the loop, though, were they? I saw one returning from a fey-tree. They were watching ¨C¡°


    ¡°I know what the harpy was watching. I told them to wait there. And, yes, they saw a Wolf-ghost with his wolf-dog carrying wolf skins. What of it?¡±


    ¡°I want to know about the gorgons!¡± Runt yelled. ¡°There are statues of them around all the fey-trees, apart from this one, and I can¡¯t figure out why. They¡¯re destroying fey-trees and you don¡¯t seem to be stopping them, just watching.¡±


    ¡°Stop them?¡± the teacher asked, with eyebrows raised. ¡°Would you stop them for us? Look at me. This is what happened the last time I tried to speak to a gorgon, Wolf-ghost.¡±


    The teacher raised its arms high and wide. Runt saw it immediately and wondered how he missed it before. The skin of the harpy¡¯s right wing was completely torn.


    ¡°The gorgon¡¯s language is violence, Wolf-ghost. We watch them and wonder. We see the mother trees disappearing into their dark cave and mourn. The end is coming for harpies, Wolf-ghost. You have seen it for yourself. When the mother trees that taste the sunset are gone, we will starve and perish. But tonight, we eat. Harpies, let us begin.¡±


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    At this the teacher waved a hand for Runt to be silent. Each of the harpies around the bowl dipped a small wooden ladle into the pollen and began to stir. They sang as they worked but this song was not one of the silly tunes the harpies sang as they played outside. There were no words, only a melody, and its rhythm was thoughtful, slow, and sombre.


    The harpies, Runt realised, stirred the pollen in time to the song. Each creature moved their ladle from right to left in unison with the others. The song gradually picked up pace. The contents of the cauldron began to swirl with the circular motion until it formed a whirlpool.


    Like the previous morning, Runt found himself mesmerised by the patterns in the pollen. but this time it was different. As the whirlpool continued to swirl the colours banded together into distinct stripes, looking something like a lollypop.


    ¡°It¡¯s a rainbow!¡± Runt exhaled and, indeed, there were obvious similarities. The colours grouped from brilliant blues in the middle, through to greens, then yellows, oranges, and finally reds on the outer edge. The singers grew more insistent, now, and they stirred even faster. The colours grew even more defined and glowed brighter. A thin band of darkness, though, appeared on the very edge of the cauldron, and a circle of clear pollen now appeared in the very middle.


    The singing, and stirring, both stopped abruptly but the colours continued to rotate around the cauldron. A new kind of work commenced. Some of the harpies reached under the cauldron for the empty seed pods stored there. Other harpies holding wooden ladles reached into the bands of colour and scooped up small amounts of the pollen.


    Some scooped orange, others green, others blue, but regardless of the colour, each ladle of pollen was carefully tipped into a seed pod. Runt watched as one harpy used a ladle with an extra-long handle to reach right into the centre. This clear pollen was placed with extreme caution into a seed pod and then immediately corked shut. The same process occurred with the dark pollen on the outer edge. These seed pods were carried very gingerly to the teacher who placed them on a shelf beneath the cauldron.


    The other seed pods, with coloured pollen, were carried to plump looking harpies who sat on ledges around the inside of the chamber. Runt watched as Patch carried a pod of blue pollen to a harpy on a nearby ledge. They were an older harpy, he decided. The fur around their eyes, and over their chin, was grey, and they were much fatter than the others. This plump harpy thanked Patch, tipped the contents into its mouth, and then closed its eyes in satisfaction.


    Patch stayed by the old harpy and stared at its round belly in fascination. Runt stifled a gasp as he saw the harpy¡¯s stomach glow a brilliant blue within moments of drinking the pollen. The same thing occurred with every one of the older harpies perched on ledges up and around the chamber until the entire hollow resembled the inner-city at night. All colours of the rainbow were represented in the glowing furry bellies of these harpies. Runt turned back to Patch and saw the young harpy stroking the old harpy¡¯s round stomach and sang a quiet song.


    Many harpies began singing, now. The tune was soothing and slow. Runt felt his aches and pains from a long day of travel slowly lift. Curious, he crept closer to Patch and saw, in amazement, that the skin of the old harpy¡¯s belly was stretched to the point of being translucent. Within, hundreds of tiny globular spheres glowed with an eery blue light.


    ¡°Tummy eggs, Runt,¡± Patch whispered, ¡°aren¡¯t they wonderful? This old harpy is next. Soon there will be more harpy grubs glowing in the trunk of the mother tree.¡±


    Runt nodded as he yawned. Then, as they watched, the eggs did something miraculous. The glowing blue orbs flashed white for a second, then went dark, then every one of the eggs split into two smaller eggs. Now their colour throbbed from a dull blue to a brilliant bright blue and back again in a cycle. Patch clapped quietly.


    ¡°More grubbies, more and more and more!¡± The little harpy whispered excitedly.


    Runt yawned again. He had never heard a lullaby before, but it was nearly impossible to stay awake when listening to this one. He crawled back out of the hollow, down the trunk, and curled up with his dog. They slept late into the next morning.

 Chapter 28: Stardust dreams

    Stardust dreams


    Stripes was missing when Runt awoke. He looked behind the stone piles and in the shadows of the serpent-like roots that snaked out in all directions from the trunk. The pup was in neither of those places, nor was he splashing in the shallows looking for a frog to eat. Runt realised, with a jolt, that he was essentially stuck on the island without his dog to carry him across.


    ¡°Stripes? Stripes!¡± Runt yelled, and then whistled, while cold fingers of doubt twisted his insides. What if the pup found a friend out in the Wilds and wasn¡¯t coming back? What if he¡¯d got lost, or injured, or worse? He continued to panic, and call out, and whistle, before hearing the crash of scrub. The wolf-pup appeared on the other bank wagging his tail furiously.


    ¡°That¡¯s twice now you¡¯ve run off on me! I bet you¡¯re chasing rabbits over there, aren¡¯t you, boy?¡± Runt yelled. Stripes barked in return with his ears pricked up. ¡°Off you go, then,¡± Runt said, pretending to be grumpy, and waved his hand away. With another crash, Stripes disappeared into the scrub.


    Runt¡¯s stomach grumbled, too. Finding his pouch empty of fruit, he began to climb. Runt paused again by a tiny glow hole in the trunk, now dark, to listen and marvel at the grating noise coming from somewhere beneath the bark. Resting his hand on the trunk, he felt the regular rumbling rhythm of the sound. The sound reminded him, just a little, of how his spear¡¯s claw sounded as it scraped over the wood of the cottage walls and doors that now bore Wolf-ghost scars.


    ¡°It¡¯s gotta be those glow grubs eating,¡± Runt decided, and his own stomach reminded him again that it was his turn to eat.


    His pouch and tummy were finally full as Runt leaned up against the trunk. He dozed a little and woke again to the sound of a kingfisher laughing somewhere off in the distance. The fey-tree itself was eerily quiet during the middle of the day.


    ¡°Nothing like at night,¡± Runt thought, ¡°it¡¯s like a different tree altogether in the day time. You wouldn¡¯t even know the harpies were in there. Apart from the teacher, I suppose. The teacher doesn¡¯t seem to sleep at all.¡±


    Runt sighed and pulled a flake of sharp stone from his pouch. He started carving marks onto the wood of his spear. Each swirl represented a wolf skin reclaimed. He grinned in satisfaction, but not pleasure, at the number. He was making a difference.


    Runt put his ear near one of the entrances to the hollow and listened to the sound of snoring echo from inside. He hesitated. The teacher told him not to enter during the daytime. The teacher would almost certainly be in there, though. Runt wanted to know the truth about the gorgons but every time he mentioned them the old harpy got angry. In the end, his curiosity got the better of him. He poked his head into the hollow and crawled in.


    The chamber was much like yesterday, quiet, serene, with harpies cuddled up and sleeping in every available nook and cranny. The teacher, though, was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°I bet they¡¯re trying to avoid me,¡± Runt grumped, and kicked at a small pot that was discarded by his foot. As it rolled away, he saw a flash of blue pollen. Runt picked up the container for a closer look. There was barely a smudge of it left, smeared against the lip of the seed pod container. He sniffed at it gingerly. It smelled sickly sweet, a bit like honey, but more fruity, too. Runt ran his finger across the blue smear and marvelled at the colour on his skin. He licked it off and, indeed, fruity honey was his first impression of its taste.


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    Runt only learned, much later, how lucky he was not to die after that seemingly simple act. The pollen was deadly poisonous to humans. If Runt had carried that blue smeared seed pod back to the city and asked someone else to taste it, they would have been dead within minutes. Harpies, of course, were immune to the poison. They ate pollen each and every day of their lives. But Runt was not a harpy.


    It was only a stroke of luck that he had eaten a good deal of the antidote five minutes before. The forbidden fruit contained an enzyme that immediately began metabolising the poison into something slightly less deadly. Unfortunately for Runt, it still felt quite a lot like he was about to die.


    His first sensation was of tingling. His tongue felt like tiny fleas danced around on it, before racing down his throat. The tingle spread across the insides of his mouth, and up his cheeks, and, moments later, his whole body was vibrating. Runt could remember very little of the next few hours apart from sensations. That is to say, he remembered feeling things, without thinking much at all.


    The circles of sunlight beaming through the hollows into the chamber seemed to change colour slowly, much like the colours in the cauldron of pollen changed. The light also looked¡­ puffy. Like clouds. He didn¡¯t know how else to describe it. Runt tried to stand up and peer outside to find out why the sunlight looked a different colour and realised that he couldn¡¯t. His legs wouldn¡¯t listen to his head.


    ¡°Am I dying?¡± he thought, panicking slightly, and it was the last proper sentence his head knew for the next few hours. Runt shut his eyes but realised the puffy glow of light was still there, in the dark of his mind. Sounds became louder, somehow. The gentle snoring of the harpies became louder, more intense, and yet also soothing. It was like sitting inside a dry shelter during a thunderstorm.


    Runt felt his ears stretch outwards. He heard, now, the grubs munching the wood beneath the bark. He felt them, for a minute, felt their simple life, cozied up inside the safety of a tree, surrounded by food. Warm, dry and forever hungry. He could almost taste the wood as the munching continued.


    His ears stretched further outwards. He heard, now, the birds singing and flitting from branch to branch. He could feel himself fly, for a moment, and knew the freedom of flying. As the birds sang, and boasted of their beautiful feathers, he felt himself swell with pride.


    His ears stretched further outwards and he heard Stripes prancing around a rabbit hole. Every now and then he stopped to snuffle it, then bark, then prance around it again. It was a game, but it was also a deadly hunt. Runt felt the hunger and knew the excitement of feeling hungry, and healthy, and agile, and ready to pounce.


    His ears stretched wider, now, and he suddenly heard the tiniest sounds. Leaves whispered secrets. Clouds hummed overhead. Tadpoles plopped and gummed at the slime that grew on the roots beneath the water line.


    Then, Runt was the roots, and the tree. He felt his arms become branches, spreading wide. He swayed in the breeze, and tasted the air, and gleefully soaked up the rays of the sun like a delicious, sweet drink. He felt his toes dig down, deep down into the mud and dirt and rock, and into the glowing salts far below the surface of the earth and knew, suddenly, it was this glowing salt that made the fey-trees so special. Runt could feel the tips of his toes warmed by the yellow glow of this salt that glittered even in the absolute darkness.


    He stayed like this for hours, with his toes dipped in the bones of the earth, warmed by some kind of yellow sparkling metallic diamond ichor that hummed in a voice so deep it could only be felt, not heard.


    Slowly, at first, his mind began the long journey back up into the light and the safety of the hollow. His ears still stretched outwards and he became aware of the massive stomping, crashing, and grumbling of a creature blundering through the scrub. Runt somehow knew without knowing that this noise was made by the teacher returning on the back of a mammoth. The skins were taken to the remembering place. Runt knew this because the tree knew and, rather than being worried by that, he felt reassured.


    And then, the noise of padding and splashing. ¡°Stripes returning¡±, Runt thought in this dream state, but then he felt the mind crossing the lake and it was closed to him. He poked at the mind and recoiled. It was closed like the steel door of a hot furnace was closed. Any attempt to open and look inside only led to scorched fingers and singed hair. The mind was too hot to touch. A mind of flame and anger and death. And then Runt understood. A drop-bear was crossing the lake.

 Chapter 29: The drop-bear

    The drop-bear


    With supreme effort he opened his eyes. Nothing around him had changed apart from the angle of the sun beams. Runt only realised later how long he had been dreaming for as the poison worked through his body. Hours had passed.


    Outside, he heard the unmistakeable sound of claws ripping into the trunk as the drop-bear began to climb. Runt struggled to his feet and wobbled uncertainly. Leaning on his spear for support, he took a deep breath and yelled a warning to the harpies.


    ¡°Drop-bear¡±, he croaked. The effort felt like yelling under a mountain of rock, as if he was still deep underground with his tree-toes soaking in the earth. He sucked in another breath, deeper this time.


    ¡°Drop-bear!¡±


    None of the harpies stirred. It would be at least another hour or two before most of them awoke. For the older harpies, it would be even longer. The oldest of them slept more than three-quarters of the day, only waking to feed and grow their eggs.


    Runt stumbled towards the light of the nearest exit and poked his head out. The bright light and fresh air made him gasp, and the fumes of the poison in his head began to clear. He looked down and stared, face to face, with the fierce and fearsome drop-bear.


    Runt froze. The drop-bear, several yards below, hissed at him but then continued its work. Its razor-sharp claws hacked at the trunk and bit at the bark with its pointed front teeth. Runt stared, seemingly incapable of movement, as it began ripping chunks of bark away. He realised, with a jolt, what it was after.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Runt yelled, and started wriggling out of the hollow, ¡°you leave those baby harpies alone!¡±


    He squeezed through the hollow and collapsed in an ungainly pile on the nearest branch. The drop-bear looked up again and hissed more viciously. Its mouth opened wide. Runt gulped at the sight of its teeth. Four long, curved fangs protruded from the very front of its mouth, two top, two bottom, as well as flat, blade like teeth along the sides. It looked like it could take a person¡¯s arm off in one bite. The drop-bear turned back to the trunk and, jamming those curved fangs back into the worm hole, ripped off a huge chunk of bark. Its head plunged into the gap and there was the sickly sound of death.


    The drop-bear, gripping the tree with its terrible claws, began scaling the trunk up to the next glow worm hole. Runt yelled and waved his arms without effect. The creature clearly did not see him as a threat. Fear and anger made Runt¡¯s vision turn red. Gripping his spear, he jumped down to the next branch and landed in a crouch.


    The drop-bear hissed and growled. It was close enough now for Runt to feel its breath stir his hair, and the rank smell of death from its lungs made him gag. His spear swished through the air. The drop-bear crouched back and roared. Its muscles coiled like a spring and it leaped up the trunk in several great bounds. Runt stabbed at it and stopped it from reaching the branch he stood on. Instead, it clung to the side of the trunk right next to him. It lifted a paw to swipe at him. Runt saw, in slow motion, the claws extend and slash towards his face. He leaned back and felt the puff of wind of a near-miss. The drop-bear rocked a little from the effort but regained its balance. It slashed again but, this time, Runt was ready.


    He ducked under the slashing claws and stabbed forwards with his spear, aiming for its other front paw that clung to the bark. The hook of his spear wedged in and under the paw and, yanking, it came away from the trunk. The drop-bear flailed its front legs for a moment before leaning back and tumbling towards the ground.


    Runt leaped from branch to branch and chased it down. He landed in the soft grass at the foot of the tree and looked up. The drop-bear was there, looming over him, with vicious red eyes glaring murderously.


    Runt swung his spear again but this time, on level ground, the drop-bear easily swatted it aside. It growled, crouched, and prepared to pounce. A flash of grey and black stripes blurred past and tumbled into it. Runt¡¯s dog barrelled into the drop-bear with fangs bared. The two beasts tumbled for a few seconds before separating. Runt and Stripes stood, now, side by side, Runt brandishing his spear, Stripes growling and showing his fangs. The drop-bear hissed again but slowly began retreating. With another swish of the spear, it turned and lumbered off.


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    It splashed into the lake and Runt saw how ungainly it was at swimming. Unlike Stripes, who slipped through the water, the drop-bear splashed, hacked, and wrestled at the water. It looked exhausted as it reached the other side. It turned to cast one last evil glare at the two of them before crashing back into the scrub.


    Runt threw down his spear and sat, trembling, against one the of the tree roots. Stripes, meanwhile, huffed at the retreating drop-bear then wandered off to chase frogs.


    ¡°See? See! I told you he was a gorgon!¡± a voice called out from above, ¡°He saved the glow grubs from the drop-bear!¡± Looking up, Runt saw many faces poking out of hollows that dotted the enormous trunk. Patch stood up there, pointing, and looked down at Runt in wonder.


    The teacher returned not long after, as the shadows lengthened towards dusk, to find the harpies being entertained by Patch¡¯s storytelling. The young harpy must have woken at the sounds of struggle and managed to rouse a few of the other young ones. Now, as more harpies began to wake, Patch retold the story to each freshly woken group. The story, Runt noticed, became more dramatic with each retelling.


    ¡°¡­and then Runt, the Wolf-ghost, whacked it three times with his spear. Whack! Whack! Whack!¡± the small harpy acted this out, holding a small stick, ¡°and then he grabbed it by the whiskers, and growled in its face. The drop-bear turned and ran after that. He won¡¯t be back anytime soon. And the glow grubs were saved!¡±


    ¡°So as you can tell, fellow harpies, I was correct in my original judgement. Runt, the Wolf-ghost, is clearly a gorgon after all.¡±


    ¡°For the last time, little one,¡± the teacher yelled across the lake, ¡°the Wolf-ghost is not a gorgon!¡±


    The teacher sat atop a mammoth which immediately plunged into the water and made its way across. The massive bulk of the creature caused waves to wash up and over the shore. When it was nearly across, the teacher leaped and landed on the grass. The mammoth, still paddling, turned back to the other shore and disappeared into the scrub.


    Patch scampered over and the two harpies, younger and older, conversed for several minutes. The drop-bear story was clearly being related, once more, as Patch again waved his stick to-and-fro to highlight the deeds. The teacher¡¯s eyes widened in wonder as the story continued.


    ¡°Harpies,¡± the teacher announced, ¡°we owe this demon another show of thanks. But do not mistake him for a gorgon. It is true that, long ago, the gorgons stayed by the mother trees. They made nests, they ate fruit, and they spread seeds to make new mother trees. Most importantly, they scared away the drop-bears to protect our harpy grubs. Those days are gone,¡± the teacher said solemnly, ¡°and, I fear, those days will never return.¡±


    ¡°The gorgon minds have been poisoned by the demon¡¯s lies and enslaved by the demon¡¯s evil drink. The gorgons no longer scare the drop-bears. They no longer eat the fruit. The mother trees are barren and empty. All the grubs are gone, eaten by drop-bears without mercy. And if we were to lay more eggs in the roots of those mother trees, out in the Deep Wilds? They would, all of them, be eaten without mercy.¡±


    ¡°It is true that we hoped some gorgons, even one, might break free and return to us, return to the mother tree, eat the fruits, and scare away the drop-bears. I do not hope for that anymore.¡± The teacher said bitterly. ¡°The gorgons are nothing more than a hairy demon, now. They cut stone for demon walls. They cut wood for demon houses. They drink the demon¡¯s booze. They do as the demons tell them. And the demons have told them this: the harpies must be eliminated.¡±


    ¡°The demons plotted our extermination and convinced the gorgons to be the executioner. For years, the demons asked gorgons to cut down trees for their houses. Now, they have them cutting down the trees that are our lifeblood. The gorgons, every night, seek out the mother trees and destroy them. They carry them back to their dark caves. And not just any mother trees. They take the very ones we rely on. The trees that taste the sunset. Once the last of the sunset trees are cut, there will be no more stardust, and the harpies will slowly starve. The trees will be gone. The harpies will go with them.¡±


    The teacher paused, and then puffed out its chest, before saying ¡°But that day is not yet come. Dusk approaches and, drop-bear or not, the skies do not wait. The old ones still need to eat. Prepare yourselves to fly the loop.¡±


    ¡°But why are they doing it?¡± Runt asked, hotly, ¡°Don¡¯t they need the fruits to eat? It doesn¡¯t make sense! I know they¡¯re vicious, but we need to try. We need to ask them why they¡¯re taking the trees and we need to make them stop!¡±


    The teacher looked over to Runt sadly and sighed.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost, you cannot ask the gorgons why, for they themselves do not know. You cannot ask them to stop, for they only listen to their master. If you want to find the truth, you need to ask the demons who control them. The ones who live in the circle of stone in the heart of this land.¡±


    The teacher pointed a wrinkled hand off towards the city.


    ¡°The demons do not listen to us, Wolf-ghost. They decided, long ago, that harpies did not exist. We are a shadow to them, a legend, a story to scare children. Only you, a demon, can talk to the demons. Only you can ask why they seek our extinction.¡±

 Chapter 30: More hide and seek

    More hide and seek


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking, Stripes,¡± Runt whispered, as he approached the tannery, ¡°you¡¯re thinking I¡¯ve only got half a plan, and the half I do have is not very good.¡±


    He began climbing the side of the tannery, feeling the familiar cracks in the planks, remembering the boards that were loose and no good for climbing, the places to rest, the places to hide. Stripes sat patiently in the darkness below while Runt filled his pouch, not with fruit, but with soot. He looked across and felt an incredible sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu at the sight of the campfire in the middle distance. He wondered if Greybeard was back there, or if it was the old lady telling fairy tales.


    Runt let his gaze stray further, beyond the circle of torches around the campfire, to the patch of dark where the kennels lay. Tyron was almost certainly there. And the hunting dogs. And Daisy. Runt wondered, briefly, if she missed him as much as he missed her.


    His heart ached at the familiar sights and his head spun thinking about how much things had changed since the last time he sat here. One week ago, his biggest problem was finding enough scraps to feed his pup. It wasn¡¯t that he missed his old life. But in those days things were certainly less complicated.


    ¡°For one thing,¡± he thought grimly, ¡°back then I wasn¡¯t thinking about sneaking into the city to accuse the Captain of murder.¡±


    Only half a plan, and not a very good one, Runt grumbled, as he rubbed soot over Stripes from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.


    ¡°It¡¯s a real pity,¡± he said, rubbing his hands over the dog¡¯s legs, ¡°that we couldn¡¯t find a magic fur skin of invisibility that fit you, hey boy? Soot and sneaking will have to do. And, failing that, a mad sprint back to the scrub.¡±


    Dogs were strictly forbidden anywhere above the edge of the outer city, even with an owner. A dog wandering on its own¡­ well, it didn¡¯t bear thinking about. A risky plan, indeed.


    The only reason Runt held any hope for the plan was Stripes. Even before they fled the kennels the pup showed excellent obedience and intelligence. Spending nearly a week in the Wilds, with all its challenges and demands, proved Stripes to be a very capable dog. They once sat together, silent and still, as a snake six yards long slithered through their resting place. Runt signalled Stripes to freeze and the dog, not moving a muscle, allowed the snake to glide right between his legs. Runt suspected he could literally ask the dog to sit on an ant¡¯s nest.


    And so began the game of hide and sneak that lasted most of the distance up the winding road to the inner city. Lanterns and torch lights became more frequent the further they travelled but, with light, came darkness. The shadows were deep, the hiding places were plentiful. The houses up the hill were richer, better built, and were often made of stone rather than mouldering planks of wood and scrap metal. Sneaking became all the easier because of this. There were no gaps in walls to betray them. Windows had curtains. Doors were locked. In fact, the higher they climbed the less activity they saw. That is, besides the troopers.


    For the most part the troopers stuck to the main roads. They usually moved in pairs, one of them swinging a lantern, the other brandishing a crossbow, both with swords strapped to their waists. Others lurked on corners, slouching under a streetlamp, glaring into the dark. Back tracks and side alleys, dark and silent, helped Runt and Stripes move most of the way. Soon enough the light grey wall of the inner city began to dominate the view ahead.


    Never in his life had Runt been this far up the hill. His knowledge of the layout was only through stories he¡¯d heard. The main road wound all the way from the port to the city, snaked up and around the hill, and widened as it met the city wall here. It did a full lap of the wall with a width of some twenty yards. There was only one entrance to the inner city, a large set of reinforced gates facing west and overlooking the dragon¡¯s head. These gates were closed, regular as clockwork, just before sunset.


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    The entire loop of this road was brightly lit with streetlamps. Runt and Stripes, hiding behind one of the last buildings on the outer, looked across to the city gates. They were shut, locked, and deserted. There was barely a shadow to be seen and yet the road was virtually empty save for the occasional pair of guards wandering past. It didn¡¯t really make sense. Who were the streets lit for?


    Runt was suddenly and strangely reminded of the great fey-tree and its moat. The waters formed a natural barrier to predators like the drop-bear that struggled to swim. The whole city, with the farmlands around it, were like that, too. The plains formed a natural barrier that kept the wild creatures from sneaking into the city. Only the foolhardiest of predators would dare cross the open fields to seek out its prey in the buildings on the hillsides. And the inner city itself had its own moat, a twenty-yard width of brightly lit, bare cobblestone.


    Runt, a predator like the drop-bear, now contemplated the dash across to the other side. The imposing city gates were surrounded by an arch of stonework that jutted out from the wall. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was the most shadow Runt could see. If he survived the sprint unnoticed, he would be safe enough in the shadows cast by the arch. From there, he would have to climb.


    He looked back one last time. Under the pale moonlight the dragon-scale mountains could be seen as a faint grey silhouette. The farmlands and the Wilds beyond were bathed in darkness. Still, Runt imagined he could see the great fey-tree from up here. There were creatures out there relying on him. Runt replayed the final words spoken between himself, Patch, and the teacher.


    After the drop-bear attack, and the teacher¡¯s return, the other harpies had left, one by one, until only the three of them remained. Runt was sitting with his back against a tree root explaining his plan to visit the city.


    ¡°Where have you been, Wolf-ghost?¡± The teacher interrupted, staring at Runt intently.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Runt answered, defensively. ¡°I¡¯ve been here at the great fey-tree the whole time.¡±


    ¡°Where exactly have you been, though?¡± the teacher asked again, and crept closer. The teacher grabbed handfuls of Runt¡¯s hair and parted it to reveal the boy¡¯s face, then studied it like a prospector looking for grains of gold in a bucket of sand.


    ¡°Tell me, what do you see, young harpy?¡± The teacher asked. Patch joined the teacher in their close study of Runt¡¯s face. Patch gasped and a tiny finger rose up to gently tickle Runt¡¯s chin. Patch pulled back the finger and looked, with wide eyes, at the tiny blue sparkles of pollen on the tip.


    ¡°OK, fine. I went up into the hollow to look for you, ok? That¡¯s where I¡¯ve been. I¡¯m sorry for sneaking.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what the teacher means, Runt.¡± Patch said, looking at Runt curiously.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost, I¡¯ll ask you once more. Where have you been in your mind?¡±


    Runt confessed then. To tasting the blue pollen and the effects it had on him. How he saw the colours change, how everything sounded different, and how, after that, his mind left the hollow and wandered through the forest. He explained how he felt himself inhabit the bodies of creatures: grubs, birds, his dog and, finally, how he inhabited the body of the tree for what seemed like an eternity, feeling what a tree feels, thinking what a tree thinks.


    Patch and the teacher stared at each other with mouths agape before turning back to Runt.


    ¡°You sat with the trees?¡± Patch said, turning back to Runt. ¡°On your first journey? You sat with the trees.¡± The tiny harpy shook its head before continuing. ¡°I¡¯ve been training to be a teacher for a lifetime and I haven¡¯t even done that yet! What does it mean?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t mean anything,¡± The teacher responded gruffly, ¡°apart from telling us the demon can¡¯t be trusted to be left alone. You could have died, you know?¡± The old harpy said, frowning at Runt. ¡°You should have died. We don¡¯t let harpies go on those journeys alone, Wolf-ghost, and for good reason. The mind can get¡­ lost on a journey like that.¡±


    ¡°But Teacher! Runt sat with the trees on his journey. And with the grubs, and with the birds. But he sat with the trees! It can take years for a harpy who is training to be a teacher to have such a journey. And Runt did it on his first try. What does it mean?¡±


    ¡°It means the demon is probably lying!¡± The teacher snapped. Runt saw the hands of the old harpy trembling and, when the teacher noticed where Runt was looking, it crossed its arms to hide them beneath the flaps of skin.


    ¡°No. It means he is one of us.¡± Patch said, laying a tiny paw on Runt¡¯s hand, and staring at him adoringly. ¡°That¡¯s what it means. You¡¯re one of us, Runt. And maybe one day you¡¯ll even be a teacher, with me.¡±

 Chapter 31: Eavesdropping

    Eavesdropping


    ¡°You need to stay here, Stripes.¡± Runt whispered and signalled with his hand to reinforce the command. There was a pressing job at hand. A twenty-yard dash to the shadows cast by the arch and then, who knows? He watched as the next pair of guards wandered past and around the corner. Runt became the scurrying mouse once again as he sprinted across the way. Had the guards turned they would have marvelled to see a young boy with a wolfskin flapping in the breeze who suddenly vanished in the slim shade of the arch around the gate.


    Runt stood there, tightly pressed against the wall, thinking invisible thoughts as the coolness washed over him. He looked up and began to doubt whether the one half of a plan was any good at all. The stonework was well crafted. The gaps between bricks were barely a finger width apart and only about as deep. A week of tree climbing meant Runts arms and hands were strong but even trying to lift himself up to the first brick seemed impossible. He tried anyway and, one brick at a time, he began to climb.


    The ascent was agonising. Not only did he need to use all his strength to climb, with his fingertips and toes screaming in discomfort, but he also needed to keep calm enough to concentrate on staying invisible. Runt remembered looking up right before he slipped and fell. The wall seemed to rise forever and, had he managed to make it to the top of the arch, he still would have been several yards short of the top, and standing in full light for the rest of the ascent. Instead, he found himself sprawled at the base of the gate, cursing his fingers which betrayed him, and forgetting, for an instant, that he was sitting half in the shadow, half in the light.


    ¡°Oi! Stop there!¡± a trooper¡¯s voice echoed across the wall and into the night. Runt scrambled to his feet and stood in the shadow straight as a sapling with his arms by his side. He listened to the sounds of two men approaching and contemplated the sprint across to the buildings and his dog waiting there.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± a gruff voice asked.


    ¡°Not sure. I thought it was a child for a second. But it was furry.¡± This voice sounded younger. Runt resisted the temptation to peek around the corner.


    ¡°Probably a cat.¡± The gruff man replied.


    ¡°No, bigger than a cat. Actually, it¡¯s odd. For a second I thought it was a wolf.¡± The young trooper said, defensively.


    ¡°No wolves up here, mate. You¡¯re dreaming.¡±


    The sound of their footsteps grew louder. Runt saw the glare of a lantern casting a shadow as they approached. The handle squeaked and the shadows shifted as the man lifted the lantern above his head.


    ¡°See? Nothing.¡± The older man said, then added, ¡°have you ever even seen a wolf, Thomas?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen pictures! I¡¯ve seen their skins. But, no. Not yet. I heard there was going to be a hunt tomorrow night, though. And that, maybe the Captain was going to be there. I thought I¡¯d ask if I could join.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Why?¡± the gruff voice grunted. The lantern snapped shut and they continued walking. Runt held his breath as they walked into view. The younger man, Thomas, continued to speak.


    ¡°Well, I mean, everyone wants a wolfskin cloak, don¡¯t they? The ladies love them. Not to mention, if I made a good showing in front of the Captain. Who knows? Maybe I¡¯d get a shot at being a guard in there.¡± He pointed at the wall, then, right through Runt¡¯s shadow.


    The older man, white haired with grizzled grey stubble, grunted in reply.


    ¡°Most of all,¡± Thomas continued, ¡°I guess I just want to see how brave I am, you know? To see if I¡¯m a real man.¡±


    ¡°Bah!¡± the gruff old man stopped, turned, and poked a finger under Thomas¡¯s nose.


    ¡°That¡¯s drivel, bunkum, and bollocks. You have no idea, do you?¡± he barked, ¡°You¡¯ve been brainwashed, mate. Bravery? Pah!¡± At this, he spat on the ground. ¡°You¡¯ve been sucked in. I went on a wolf hunt once. Do you know what I figured out? The bloody wolves don¡¯t even eat sheep, let alone people. Bravery? Bollocks!¡± His hand slapped against his thigh.


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    ¡°What in the blazes are you talking about, old boy?¡± Thomas protested.


    ¡°It¡¯s like this,¡± the old trooper continued. ¡°The fellas heard the Captain was coming on the hunt and so they wanted to make it a sure thing. It looks bad when the boss turns up and the wolf is a no show, see? So they took a couple of chickens and tied ¡®em to a stake out near the scrub. Chickens! That¡¯s what the wolves eat, if they can get ¡®em. Not bloody sheep.¡± He shook his head and looked out to the horizon, remembering.


    ¡°So what happens next is, most of the blokes wait out of sight just drinking and carrying on. One person gets the boring job of being a spotter. When a wolf comes out sniffing about the chickens the spotter calls out and they let the dogs loose. Then everyone jumps on the horses. It¡¯s usually all over before the horses even get there. Not much competition between one wolf and a handful of dogs.¡± The old man shook his head and spat on the ground again.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re wrong about that,¡± Thomas protested, ¡°my uncle works on a farm and he¡¯s had more than one sheep dead from a wolf.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Saw it happen did he? I¡¯ll tell you what eats sheep. People. Chances are his sheep got ate by a thief. Or a bloody dog. A feral dog can take down a sheep in under a minute. But I never saw a wolf do one.¡±


    ¡°But you hear talk of farmers seeing wolves around the place all the time!¡± The young guard protested, crossing his arms.


    ¡°They¡¯re after the bloody chickens you nonce! And you can¡¯t hardly blame them. The farms is all built on land that used to be part of the Wilds, too, isn¡¯t it? They built the farms where the wolves used to hunt. They¡¯re just doing what they always done.¡± He shook his head and continued. ¡°You know what? You should go on that hunt. You¡¯ll see for yourself. Who knows? You might even get a wolfskin cloak out of it. Then again, if the Captain¡¯s heading out there, no one gets nothing. He¡¯s good like that.¡± He laughed bitterly, then clapped the young trooper on the shoulder.


    ¡°Did they say where the hunt was happening? No good turning up to the wrong cottage, young fella.¡± The two of them started walking off, away from Runt, towards the corner. He strained his ears to hear the rest.


    ¡°Well, yes and no. They said to meet at Greybeard¡¯s cottage on dusk. Which means nothing to me.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Interesting. They don¡¯t often go out that way.¡±


    ¡°Could you tell me how to get there?¡± Thomas asked.


    ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s a scrappy track heading scrub-ward between the tannery and the horse yards. It¡¯s an old, ruined cottage out on the edge of the Wilds. If you talk to Gunther, the stable master, he¡¯ll fill you in. He¡¯ll know about it anyway. He seems to know most of the comings and goings out on the edge of the city, these days. Oh, and young fella? You be careful. Last time there was a wolf hunt one of the blokes died.¡±


    ¡°Really? The wolf got him?¡±


    ¡°Nah, he drank too much booze and fell of his horse!¡±


    The gruff old guard¡¯s laugh echoed off the walls long after they were out of sight. Runt looked up at the arch, shook his head, and dashed back into the shadows next to Stripes.


    ¡°You know what boy? If we can¡¯t get to the Captain, maybe the Captain will come to us¡­¡±


    Runt did not return to the great fey-tree that night. There was too much to do.


    He did stop by the tannery, though, to remove the wolf skins drying on the wall and leave the mark of the Wolf-ghost in their place. Then he headed for the deserted cottage on the edge of the Wilds. Runt visited the farmhouses along the way. They were easy to find. Most of them had oil lanterns hung just outside the door. They stood out against the night like little islands of light. The lanterns didn¡¯t stay lit for long and, after that, he was invisible. Several more wolfskins disappeared. More carvings were engraved. Runt moved on.


    Dawn¡¯s rosy fingers were beginning to creep above the dragon¡¯s spine when Runt finally made it to the abandoned cottage. The gruff old guard called it Greybeard¡¯s cottage but that didn¡¯t really make sense, because Greybeard lived somewhere on the edge of the city. Still, Runt was careful to sneak through the cottage. It was deserted and, for the most part, empty. Nature was slowly reclaiming the place.


    Dusty cobwebs covered the walls and draped over the one broken chair that sat hunched in one corner. Vines crept under the door as well as through the shattered window. An empty bird¡¯s nest, also covered in dusty webs, squeezed between the crumbling roof thatch and the ceiling beams. Three beds mouldered in another corner, two small, one large, and, beneath the two smaller beds, Runt found a pink bunny (mostly brown with age) and a wooden sword that fell apart under his touch.


    He moved on. From memory, the track to the cottage veered off here and led to the booze factory hiding in the Shallow Wilds further north. Runt ignored this, though, and headed straight for the nearest scrub. The sun poked above the mountains, now. Runt squinted and felt the familiar sickly reminder in his stomach that he needed to sleep. The higher the sun climbed, the worse he began to feel.


    ¡°Just a bit further, boy, then we can rest.¡± he said to Stripes, hoping to find a fey-tree. Eventually, they did. Runt unloaded the loot from the night¡¯s raid into one of the nests in the clearing. ¡°A gorgon¡¯s nest¡± he thought, and the idea was so jarring that he almost couldn¡¯t accept it. He looked around in the brilliant morning light and tried to imagine those destructive monsters lounging in the nests, or eating fruit from the tree. He shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll have some answers soon, boy,¡± he said aloud, and ruffled the fur on his pup¡¯s head. Before long, he was fast asleep.

 Chapter 32: Setting a trap

    Setting a trap


    The afternoon was spent preparing. Runt was convinced he had more than half a plan this time and a better one at that. Still, a lot of things could go wrong.


    ¡°He might not turn up, for starters,¡± Runt explained to Stripes. He felt better saying his fears out loud. Stripes didn¡¯t seem to mind either way.


    ¡°And plenty of things could go wrong. This might not even be the right place.¡± He knew in his bones, though, that it was. And not just his bones told him. The sky brooded with thick clouds, the air felt still and stuffy, the forest held its breath. The hunt would be here, and so would the Captain. The rest was up to him.


    Runt did one thing before he began his preparations for the arrival of the wolf hunters. He walked over to the fey-tree. Standing in front of the gorgon statues felt different now. They were still ugly and terrifying, but also mysterious. ¡°Were these statues, with their scary faces, meant to be like a scarecrow?¡± Runt wondered, as he traced his fingers over the blunt and broken teeth of the nearest gorgon, ¡°Because they didn¡¯t work. Statues alone clearly couldn¡¯t keep the drop-bears away.¡±


    It was strange that he never recognised it before. Around many of the gouge marks in the trunk he saw the unmistakeable signs of drop-bears. Claw marks peppered the sides of the trunk. The edges of the scars, here and there, showed signs of those long fangs that Runt saw wedged into the worm hole back at the great fey-tree. The sound of the drop-bear eating came back to him, and he felt queasy for a moment. Not all the scars were like that, though. Many, but not all. Runt shuddered, thinking about how many baby harpies must have been eaten, and wondered if things could ever be made right.


    He prepared to do his part.


    Men began arriving just before dusk. Runt heard the horses first, and the rattle of a cart, and the yapping of dogs, before he saw the flashes of late afternoon sun glinting from spear tips and swords. They brought a long wooden stake and, just like the old guard said, the bait was laid out halfway between the cottage and the scrub. Three oblivious chickens pecked and clucked contentedly each with one leg tied to the stake by a piece of string. The trap was set.


    Runt watched this unfold from the shadows of the scrub. They retreated to the far side of the cottage. Several more men arrived, all on horses, but there was still no sign of the Captain. It occurred to Runt that he had no idea what the Captain even looked like. He rarely left the inner city except for special occasions, like this.


    Dusk¡¯s shadows began to settle on the cottage. It was time.


    Leaving Stripes in the safety of the scrub, Runt sneaked forwards to the cottage. The chickens didn¡¯t notice him passing apart from the swish of grass and a puff of breeze. On the other side of the cottage the troopers had settled in. A fire burned there, and men sat or sprawled around it while passing around a familiar looking bottle. It was the same type of bottle that Tyron kept stashed in a locked box in the kennels. Several more sat in a crate on the cart.


    Runt¡¯s hair prickled at the sight of that cart and he looked over the men carefully before breathing a small sigh of relief. For a moment he expected to see the weaselly stablemaster amongst these men. The man who wanted him dead. Who presumed him to be dead. Fortunately, Gunther was absent, but Runt recognised others slouched around the fire. At least one or two of these troopers helped Gunther ship booze on those secret Friday evenings.


    Runt shook his head and wondered at the scene. Here was Gunther¡¯s cart, and Gunther¡¯s grog, being drunk by a group of troopers. The stablemaster helped make booze, which was outlawed, and led men into the Wilds, which was forbidden. It didn¡¯t make sense. A young boy could be arrested and thrown into prison for a bad haircut while these men openly flaunted the rules.


    Runt wondered whether these illegal drinks would be hidden before the Captain arrived. He hoped not. Drunk troopers would make his job that much easier.


    The fire posed a problem. He needed the shadows now more than ever. The horses were all tied up to the cart a little way off. The dogs were tied to a stake further off again. Runt watched the dogs for a while and then nodded in satisfaction. He knew all of them by name. That was important. The ruddy glow of the fire occasionally painted the cart when a log flared up, other times it lay in the gloom. Runt crouched on the other side of the cottage and watched it slowly burn lower.


    ¡°Boss¡¯ll be here soon, lads.¡± One of the men grunted. This was met with groans from some of the others. They began complaining. Runt dared not creep closer but heard well enough.


    ¡°Why¡¯d he have to come? He such a drag. He can barely ride a horse but gets narky when we ride on ahead.¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯ll keep all the best skins.¡±


    ¡°Without spearing a single wolf. You watch.¡±


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    ¡°Yeah, but he just about shot me with that ruddy little crossbow of his last time. I hope he don¡¯t bring it.¡±


    ¡°Last time he come out, we got five, and the cap¡¯n took three skins. What good¡¯s two skins between eight blokes?¡±


    This question was met with general muttering and the occasional curse.


    ¡°What¡¯s he even do with ¡®em? He must have dozens by now. You can¡¯t wear ¡®em all.¡±


    ¡°Look sharp, lads. I seen his horse crest the hill just now.¡±


    A few of the slouchers sat up but the bottle was not hidden. It continued making laps around the circle. Soon enough the empty bottle was replaced with a full one.


    In the gloom of dusk Runt heard the horse before he saw it. As well as the clopping of hooves there was a distinct jingle that Runt couldn¡¯t identify. The Captain arrived and reined in his mount a few yards from the group.


    ¡°Good evening, gentleman, and what a fine night for a hunt!¡± the Captain said, jovially.


    His greeting was met with a muted chorus of ¡°Yes, Cap¡¯n,¡± and ¡°good ev¡¯ning Cap¡¯n¡±.


    He swung his leg around awkwardly, overbalanced, and stumbled a few steps as he dismounted. Every step elicited a new jingle. The Captain, and his horse, were both decked out in ornamental battle armour. The gold plate gleamed in the fire¡¯s sinking glow. Runt noticed, with a little shock, that the captain¡¯s hair reached down past his shoulders in long black ringlets. Clearly the rule about hair length did not apply to him. Long pluming peacock feathers rose from the man¡¯s helmet and wafted in the breeze. The horse¡¯s battle helm also sported two bunches of these feathers. They sprouted out the helm either side of its ear guards, giving it the appearance of a giant, flightless moth, with impressively long feelers.


    The horse tossed its head a few times as the Captain dragged it over to the cart and tied it up with the others. He then stood on the tips of his toes to peer into the back, rustled around for a minute, before pulling out a small wooden stool. His stomach bulged beneath the golden chest plate as he sat down by the fire. Runt noticed that his bushy eyebrows were peppered with grey in contrast to his jet-black hair.


    ¡°So,¡± the Captain began, rubbing his hands together, ¡°have we placed the bait, gentleman? Is the trap set? I hope the wolves are hungry!¡±


    ¡°Yessir. Just waiting for full dark, sir, to post a watch.¡±


    The bottle continued doing laps. When it reached the Captain he picked it up gingerly, pinched between two fingers, and hurriedly passed it to the next man. He then reached into a satchel and pulled out a silver flask, and a golden cup.


    ¡°I shall drink to your health, and to a good night of game, fellow hunters.¡± He said, before sipping his drink.


    The bottle continued doing laps and the troopers began chatting quietly. Runt, meanwhile, plucked up his courage and began to sneak towards the cart. His luck held and, within moments, he sat beneath it and got to work. He had more than half a plan but this part of it was the most risky. The drop-bear claw was as sharp as a knife. Slowly, and methodically, he slipped it under each saddle strap and worked through the leather. One at a time, the straps were cut, leaving the saddles balanced atop their horse. There were only a couple left to cut when the sound of hooves announced the arrival of a late comer.


    ¡°Hello chaps, sorry I¡¯m late. I got a bit lost.¡±


    Runt crouched lower and held his breath. He saw the young trooper from the night before, Thomas, approach with his horse. If the captain¡¯s armour gleamed, then this trooper¡¯s literally shone in the firelight. He must have spent hours polishing each surface. He continued to talk over his shoulder rapidly while he led the horse to the cart.


    ¡°Terribly sorry, and all that. I hope I haven¡¯t missed too much of the sport. The stablemaster must have pointed me in the wrong direction. Blast that weaselly chap. He¡¯s a shifty one, isn¡¯t he? I¡¯m just lucky I saw your fire on the way back to ¨C oh! Captain!¡±


    There was a thunk as he spun around and saluted.


    ¡°At ease, trooper,¡± one of the men said, ¡°technically we¡¯re off duty out here. You¡¯d better grab those reins before your horse bolts.¡±


    Thomas spun around again and flailed for the reins. He finally caught them and hastily tied the horse up. Room was scarce around the fire by now as the men edged closer to the shrinking coals. Thomas walked around the outside of the circle before freezing suddenly, with eyes goggled.


    ¡°Sir? Troopers! W- what are you all drinking?¡±


    The muted conversations between troopers fell silent. Only the crackle of the fire now made any noise. The Captain coughed.


    ¡°Now then, young fellow, we¡¯re all friends here.¡± The Captain said, smiling sheepishly, and spreading his arms. The golden cup glinted in the dying embers, as did several large rings on his thick fingers. ¡°And so, on an extraordinary night like this, among men, among such esteemed company, well, we bend the rules a little, don¡¯t we gentleman?¡±


    A few of the troopers grunted in reply. None of them made eye contact with either the Captain, or with the newcomer. The fire crackled. The bottle sat by one man, temporarily neglected. Without turning his head, this trooper strained his eyes to the next man, who nodded imperceptibly. The bottle was hastily raised, a quick swig was gulped, and it was passed on. This seemed to break the tension and conversations resumed. The bottle continued doing laps.


    Thomas stood awkwardly on the edge of the circle and fidgeted.


    ¡°First hunt, ain¡¯t it?¡± the trooper nearest by grunted at him.


    ¡°Oh, yes, I¡¯m very excited about it,¡± Thomas gushed, ¡°I¡¯ve spent all afternoon getting ready. I even ¨C ¡°


    ¡°First timers stand watch.¡± The trooper interrupted. He nodded his head towards the cottage and the chickens beyond. ¡°Don¡¯t yell too loud when you spot a wolf or you¡¯ll spook ¡®em.¡±


    Runt was sure he wouldn¡¯t be seen now that it was fully dark, but he cut a wide circle around the watchman, just to be sure. The trap was set.

 Chapter 33: Springing the trap

    Springing the trap


    ¡°Time for them to spot a wolf, hey boy?¡± Runt said, whispering into Stripes¡¯ ear. One of the biggest weaknesses of his plan (there were several, to be frank) involved an actual wolf heading out into the clearing. That would ruin everything. They needed to get moving before it had a chance of happening. Runt leaned back and tucked his legs firmly into the dog¡¯s flanks and thought invisible thoughts. Stripes wandered out towards the chickens, trotting forwards, pausing, sniffing, trotting forwards. To Runt, his pup looked nothing like a wolf. Besides the stripes, of course. But to a young man from the city¡­


    A yell broke the stillness of the night.


    ¡°Wolf! Wolf! Oh, bugger. Too loud? That was too loud. Wait, it¡¯s ok, it¡¯s still there!¡±


    Runt forced himself to stay calm, to stay still, to wait. Sure enough, one of the guards sprinted over to the dogs chained at the stake and, within moments, the three hounds were barking and bolting towards them.


    ¡°Stripes, go!¡± Runt whispered urgently and was nearly flung off the pup¡¯s back in his haste. Meanwhile, a commotion erupted by the cart. Had he been there to watch, Runt would have seen the troopers, one by one, fling themselves onto the horses, only to come unstuck. Some fell backwards, with the saddle clutched in their hands. Others made it onto the top only to roll off the other side. Only one man, after several stumbling attempts, made it up and onto the back of a horse.


    Runt pulled Stripes to a halt about ten yards into the scrub. He spun around. As the dogs approached he called them out, one by one.


    ¡°Bruiser! Gash! Shank! SIT!¡±


    The three dogs¡¯ instincts were so sharp that each of them tumbled and rolled in their sudden attempts to stop. They sat with ears pricked.


    ¡°BAD DOG! GO HOME!¡±


    They tucked their tails, turned, and fled. Runt paused for one more second, looked over to the camp, and smiled grimly. The plan was working. He waited a moment longer for the lone rider, bobbing awkwardly on his saddle, to break past the outer edge of the scrub and made sure Stripes was spotted.


    ¡°There he is, gentleman!¡± The captain shouted. ¡°Onwards, charge!¡±


    Runt urged Stripes into a sprint and headed deeper into the bush. They rehearsed this part of the plan several times that afternoon. Still, it was another big risk. In the dark, the low-hanging branch was harder to spot and Runt only saw it at the last moment.


    ¡°Go Stripes, go!¡± He urged, as he caught the branch and swung up and onto it. Runt crouched now, invisible, waiting to pounce. His heart pounded and blood roared in his ears but then, as he watched the captain bounce onwards, he felt a strange sense of calm fall over him. He remembered suddenly, the morning he saw his first drop-bear, as Jethro stood vainly attempting to remove the head of the gorgon statue. That creature sat much like he did: silent, still, and dreaming of murder. He knew now, how it felt, watching the prey approach. He felt the thrill of hope tangled up with the fear of failure and then both of these emotions were drowned out by a coldness in his mind. There was only the prey, and the predator, and a single intention.


    Runt leapt. He crashed down onto the Captain and dragged him off his horse. The man wheezed as he hit the ground, winded. Runt sprang to his feet and ran while the horse, spooked, bolted away into the dark. He whistled to Stripes and hoped for the best. The next big weakness in his plan was about to be tested. Runt scrabbled under the bush to his right and found the lantern. He pulled open the hood and cheered silently. It was still lit. The light beamed out and, had the Captain turned around, he would have seen the silhouette of a wolf, standing on two legs, raise the lantern above its head and smash it onto a nearby rock.


    They had collected many lanterns the previous night. Runt only hoped it was enough.


    The oil, earlier poured from lantern after lantern in a meticulous line, burst into flame. The fire tracked off in both directions and began curving around them slowly. Within moments they were surrounded by an oily blaze. The fire smoked and crackled harshly.


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    Stripes appeared, wagging his tail. Runt trembled as he climbed onto the dog¡¯s back. This final part was impossible to plan for. He approached the Captain.


    The man was on his hands and knees, now, still gasping for air. His helmet lay a little way off and his hair lay with it. Runt saw, with some amazement, that the man was mostly bald save for some grey stubble around the edge of his head.


    ¡°Nice hair.¡± Runt said, unsure of how to begin. It had the desired effect, though. The captain felt his head, made a strange high-pitched garble, then scrabbled for the wig in the dirt. He jammed it roughly back on his head and looked up through the tangled mess of curls, leaves and twigs. His eyes widened as he stared, face to face, into the dark eyes of the wolf-pup and crab-walked back a few steps. The Captain¡¯s eyes darted back and forth. In the shadows here, far from the edge of the flaming circle, Runt was invisible.


    ¡°Where are you? Who are you? What do you want?¡± the Captain croaked.


    ¡°I have some questions. Answer them well and I¡¯ll leave you in peace.¡± Runt replied. The Captain sat back and threw his hands up to cover his face.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you things could talk,¡± he gasped, wincing as he stared at Stripes, ¡°please don¡¯t kill me. I¡¯ll tell you what you want.¡±


    Runt took a deep breath, and wondered, what would the teacher say in his place? What would the Wolf-ghost say? He breathed out slowly.


    ¡°I would like to kill you, I really would, but it would only cause more pain. For every dog killed by us you slay a dozen or more of our wolves. Imagine, then, the price we would pay for the life of a demon! No, I will not kill you, not unless you make me.¡±


    The Captain slowly dropped his hands.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re doing with the gorgons,¡± Runt said, slowly, ¡°I¡¯ve been watching.¡± The Captain¡¯s eyes widened, and he sat up. Runt continued. ¡°They don¡¯t think for themselves. But they¡¯ll do anything for booze. Anything. And what you are doing with them is evil. And sneaky. It¡¯s happening out in the Wilds where no one sees. But I see. And I don¡¯t like it.¡± Runt noticed sweat bead across the man¡¯s forehead. ¡°What I want to know is, why? Why are you making the gorgons cut down the fey-trees? Why have you asked them to exterminate the harpies?¡±


    The Captain¡¯s mouth dropped open. He tilted his head back and laughed out loud.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you want to know?¡± He laughed again. ¡°Oh, my! Well, why not ask the gorgons yourself? Or, better yet, ask the blasted harpies! The lot of them have been against each other since time began. They¡¯ve always hated each other and they always will. Haven¡¯t you seen those statues out by the fey-trees? They¡¯re there to scare away the harpies. My father told me they both want the same food. Or nesting place. Or something. Dashed if I know. But that fight has nothing to do with us.¡± The captain shook his head.


    ¡°Anyway, we¡¯re not telling them to take those trees. Nothing to do with us. But if the harpies die, good riddance to them, I say. I¡¯ll thank the gorgons myself. A bunch of troublemakers from the start, they were. We¡¯re better off without that lot, trust me.¡±


    ¡°Liar! You hateful, spiteful liar!¡± Runt yelled, but the Captain had answered so jovially, and so easily, he couldn¡¯t help but think that the man, at least, believed his own words. The fires around them began to grow brighter as the oil heated up. Soon the blaze would eat itself to starvation.


    ¡°You can¡¯t say that to me!¡± The Captain yelled, leaping to his feet. ¡°Nobody speaks to me like that!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, demon. I am a nobody.¡± Runt felt the coolness evaporate as he became visible. Either the flames grew bright enough to reveal him, or he just stopped caring. The Captain lurched back, gasped, and pointed a trembling hand.


    ¡°You,¡± he choked, ¡°you¡¯re one of them. One of those things.¡±


    The Captain grimaced, his eyes narrowed, and Runt heard a metallic click from the pointing hand. He felt a sharp thud and a sting in his arm. A horse burst through the ring of fire. It was Thomas, riding bareback and wielding a spear. Stripes, feeling Runt flinch at the sudden pain, turned, and bolted. They burst through the flames and raced off into the Deeps.


    ¡°Captain, are you alright? Are you injured?¡± Thomas said, dismounting in a smooth leap.


    ¡°No, thank you, trooper. Where did you learn to ride bareback?¡±


    ¡°Sir, my uncle is a farrier, sir. I used to help out with the horses a fair bit, as a lad. Should we go after the wolf, sir? Would you like my horse?¡±


    The Captain shook his head and looked off into the Deeps with a troubled expression.


    ¡°Sir? If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what on earth happened out here?¡±


    The Captain sighed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, trooper. But that¡¯s the last we¡¯ll see of it,¡± he said, looking down at his wrist and the dart launcher attached to it, ¡°whatever it was.¡±

 Chapter 34: Poisoned

    Poisoned


    It started as a tickle, then an itch. By the time Runt made it to the pile of wolf skins by the fey-tree it burned. He found the metal dart lodged in his cloak while loading the skins onto his dog¡¯s back. It was made of solid gold, about five inches long, with a nasty barbed end coated in a foul-smelling green paste.


    ¡°He must¡¯ve had some kind of dart slinger hidden in his armour.¡± Runt said, grimacing as the heat crept up his arm and across his shoulder. He didn¡¯t realise it at the time, but the cloak saved his life. The dart barely scratched the skin. Even this tiny dose of poison, though, was enough.


    He started seeing double before they even reached the next fey-tree. After that, things got¡­ weird. Using rope leftover from strapping wolfskins onto the back of his dog, Runt did the same thing to himself. He lay across Stripes¡¯ back and looped the rope under the dog¡¯s chest, over his shoulders, under again, and over, until he felt like he was secure. Now there was a bundle of wolfskins strapped to the dog, plus a bundle of Runt. It would have to do. The heat spread to his face, crept behind his eyes, and seeped into his mind.


    The rope was no longer a rope. It hissed at him. Twisted and coiled. Grew scales, slithered across his shoulders, and squeezed. Gasping, Runt¡¯s eyes bulged, and burst.


    Darkness.


    The boat rocked across the ocean. Darkness clung thick like a blanket thrown over the abyss. Groans from low down in the timber of the craft. Rhythmic, to the rocking of the ship. Groans from the belly of the beast with the rocking and rolling and creaking of the vessel¡¯s ancient bones. Groans. Groans. Groans and whispers.


    They whispered and cackled and hissed and pointed and loomed over everything. Giants. Tall as the sky. Slender but strong. They trembled and shook and danced and laughed and waved back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Marching past in a grim procession cackling and hissing and trembling and waving. Giant stick insects marching past with limbs bent into impossible angles shaking and swaying and stretching out with sharp fingers. Pointing and hissing and taunting and slashing and poking and scraping and snapping and crashing and tearing and scratching and ripping and splashing¡­


    The giants recede. A smooth dark glide. A long cool ride across the night itself. Sliding along the shadows slick with fear and resignation and acceptance of loss. The snake relaxed and slithered away and left its prey to breathe their final breath in peace and darkness.


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    Darkness.


    Darkness and death.


    Runt awoke to a hundred pairs of eyes, each round and brown and full of worry.


    ¡°It worked!¡± Patch laughed, clapping tiny hands together.


    ¡°Of course it worked,¡± the teacher grumped, ¡°when have you ever known harpy medicine to fail?¡±


    Runt sat up and winced as his vision swam for a few moments. He shook his head and sighed as the world righted itself.


    ¡°How did I get here?¡± he asked, looking across at the great fey-tree.


    ¡°We found your wolf-pup wandering in the Deep and led you back here.¡± The teacher replied.


    ¡°You have brought more friends back to us, Runt,¡± Patch said, pointing to the bundle of wolfskins. ¡°We owe you our thanks.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not what you owe me.¡± Runt said. He groaned as he tried to stand, felt dizzy, and sat back down with a thud. He stared at the teacher. ¡°You owe me an explanation. I talked to the Captain. The boss of the demons. I asked him why they were making the gorgons destroy the fey-trees, and why they were trying to exterminate the harpies, and do you know what he said?¡±


    The teacher stared at Runt with eyes of stone.


    ¡°He said, the gorgons and harpies have always been at war. That you and the gorgons want the same thing, the fey-trees, and that it¡¯s been this way for ever. For ever! But you said the gorgons only started being bad because the humans made them. So which is true?¡±


    Runt slumped back onto the grass. The stars drifted overhead and he thought, randomly, they knew. The stars knew why. They watched it unfold every night from up there. But did the stars care?


    The teacher must have signalled to the other harpies because, suddenly, Runt and the teacher were alone.


    ¡°Rest, now, Wolf-ghost, and allow the harpy medicine to finish healing your body of the poison. Always with the demons¡¯ speech there is a hint of truth to their grand lies. That way, when they are challenged, they say ¡®I didn¡¯t lie, not about everything¡¯. Mark my words, though, that demon is a liar and an oath breaker. It is in his blood. You will see. Soon, you will see. But now, you must rest.¡±


    ¡°I just want to help,¡± Runt murmured, but the words became more difficult with each breath, ¡°I just want the world to make sense.¡±


    ¡°Wolf-ghost. At the rise of the sun, I will take you to the remembering place. We will carry these wolf skins to the others, waiting there. The truth is waiting there, also.¡± Then the teacher turned and made their way up into the hollows.

 Chapter 35: The remembering place

    The remembering place


    Few experiences can compare to waking up, well rested, on a grassy hill, with the tree filtered sun warming your face, only to have that sun blocked by the giant head of a mammoth mere inches from yours. Its breath comes in long, heaving draws and the exhale from its bulbous nose is like a windstorm. Its giant eyes on the sides of its head are large, brown, and radiate a complete absence of intelligence, but also kindness. The mammoth is truly a gentle giant. Just don¡¯t scare one, or get between a mother and her calf.


    Runt awoke to just this scene. He froze but then relaxed when he saw the teacher perched atop the beast. Gingerly, he reached out and stroked its bulbous nose and then scratched the thick fur under its chin. The mammoth grumbled in appreciation. Runt felt his teeth vibrate in harmony with the deep baritone sound.


    ¡°You look less dead. That is good.¡± The teacher said. Runt rolled over and stood up. The wolfskins were already loaded and strapped to the mammoth. Runt gathered his things and found his pouch had been filled with fruit. Runt looked up at the teacher inquisitively.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me. I didn¡¯t do it. The young harpy, the one you call Patch, was responsible. But I am glad because you demons are always hungry, and we must leave now if we are to visit the remembering place and return before dusk.¡± The teacher swung the mammoth around and plunged into the lake. The creature left a V-shaped wake across the water as it swam to the far side, away from the port and the city, and towards the mountains of the Dragon¡¯s Tail. Runt called Stripes and they rushed to catch up.


    They pushed through dense scrub in single file for most of the trip but, occasionally, Runt rode side by side with the teacher.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Runt asked, one such time.


    ¡°Asleep, of course. Harpies are only active at night.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re awake, though.¡±


    ¡°Ah, and I wish I were not. I am becoming an ancient. I am older than many of these trees, here. My bones ache for sleep. At my age, I should be resting all day and for most of the night, apart from when the young harpies wake me to feed my eggs.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Runt said, looking at the teacher¡¯s belly, ¡°you don¡¯t even look like you have any eggs in there.¡±


    The teacher looked across at him sharply.


    ¡°If you were a harpy, you would know that what you just said was extremely rude. But you speak the truth. It is the curse of the great teacher. The eggs grow when we feed them what they need. The harpies need a great teacher to teach the young ones the secret ways. To train the next great teachers. So I do not feed my eggs what they need. Not yet. Not yet.¡± The teacher said these last words while solemnly looking down at its belly.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t explain how you stay awake, though, teacher.¡±


    ¡°Magic.¡± The teacher replied. ¡°You have seen the stardust cauldron in the belly of the great mother. Each colour of the stardust has its own special properties. The dust with no colour keeps me awake during the daylight. But it is not good food for tummy eggs. One day I will feed you what you need,¡± the teacher said, still looking down at its belly, ¡°I promise.¡±


    The scrub grew thicker again forcing Runt and Stripes to drop behind but, while they paced along, he saw the teacher more than once rub its tummy, and whisper to it.


    The remembering place was a cave cut halfway up the side of the mountain. Runt stared at it hesitantly. It reminded him very much of the gorgon tunnel by the quarry, only this cave did not have cleverly crafted stone doors to keep its presence a secret. The mouth of the cave gaped in much the same way, though, and the interior rapidly faded into darkness.


    ¡°Did the gorgons make this?¡± Runt whispered.


    ¡°These fingers are not much good for digging.¡± The teacher said, holding up those brown, wrinkled palms. ¡°The gorgons crafted it a long time ago, at the beginning of our remembering. You will see.¡±


    ¡°Is it safe?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Wolf-ghost, it is the safest place on the island. Demons do not know of it. Gorgons dare not return to it. Only the harpies, those remaining, hold on to the memories and hope for a return to the way things were.¡±


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    They walked inside together. Runt carried the wolfskins under one arm. The cave was wide, tall, and continued on further than Runt could see. The floor was well worn and mostly smooth. The tunnel turned to the left and, soon enough, they walked in near darkness.


    ¡°Should we have brought a lantern?¡± Runt asked, still whispering. His could see quite well in the dark of night, but this was darker than anything in his experience.


    ¡°Trail your fingers against the rock, if you are bothered by the dark, and worried about bumping into a wall. The cave grows lighter further in.¡±


    Rather than use his hands, Runt simply listened for obstacles. The echoes from their footfalls and their breathing both bounced off the walls. Even in the pitch darkness Runt could imagine the size and shape of the tunnel around them.


    The teacher was right. Up ahead Runt saw an eerie glow. He couldn¡¯t place the colour at first. A sickly yellow. Then, with the force of a falling tree, he remembered.


    The tunnel turned the corner and opened into a large cavern. Unlike the tunnel, this area seemed natural, not cut by gorgons. Vast stalactites hung from the ceiling, with their partner stalagmites slowly growing beneath them on the ground. In patches all over the walls, floor, and ceiling grew large bulbous toadstools and it was these fungi that created the chamber¡¯s light. Each of the fungi glowed, not brightly, but with a dull, sickly, yellow glow. The effect of so many combined, though, meant the cavern was well lit.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same colour as the gorgon eyes.¡± Runt said, in wonder, as he walked past a cluster of the glowing fungi.


    The teacher said nothing, and Runt realised the harpy had stopped a few paces back. Strange markings covered the wall there.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like much, Wolf-ghost, but these paintings mark the beginning of our remembering. They hold the memories of the ancients, those who came here first and found the cavern.¡±


    The teacher was right. It didn¡¯t look like much. The ¡°paint¡±, clearly the multi-hued pollen of the fey-trees, was sprayed over the walls here in patches. By the looks, it was probably spat onto the walls in a great huff, one mouthful after another. It left a starburst cloud of pollen there for all time. Only, there were gaps in the pollen spray that made a shape. The same basic shape, over and over. Runt put his hand up to the wall. The handprints were either much larger, or much smaller, than his.


    ¡°Gorgons and harpies, side by side,¡± the teacher spoke softly, ¡°sitting in the cave with mouthfuls of stardust. One by one, they put their hand to the wall and yelled out to the gods ¡®We are here, remember us!¡¯ Those creatures are gone. But their memory remains.¡±


    Runt shivered at the thought of it. The teacher moved on. Further down the cave were paintings. Proper paintings, now, showing scenes from the island. They walked past depictions of mammoths, kiddners, hoppers, and wolves. They paused at the image of a fey-tree. A gorgon stood before it, facing away, with a snarling face. A drop-bear cowered in front of it. In the branches of the tree, a harpy sat, smiling.


    The paintings became more complex as they walked further along the wall. The teacher began chatting again.


    ¡°In times long past this cave was our refuge, Wolf-ghost. A place of safety.¡± They pointed at a scene showing the island covered with blue pollen in watery swirls. ¡°We sheltered here during the great floods, harpies and gorgons alike. The rain poured down for days upon days until everything seemed drowned. Some of us thought it was the end of the world. But the floods receded, and the lands were born again.¡± They walked on. The next painting used a lot of browns, blacks, and reds.


    ¡°We sheltered here when the rains never came, and the land turned brown. We watched the thunderclouds build up and some of us cheered for the breaking of the drought. But instead, the clouds only poured down lightning, and roared thunder. We sheltered here while the island burned. Some of us thought it was the end of the world. But the fire starved and died. The rains came. And the land was born again.¡± They walked on. The next painting used a lot of yellows, oranges, and greys. It showed a mountain exploding.


    ¡°We sheltered here when the dragon awakened. The mountain belched orange smoke for weeks and then, this. The entire island shook with terror, for the anger of the dragon knows no bounds. Trees fell, the earth split, and half the mountain was torn apart in one giant roar. We sheltered here and, I must admit, even I thought the world was coming to an end. But the dragon returned to sleep and the land healed. Still, the dragon had awoken, and from that day forth, the gorgons would march to the lake of tears to sing whenever the orange smoke returned.¡±


    Runt stared at the teacher in wonder. ¡°How old are you?¡± he whispered. The teacher sighed.


    ¡°I was picked to be a teacher early in my life. But I was a slow learner. It is hard to say how old I am. We do not count years like you demons do. But,¡± the teacher said, staring deep into Runt¡¯s eyes, ¡°I have seen many things.¡± The harpy turned and hobbled on. As they approached the next set of paintings its shoulders seemed to slump as if a great weight was being loaded onto their tiny frame. One of the teacher¡¯s feet began to drag as if paralysed. Runt watched the transformation and suddenly, desperately, wanted to leave. But he followed just the same.


    ¡°Leave the wolfskins there.¡± the teacher said softly, pointing to a pile. There were other things lying there: trinkets and coins, odds and ends. Runt couldn¡¯t make sense of them. He lay the skins down gently by the others and turned to the painting.


    ¡°Before I help you remember these times,¡± the teacher said, looking at Runt solemnly, ¡°I want to apologise. The harpies have decided that you are not a demon, although you very much look like one. You must understand something. As one of the teachers in training, I was elected to speak to the demons. I learned, the hard way, that demons are liars and oath breakers. You, though, have proven otherwise. You have earned my trust. And I did not give it freely. If only we had been more untrusting, the first time the demons came. Look here!¡±


    The painting showed the exploded mountain, the head of the dragon, with a sailing boat caught in its teeth.

 Chapter 36: The betrayal

    The betrayal


    ¡°The demons came in their boat and wrecked it against the teeth of the dragon. We saw them flounder. Some of them perished, but most of them made it to shore. They were cold and wretched. Lost and starving. We knew nothing of the demons¡¯ ways in those times.¡± The teacher said, softly.


    ¡°The demons befriended us. They showed us many things. Things that seemed like magic to us, then. The gorgons, who treasure strength, admired their steel blades, and stick shooters, and their mastery of fire. Then, they showed us their axes, and began cutting down trees. We should have realised it then. But we knew nothing of their ways.¡±


    ¡°We, the harpies, protested the felling of the trees. We protested the demons that hunted and killed the creatures of the Wilds. But the gorgons were not alarmed. They do not think like we do. In fact, the gorgons began to help. Not with the killing, not then, but with the trees. And the gorgons returned to the ocean and brought back parts of the demons¡¯ boat. Gorgons are strong. They can quite easily last many tens of minutes holding their breath underwater. The broken boat was, piece by piece, returned to the shore.¡±


    ¡°Once we harpies learned the demons¡¯ plan, to rebuild their boat, we stopped arguing about the trees. We ignored the killing of the creatures. We helped them,¡± the teacher spat these last words with venom, ¡°we helped them rebuild their boat. Soon, the demon craft was ready. The gorgons helped one last time. They led the demons out of the Drake¡¯s maw so they would not wreck again. They showed them the way through...¡±


    The teacher sighed before continuing.


    ¡°The demons waved as they left and thanked us for our help. They gave us things, small trinkets, to show their gratitude. The gorgons were pleased with the trinkets. The harpies, though, were pleased with the final words of the demons. You see, the captain of that boat promised to leave, and never return. They smiled, and waved, and promised never to return.¡± The teacher slumped down as if the telling of this story drained the life out of its frail body. A tiny, wrinkled hand pointed over to the final painting.


    It showed the Drake¡¯s maw, the setting sun, and the ocean¡¯s blue horizon. Against that backdrop, boats! Not just one, but eleven of them. The demons had returned, with the captain at the helm, along with his friends, and his family, all of them sailing towards their new home.


    Demon¡¯s Land.


    ¡°We sheltered here, in the cave of remembering, when the demons landed. They came with axes, shovels, picks. They came with ploughs, and stock, and grain. They cleared the scrub from port to hill and outward in every direction. They named the land and they took it.¡±


    ¡°We sheltered here and watched and waited. One by one, the gorgons disappeared, only to reappear and boast of the deeds accomplished under the demons¡¯ guidance. They bragged of riches, wealth, and booze. They bragged of adventure, and thrill, and the death they caused. They reappeared to boast and when they left, the trickle of disappearing gorgons turned into a flood. Soon only a handful remained.¡±


    ¡°Those few gorgons that stayed helped us dig the lake and protect the final mother tree. Eventually, though, even those gorgons left us.¡±


    ¡°We sheltered here until we saw that, indeed, the end of the world was upon us. We left the remembering place and returned to the Wilds to meet our doom.¡±


    The two of them sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Runt looked from one painting to the next all the way back to the hand paintings. From this distance, though, the tiny hands were nearly invisible. From a long way away, without knowing any better, you could almost imagine the tiny hands never existed. Only the large handprints remained.


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    He felt sick in the pit of his stomach. His insides twisted with a mixture of cold dread and burning rage.


    ¡°There has to be a way to make this right,¡± Runt said, ¡°even if it means tearing the whole place down. Even if it means marching every demon down to the ocean, cramming them into boats, and sending them away. We make them keep their promise. ¡®Leave and never return.¡¯ That¡¯s what they said. We make them keep their promise. By force, if we have to.¡±


    The teacher said nothing, but smiled sadly and held up those tiny, wrinkled hands. ¡°These hands,¡± the harpy whispered, ¡°these hands are not made to force anyone to do anything.¡±


    ¡°The gorgons, then.¡± Runt said. ¡°The gorgons could do it. They¡¯re terrifying! I watched them tear whole trees apart with their teeth and bare hands. I saw them throw fist sized rocks over two hundred yards.¡±


    ¡°There are no gorgons left, Wolf-ghost. Only demons that live in the city, and demons that live in the caves. One has become like the other. The gorgons seek our destruction, now, to please the demons. The last thing they would do is attack the creatures that feed them booze and offer them trinkets. Their minds have become clouded with hunger and greed. It has been too long since they came to the remembering place. They have forgotten the old ways. No, the gorgons will not help us. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°Then we bring them back here. We make them remember! We make them stop drinking booze. Or we ¨C ¡° Runt paused, and tilted his head as he looked at the teacher ¡°or we stop them getting the booze in the first place. That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s what you¡¯ve been trying to do? You¡¯ve been attacking the booze cart to break the spell the humans have over the gorgons.¡±


    The teacher sighed. ¡°Yes. And that is why we need to get moving. Tonight, the harpies will try again.¡±


    Seven days. It was hard to believe it had only been seven days. Runt¡¯s face alternated between disbelief, confusion, and wonder, as he rode Stripes towards the shack in the scrub where the booze was made.


    ¡°Seven days ago I was living in a kennel. My biggest fear was for my dog being killed in a wolf attack. Now, somehow, I¡¯m on the same side as the wolves and we¡¯re going to attack the cart, again. Or, at least,¡± he thought bitterly, ¡°the harpies are.¡±


    The teacher had been adamant. Runt was not to help in the attack. He was not even permitted to watch.


    ¡°This is a problem between harpies and demons. You cannot get involved.¡±


    The unspoken message, though, was clear.


    Only a week ago, Stripes found himself caught between two worlds. Part dog, and part wolf, the pup froze in the midst of battle. Would he behave any differently now?


    A week before that, Runt was helping feed, water, and care for trained killers. He tended to the injured dogs, and wept for his dead friend, Fang. Could he be trusted to make the right choice when the moment arrived?


    Tonight, the harpies headed out, to convince wolves to attack and kill every living thing that defended the booze cart. This would be the final attempt. Every able-bodied harpy left the fey-tree with a single intention. They planned to summon an entire army of wolves, this time, and any other creature that could be stirred into action. Mammoths, hoppers, even kiddners were considered. If they could be awakened, and convinced to fight, they would be sent to battle.


    Runt, though, was to remain by the great fey-tree, and wait.


    He did wait. He waited until the last harpies left before jumping onto Stripes and heading out. The final harpy to leave, of course, was Patch. The little harpy paused to look at Runt, opened its mouth as if to say something, but then turned and flew off with the others.


    Seven days. So many changes in seven days. In such a short time he escaped slavery, learned to survive in the Wilds, made new friends, and now rode out to defend them. Like a coin flipped over he now lived a completely different life. Little did Runt know; in another seven days the coin would flip again. In another seven days he would be a slave once more after watching his friends hopes torn down and dashed. In seven more days, he would be reunited with his terrible master, his freedom stolen, and all hope would be lost.

 Chapter 37: Yet another Friday

    Yet another Friday


    Runt shook his head and pushed Stripes to run faster. It was well after dusk, now. Runt began to worry they would be too late. The booze shack was somewhere not far ahead. They passed the abandoned cottage and rode over the scorched ground where the Captain shot his poison dart.


    Runt heard the battle before he saw it. The dogs reacted first, barking and howling and yanking at their chains. Men yelled and one of them screamed. Suddenly, the dark was painted bright with yellows, oranges and reds. Much like the night before, a ring of fire exploded outwards. There was a brief pause as the fire erupted, and a voice barked out, harsh and unmistakeable.


    ¡°That¡¯s it, lads! Have at ¡®em! Give it to the brutes!¡± Gunther urged. ¡°They ain¡¯t never seen fires like this! Push ¡®em back!¡±


    Through gaps in the scrub Runt saw them. Men, armed with long torches soaked in pitch, waved their fiery brands to-and-fro. They formed a circle around the cart, flaming spears pointed outward, their faces grim with gritted teeth and dark eyes that glittered in the fire. Gunther, the small but wiry stablemaster, darted to-and-fro amongst the men exhorting them to hold the line. They were beset on all sides by creatures from the Deeps. The flames, though, kept the animals at bay. The men lunged forward and back, stabbing at the wolves, mammoths, and hoppers. They yelled, and cursed, and spat. They jeered, and laughed, and taunted the animals and slowly beat them back. Their faces became hideous in the flickering, fiery glow of the torches. In that moment Runt saw those men as they truly were. Demons straight from hell.


    They cheered as a mammoth¡¯s fur burst into flame. The terrified beast turned and bolted. The attacking force of wild animals faltered, and many creatures began backing away. Emboldened, the men advanced, swinging their flaming spears in wide arcs now, and the roar of fire drowned out all other sounds. The remaining animals turned and fled, crashing through the bush in all directions. It was over. The men returned to the cart, laughing, clapping each other on the shoulder, and bragged about the damage each had done. One man stood apart from the rest.


    ¡°Teacher!¡± Tyron yelled into the night. ¡°Come and face me! Face me yourself, you coward!¡± He stood there, looking out into the dark, clenching and unclenching his giant fists.


    The other men fell silent. All except Gunther.


    ¡°What¡¯s your deal, mate? And who the bloody hell is ¡®Teacher¡¯?¡±


    Tyron said nothing. He just stood, still as a statue, apart from his hands.


    ¡°You know more about this than you¡¯re letting on, don¡¯t ya, Tyron? All these blasted animals acting weird and attacking us. It¡¯s not natural. Something¡¯s making them do it! You gonna fill me in, or what?¡±


    ¡°Get in and get moving.¡± Tyron grunted, and stormed off in the direction of the deserted cottage.


    The next hours were spent in an agonising chase. Keeping track of the cart was not a problem. Men walked on either side holding up flaming torches to light the way and to ward off any potential attacks. Keeping pace with the cart was not a problem, either. It trundled along so sedately that Runt almost became bored following it. Neither was it a problem to keep himself hidden. Runt and Stripes padded silently through the scrub at a safe distance. Occasionally one of the hunting dogs might pause and bark at a twig snapping but Tyron merely yanked the chain and they trotted off again.


    The agony came from indecision. He followed the cart not knowing what else to do. Plan after plan was invented, analysed, and discarded.


    ¡°There¡¯s too many of them,¡± Runt whispered to Stripes, ¡°and too much light, with all those torches. I¡¯d be spotted by the men, or worse, sniffed out by the dogs. But I can¡¯t do nothing.¡±


    And so he followed, because at least by following, he was doing something.


    When the cart reached the port road and turned towards the quarry Runt realised he didn¡¯t need to follow them, after all. He turned Stripes towards the Deeps and urged the dog into a gallop. They sprinted ahead. Runt left Stripes in the scrub at the edge of the quarry and sneaked to the rubble pile closest to the cave entrance.


    The quarry was silent, deserted, and ghostly. The midnight moon threw a silver-grey veil over the rocky ground. The shadows were deep and black as pitch. If it wasn¡¯t for the abandoned cart nearby, full of empty bottles, there would have been no way to tell the gorgon¡¯s hidden entrance was there against the solid wall of stone.


    A yellow glow emerged on the horizon and, slowly, the loaded cart ascended the road towards the quarry. From this distance it looked like a tiny glimmering beetle crawling up a long blade of grass. Runt flicked his eyes between the cart and the cave. The entrance stayed firmly shut. The beetle grew in size until it became a horse-drawn cart again. As the cart rattled along the rough track the bottles clinked, the empty buckets rattled, and the men grumbled.


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    When they reached the wall, Gunther jumped down and began switching the horses from the full cart to the empty one. Tyron, meanwhile, lumbered to the wall and pounded on the secret entrance three times. The slam of his fist against the rockface resonated in deep booming echoes across the quarry. There was a pause, and then a bone rattling scrape as the rocks guarding the entrance were dragged aside.


    On cue, a line of gorgons snaked out of the dark tunnel. Each of them walked past the cart, grabbed a crate of booze, and walked back into the gloom. The men stood aside, watching with their torches flickering, not lifting a finger to help.


    Runt¡¯s heart sank. His last and most desperate plan was failing. Invisible or not, there was no way he could sneak past the dogs, the men, and the gorgons while they streamed in and out. And even if he could make it inside, what then?


    The last of the crates was carried inside but the line of gorgons continued to wind past the cart. Next, they grabbed the bulging sacks and the stacks of empty buckets behind the driver¡¯s seat, and carried them in, too. Then, finally, a line of gorgons emerged from the tunnel each carrying a bucket. They walked over to the cart loaded with empty bottles, now hitched up to the horses, and began heaving the buckets into the back. Each landed with a dense thud in the rear. The wood of the cart creaked and groaned with every additional bucket.


    Runt boggled at their contents which glittered and gleamed under the flickering torchlight. The way the gorgons tossed them so casually into the cart they could have been filled with pebbles, and they were, of a sort. The buckets loaded into the cart were full to the brim with nuggets of gold.


    The teeth jarring scrape announced the closing of the mine doors again. Runt flinched and realised he¡¯d been staring at the gold, almost hypnotised by it. What did it mean? Where did the gold come from, and why?


    ¡°C¡¯mon, you lot! Quit staring at it. I swear you¡¯re drooling. Ain¡¯t you never seen a few buckets of gold before?¡± Gunther snarled. ¡°Course you have, it¡¯s the same stuff as what we got last week, and the week before, and the week before that. I swear, the way youse are swooning over it, you¡¯d never once spied a nugget in your whole pathetic lives.¡± He whipped at the horses to get them moving. The cart was much heavier, now, and the horses snorted their disapproval. Gunther yelled again. ¡°Move it, lads! You¡¯ll get your share when the job¡¯s done. This gold ain¡¯t gonna load itself onto the Captain¡¯s armoured treasure cart, now, is it?¡±


    Runt realised, with a jolt, that Tyron was nowhere to be seen. The only creatures left in the quarry besides himself and the retreating booze cart were the dogs, tied up against the cart left behind. Keeping one eye on the secret entrance, Runt crept over to the dogs.


    ¡°Hello boys,¡± Runt whispered, scratching each of them behind their ears. The dogs wagged their tails in appreciation. ¡°I¡¯m glad you still remember me.¡±


    Runt looked over to the wall which hid the tunnels beyond.


    ¡°All these years and I had no idea this was where you lot were sneaking off to each Friday. And every time I get a bit closer to the truth, there¡¯s a new puzzle to bother me. Where¡¯s all that gold come from then? And where¡¯s it off to? And who¡¯s it for?¡±


    One of the dogs whined as Runt absent-mindedly patted him on a wound.


    ¡°Oh, sorry Shank! It looks like that gash is on the mend, at least.¡± Runt said, inspecting the stitches. ¡°You need a good feed and a rest, hey boy? But you¡¯ll be back to the kennels before sunrise, I suppose.¡± His mind wandered back to the wolf attack, and the words Tyron yelled into the dark.


    ¡°¡®Come face me, teacher¡¯, he said. But how does he know the teacher? And why didn¡¯t the teacher mention it? Either way, Tyron¡¯s more involved with this than I ever knew. He¡¯s not just helping with protecting the booze. He¡¯s friendly with the gorgons. Or, at least, pretending to be friendly with them. He¡¯s in there with them right now, drinking grog, I¡¯d guess. And if Tyron knows about the teacher, then he knows about harpies, and he would know how they need the fey-trees.¡±


    Runt¡¯s eyes widened as the implications sank in.


    ¡°It¡¯s him, isn¡¯t it? The one responsible for all this bad stuff happening. I bet Tyron¡¯s been telling the gorgons to cut down the fey-trees. He figured out that the harpies are trying to stop the booze so he¡¯s going to stop the harpies once and for all!¡±


    A wave of sickness and fear washed over him as he crouched there, still absently patting a dog, considering whether Tyron was capable of such a thing. Of wiping out an entire species just for booze and gold. Runt thought back to all the casual acts of cruelty he¡¯d seen. Tyron killed without thought. He¡¯d cheered each time one of his rocks hit those laughing kingfishers as they exploded in a cloud of feathers. Was this any different?


    Runt crept back and hid behind the rubble pile. A weight of doom pressed down on his shoulders. Tyron would be out again soon enough. It was Friday. He would leave the cave with a backpack full of booze, grab the dogs, and be back at the kennels by sunrise.


    ¡°Or maybe he won¡¯t.¡± Runt thought, coldly, gripping his spear. He shivered at the thought sprouting in the depths of his mind. Tyron would be blind to him in the dark. He could easily sneak behind the giant bear of a man, slash the spear across his ankle and bring him down. After that, it would be like the ants tearing apart a grasshopper. One piece at a time. Would the gorgons hear his old master scream and come to his aid? Maybe. But Runt would be invisible, all the same. Even if Tyron escaped, he would know. He would know death was coming for him.


    Runt lay there, in the dark, behind the rubble pile, as his vision of Tyron¡¯s murder grew like a strangler vine blotting out every other thought. The dark dream continued on loop with every variation of the man¡¯s possible death being tested. Runt saw himself leaping off the cart and slashing for his throat as Tyron untied the dogs. He saw himself tripping the man, then running the spear across his back as he lay on his hands and knees. He imagined getting to Tyron¡¯s eyes with the spear, blinding him, before tearing his body apart one slash at a time. He imagined the things he would say as his former master lay there in agony. He would make him understand how the pain was justice. That it was only a fraction of the justice he deserved.


    These dreams of death played and replayed as the night wore on. ¡°Any minute, now,¡± Runt thought, gripping the spear so tightly that his palms ached, ¡°he¡¯ll come out again, and I will end this madness.¡± But the stone door remained closed and, slowly but surely, the efforts of the day took their toll, and Runt fell asleep.

 Chapter 38: Masters and servants

    Masters and servants


    His eyes snapped open to the grating rumble of stone slabs being dragged apart. Runt gripped the spear, then gasped, and nearly cried out in despair. The quarry was painted in the yellows and pinks of dawn. He rolled down the rubble pile into the shadows and let the coolness wash over him. Only then did Runt look across. Tyron stumbled out of the entrance, alone, with a backpack stuffed and clinking with bottles. He carried another in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, and his feet scuffed the ground as he walked.


    Runt gripped the spear as his mind raced. The sun was up. The night was gone. His advantage had gone with it. Now the moment for action was here his legs had turned to jelly. His breath stuck in his throat. His mind screamed at him to dash forward and kill the man. Tyron was drunk, drunk to the point of being half asleep. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Even without the shadows, and the invisibility, there was a chance. Runt licked his lips as beads of sweat broke out over his skin.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯ here?¡± the giant bear of a man slurred. Runt¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He¡¯d been spotted! Tyron, though, was looking across the quarry. He stood there, squinting into the dawn light, swaying gently from side to side like a tree being pushed by an invisible breeze.


    ¡°You are late, Wild-one. I hoped to meet you by the ocean. I was going to put you into a boat and make you sail far away.¡±


    It was the teacher¡¯s voice. Without leaving the shadows, Runt leaned just far enough to see. The teacher sat atop its mammoth and looked down upon Tyron scornfully.


    ¡°That ain¡¯t my name no more. Don¡¯t like boats, neither.¡±


    ¡°Then maybe you should turn around, go back into that hole, and bury yourself!¡± the teacher snapped.


    Tyron smirked and said nothing. He stood there, squinting, swaying, and grinning at some private joke.


    ¡°You need to end this madness, Wild-one. The end is coming for the harpies and you are bringing it about! I demand you stop cutting down the fey-trees immediately!¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Tyron said, placing a beefy hand over his heart, before roaring with laughter. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ to do with me! It¡¯s all them.¡± He jerked a thumb in the direction of the tunnel. The entrance still gaped open and, though no gorgons could be seen, Runt felt the weight of a hundred eyes staring out at the two arguing.


    ¡°They listen to you, though.¡± The teacher replied, pleading. ¡°They respect your strength. And the big boss never comes out, not anymore. But you go in. I want you to tell the big boss to end this. Tell the boss the teacher demands they stop taking the trees.¡±


    Tyron stared at the teacher, still squinting and swaying, and then laughed once more. Runt thought to move again, to run out there and damage the evil giant. His brain screamed at his legs to move but it was like he was frozen by a spell. No, not a spell. It was like he was back there. In the kennels.


    All those times Tyron stood over him, raging and flailing. All those times the giant amused himself by tormenting Runt. All those times he hurled curses, or worse. And Runt had sat there, frozen, soaking up the insults and the blows, wallowing in the fear, not moving, not responding. Just sitting there and waiting for it to end. Just when he thought he was free it had come crashing back down around him. He was back in the kennels and it was like he never left. Runt closed his eyes as the tears began to well.


    ¡°Hear that, lads?¡± Tyron yelled, turning back to the mine. ¡°Old crow wants you to stop stealin¡¯ their nests! The old flightless bird wants to hatch some eggs.¡±


    The only response was the fractured echoes of his taunts across the mountain face. The cave was silent.


    ¡°You got your answer, old crow.¡± Tyron drawled before spitting on the ground.


    ¡°I will only ask you once more, Wild-one. You need to stop this destruction.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, you need to get the hell outta here.¡± Tyron said as he leaned down, thumped the bottle into the dust, and grabbed a handful of stones. He tossed the biggest rock up and down and glared at the teacher menacingly.


    The teacher stared down at Tyron impassively. ¡°So it¡¯s true, then? The gorgons have declared war on us. This will not end well for anyone.¡± He turned the mammoth¡¯s massive head towards the far end of the quarry and the scrub beyond.


    ¡°War?¡± Tyron yelled after him. ¡°Always has been! Only difference is, now the gorgons are winning, and your lot don¡¯t like it!¡±


    Tyron stood and watched the teacher disappear into the scrub then let the rocks slip from his lifeless fingers. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then spat towards the Wilds. He sucked in a huge breath as if to yell some final curse but then let it out slowly. His whole body seemed to deflate at the same time. His shoulders slumped, his large stomach sagged, his head drooped.


    Tyron¡¯s feet scuffed the dirt as he stumbled over to the cart and unhitched the dogs. When they didn¡¯t immediately leap to their feet he swore at them and yanked the chains. The backpack clinked and his body rocked from side to side as he stumped towards the edge of the quarry and the road beyond.


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    Two horsemen appeared on the horizon riding up the quarry road. They paused by Tyron and seemed to talk to him for a few seconds. The giant man shook his fist at them, made a rude gesture, and continued on. The riders, meanwhile, rode up into the quarry.


    Runt realised, with a feeling of dread, that the presence of the riders meant he was stuck in the quarry for longer yet. The horsemen could only be here for one reason. Right on cue, gorgons began filing out of the tunnel, pushing and swearing at one another. Runt pulled his wolfskin cloak tighter around his body and thought invisible thoughts.


    Runt¡¯s eyes boggled as he watched, in amazement, as a seemingly never-ending stream of gorgons emerged and milled around the entrance. At least two or three hundred of the creatures emerged before the cave entrance grated shut. They stood, jostling one another, as the riders approached.


    The horses reared and pulled up twenty yards off. The riders urged them forwards but, with nostrils flaring, the horses whinnied and refused to move. Cursing, the men dismounted. They were the same men Runt saw a week earlier, Darren and Graham. Darren cursed at his horse again, frowned at the mob of gorgons, and very slowly and deliberately grabbed his whip off the saddle. He adjusted his felt hat so that it sat more firmly on his head before approaching the horde.


    The two of them walked towards the group. Darren marched with purpose. Graham walked much more hesitantly. His eyes flicked over to Darren constantly as if for reassurance.


    ¡°Where the bloody hell did you lot turn up from?¡± Darren asked. The gorgon horde were silent. He coughed, and repeated his question, yelling louder. ¡°I said, where the bloody hell ¨C ¡°


    ¡°Scrub.¡± Grunted the largest gorgon, standing near the front. It pointed a sausage-sized finger towards the Wilds.


    ¡°Yes, but ¨C I¡¯ve never seen so many of you! Where have you all been?¡± Darren¡¯s voice strained with an edge of tension.


    ¡°Scrub.¡± The gorgon grunted again with its voice of stone on metal.


    Graham looked to his partner nervously. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it across his forehead. Darren simply rolled his eyes.


    ¡°No, you daft brute. What I mean is, why are so many of you here today?¡±


    ¡°Busy. Got work.¡± It was a statement, but Darren interpreted it as a question.


    ¡°Got work? Ah, yes, good! Graham, pass me the note.¡± Graham did so, fishing in his pocket for the list of materials. Darren peered at it and then cleared his throat.


    ¡°Today we need wood. A hundred logs. You¡¯ll need to march around to the far eastern side of the island. There¡¯s plenty of good wood over there, not like on this end. It shouldn¡¯t be a problem, with so many of you, but you¡¯ll need to get going. It¡¯s a long march. Now, do you remember how much a hundred ¨C ¡°


    ¡°Tomorrow.¡± The gorgon said sharply.


    ¡°What? What did you say? What do you mean, tomorrow?¡± Darren retorted.


    ¡°We busy now. Got work. Do job tomorrow.¡±


    Graham gulped. Darren¡¯s hand gripped the coiled whip more tightly as he spoke.


    ¡°No, not tomorrow. Today. T-O-D-A-Y.¡± He said, slowly, pointing at the ground. ¡°When you lot say tomorrow you really mean ¡®never¡¯, you lazy brutes. We need a hundred logs and we need them now!¡± To emphasise his point, Darren let the whip uncoil and slink about his feet like a snake.


    ¡°Not gonna. Busy.¡±


    Runt noticed something different about the creatures. Last time, they slouched, slumped, and groaned about being outside. Today, they all stood, and waited, and watched the confrontation play out expectantly. Even the jostling ceased. And there was something else. Last time the gorgons seemed shy about looking and talking to the humans. Today, the leader stared directly into Darren¡¯s eyes.


    It didn¡¯t even flinch when Darren finally lost his temper and cracked the whip above their heads. Instead, the gorgon pointed to a distant pile of rubble. A fist sized rock appeared in its hand. It grunted with that gravelly voice and said ¡°Gorgons! Me. Me. Rock pile, there!¡±


    The pile must have been over a hundred yards away. The rock sizzled across the quarry in a flat blur and slammed into the pile dead-on. Rubble exploded upwards and the crack echoed across the quarry.


    Another rock appeared in its hand. It pointed further down the way. ¡°Me. Me. More far rock pile, there!¡±


    This time the rock arced up and down a little as it blazed across the quarry. It slammed into a rock pile some two hundred yards away.


    Darren stood there, with mouth agape. The whip hung limply by his side. Graham began edging backwards. The gorgon leader turned back to the two men. A third rock appeared in its hand.


    ¡°Me. Me.¡± It said, staring at the men, and then pointed at Darren. ¡°Watch. Demon head.¡±


    Runt gasped as the rock whistled through the air. Darren¡¯s felt hat exploded into shreds. There was a deathly pause, and then a roar of approval from the horde. Several gorgons pointed and laughed. Others slapped the backs of their nearest neighbour. Many of the gorgons simply looked on with an O shaped mouth, speechless.


    Many others said nothing and raised a hand instead. Each contained a rock. The rest of the mob fell silent. Graham, by now, was at his horse. He called out. ¡°Darren, you fool, get back here!¡±


    The whip was left lying on the ground. The horses reared as they turned and galloped away, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. The rocks clattered to the ground at the feet of the gorgons. More cheering and back slapping ensued until the gorgon leader yelled out.


    ¡°Shut up! Work time. Big boss says, work night AND day, now.¡±


    This announcement was met with groans of disapproval. The leader immediately swung its fists and clobbered the nearest three gorgons. The pack fell silent. Now, the only groans came from the three creatures lying in the dust.


    ¡°Anyone else want?¡± The leader asked threateningly, holding up its fist. Gorgons studied the ground, the sky, the wall. They looked anywhere apart from at the boss. It glared at the three on the ground and kicked one of them. ¡°Not dead. Get up.¡± It grunted. Then it turned to the rest and yelled. ¡°You lot! Get moving!¡±

 Chapter 39: Declaration of war

    Declaration of war


    ¡°Teacher!¡± Runt yelled from the base of the giant fey-tree. ¡°Where are you? We need to talk, urgently!¡±


    It was midday. The hollow chamber was predictably quiet apart from the chorus of gentle snoring from the multitude of harpies snuggled in their nests. The base of the chamber was deserted. The cauldron simmered, unattended, with its seething roil of ever-changing colours. The teacher was absent.


    Runt¡¯s heart sank as he looked around the chamber. ¡°They have no idea,¡± he thought to himself, ¡°they¡¯ve been asleep. They don¡¯t know what¡¯s coming.¡±


    Runt knew, though. He needed to find the teacher. It was too late, but he needed to find the teacher all the same.


    He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the bright light outside, and started to climb. He was halfway up the tree when he saw the light grey tail wrapped around the branch, right near the top. Runt gritted his teeth and climbed faster.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t here upon our return, Wolf-ghost. Were you lost?¡±


    The teacher sat on a branch right near the uppermost canopy. Runt did his best not to look down as he clung to the fork where the branch met the trunk. The teacher didn¡¯t look at Runt as it spoke. It stared impassively out towards the horizon.


    ¡°I was there. I saw everything. At the fight and at the quarry.¡± Runt shot back hotly.


    The teacher sighed and, when it spoke, the voice was distant. Almost a sad whisper.


    ¡°I guessed as much. Demons, after all, cannot be trusted. Not even with the smallest promise. Liars and oath breakers, every one of them.¡±


    ¡°I never promised anything! You¡¯re not the boss of me. And you haven¡¯t been completely honest about everything either, have you? Like how you know Tyron, and he knows about the harpies.¡±


    The teacher¡¯s eyes flinched for the briefest moment at the mention of Tyron¡¯s name. It continued staring out towards the horizon, though, and showed no further emotion.


    ¡°Yes, we know him. And he knows about us and our struggles. The man you call Tyron we knew as Wild-one. He lived in the forest when he was young. He was raised in the Wilds. Harpies helped. We watched him grow into the giant that he is. We thought he could be a great ally to us in our struggles. We showed him the ways of the forest but, like the gorgons, he became obsessed with demon magic. With booze, power, and death. He saw the plight of the harpies and turned away. Now he is as bad as any demon. Killing, boozing, and encouraging the gorgons to wage this war against us.¡±


    ¡°But Tyron said you¡¯ve always been at war, and that¡¯s what the Captain said, too. Is it true?¡±


    The teacher chuckled, but it was a joyless laugh.


    ¡°Truly, a demon¡¯s memory is like a morning fog that vanishes as the sun rises. Or, perhaps a demon¡¯s memory is like the wall of a mountain. It echoes the last thing yelled towards it. Wolf-ghost, you were there. You saw the images in the remembering place. You know those words of war cannot be right. Still, there is a grain of truth in the rotting heap of lies these demons tell themselves.¡±


    ¡°From the Wild-one¡¯s point of view, harpies and gorgons have been at war forever. The Wild-one is young. He has only ever seen trouble between us. But, like all demons, he lies when it suits him, when it means he can get what he wants.¡±


    ¡°We took the Wild-one to the remembering place. He knows the stories from the ancient times. He knows we have not always been at war. There is something more, though.¡± The teacher continued in a sad, thoughtful whisper.


    ¡°The Wild-one speaks to the gorgons, or at least, I think he does. Many of the gorgons would remember a time when we were not at war. They must!¡±


    ¡°However,¡± the teacher paused, and cleared its throat, ¡°it would be fair to say the gorgons were not always happy with the harpies, either. Harpies and gorgons need each other to survive. The mother tree unites us. But we are very different creatures.¡±


    ¡°Gorgons are loud, excitable, violent. Harpies are quiet, thoughtful, passive. The leader of the gorgons, the big boss, rules with its fists. Harpies train their leader over many years, to be the most wise and thoughtful. Sometimes I wonder if they got it wrong, when they selected me. Have I been wise, or foolish?¡± The teacher shook its head before continuing. ¡°When the demons came, they drove a wedge between us and the gorgons. Every problem was amplified. Minor annoyances became outrageous betrayals. Small disagreements became violent arguments. Forgiveness was forgotten.¡±


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    ¡°Amongst this disquiet, the demons began whispering a lie to the gorgons. They planted a seed that, once sprouted, grew into this disastrous war that stretches its poisonous limbs over every part of the island. They told the gorgons it was possible for them to live without the harpies.¡±


    ¡°The gorgons have forgotten the old ways. The booze did it. It wiped their minds clean and, without harpies to help them remember, they believed every lie the demons told them. But to think that they would believe this lie, the greatest lie of all, that they could survive without the harpies! Surely they must realise, without us, without the mother trees, they are doomed.¡±


    Runt frowned and spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, teacher. Why are they doomed without the fey-trees?¡±


    The teacher¡¯s eyebrows raised, and it turned to face Runt, just for a moment, before returning to stare at the horizon.


    ¡°I forget that you demons know nothing of our ways. A thing that does not affect you directly is not a thing worth knowing about. Wolf-ghost, have you never heard the grubs burrowing in the mother tree? Did you not wonder where the grating noise under the skin of the mother came from?¡±


    ¡°But¡­ I thought those were harpy grubs! I saw them, glowing at night-time.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, those glowing lights are indeed harpy grubs. They sit at the top of the pouch in the mother and drink sap until they are grown. The gorgon grubs, though, sit below them, and eat the wood.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s two grubs in each hole?¡± Runt boggled at the thought.


    ¡°Two, yes, always two.¡±


    ¡°But then, the gorgons are tearing down the place they grow babies in! Not just yours! That doesn¡¯t make sense!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the teacher said, turning again, ¡°it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°But teacher, it¡¯s worse than that. That¡¯s what I came here to say. They¡¯re going faster now. I followed them. There¡¯s hundreds of gorgons, hundreds! And, they¡¯re not just taking one tree at a time anymore.¡±


    The memory replayed in his mind. They weren¡¯t taking the trees at all. The horde of gorgons split up as they reached the scrub. Runt followed one group from a distance. He would¡¯ve got closer but the risk of Stripes being spotted was too great. When they got to the clearing the gorgons, as a group, began attacking the base of a fey-tree. He recalled vividly, the sound of their teeth gnashing at the wood, like rabid dogs fighting over a pile of bones. And when the tree fell, they left it, and moved on. Runt overheard one of the gorgons question it.


    ¡°What? No carry?¡± It grunted to the leader.


    ¡°New orders. Break first. Carry later.¡± The leader replied.


    The fey-tree was left, lying there, broken and lifeless. They moved on to the next one. And the next. The groans of tumbling fey-trees echoed all around them while Runt and his dog raced back to the lake.


    Runt searched the teacher¡¯s face for shock, sadness, or any kind of emotion as he related the story. Instead, the harpy simply continued staring out towards the horizon.


    ¡°Teacher! Don¡¯t you understand? They¡¯re working day and night now. They¡¯re trying to finish it once and for all.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Wolf-ghost, I understand. What do you think I¡¯ve been looking at all this time?¡± The teacher replied, and pointed.


    Runt paused and looked out towards the horizon. The great fey-tree stood much taller than any other and, from up high, they could see for miles. The teacher looked north, past the gash of the port road, towards the group of fey-trees that stood in the path of the sunset. As they watched together, one of the fey-trees began to tremble. Moments later, it disappeared. Further along, the same thing happened. Over and over. Runt gasped.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got to stop them, teacher! The harpies will starve without the pollen. We can¡¯t let them take those last trees.¡±


    The teacher sighed. ¡°Tonight. It ends tonight. One way or another.¡±


    They sat there, together, watching the trees fall one by one. As the day drew towards dusk the younger harpies began joining them. Soon enough, the uppermost limbs of the trees were covered with harpies. Some of them wept. Others, like the teacher, sat in grim silence with stony faces. All of them turned their ears, though, when the teacher finally spoke.


    ¡°Harpies, tonight the unthinkable will transpire. Gorgons are tearing down the mother trees in a fit of madness. Soon, none that taste the sunset will be left. Long have we agonised over this. Long have we debated what is to be done. The time for talk has passed. Tonight, we must confront the gorgons in their lair of stone.¡±


    Several of the harpies began talking to their neighbours in frantic whispers. They all hushed again as the teacher continued.


    ¡°I do not hold any hope for those of us that enter that place. In fact, I do not expect any of us will return. That is why only the bravest, or most foolish, may go. There is plenty of stardust stored in the belly of this great mother. Plenty enough to feed the old ones until their eggs are ripe. But ripe eggs are worthless unless the gorgons stop their senseless destruction.¡±


    One of the harpies cried out, pointing towards the horizon. The sinking sun moved under the dragon¡¯s mouth, now, and painted the Wilds red.


    ¡°So few left.¡± The teacher whispered. They watched, in horror, as another tree tumbled. Only a handful remained standing within the glow of sunset.

 Chapter 40: The beginning of the end

    The beginning of the end


    Not many people from Demonia noticed it the first evening. A few did. Mostly children. Those, like Charlotte, who waited in anticipation every afternoon were disappointed and confused. But adults seldom listen to children, and if they do, their stories are easily dismissed.


    The dragon¡¯s spirit failed to rise that night, and the next, and the next. Eventually the adults began to pay attention. Children can be persistent like that. Those city dwellers who thought the spirit was caused by ocean spray blamed the tides, or the currents, or the weather patterns. The superstitious ones blamed the cycles of the moon, or the alignment of the stars, or saw it as a warning from the gods. Some even linked it to the missing wolf skins and the Wolf-ghost carved in their place.


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    Of course, everyone was wrong. No one thought to ask the trees, or the keepers of the trees. No one thought to investigate. Certainly, no one thought to blame themselves, and why should they? They had done nothing. Ironically, this was the fundamental reason for the unfolding disaster.


    One thing they decided, though, was it had never happened before in living memory. This, at least, everyone could agree on. And they were right.

 Chapter 41: Talking trees

    Talking trees


    Stripes crashed through the scrub towards the sunset fey-trees. Runt¡¯s face burned with anger as he replayed the final words of the teacher.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you guys!¡± Runt had protested as the harpies lined up around the cauldron. The teacher scooped a selection of coloured pollens into their pouches in a deliberate set of movements. The harpies were taking magic with them.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost, you are both brave, and foolish, but you are not a harpy. This is our fight, not yours. Besides, the way we are sneaking in won¡¯t work for you.¡±


    That ended the conversation. The teacher simply ignored any further comments Runt made. Still, he knew where they were headed. They flew, as a group, to the final fey-tree in the line. Based on the pattern of trees collapsing, it would be the last one the gorgons attacked. Which would give the harpies enough time to carry out their plan.


    As soon as they left, Runt jumped on the shoulders of his pup and they crossed the lake.


    The clearing was dark and deserted when they finally arrived. The scrub echoed with the distant noises of the gorgons at work. The harpies, though, were nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Did we get lost, boy?¡± Runt asked Stripes. He was sure they hadn¡¯t. He dismounted and walked to the base of the tree. The snarling faces of the gorgon statues always looked more menacing in the dark of night. Runt walked a lap around the base, looking up into the branches. Nothing. Runt leaned up against the trunk and folded his arms stubbornly.


    ¡°It has to be this one. It has to be. It¡¯s the last one in the line. Unless we went past it?¡± Runt felt worms of doubt begin to wriggle in his belly.


    ¡°Psst.¡± The tree said. ¡°Psst, over here.¡±


    Runt jerked around.


    ¡°Up. Up here. No, up here, silly!¡±


    Runt looked up. The harpies were nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°I¡¯m under the bark, Wolf-ghost, we all are.¡±


    Runt stared at the source of the sound and saw that some of the gouges on the fey-tree were covered up. The bloody sap around the edges showed where the hole should be, but bark covered over it. Runt climbed up onto a low branch near the scar and gave it a gentle tap.


    ¡°Hey, not so loud! It echoes in here.¡±


    ¡°Patch, is that you?¡±


    ¡°Yep. We¡¯re all here. Well, not in this scar. That¡¯s just me. But all over this tree. We got the bark out of the nests.¡±


    Runt pressed his ear against the trunk to hear Patch more clearly.


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    ¡°How did you make the bark stick back together, though?¡± Runt whispered.


    ¡°Harpy magic. It¡¯s an easy trick. We learn how to do it when we¡¯re still tiny grubs. It¡¯s a bit like making spider web.¡±


    ¡°So this is your plan? Just wait till the gorgons chop your tree down and carry you in? What if they don¡¯t take it?¡±


    ¡°The teacher thinks they will. The teacher thinks they will stop chopping and go home after they¡¯ve cut down this tree. And they¡¯ll start carrying wood back, then. They need the trees for something inside their cave. But the teacher¡¯s not sure what. So we¡¯re going to find out, and make them stop.¡±


    ¡°Wait. Don¡¯t you think they¡¯re just eating them? There¡¯s no food in the cave.¡±


    Patch paused for a second, then giggled.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s silly. They eat rocks when they¡¯re grown up! Gosh, Wolf-ghost, for a gorgon you don¡¯t seem to know much about gorgons.¡±


    ¡°Patch? I¡¯m coming in, too. I¡¯m going to wait for them to chop down this tree and follow behind, in the dark. My wolfskin will keep me hidden.¡± Runt said, pulling it closer around his shoulders. The plan sounded fine out loud. He tried to ignore the part of his brain telling him all the ways it could go wrong.


    ¡°I knew that already Wolf-ghost. I knew you¡¯d come.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something I¡¯ve been wanting to tell you for a while now. I never used to like flying the loop. It¡¯s hard, it¡¯s boring, I get tired, the pollen gets up my nose, not to mention ¨C ¡°


    ¡°I think I get the picture.¡± Runt said. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was just his imagination, but the crashes and grunts of the gorgons seemed to be getting louder, and closer.


    ¡°Oh, right. Well, I started flying the loop after I met you. You see, when harpies fly up into the stardust wind, the tree speaks to us.¡±


    ¡°The trees talk? That¡¯s amazing!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the wind makes a voice. Anyway, it¡¯s not that great. Trees are usually kind of boring. But the teacher wants us to listen because the trees are old and wise. Anyone who wants to be a teacher needs to become old and wise, too. But mostly they just talk about boring stuff like how the sun feels on their leaves, or how the rain feels on their bark, or how the rocks feel under their toes. Lately, though, I¡¯ve been talking to the trees about you.¡±


    ¡°What? About me? What do you mean? What did they say?¡±


    ¡°I asked the trees about you. I asked the trees if you were going to save us from becoming extinct. And the trees said yes. Each one I asked said the same thing.¡±


    ¡°They said yes?¡±


    ¡°Well, not exactly. It takes the trees a long time to say anything. What they actually said sounded more like ¨C ¡° and from inside the tree, Runt heard Patch begin making whooshing sounds, like the leaves on a tree being blown around in the wind.


    Another sound emerged, this time of trees snapping and crashing as the gorgons forced their way through the scrub towards their location.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming, Patch. I ¨C well, good luck.¡± Runt whispered.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost? I¡¯m not afraid. Because you¡¯re here. And the trees told me.¡±


    Runt quickly climbed back down the tree. There wasn¡¯t much time and one difficult job remained.


    ¡°Hey boy.¡± Runt whispered, with his voice catching in his throat. He rubbed Stripes under the chin. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen next, or how long it¡¯ll take. So you need to clear out, ok? Head back to the great fey-tree. Ok boy?¡± Stripes cocked his head. Runt felt tears begin to well as the snapping and crashing noises intensified.


    ¡°Go home, boy! Go on, get! Go!¡±


    Stripes turned and trotted off into the dark. Runt watched him leave with a sickening certainty that he would never see the dog again. Just as he drew a deep breath to call Stripes back to him the scrub exploded. Gorgons poured into the clearing in a disorderly pack. Runt turned, kept his distance, and waited. There was no going back, now.

 Chapter 42: Into the dark

    Into the dark


    Runt was forced to run to keep pace with the gorgons as they returned to the tunnel. The teacher guessed correctly. The harpies, hidden in the trunk of the fey-tree, were on their way to meet the big boss. The gorgons cheered the same phrase over and over as the fey-tree fell. Runt realised they were yelling ¡°Last one! Last one!¡± Soon after, the gorgons began dismantling the tree and carrying it back between them.


    Runt barely kept up with the horde as he followed behind. Tracking them was easy enough. The scrub was blasted, bashed, and flattened in a trail several yards wide. The problem was, there was no way past the entrance if he got there too late and found it sealed shut. So he ran and ran until his ears sang and his vision blurred. Ahead, he saw the scrub open up into the quarry, and the tunnel entrance beyond. As he jogged across the wasteland he heard more crashes behind him. Runt didn¡¯t need to look around to know another group of gorgons were emerging from the scrub. The entrance would stay open, then.


    The gorgons slowed as they reached the mouth of the tunnel. Runt closed the gap to them and began matching their pace. Then, they were in. The rock surrounded them and the dark of night turned a shade darker. The noises of grunting and swearing from behind grew louder and Runt realised, with more than a little dread, that he was now the meat in a gorgon sandwich. They jogged on for what felt an eternity. The only light came from the sickly yellow glow of the gorgons¡¯ eyes. This feeble glimmer gave enough light to stop Runt running into the back of the closest gorgons, and no more.


    Further behind came the noise of scraping rock. It was the unmistakeable sound of the tunnel entrance closing. He was trapped. There really was no going back, now.


    Runt¡¯s breath came in short gasps and his heart felt close to bursting. He looked desperately for a side alley or an alcove to duck down and rest but the tunnel walls were smooth and only just wide enough for the gorgons. He was forced to push on. Then, as they rounded the corner, Runt gasped again, this time out of shock. He skidded to a stop and turned to run back but was immediately blocked by the next group of gorgons appearing. They barrelled forwards and Runt, after stepping back reluctantly, turned and ran out of the tunnel and into the enormous chamber beyond.


    Runt immediately felt the coolness evaporate as he entered the chamber. He was exposed. The invisibility only worked in the dark of night and he was suddenly, and astonishingly, thrust into bright light. The entire chamber glowed with the oranges and reds of sunset. No sun shone here, though, in this deep cavern of stone. Instead, the light emanated from down below.


    Runt continued to jog along between the gorgons knowing he would inevitably be spotted. The horde ran along a ledge only a few yards wide. Peering over the edge Runt saw the source of light. A giant lake of brightly glowing lava filled the base of this bowl-shaped chamber. Ledges and tracks wound up around the lake. He only had a few seconds to take in the image. Like an ant¡¯s nest, there were gorgons far below, tiny from this distance, moving in lines up the tracks and across ledges all around the vast cavern.


    Runt briefly considered hiding. He could jump down the ledge and cling to the side until these gorgons passed. Once it was safe he could dash back into the darkness and the safety of his invisibility. Up ahead the gorgons swore. One of them stumbled causing the tree trunk to crash into the wall. They paused for a second to regain their grips before moving on.


    ¡°Patch is in there,¡± Runt thought grimly, ¡°and the teacher, and plenty of other harpies, too. I¡¯ve got to go on.¡±


    A small branch covered in leaves lay on the ground where the tree struck the wall. Runt grabbed it as he ran after the others. As far as plans went, it was not even half made, and not any good at all. But it was better than nothing. He held the branch over his head as a makeshift disguise and kept running.


    The ledge widened into a large platform up ahead. The gorgons were stacking the logs into a crude pile. Runt gulped. There were gorgons everywhere, heaving logs, cutting branches, swearing, growling, and pushing. The log containing the harpies was roughly thrown up onto the pile. Runt saw a decent puddle of shadow on the far side of the stack, and he raced over to it. He collapsed on the ground, covered in sweat, gasping for breath, and allowed the coolness to wash over him once again. For the moment, he was safe from being spotted.


    The gorgons continued to stream in with their wooden cargo. Once or twice Runt was forced to leap out the way of a log crashing down or dodge a gorgon¡¯s hairy leg stomping through the shadows. The harpy¡¯s fey-tree was stacked near the top of the pile but, with every log heaved on, he worried they would be buried underneath.


    Runt¡¯s head swam as he struggled to regain his breath. The air was thick with the stench of the volcanic lake and a dank haze filled the chamber like an orange fog. The smell was a mixture of burning matches and rotten eggs. It stung his eyes till they watered and scorched his throat till his breath wheezed. The gorgons were not immune to the foul-smelling smoke, it seemed. They coughed, and spat, and their eyes watered, but they continued working just the same.


    Stifling his coughs as best he could, Runt looked around the chamber in awe. The opposite side of the cavern was so distant that the gorgons there were no more than specks of fluff. Much like the cave of remembering, there were stalactites studded across the ceiling of this chamber. Other parts of the ceiling, though, were bare and roughly cut. It was clear that the gorgons had hollowed the original chamber out to make it much larger. The tracks and ledges around the rim of the lake branched into side tunnels and alcoves but they were too far off for Runt to see where they led, or for what purpose.


    There were none of the glowing yellow fungi like in the other cave. The only light came from the lava, or from braziers filled with burning coal. The entire chamber echoed with the gravel-on-tin rasps of the gorgons yelling, swearing, and sometimes even singing. Rocks crashed, feet stomped, and timber groaned. Through all this din Runt heard a gorgon nearby shout out to the others.


    ¡°This suck!¡± The gorgon spat, and threw down the log it was dragging across the platform. The gorgons nearby paused, and turned to look.


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    ¡°Work in day. Work in night. No booze. For what? Why do this?¡±


    Several more gorgons stopped working and gathered around the speaker. The disgruntled gorgon was larger than the others standing nearby, more muscular, and nearly half a head taller.


    ¡°Bruiser! Big boss got plan. We do plan. No argue!¡± This came from a gorgon nearby. The larger gorgon, Bruiser, turned and yelled into the second speaker¡¯s face.


    ¡°Gutso! I got plan, too! My plan, no more work! Booze time! Who agree?¡±


    Several gorgons muttered and nodded. The second speaker, Gutso, shook their head.


    ¡°Big boss not like. Big boss bring pain. We do plan. Big boss ¨C ¡°


    Gutso¡¯s speech was cut off by a punch to the head. The other gorgons formed a circle around the two and the fight began. They were unevenly matched. Bruiser lived up to its name and, soon enough, Gutso was laid out on the floor, groaning. The gorgons in the circle laughed, cheered, and clapped.


    A new group of gorgons marched around the corner and the crowd immediately fell silent. Each of these gorgons were larger again. The whole pack of them loomed over the crowd. The gorgons who, only moments before, were cheering and clapping, began shuffling back and behind each other, or slunk off to the wood pile trying to look busy.


    One of the gorgons near the front of this new group yelled out. ¡°Bruiser! Not fight time! Work time! You explain now!¡±


    ¡°This suck!¡± Bruiser yelled back. ¡°Work in day! Work in night! No fun! Big boss plan suck!¡±


    ¡°Tell to big boss, then!¡± The gorgon retorted, and the group split apart. In the middle, slowly walking forward, Runt saw an absolute giant of a gorgon. It must have stood two heads taller than any he¡¯d seen. Or, at least, it would have, but this gorgon walked slowly, bent over with a hunched spine, and used a thick branch as a walking stick. Unlike the greys, oranges, browns, and blacks of the other gorgons, this one¡¯s fur was completely white.


    Bruiser¡¯s eyes widened in fear, but Runt saw the gorgon clench its jaw, puff out its chest, and point its finger towards the big boss.


    ¡°This suck! No fun! When booze time?¡±


    The boss spoke. It¡¯s voice was deep and resonant. ¡°Gorgon work now. Booze later.¡±


    ¡°No! This suck! Big boss plan suck! Who agree?¡± Bruiser turned to the onlookers. A few gorgons muttered in sheepish support.


    ¡°Tyrant make plan. Plan good.¡± The boss replied. ¡°Tyrant say, gorgon work hard now. Later, no more work. Never work hard again!¡±


    ¡°No! No work now! Want booze! Want rest! Want fun! Maybe fight some gorgon.¡±


    ¡°Fight? You want fight?¡± The boss said. It cast aside the walking stick and straightened up. Now, standing as tall as a man, the boss loomed over every other gorgon around it. Another circle formed, this time around Bruiser and the boss. Bruiser screamed and charged forwards, swinging wildly. The boss simply stood there and allowed the blows to rain down. It sounded just like meat slapping against stone. Once, twice, three times Bruiser slammed its fists into the boss and, on the third blow, the attacking gorgon cried out in pain. The boss never even flinched. Then, in a blur, the boss twisted and raised its arm in an uppercut that sent Bruiser soaring out of the circle. The crowd of gorgons winced at the sound of the blow.


    The fight was over. No one clapped. No one cheered. They simply got back to work. Several gorgons went to Bruiser¡¯s aid, lifting the gorgon to a sitting position and propped them against the wall. Then, they also went back to work.


    ¡°What? No more?¡± The big boss yelled. ¡°Fighting done? Who else? Who want more?¡±


    ¡°We will fight you, if you don¡¯t end this madness.¡± A voice called out from above. Runt looked up and saw the teacher with the other harpies standing along the wood pile. Several of the gorgons growled and formed up behind the boss.


    ¡°Harpies, here? Why? This gorgon home. You leave, now!¡±


    The teacher made a small gesture with its hand. Several of the harpies launched themselves at the group, swooping down at them before spreading their wings and soaring up over the gorgons¡¯ heads. They circled back to land by the teacher. Several of the shaggy beasts flinched or threw their hands up before realising they hadn¡¯t been harmed. Meanwhile, one by one, they began to sneeze and rub their eyes.


    Runt saw the twinkle of pollen cloud the air around the group of gorgons. It was a splash of vibrant colour in amongst the dull orange smog. He saw the same colours glittering on the hands of those harpies landing on the trunk. When the teacher spoke again, its voice boomed in a tone of command.


    ¡°Gorgons! This madness has gone on too long. The Wild lands are hurting. The harpies are hurting. The trees you once called your home are hurting. Please.¡± The teacher spread out its arms, revealing the large tear in its wing. ¡°Leave this place of darkness and despair. Return to the ancient ways. Return to your nests. Return to the mother trees where we raise our young. Return to us and fulfill the age-old bargain.¡±


    ¡°Yes, there have been times of disagreement before. But harpies and gorgons need each other to co-exist! If one suffers, so does the other. When a harpy cries, a gorgon bleeds. When a gorgon goes hungry, a harpy starves. By herding us towards extinction you, yourselves, are doomed. We come here, now, to beg of you to end the war. To leave this prison and return with us to the Wilds. We will do anything it takes to make peace and restore the ancient balance.¡±


    The boss stood, mouth agape, as the teacher spoke these words. Runt realised, as he watched for their reaction, something about these gorgons inside the pollen cloud was different. The yellow glow had faded from their eyes. The longer they stood there in silence, the more hopeful he became. The teacher¡¯s crazy plan might not have been so crazy after all.


    His hopes were dashed in the next moment as, roaring, another group of gorgons scrambled up the wood pile from behind. Runt was knocked aside and winded. Wheezing, he looked up in horror to see the harpies, one by one, grabbed and unceremoniously shoved into brown sacks. It was over in an instant. The gorgons on the pile of wood cheered, slapped each other on the shoulders, and held their wriggling sacks up like trophies.


    Runt looked across to the boss. Shaking its head side to side like a dog flicking off water, the giant gorgon seemed to snap out of a trance. Leaning down, it grabbed the walking stick and motioned for the others to follow. When they passed the wriggling sacks the boss paused, pointed down to the belly of the chamber, and grunted ¡°Take harpies to lake. To Fighting place. Tie hands. Tie feet. That way, no magic.¡±


    Runt, winded, shocked, and dismayed by the turn of events, didn¡¯t realise he lay outside the shadows. One of the gorgons knocked him there when it bumped into him. The first clue came when a hairy hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up.

 Chapter 43: His name was Runt

    His name was Runt


    ¡°What this?¡± The gorgon grunted, staring at him intently. It turned and threw him to another gorgon nearby. This gorgon caught Runt by the ankle and lifted him till he hung, upside down and face to face, within inches of the creature.


    It was, by far, the closest Runt had been to a living gorgon. Despite his fear, Runt marvelled at their large dark grey faces, with a prominent black, hairless nose, large fluffy ears that rose in sharp triangles, and a light grey chin. The eyes were large and round. Runt saw how the yellow glow was actually more like a slick of oil swirling across the surface of the eyeball. Beneath, the inky black eyes stared back at him in deep thought. The gorgon grinned and revealed its broad flat teeth.


    ¡°Ha!¡± The gorgon exclaimed. ¡°It joey. Look!¡±


    The other gorgon walked over and stared at Runt. Its face twisted in confusion.


    ¡°Man. That ugliest joey I ever seen. A new one? Some joeys born weird down here. Too much yellowcake.¡±


    ¡°Must be. A weird born.¡± The gorgon holding Runt¡¯s leg agreed. The other gorgon continued to stare at Runt uncertainly, then grabbed under Runt¡¯s head. He felt the tug and snap of the wolf skin cloak being torn away.


    ¡°Bad joey! What this? You steal cloak?¡± The gorgon demanded, and Runt felt the tug of his spear joining his cloak in the hands of the gorgon.


    ¡°Hey! Those are mine. Give them back!¡± Runt shouted, twisting and thrashing. He tried to break free but the gorgon¡¯s grip was like stone.


    ¡°Hur hur hur. No they not. Joey stole cloak. Joey stole stick. I put back. Now joey go to nursery.¡±


    Runt swung back and forth like a sack of potatoes as the gorgon carried him to the edge of the platform. His head spun at the orange lake of lava churning below.


    ¡°Hey, gorgon down there, we found lost joey! Catch!¡±


    Runt felt a flurry of wind as he tumbled through the air. It happened so quickly he barely had time to scream. A gorgon on the next level down caught him effortlessly. The creature studied him for a second with the same confused expression. Another two gorgons wandered over. One of them shook its head and muttered ¡°weird born¡± before he was again marched to the edge of the platform.


    ¡°Heads up! Lost joey! Catch!¡± the gorgon yelled as Runt once again felt the wind whistle past his ears. This time, after being caught, he was dropped to the ground.


    ¡°Bad joey! No run away!¡± the gorgon yelled down at him, pointing a sausage sized finger in his face.


    Runt looked up at the gorgon and stayed silent. This seemed to anger the creature and it cuffed him around the head.


    ¡°Hey! You new? Me Wart. You say ¡®yes boss¡¯ when I talk orders, joey! Or I whack you good! And no look eyes. You hear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, boss.¡± Runt said, grimacing.


    ¡°Wow. You ugly. And skinny. And small. A weird born joey. Shame.¡±


    ¡°Yes, boss.¡± Runt said. He weighed up his options and realised, without his cloak or spear, he had none. He couldn¡¯t outrun these creatures. He couldn¡¯t hide. The only small grace was they seemed to think he was a joey.


    ¡°You is a weedy little shrimp. Gonna call you Shrimp. Got that, joey?¡± Wart said, sneering.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Runt, boss.¡± Runt said.


    ¡°Huh? You call Runt? Hur hur.¡± The gorgon laughed. ¡°That make sense. Another gorgon find you first, hey? A weird born,¡± Wart said, shaking its head, ¡°The tyrant should throw you weird born in Sun Lake, me think.¡± It pointed out to the lake of lava. ¡°You want me throw you in Sun Lake, Runt?¡±


    ¡°No, boss.¡± Runt said, trembling.


    ¡°Hur hur hur. Maybe tomorrow,¡± Wart grunted, ¡°Now. School time. You go or I whack you good. Move! School that way!¡±


    Wart pushed Runt along a track that led up an incline. Before following, the gorgon turned and grunted as it picked up a giant load. Runt boggled at its cargo. It carried one of the stone statues from the fey-trees. Wart followed behind and snarled at Runt if he walked too slowly. At the top of the ramp the track opened into another wide platform.


    ¡°Hey! Gorgon! I find more lost joey. It name Runt.¡± The Gorgon yelled, as it dumped the statue on the ground.


    Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to Runt. Gorgons of all shapes and sizes stood around the platform. Most were not much bigger than Runt and were clearly juvenile gorgons, or joeys, as they were known. The joeys, in small groups, were gathered around statues. Several adult gorgons also stood around the platform, one of which marched over.


    Runt found himself picked up by the scruff of the neck again. The gorgon stared at him intently, then shook its head.


    ¡°More weird born. Shame. You name Runt?¡±


    Runt nodded in reply and the gorgon continued.


    ¡°Me Scab. You no run away or I whack you good. You hear?¡±


    Runt nodded again. Scab grunted and dropped him to the ground before picking up the statue. Wart was already marching back down the track.


    ¡°Runt follow Scab. School time.¡± Scab grunted, and heaved the statue over to the wall. Several other gorgon joeys approached. Most of them stared at Runt with suspicion or outright disgust. One smiled at him, though, and Runt saw that this one was different to the others.


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    ¡°Runt,¡± Scab said, pointing to each of the joeys, ¡°this Biff, this Rank, this Stack, this Rip, this Bonk, this Chop.¡± Each of the gorgons glared at him as they were introduced. The last joey, the one that smiled, lurked near the back and wasn¡¯t named.


    ¡°Oh, I forget. The weird born. It name ¨C ¡° Scab said, pointing to the back.


    ¡°Brain. My name¡¯s Brain.¡± The joey said sadly.


    ¡°Hur hur,¡± Scab laughed, ¡°yeah. Brain. That good joke.¡± The other joeys giggled. Brain¡¯s large eyes watered and the joey turned away for a second. Its head was easily twice as wide as the other joeys.


    ¡°Joey! Listen me! School time. Look here.¡± Scab said, throwing an arm around the statue. ¡°Ancient gorgon. Old and dead. Look scary face. Joey make this face. Ready?¡±


    Several of the joeys rolled their eyes and muttered.


    ¡°Joey! Say ¡®yes boss¡¯ or I whack you good! Got it?¡±


    The joeys uttered a chorus of disgruntled ¡°yes boss¡± before Scab continued.


    ¡°Look this ancient gorgon. Mouth wide. Tongue out. Eyes crossed. Finger clawed. Scary face, yes? Now, joey try!¡±


    The joeys began copying the scary face without much enthusiasm. That is, apart from Brain, who tried extremely hard. Brain even growled while making the face causing one of the other joeys, Biff, to look around and then laugh.


    ¡°That not scary,¡± Biff jeered, ¡°that dumb. Brain an ugly dummy weird born.¡± Biff stood a little taller than the joeys nearby and seemed to be the leader of the pack.


    The other joeys giggled again. Scab whacked Biff on the back of the head and leaned down to yell in the joey¡¯s face.


    ¡°Biff! Lazy joey! School time! You make scary face!¡±


    ¡°Scary face boring!¡± Biff yelled back. ¡°Scary face dumb. Why make scary face, boss?¡±


    Scab stood back, frowned, and scratched its head.


    ¡°It, uhhh, coz it trad-, uhhh, coz it tradish-, coz it what we always done!¡±


    ¡°Tradish? What tradish? Tradish dumb. Stone gorgon dumb. Scary face dumb.¡± Biff said.


    ¡°Um, boss?¡± Runt said hesitantly. ¡°Don¡¯t you, I mean, don¡¯t we do the scary face to frighten the drop-bears? To protect the gorgon grubs?¡±


    ¡°Drop-bear?¡± Scab said, still frowning. ¡°What a drop-bear?¡±


    Runt gulped as he felt several pairs of eyes turning towards him.


    ¡°Ummm, you know¡­ big, sharp teeth, long claws, climb trees? They eat the gorgon grubs out of the fey-trees? Drop-bears. Gorgons scare the drop-bears to protect the grubs.¡±


    Runt heard Brain whisper. ¡°I knew it. That makes so much more sense!¡±


    Scab, meanwhile, simply shook its head. ¡°Huh. Drop-bear. Weird story. Never heard of drop-bear.¡±


    ¡°Drop-bear sound cool,¡± Biff said, ¡°not like school. School boring. We go now?¡±


    Scab sighed and waved its hands in dismissal.


    ¡°Yes! Food time!¡± Biff yelled, as he and the other joeys wandered off. As Biff walked past Runt the gorgon made sure to bump into him and send the small boy sprawling. Runt got up, dusted himself off, and followed the group hesitantly. Brain hung at the back and fell in beside Runt.


    ¡°You need to watch out for Biff,¡± Brain said quietly, ¡°Biff¡¯s really mean. And Biff is extra mean to us weird born.¡±


    Lunch, it turned out, was a large pile of coal. The joeys filed past, grabbing a handful each, before sitting on the edge of the platform with their legs dangling over the side. The sound of crunching and happy grunts filled the air. Runt reluctantly grabbed a small chunk.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never grow bigger if you don¡¯t eat your coal.¡± Brain said as they sat down together.


    Runt nibbled on the edge of the coal. It was how he imagined eating a rock to be. It tasted like dust mixed with dirt. When he thought no one was looking Runt quietly let it slip out of his fingers. When he looked up, though, Brain was staring straight at him.


    ¡°Not hungry?¡± Brain asked.


    ¡°No.¡± Runt replied.


    Brain, meanwhile, chewed the coal enthusiastically. Runt saw the joey¡¯s pouch was filled with coal and, catching his stare, Brain blushed.


    ¡°A big brain needs big food.¡± Brain said, thumping the side of its head.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ different to the others, Brain.¡±


    ¡°So are you!¡± Brain said defensively.


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to be rude. It¡¯s just, you talk differently.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s my head. I think too much. I¡¯m a weird born. I didn¡¯t get made right. But you should know about that, since you¡¯re a weird born too, right?¡± Brain said.


    ¡°Yeah. Right.¡± Runt said, and looked away before Brain could see the guilt on his face. He stared down into the lake of lava. The molten orange rock bubbled and churned. Some patches were brighter, nearing the yellow of the sun, others were duller, more muted, with the reds of sunset. Strips of black material rose to the surface, swirled, and sank. It reminded Runt of the cauldron full of pollen back at the great fey-tree. The colours were different but it had the same effect. Unlike the great hollow, though, an orange haze hung over everything like a poisonous fog. Unlike the great hollow, which was tranquil and quiet, the cavern was full of competing noises, each grating and harsh. Runt looked around and wondered how on earth he was going to escape.


    ¡°Runt?¡± Brain said in a small voice.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Runt said, looking back sheepishly.


    ¡°How did you know about the drop-bears? That sounded really interesting.¡±


    ¡°Um, I ¨C, I must¡¯ve heard one of the older gorgons talking about them, I guess. I thought everyone knew about them.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Brain replied, looking disappointed.


    Several of the joeys finished eating their coal and started throwing rocks down into the lake. It quickly became a competition. Biff could throw rocks further than most. The large joey strutted along the line boasting and belittling the others when their throws fell short. Runt tensed as Biff walked past and, sure enough, he felt a shove against his shoulders. The lake of lava loomed in his vision for a second as he tumbled forwards before Runt felt a hairy hand grab him by the shoulder.


    ¡°Thanks, Brain.¡± Runt said, puffing with fear.


    ¡°Beat it, Biff, you big bully!¡± Brain shouted.


    ¡°Hur hur. Next fight time I take you and Runt. Same time!¡± Biff boasted while walking off.


    ¡°What did Biff mean by ¡®next fight time¡¯, Brain?¡± Runt asked nervously. Brain looked over at Runt quizzically.


    ¡°You really are new here, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Joey!¡± Scab¡¯s voice rang out over the joeys¡¯ chatter. ¡°Food time over. School time over. Back to work!¡±


    ¡°Work?¡± Runt said, raising his eyebrows.


    ¡°You had better follow me.¡± Brain said, with a sigh.

 Chapter 44: The mines

    The mines


    ¡°Sneaking into this mine,¡± Runt thought, as he dragged the bucket up the slope, ¡°was the worst decision I ever made.¡±


    His shoulders screamed with fatigue. His legs felt like jelly. His head ached. His throat and eyes burned from the sulphurous orange fog. Worse, though, was how the fog and fire seeped inside his brain. Even in the quiet times, when the joeys rested in the darkness of an abandoned tunnel, with his eyes shut and ears blocked, still Runt could see and hear the lake of fire. It appeared in his mind as he tried to sleep, a circular burning wheel, roaring and hissing and seething and scorching. If he opened his eyes he saw the lake as a lingering afterimage in the dark, like staring at the sun. Runt suspected he was slowly going insane.


    It was impossible to tell how long he had been down here for. It felt like months. Runt looked across at Brain, also puffing and panting as the joey struggled to drag its own bucket up the slope.


    ¡°Without Brain, I¡¯d have been dead in the first five minutes.¡± Runt thought bitterly. The longer this torture continued, the more he wished for it.


    ¡°Runt needs to come with me,¡± Brain had said to Scab after that first lunch together, ¡°this weird born Runt wasn¡¯t made right, if you know what I mean. Soft in the head. The poor joey is just as likely to wander into the Sun Lake if nobody¡¯s watching. I¡¯ll look after them.¡±


    Scab allowed it and Runt followed Brain everywhere after that. Joeys, it turned out, did a lot of jobs around the mine that the adult gorgons were too big to manage, or too busy to bother with. For example, the bucket Runt dragged up the hill needed to be swapped for an empty one. That was a job for a joey.


    Runt thought back to the first time he saw a gorgon mining a tunnel. The hairy beast sat at the rock face and, using its claws, tore off massive lumps of rock. Then, they ate it, one chunk after another. The sound of this was horrific, like dogs devouring a bag of bones. The rock slowly disappeared into the belly of the gorgon.


    Fragments of shattered rock often splintered off as they chewed. Once, as a gorgon chewed on a large chunk of black, glassy rock, a long sliver of it fell to the ground. The gorgon, like always, completely ignored Runt. The boy slowly bent down and picked it up. The rock was long, thin, and sharp on one edge. Ever since his spear was taken, Runt had looked for something like this. He slipped the dagger-like rock into his pouch before completing the job he was there for.


    The buckets held scraps of waste. A joey¡¯s job was to change the buckets whenever they filled up. Every now and then, as the gorgon chewed, it would frown, pause, and spit into the bucket. Runt still remembered the first time he witnessed the glint and clang of a gold nugget hitting the side of the bucket.


    The gold, then, was nothing more than waste to the gorgons. They spat out nuggets like watermelon seeds and grumbled when there were lots. According to Brain, in the old days the gorgons simply spat the metal on the ground, until the tunnels glittered with golden gravel. Then, at some point, they learned humans valued the yellow metal. One man¡¯s trash is another man¡¯s treasure, as the saying went. After that the gorgons kept a bucket handy.


    The novelty of lugging around buckets of gold very quickly wore off. Gold, it turned out, weighed an awful lot. If it weren¡¯t for Brain, Runt would not have coped.


    ¡°Here,¡± Brain would say, ¡°you¡¯ve got the heavy one. Let me even it up.¡± The gorgon always shook most of the nuggets out of Runt¡¯s bucket and into their own. Still, every trip was agony.


    At first, Runt assumed the gorgons mined the tunnels for coal. The gorgons ate it, the joeys ate it, and they burned it as a source of light in places the lava glow couldn¡¯t reach. If a gorgon struck a seam of coal, they would yell out to the others. Then, like a swarm of ants, gorgons would descend and tear into the rockface until the seam was stripped. They carried the coal in their pouches off to every corner of the cavern leaving the original gorgon there to continue chipping away at the rockface looking for the next seam. The coal, then, was important. Later on, though, Runt discovered what the gorgons were really looking for. Once he discovered the real treasure everything began to make sense.


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    Runt was replacing a bucket down the end of a tunnel at the time. The tunnel extended some distance into the rock so that the lava¡¯s glow was muted and gloomy here. Gorgons didn¡¯t usually mine much further because they became sleepy and unpredictable in the dark.


    Runt sighed at the sight of the bucket of gold sitting by the gorgon¡¯s feet. His shoulders groaned in anticipation. The gorgon ignored him, like always, and continued hacking into the rock. It was the sudden silence, the absence of the skull rattling crunch, that made Runt realise something strange was happening. Looking up, he saw the gorgon arch its spine. The tunnel was suddenly lit with a bright yellow glow.


    Runt took a few hesitant steps backward, unsure and afraid, before the gorgon turned around and shouted ¡°Yellowcake! Yellowcake!¡± Its eyes burned a bright yellow, so bright that the tunnel glowed. The lump of stone in the gorgon¡¯s hands contained veins of a glittering yellow mineral. In a similar fashion to the coal swarm, several gorgons rushed down to the tunnel, but this time they all stood back, saying nothing, and simply watched, and waited.


    A message must have been sent around the cavern because, not long after, an important looking gorgon wearing a crystal necklace pushed its way through the pack of onlookers. The Collector had arrived.


    The onlookers now talked in hushed whispers as the real work began. The Collector and the miner slowly and methodically broke apart the rock chasing the veins of yellow. Every flake of the glittering powder was carefully separated and placed into a small container. Once the chunk of stone was thoroughly broken into gravel, and every scrap of yellow dust dutifully gathered, they turned to the rockface.


    The Collector and the miner ran their hands over the surface, brushing off dust, and peering at the rockface intently. The miner cried out in delight when it found more. Tiny veins of yellow twinkled in the dark and, presumably, continued on into the depths of stone.


    A new kind of work commenced, now. Instructions were barked and many gorgons left to gather materials. The Collector was clearly pleased with the events. It turned, noticed Runt, smiled and scruffed his hair, before marching off purposefully.


    ¡°Lucky day! The tyrant will be pleased.¡± The original gorgon miner said, beaming at Runt, who merely nodded in reply.


    Runt dragged the bucket of waste away and continued his work. Over the next several hours the tunnel was mined extensively as they followed the yellow veins deep into the dark heart of the mountain. They dug so far that gorgons brought coal to burn for light. The Collector returned, this time with barrels, which were slowly but surely filled with the glittering yellow powder. The work continued until, hours later, the gorgons all left in a group. The veins had run dry and the mine shaft, too deep and dark for gorgons, was abandoned.


    At the next quiet time, when the joeys were allowed to crawl into another of these abandoned tunnels and rest, Runt asked Brain about the glittering powder.


    ¡°Yellowcake.¡± Brain responded, yawning as the darkness did its work. ¡°Some call it the blood of the dragon. It¡¯s very rare, and extremely valuable. The gorgons who make the journey, and go Outside to collect wood under the Great Dark, use it for protection. Gorgons get sleepy in the dark. And if a gorgon eats the yellowcake they stay awake no matter what. It makes them stronger, too, which is important because it helps them survive the dangers Outside.¡±


    ¡°They say the Outside is an enormous, strange, and terrible place.¡± Brain continued. ¡±Out there, the cave goes on forever. There¡¯s no walls. And no ceiling. Instead, there¡¯s something up there called the sky. It¡¯s just air, all the way up. No rock above your head. Can you believe that? And, more confusing, they say the Sun Lake sits in the sky, not in the ground. But what stops the lava falling down? That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to know. It doesn¡¯t seem real to me. I can¡¯t even imagine it. They say the Sun Lake floats across the sky but then sinks somehow and, once it does, there¡¯s nothing but the Great Dark. There¡¯s barely any light at all apart from a silver disk they call the moon. But that¡¯s not enough light to keep the gorgons awake. So where does the Sun Lake go during the Great Dark? How does it move? What brings it back? The Outside sounds strange and terrible to me.¡±


    Runt¡¯s face flushed red and he was suddenly glad for the gloom. Brain, oblivious to his friend¡¯s guilty silence, continued explaining the mysteries beyond the cavern.


    ¡°Of course, we could go to the Outside while the lava is in the sky so the gorgons would stay awake. But that¡¯s dangerous, too. There¡¯s all sorts of monsters out there. Monsters like you wouldn¡¯t believe. So we mostly make the journey under the Great Dark. There¡¯s less monsters, then. And that¡¯s why we need the yellowcake. It means the gorgons can stay awake. And it makes them strong to fight off the monsters.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Brain said, yawning again, ¡°the other reason for the yellowcake is they use it in the nursery. I¡¯ll show you next time we do some work in the hive.¡±


    Seconds later gentle snoring began to echo down the tunnel. After resting, a gorgon would come past with a torch and wake the joeys so they could repeat the misery all over again. Runt did his best to fall asleep and wondered, not for the last time, if there was any chance of escape, and whether he would see his friends ever again.

 Chapter 45: The hive

    The hive


    The hive. Spending time there saved his life because, without it, he would¡¯ve died from starvation by now. The hive, though, was the root of all the problems. The mines, the war, and the extinction of the harpies. It all traced back to this one place. The hive, it turned out, was a place of birth for some¡­ but the cause of death for so many others.


    Runt didn¡¯t know that, though, the first time he and Brain worked there. They had just finished carrying another bucketload of nuggets to the gathering place when several gorgons marched past with a fey-tree log balanced on their shoulders.


    ¡°You look exhausted, Runt,¡± Brain said, ¡°let¡¯s change jobs for a while. Follow me.¡±


    Runt followed Brain, who followed the gorgons, who followed a track leading down and around the cavern. The track continued sloping down until it brought them uncomfortably close to the lake of lava. They arrived at a platform with a tunnel to one side. Runt saw how the edge of this platform literally hung out over the lake itself. Up close, the lava became a living thing. It seethed, it grumbled, it spat. The sulfurous fog here was hot and stung the skin. His eyes watered constantly and, if he breathed too deep, he coughed uncontrollably.


    Despite all this discomfort, Runt was eternally grateful for the moment Brain suggested they change jobs and head to the hive. Not only did it mean he finally got something decent to eat, it also set in motion a chain of events that led to his escape from the mines, and the first steps towards making everything right again. There and then, however, Runt was just glad to be following the gorgons into the tunnel and away from that malevolent lake of fire.


    Once, back when Runt lived as a slave in the kennels, bees swarmed in one corner of an old shed by the muck yards. Whenever Runt found a spare moment, he would sneak down to visit the bees. The hive grew in size over the following days and weeks. He watched up close, in fascination, as the bees built the honeycomb structure one tiny blob of wax at a time. He watched as bees filled the hexagon-shaped cells with honey and then capped them off with even more wax. He watched as the queen bee laid eggs in the cells at the centre of the honeycomb, and cheered as the baby bees began to grow and mature.


    He watched as Tyron found the hive, set a fire smoking in the shed, stole the honey like the giant bear that he was, and squashed the bees one by one.


    Before that, though, as Runt watched the hive in motion, he sat and wondered. How would it look from the perspective of a single bee? From a bee¡¯s point of view, the hive was enormous, a vast castle they called home. The hive bustled with activity. For a single bee to crawl from one side to the other it could take several minutes with all the jostling between the other inhabitants. From a bee¡¯s point of view, the honeycomb must have stretched away in all directions like a large field, filled with holes, with tiny babies growing beneath the surface.


    A beehive, Runt decided, would be a very crowded and hectic place to live.


    The first thing Runt noticed when he stepped into the gorgon hive was the steamy warmth that literally pushed against him. Within minutes of working in the hive he was dripping with sweat. The second thing he noticed, once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, was the size of the room. The hive was enormous. It was a cavern hiding beneath a cavern.


    The hive was completely gorgon made. There were no stalactites hanging from the ceiling, no stalagmites growing from the floor. The ceiling was low. An adult gorgon¡¯s head nearly brushed the rock above in places. The walls and ceiling were clearly carved by gorgon hands. Here and there, a column of rock supported the roof. Here and there, a pile of coal burned to throw some small amount of light into the gloom. Runt could barely see the other side of the chamber in the dull, flickering light, but a series of burning coal piles were evidence enough that the chamber extended for more than a hundred yards in every direction.


    ¡°Welcome to the hive, Runt!¡± Brain said, proudly.


    The entire floor of the chamber was covered in row after row of neatly carved holes. Runt knew, then and there, how a beehive must look from the perspective of a bee. The holes, uniform in size, depth, and spacing, continued across the floor of the entire chamber. Holes just big enough for a young joey to crawl out of.


    Gorgons entering the tunnel from behind grunted at the pair of them and they moved aside. More fey-tree wood was brought in, dropped, and left there. Other gorgons from within the chamber then began pulling the timber apart. Branches and bark were stripped off and put to one side. Runt watched in fascination as the gorgons then proceeded to devour the wood completely. Much like the miners eating rock, the sound of gorgons chewing wood was an experience in itself. A group of gorgons crowded around the log, eating every last scrap of timber, and then scattered to every corner of the chamber.


    Then, the real work began. After spreading out, each gorgon crouched down by a series of holes and vomited the wood down into the cells. They then moved to the next hole and repeated the process. Another gorgon followed along behind and scraped a layer of rock and dirt over the holes that had been filled with chewed up wood. This occurred over and over, in long lines, across the chamber. Vomit, scrape, move, repeat.


    Runt then realised he was missing one step in the process. Another gorgon moved in front of those two. Carefully, and slowly, this gorgon walked along the row of cells in front of the wood spitter, and in front of the dirt scraper. This gorgon carried something in its pouch. Something that glowed with a sickly yellow gleam. One hole at a time, this gorgon delicately reached into its pouch, pulled out something small and yellow, and gently placed it at the bottom of the hole.


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    Later, when Runt was lucky enough to get closer to one of these gorgons, he saw his suspicion was correct. The small glowing object was, indeed, a tiny, hairless, baby gorgon.


    The joeys¡¯ job in the hive was simple. The bark and leafy branches were not useful. They needed to be dragged away and tossed into the lake. Runt, Brain, and several other joeys got to work.


    As he dragged his first branch out of the hive Runt realised there were still fey-tree fruit attached to the branches. He stopped and quickly picked every fruit off the branch and stuffed them into his pouch.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Brain asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m starving,¡± Runt said, ¡°and these things are delicious.¡±


    ¡°You mean you eat those?¡± Brain said, screwing up its nose in disbelief.


    ¡°What? Yeah, of course! Don¡¯t you eat them?¡±


    Brain slowly shook its head.


    ¡°Who told you they were safe to eat, Runt?¡±


    Runt paused before speaking.


    ¡°Ah, I guess I just figured it out for myself?¡±


    Brain¡¯s eyes narrowed and squinted at Runt suspiciously.


    ¡°I think you¡¯d better hide those for now, Runt. And don¡¯t tell anyone else that you eat them. Even for a weird born that¡¯s an odd thing to do.¡±


    Later on, though, once they were in the dark tunnel getting ready for a nap, Runt convinced Brain to try one. The young gorgon agreed. They really were delicious. After that, Brain always helped Runt collect them. They filled their pouches together and emptied them again after the work was done. But they never told anyone. Like Brain said, it was an odd thing to do, even for a weird born.


    It was during another trip to the hive that Runt saw the last puzzle pieces fall into place. Brain kept his promise and, upon entering the hive, the joey led Runt around the side of the chamber. By sticking to the wall, they managed to avoid most of the gorgons working busily on their various jobs. The heat, noise, and bustle of the hive was nearly overpowering. The heat, Runt learned, was mostly due to the depth. The rocks here themselves were warm, with the lava so close below. The holes dug into the floor radiated warmth. The chewed-up wood, once warmed by the rocks, began making steam. The noise in the hive was a chaotic combination of gorgons digging rock, chewing wood, and vomiting it back up again.


    Runt spotted the nursery long before they got there. A side tunnel up ahead glowed with the familiar sickly yellow colour. He hesitated when they reached the tunnel entrance, but Brain wandered in without pause, and Runt scurried after. The tunnel was short and opened into another, smaller chamber, that glowed and pulsed yellow. Entering the chamber, the first thing Runt noticed was the noise. This room was almost entirely silent. The few gorgons that worked here talked in whispers.


    The chamber was round, and only about twenty yards across. The room was dominated by a large cauldron sitting in the middle. Runt was shocked by the similarity to the hollow in the great fey-tree. Like at the fey-tree, this cauldron was shallow, wide, and glowing. Here, though, the cauldron was filled with water and¡­ other things.


    Surrounding the glowing cauldron were piles of dirt ringed with stone. These piles were evenly spaced in a circle around the cauldron. Each pile of dirt had at least one gorgon tending to it. They sat or stood by the pile, gently sifting through the dirt. Several more gorgons stood around the cauldron including, Runt noticed, the Collector, still wearing the crystal necklace.


    It was an utterly intimidating room to stand within. Runt began to sweat nervously. The gorgons, though, paid them no attention whatsoever, for they were thoroughly engaged in their work. Brain made the shushing motion and then beckoned Runt to follow. They quietly walked towards the centre, to the cauldron, and looked inside. The yellow glow came from down below. Resting on the bottom of the container was a layer of small round blobs. There must have been a hundred or more sitting beneath the water.


    ¡°Eggs,¡± Brain whispered excitedly, ¡°that will one day be tiny gorgon grubs. Oh, watch!¡±


    The Collector reached down and stood up with a handful of the glittering yellowcake. The gorgon began to sing in that peculiar rock-on-metal voice as it walked around the cauldron gently sprinkling the yellow powder into the water. The eggs burst into a bright glow as the flecks of yellow reached them and, before his eyes, Runt saw them divide. Where there had been a hundred, now there were two hundred. The eggs pulsed now, from bright yellow to dull orange, back to bright yellow. Runt couldn¡¯t be sure how long he stood, watching the glow, because it was mesmerising.


    Gorgons from the dirt piles advanced and began gently scooping up handfuls of these eggs. Then, they slowly walked back to the mounds and buried them. Runt felt a tug at his arm and Brain began leading him out of the nursery. Before they left, though, there was one more surprise. They paused by one of the dirt piles where a gorgon sat, softly singing. The dirt began to stir and, one by one, tiny hairless grubs emerged. These freshly hatched gorgon joeys still faintly glowed yellow as they were plucked, one at a time, from the soil and tenderly placed into the gorgon¡¯s pouch. When no more joeys emerged from the soil the gorgon stood and left the nursery.


    Brain and Runt followed the gorgon out. It walked to a row of holes and was joined by other gorgons. Runt watched as the process continued. The first gorgon gently placed a tiny joey at the base of a cell. The second gorgon filled the hole with chewed up wood. The third covered the hole with dirt and stone. This process was repeated over and over within the vast chamber.


    Runt looked across the chamber in equal parts wonder, and horror. The gorgons were, one cell at a time, growing themselves an army.

 Chapter 46: LIes exposed

    Lies exposed


    ¡°Sneaking into this mine,¡± Runt thought, as he dragged the bucket up the slope, ¡°was the worst decision I ever made.¡±


    He felt like he was slowly going insane. The constant backbreaking work combined with the heat, the harsh air, and the orange glow, and the hopelessness of his situation all weighed heavily on him. In the quiet times when they were allowed to rest Runt thought of everything he missed back in the Wilds. He missed the sounds of insects, and the smell of the trees. He missed the bickering and boasting of the birds. He missed the gentle warmth of the sun, and the mysterious silver glow of the moon. He missed his friend, Stripes. Then, at other times, he thought of the harpies. They were down here somewhere or, at least, he hoped they were. He hoped they were still alive. Everywhere Brain took him, Runt looked for a sign of them, without success.


    Runt recalled the last words from the big boss. ¡°Take the harpies to the lake,¡± the boss said, ¡°to the Fighting place.¡± But when Runt asked Brain about the Fighting place the joey simply shook its head and said ¡°If you don¡¯t know about it yet then you don¡¯t want to hear about it from me. You¡¯ll be made to go there soon enough, and when you do, you¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t.¡±


    He asked Brain about the Fighting place again, at the next rest time. They crawled into an abandoned tunnel, just he and the joey, and began eating the fey-tree fruit. This was their new ritual before crawling deeper into the cave and sleeping. They sat, and ate, and talked. Brain didn¡¯t seem very talkative this time, though, for some reason.


    ¡°Please, Brain, won¡¯t you tell me something more about the Fighting place? Like, what happens there? Or¡­ where I might find it?¡±


    For a few moments Brain refused to look at Runt. Instead, Brain stared down at the fruit that, so far, the joey had not touched. When Brain looked up Runt saw a new emotion. Resentment.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me something instead, Runt?¡± Brain said, with a hint of anger. Runt¡¯s stomach sank at the tone. ¡°Tell me how you know things that you ought not to know? About the fruit. About the drop-bears. About things that happen in the Outside. You seem to know more about the Outside world than you do about simple things, natural things, things that happen right here. Why don¡¯t you tell me about that?¡±


    Runt¡¯s mouth fell open, but no words came out. Brain, though, had no such trouble.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you ever since you turned up and I think I¡¯ve figured it out. You¡¯re from out there, aren¡¯t you? I even know who sent you here. You¡¯re working for the bigger boss, aren¡¯t you? What I want to know, though, is why? Why did they send you down here? Are you spying on us? On me? Is it because I¡¯m a weird born?¡±


    ¡°I, Brain, no, that¡¯s not true. I¡¯m not working for the boss.¡±


    ¡°Yes you are!¡± Brain replied hotly. ¡°You even look like it.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Runt said. ¡°The tall one, covered in white fur, with the walking stick? I look like that?¡±


    ¡°See? You don¡¯t even know the difference between bosses. I said the bigger boss, not the big boss. I¡¯m talking about the tyrant. The one that¡¯s in charge of everything. I¡¯ve seen it up close a couple of times, down by the Fighting place, and you look just like it. I bet you¡¯re even related. So why did they send you, Runt?¡±


    ¡°Brain, I wasn¡¯t sent by the boss, the big boss, or the biggest boss. I don¡¯t know anything about that. But,¡± Runt said, sadly, ¡°you¡¯re right. I am from outside. I¡¯ve come here because the gorgons are doing something when they go out that¡¯s hurting my friends. Hurting them badly. And I need to ask them to stop. Only, I¡¯m so small. I don¡¯t know how. I don¡¯t know what to do. Brain, you¡¯ve got to believe me.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The joey stared at Runt for what felt like a minute with eyes of steel. Brain snorted, shook its head, and crawled off deeper into the tunnel.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to believe, anymore.¡± The joey said flatly.


    A pile of fruit was left on the ground where Brain sat. Not knowing what else to do Runt stayed there, feeling miserable, and ate the fruit one by one. Of course, without thinking, he ate too many, and soon fell fast asleep right on the spot.


    Runt was shaken awake by a gorgon holding a burning coal torch. Brain stood next to it, looking dejected. For a panicked second Runt thought the joey had already revealed his secret to the adults but, if Brain had, the large gorgon showed no sign of it.


    ¡°Work time?¡± Runt said, sighing.


    ¡°Nah,¡± the large gorgon said, smiling broadly, ¡°play time! Time for fun! We go to Fighting place!¡±


    The gorgon headed down towards the lake. Runt looked around as they exited the tunnel and saw nearly every creature in the cavern descended with them. To the Fighting place. Runt fell in behind the adult and matched pace with his friend.


    ¡°Brain, look, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t tell you sooner. I tried to. I was just so scared you¡¯d turn me over to the boss.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think I won¡¯t?¡± Brain said, turning away.


    ¡°Listen, I know that it seems like I lied to you, but I didn¡¯t really. I never said I was a gorgon. Everyone else did. I just sort of went along with it. But the truth is I do come from outside. And I¡¯m here because the gorgons are doing a really bad thing.¡±


    Brain¡¯s head whipped back around.


    ¡°Liar!¡± the joey shouted. ¡°How can we be doing a bad thing? We moved here, to the cavern of the Sun Lake, to stay safe. We¡¯re down here minding our own business. We¡¯re not hurting anybody.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, though,¡± Runt replied, ¡±and I¡¯m really sorry to be the one to tell you. The thing is, adults lie all the time. Adults have been lying to us since the day we were born. I didn¡¯t realise it at first. And then, when I started figuring it out, I didn¡¯t want to believe it. Some lies happen when it¡¯s easier than speaking a hard truth. Like how I pretended to be a weird born because the truth would¡¯ve got me in trouble. But there¡¯s another type of lie and it¡¯s much worse. It¡¯s much more dangerous.¡±


    ¡°The worst type of lie is one that sounds like the truth. The worst lie is one where the person saying it genuinely believes it to be true. Just now, you said gorgons aren¡¯t hurting anyone down here. That¡¯s a lie. I know because I¡¯ve seen the damage being done. But you believe the thing because an adult told you. And that adult probably believes it, too, because another adult told them. And this false truth got spread over and over. A bunch of adults repeated the lie to each other until everyone believed it. You see? Once a lie is repeated enough times it becomes the truth. That¡¯s dangerous! No one likes finding out their truth is actually wrong. People will do anything to keep believing it. Otherwise, they¡¯d be admitting they were fooled. Brain, listen to me,¡± Runt said, staring at his friend with pleading eyes, ¡°you¡¯ve got to believe me. You have been fooled.¡±


    ¡°Those trees, the ones you¡¯re feeding to the joeys in the hive, they¡¯re the homes for another type of creature. Those trees are super important outside and it¡¯s incredibly devastating to tear them down. It¡¯s not your fault you didn¡¯t know. But you¡¯ve been lied to enough times, now, you¡¯ll happily tell other people the same thing. And so, the lie becomes true by repetition. But it¡¯s not true, Brain. You¡¯re literally destroying a species to save your own. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. To try and stop the gorgons stealing the fey-trees and save my friends. You see, there¡¯s a group of creatures out there called harpies and they ¨C ¡°


    ¡°Did you say harpies?¡± Brain hissed. ¡°You mean to say you¡¯re here because of them?¡± Brain¡¯s eyes burned with rage and the joey¡¯s teeth were clenched. ¡°The harpies are monsters! They¡¯re traitors! The harpies tried to exterminate us. It¡¯s because of the harpies that we were forced to live down here in the first place.¡±


    ¡°No, Brain, that¡¯s not right. I¡¯m telling you, you¡¯ve been lied to for so long it just sounds true. You need to go and find out for yourself. The harpies don¡¯t want to hurt gorgons. They need you. But first they need you to stop tearing down the fey-trees.¡±


    Brain, looking more miserable than ever, simply shook their head.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see, Runt. It¡¯s you who¡¯s been lied to. It¡¯s all written down in pictures. When the great betrayal occurred, the gorgons fled here, to this cavern. And they made pictures of what happened so we would never forget. The pictures help us remember. You¡¯ll see, whether you like it or not. Because that¡¯s where we¡¯re going.¡±

 Chapter 47: The fighting place

    The Fighting place


    The heat literally slapped Runt in the face as he sat on a bench at the Fighting place. The tracks wound down and around the cavern, past the hive, and led them to the very bottom of the chamber. The lava lapped at the shore here, against a beach of crushed rock.


    The Fighting place was arranged like an amphitheatre. The gorgons had carved a semi-circle of bench seating into the rockface that watched over the lake and the gravel beach in front of it. A giant slab of granite sat in the middle of the beach. This was the stage. The slab stood taller than a full-grown gorgon and the top of it formed a square six yards on either side.


    Anyone standing on the stage commanded the full view of the creatures in the amphitheatre. The stage, then, was the rallying place for the gorgon bosses. They delivered speeches here. It was also the place for gorgons to fight. Arguments were solved by violence here, once a week, in full view of the gorgon horde. Any gorgon claiming to be the strongest in its group got to test out the claim during the weekly brawls.


    The seating was crowded with gorgons, now, and their mood was dark. They grunted and grumbled. Occasionally a gorgon would stand and yell down towards the platform, shaking a fist. Others spat and swore. Runt squinted through the orange smog. The air here was so hot that it wavered and blurred but he could just make out, on the platform, a series of small furry blobs.


    ¡°Recognise anyone?¡± Brain asked grimly. ¡°I suppose those are your friends?¡±


    Before Runt could answer a chorus of deafening cheers erupted. Gorgons shouted and pointed. Down below, marching across the beach, a stern looking group approached the platform. It was the big boss and the pack of gorgons that followed the boss around.


    Runt looked back to the harpies on the stage. None of them stirred or showed any signs of life. He felt a pang of guilt. This whole time, in the caverns, he had only focused on his own survival. Runt tried to tell himself there hadn¡¯t been a chance to help them, but was that true? In the rest times, when the joeys slept, could he have sneaked out? Could he have pretended to be on an errand and tried to find them?


    It was too late, anyhow. The big boss slowly approached the platform as the crowd continued to cheer. One of the boss¡¯s followers crouched down and, with others on either side, the boss was carefully lifted onto the platform. Hunched over, and leaning heavily on its walking stick, the boss looked down briefly at the small piles of fur by its feet and then up to the assembled gorgons.


    ¡°Gorgons! We work hard this week. For good reason. Look!¡± the leader shouted, before reaching down and grabbing one of the harpies by the neck and lifting it up. The tiny creature hung limp in its grasp.


    ¡°These harpy attack us. But we gorgon strong. Attack fail. Look at harpy. So frail. So weak. Harpy sleep, now. Bright light of lake too much for the weakling.¡±


    The gorgon crowd laughed and jeered. The boss thumped its stick for quiet. Runt breathed a tiny sigh of relief. They weren¡¯t dead, but the harpies couldn¡¯t stay awake in the light. Not without magic.


    ¡°Harpy attack a good sign. It mean plan working! Harpy are desperate. Gorgon are winning. Soon, the war is over. Soon, the hard work done. Soon, gorgon leave cavern and join demon in big city. Then: booze, fire, and fun time forever!¡±


    This announcement was met with roars of approval. The boss slowly looked over the crowd, nodding. Then, without warning, it dropped the harpy off the front of the stage and down into the shadows cast by the enormous slab of granite. The other harpies followed, nudged off the platform by the gorgon¡¯s hairy foot, one by one.


    ¡°Wake them up!¡± The boss roared. Several gorgons carrying buckets of water scurried over and splashed the harpies until they sat up groggily.


    ¡°Let us remember the harpy betrayal. Bring torch! Show us gorgon memory pictures.¡±


    Another gorgon advanced, holding a flaming staff filled with coal, and walked to the base of the stage. It stood on the left and held the torch underneath. A familiar yellow glow glittered into view.


    ¡°Painted with yellowcake, gorgon see for all time the betrayal remembered onto stone. The first! See the harpy. It use magic to control the gorgon.¡±


    The crowd fell silent as the picture sparkled into view. It showed a crude diagram of a harpy standing above a gorgon, sprinkling dust down onto the gorgon¡¯s head. Instead of circles, the gorgon¡¯s eyes were drawn as two large Xs.


    ¡°Gorgon beware! Harpy magic powerful. Harpy use magic to make gorgon slave. Always remember! Never forget!¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The gorgon crowd echoed this final statement. A cry of ¡°Always remember, never forget!¡± echoed across the cavern. The boss nodded, then continued.


    ¡°The second! See the harpy. It use magic to become terrible beast.¡±


    The gorgon carrying the flaming torch moved across to stand at the middle section of the stage. A second picture glittered into life. This one showed a harpy, but giant, with spikes across its back, and a gorgon running away from it in terror.


    ¡°Gorgon beware! Harpy magic powerful. Harpy use magic to change into terrible beast and fight gorgon. Always remember! Never forget!¡±


    Again, the chamber echoed with the crowd repeating ¡°Always remember, never forget!¡± The torchbearer moved to the final section of the stage. This last image showed a harpy sprinkling dust again but this time, onto a group of joeys. The crowd hissed and grumbled.


    ¡°The third! It show the great betrayal. Harpy break ancient agreement. Harpy want gorgon extinct. Harpy use magic to poison baby joey. Me, big boss,¡± the gorgon roared, slapping its chest, ¡±I seen this crime and make this picture. Always remember! Never forget!¡±


    The crowd roared this time, and shook their fists, and stomped their feet. The ground shook with their fury.


    ¡°See, Runt?¡± Brain said, looking across sadly. ¡°The harpies tried to kill the joeys. We moved down here where they couldn¡¯t get to us. And now you¡¯re here, trying to help them finish the job.¡±


    Runt¡¯s mouth fell open to protest, but Brain stood and moved to sit by the other joeys. The big boss continued to speak.


    ¡°Today we do extra special fight time. We show harpy the true strength of gorgon. No more is gorgon afraid of harpy magic. Gorgon got magic, too! Powerful magic of yellowcake. But first, I ask all gorgon to thank the harpy. Come thank them for helping gorgon grow strong.¡±


    The guards that followed the boss walked to the front of the stage and formed a line in front of the harpies. Gorgons from the crowd began scrambling down and rushing towards the stage. They yelled, spat, and swore at the harpies sitting in the shadows but none of them dared cross the line of guards or try to hurt the prisoners.


    Runt raced down, ducking and weaving between the legs of the large creatures, till he was close enough to make eye contact with the teacher. The harpy¡¯s eyes widened in recognition.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost! How did you come to be in this place?¡±


    ¡°Never mind that now! You need to get out of here before they kill you.¡±


    The teacher shook its head.


    ¡°They won¡¯t. But you¡¯re right. We need to get out. Can you help us get loose?¡± The teacher held up its hands to show Runt they were tied together with rope.


    Runt looked up and around. None of the adults took any notice of him. The din from hundreds of gorgons all yelling at once meant no one heard their conversation. The guards, though, stared out into the crowd grimly. It would be impossible to stay hidden from them.


    ¡°It¡¯s no good, teacher, I¡¯d be spotted. They took my cloak,¡± Runt said, sadly, holding out his bare arms, ¡°I can¡¯t turn invisible anymore.¡±


    ¡°Wolf-ghost, listen,¡± the teacher said desperately, ¡°you don¡¯t need the cloak. I can¡¯t explain why right now, but you can turn invisible. You always could. You just didn¡¯t know you were doing it. The cloak and the stardust were simply a trick to help you learn to do it properly. To give you confidence. It wasn¡¯t my magic, it was yours.¡±


    Runt found himself being buffeted by the crowd which, as a group, turned and began cheering and chanting. What the teacher said didn¡¯t make sense and yet, at the same time, it made perfect sense. He¡¯d always been good at hiding, almost too good. Sometimes, as a young lad, huddled in a shadowy corner of the kennels, he felt that coolness wash over him without knowing what it was. Tyron would storm past and look right through him. Runt thought back to the first time he left the kennels with a pot-sized helmet on his head. The guard saw him run into the bushes and hide in the shadows but never found him. Now Runt knew why. Except, of course, that didn¡¯t tell him anything about how. But the how would have to wait.


    Even the guards were distracted now. The entire crowd was looking up and away. The chanting continued. One word, repeated over and over.


    ¡°Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant!¡±


    Runt seized his chance and ducked and rolled between the legs of the few gorgons standing between him and the harpies. He felt the coolness wash over him. From the corner of its eye, one of the guards saw a flash of skin and hair flit past but, when it turned to look, there was nothing. Just shadows and miserable harpies. It shrugged, turned back, and joined in the chant with the other gorgons.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Runt.¡± He whispered to the teacher, while pulling the sharp sliver of rock out of his pouch. ¡°I¡¯m going to cut the ropes on your wrists and feet now, but you need to wait for the right moment to run. We¡¯re going to need some kind of distraction, or they¡¯ll just catch you again.¡±


    The glassy sliver of rock easily sliced through the rope. Runt repeated his message to every harpy down the line. The harpies kept their hands together as though still bound. Patch smiled as the ropes were cut from the small harpy¡¯s wrist and whispered ¡°I knew you¡¯d come for us, Wolf-ghost. The trees were right.¡±


    Runt dashed back to the start of the line.


    ¡°That was the last one, teacher. Now you just need to wait for a distraction and we¡¯ll run out of here.¡±


    ¡°You have our thanks, Wolf-ghost, but this is all the distraction we need.¡± the teacher replied, looking up at the boss still standing on the stage. ¡°You should leave. Things are about to get messy.¡±


    The teacher hissed an instruction down the line of harpies. Runt saw several harpy¡¯s hands dip into their pouches and extract a handful of pollen. This time, though, they quickly ate it. Runt¡¯s heart sank. They didn¡¯t mean to escape. They never had. They were here to fight.

 Chapter 48: Friday again

    Friday again


    The harpies who ate the pollen began to change. It began as a shimmering glow around their bodies. Then, they seemed to stretch, and melt, and grow all at the same time. The teacher, who ate none, jumped onto the shoulders of the next nearest harpy. This one began to expand rapidly. Its head enlarged, its fur grew longer, it hunched over, its arms and legs inflated to the size of tree trunks. Within moments, the teacher sat atop a harpy that was also a mammoth. Its fur shimmered and glowed with the multicoloured hues of the pollen but, apart from the fur, it looked exactly like the real thing.


    Similar transformations took place down the line. Every second harpy began to change. Runt saw several hoppers, kiddners, and wolves. In each case, a harpy leaped onto the back of the nearest creature. As a group, they turned and jumped, clawed or climbed their way up onto the stage. It happened so quickly that most of the gorgons continued to stare up at the distraction and chant. Then, some of the guards began to notice, and their shouts of warning spread. Soon the crowd was forced to turn their attention back to the stage.


    The harpies atop their glowing mounts formed a grim circle, facing outwards, around the big boss. The teacher leaped off his mammoth and onto the chest of the massive gorgon and leaped back again. Runt saw the puff of pollen and heard the gorgon sneeze.


    ¡°Great gorgon, leader of leaders, I ask you again. Stop this madness before every harpy, gorgon, and demon are consumed by it. Return to the ancient ways. You know this path will only lead to our mutual extinction. Please! Ask your people to leave the mines and re-join us in our ancestral homes.¡±


    Runt held his breath and watched the reaction of the giant white-haired gorgon. Its eyes, now jet black, filled with tears and the creature began to weep.


    ¡°You are right, teacher harpy. This is madness. But the gorgons will not listen to me. You have the wrong boss.¡±


    The gorgon then pointed up and away, towards the place the other gorgons were looking. Runt followed the direction of the trembling finger and his heart skipped a beat.


    ¡°Has it really only been a week?¡± he whispered in horror. Truly it felt like he had spent a lifetime stuck in this mine. But there, marching down the tracks, was a line of gorgons each carrying a crate of booze. And, trailing behind, strode the bulking bear-like frame of the kennel master.


    Tyron paused as he saw the commotion down below. His voice boomed across the cavern.


    ¡°Get them, you fools!¡±


    The nearest guards turned and launched themselves up onto the stage and a bloody fight ensued. In the chaos, Runt was shoved to one side, then kicked in the head and, finally, shoved from behind and into the light. He found himself face to face with Brain. The young gorgon merely glared at him and grabbed Runt¡¯s arm with a vice-like grip. They watched the battle unfold together.


    The pictures on the base of the stage did not lie. In the past, when gorgons and harpies lived together, the harpies used magic when necessary to convince the gorgons to behave. If the gorgon fighting became too rough, or they needed encouragement to clear an area for a new fey-tree, the harpies used a kind of spell to make it happen. If a gorgon became stubborn and refused to listen to reason, or if they wandered too far from the fey-trees they were meant to protect, the pollen helped them to think more clearly. Sometimes, when the gorgons were being extra painful, the harpies would transform into these magnificent beasts. Sometimes the only language the gorgons would listen to was violence. In the form of these giant creatures, the harpies, as a last resort, would knock sense into the gorgons. In this way, harpies and gorgons lived in an uneasy truce for countless generations.


    In those ancient times, though, gorgons only ate fruit, and rock, and the only animals they fought were drop-bears. Once the humans came, everything changed. The gorgons followed the humans, trained with them, and copied their ways. Under the guidance of the humans, the gorgons learned how to hunt and kill. They learned the weaknesses of the beasts. They learned their strengths. They learned the most efficient ways to defeat each of the great creatures of the Deep Wilds. They used those skills with deadly effect, now.


    The harpies fought valiantly but, within minutes, the gorgons subdued every one of the shimmering beasts. Once beaten, the harpies shrank back into their usual shape and size. Each of them was grabbed by the neck and jammed under a bucket on the gravel beach with a large boulder plonked on top. They were trapped and defeated.


    The crowd cheered and began chanting once more.


    ¡°Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant! Tyrant!¡±


    They repeated this over and over until Tyron made it to the beach and up onto the stage. Runt panicked, desperate not to be seen by his old master.


    ¡°Brain, let me go! You don¡¯t understand. I can¡¯t be seen by Tyron, no matter what!¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Brain said, with an icy voice. ¡°You¡¯re one of them, aren¡¯t you? The Tyrant is a hairless weird born just like you.¡±


    Runt turned slowly back to the stage and, as that thought sunk in, his old master began to speak.


    ¡°Gorgons! You have fought well. In the old times they used magic to keep us cowed. Well now gorgons have magic, too. Magic that makes us strong! Now the harpies know, once and for all, they can no longer treat us like slaves. The harpies are defeated! The last of them huddle in their burrows and wait for the end of all things. We have won, gorgons. We have avenged the great betrayal!¡±


    The crowd clapped and cheered.


    ¡°You, though, old one,¡± Tyron said, looming over the white-haired gorgon, ¡°you disappoint me. Why are you still a boss? You are so old, so frail. It¡¯s sickening.¡±


    Tyron towered a full head taller than the boss atop the stage. Still, the gorgon stood its ground and looked up at the bear-sized man. ¡°No gorgon among us can beat me, Tyrant. I remain the boss until that day comes.¡±


    ¡°I can beat you, though, can¡¯t I?¡± Tyron said, grinning mercilessly. ¡°Should we fight?¡±


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    Before the white-haired gorgon could respond Tyron struck it a mighty blow. The sound was of meat slapping against rock and the impact, like a crack, echoed across the cavern. The big boss crumpled and fell to the gravel beach below. The guards, the ones that followed the boss around, stood awkwardly, staring between Tyron and the fallen gorgon.


    ¡°Help the old thing up to the stands.¡± Tyron boomed. ¡°You¡¯ll stay a boss while it serves me. You may be old and feeble but your guts are strong.¡± The kennel master laughed while shaking droplets of blood from his bleeding knuckles.


    ¡°Gorgons! We have made great sacrifices to reach this point. We have learned to live in the dark. We have learned to breathe the orange smog. We have dug holes to find the golden rock that the demons value. We have found the magic yellowcake and learned to grow our joeys without the fey-trees. Soon, we will reap the rewards of this difficult work.¡±


    ¡°I, too, have suffered. Look at my ears. The old among you remember. I was forced to cut them off to blend in with the demons. I was forced to learn the demon ways. I was forced to live in a hut like one of them and behave like one of them. All this I did to befriend them, to gain their trust, and to give us a voice in the city. Gorgons! I have suffered in that demon city but it was worth the sacrifice. The demons hear our voice. Soon, they will welcome us into their houses of stone. Soon, there will be no more work. Soon, there will be fire, and fighting, and all the booze you can drink!¡±


    The crowd cheered wildly. Tyron grinned at the crowd.


    ¡°Gorgons! All this will come to pass. But not yet! We are buying our way into the demon city one bucket of gold at a time. Just a little more work. Just a few more buckets of gold. Until then, let us drink, and fight!¡±


    The giant bear of a man jumped down into the crowd and began making his way across to the seating. As he walked past the buckets holding the harpies he snarled at them, saying ¡°Long have I waited for this day, teacher. I will deal with you myself. Once the fun here is finished I will throw you all, one by one, into that lake of fire. Except you, teacher. Old master. I think I might keep you as a pet. As you once kept me.¡±


    Tyron kicked gravel and spat at the buckets as he made his way to the seats in the middle of the amphitheatre reserved for himself, the big boss, and the guards. The crowd dispersed back to their seats apart from a small group of gorgons who waited by the stage. Bottles of booze were handed out at the end of each row of seating. The gorgons took a swig, then passed it on. Brain walked back with the other joeys and dragged Runt along behind.


    Runt¡¯s head swam with shock. Tyron was a gorgon? He thought back to the signs that, in hindsight, made so much sense. The giant¡¯s ears. He used to say he trimmed them to help him fight, but really he did it to blend in. No one would accept a kennel master with pointy ears. Runt remembered the way he threw rocks so accurately, killing those kingfisher birds, and was reminded of the brutal accuracy of the gorgons in the quarry, hurling rocks at Stripes. He remembered how Tyron reacted to the drop-bear ambush the day Jethro got clawed. He scared it off so effortlessly. As if he was trained to do so. Runt slapped himself on the forehead. Tyron literally slept in a nest of rags! It never occurred to the boy that his master¡¯s bed resembled the nest of sticks and leaves out in the fey-tree clearings. Tyron was a weird born. Why didn¡¯t the teacher say so?


    Up on the stage the first fight was about to begin. A group of gorgons stood on the square of granite and, at the signal, they began to brawl. Fists flew, mouths spat curses, gorgons tumbled. Eventually, only two were left atop the stage. They circled each other. One charged, the other ducked, and the gorgon went flying off the edge. The crowd roared its approval.


    A bottle of booze made its way along their row, too, and Runt watched as each joey, including Brain, took a swig. The bottle was passed to Runt. Gingerly, he lifted the bottle up and pretended to take a sip. Brain leaned over and tipped the bottle back causing a large glug of booze to slide down Runt¡¯s throat. It burned like liquid fire. Runt coughed and his eyes watered. His head immediately began to spin.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to need it,¡± Brain said, grimly, ¡°it makes it hurt less when we fight.¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to fight?¡± Runt replied. Brain looked at him sadly.


    ¡°We¡¯re gorgons. It¡¯s what we do.¡±


    The victorious gorgon stood on the stage, huffing and puffing, with its arms held high. Runt recognised the creature. It was Bruiser, the gorgon unceremoniously flogged by the big boss for complaining about too much work. That fight seemed like a lifetime ago to Runt, now. Several large gorgons from the boss¡¯s group climbed onto the stage, each carrying a reward. The first gorgon handed over a bottle of booze. Bruiser took a giant swig from the bottle and held it up, nodding.


    The second gorgon carried a large sack. Runt recognised the crude sack from Gunther¡¯s booze cart. The sack was held open and Bruiser, looking inside intently, reached in and pulled out a threadbare scarf. The gorgon frowned and held the scarf up inquisitively, before wrapping it around its waist. The crowd clapped in approval at this gesture. A third gorgon carried a flat sheet of hammered gold. They stood the mirror up and Bruiser twisted from side to side, admiring how the scarf looked around their waist in the reflection of the golden mirror. Runt saw a gorgon in the next row turn to its neighbour and grunt ¡°Bruiser look great! Bruiser fit right in with demon when gorgon move to city.¡±


    Finally, a fourth gorgon carried a barrel. A sickly yellow glow spilled out as the lid was opened, illuminating the gorgons standing around it. Bruiser¡¯s mouth opened wide to accept a large spoonful of yellowcake. Runt had seen the effects of yellowcake once before when a gorgon ate a tiny amount of powder in the mine. This was a much larger amount. Bruiser¡¯s back arched, its eyes blazed with a yellow flame, and the gorgon screamed so loud that the entire crowd fell silent for a second. The scream continued as the gorgon fell to its hands and knees. It began sucking in huge gasps of air and, with each breath, its body seemed to swell. When Bruiser stood up again, Runt could have sworn the gorgon had grown a head taller.


    The crowd cheered wildly, now, chanting Bruiser¡¯s name. The gorgon leaped down from the stage and marched towards a boulder jutting out of the gravel on the beach. As the crowd continued to chant Bruiser began bashing the boulder with its bare hands. Shards flew as the gorgon pulverised the rock until there was nothing left. The gorgon held its fists up to the crowd and soaked up their cheers. Bruiser then walked up to the centre of the amphitheatre and was welcomed by Tyron and the guards with handshakes, backslaps, and banter. Another guard had joined their ranks.


    ¡°Bruiser¡¯s lucky,¡± Brain said softly, looking sad, ¡°born big, born strong, good at fighting, and popular. Bruiser¡¯s one of the Tyrant¡¯s guards, now. They¡¯ll have the best of everything when we move to the city.¡±


    Another fight commenced, with the same outcome. The victorious gorgon received its awards. This time, the gorgon drew a tattered looking skirt out of the sack. Runt watched with grim amusement as the gorgon pulled the skirt over its head and wore the skirt around its neck. It too, was fed yellowcake, with the same terrifying result, and it joined Bruiser in the central seating with the guards. Another fight commenced. And another.


    Runt felt a tingling warmth spread across his body. The feeling started in the pit of his stomach and blossomed out to his fingertips, down to his toes, and across his blushing cheeks. He relaxed back into his seat and giggled to himself. Suddenly, the smog didn¡¯t sting his eyes so much. His muscles stopped aching. His breathing became easier.


    Runt didn¡¯t pause the next time the bottle of booze made its way across their row. He took a swig without hesitating. It didn¡¯t burn as much going down the second time. His head felt light. In fact, his whole body felt lighter. He felt so light that, if he jumped, he just might sail up to the roof of the chamber, like the harpies soaring on the updrafts of the fey-trees.


    Runt looked back down to the buckets, each with a trapped harpy inside, and his eyes welled with tears. He clenched his fists. At the next chance, he would tip those rocks off the buckets. He¡¯d free the harpies and get the hell out of this place. He looked across to where Tyron sat. It took Runt a while to spot the giant. He was forced to squint a little. It felt like someone was rocking the seat back and forth, too. Runt¡¯s fingernails bit into his skin when he finally spotted his old master. ¡°This is all that man¡¯s fault, somehow,¡± Runt thought, clenching his jaw, ¡°and he¡¯s going to pay for it.¡±


    Runt found himself being dragged to his feet to the laughter and cheering of the crowd. It was the joeys¡¯ turn to fight.

 Chapter 49: The sacrifice

    The sacrifice


    Runt stumbled down the stairs behind Brain. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they marched towards the stage. Runt looked up to the stage, across to the joeys, and back to Brain. They approached the buckets, just off to their right, and Runt felt his heart surge in his chest.


    ¡°Brain, listen, you don¡¯t have to do this. You don¡¯t have to fight just because the others do. You¡¯re different to them. We can get out of here, somehow. We¡¯ll run. I¡¯m sure we¡¯re fast enough. I want you to come with me. I¡¯ll show you what it¡¯s like on the outside.¡± Runt said.


    ¡°We are going to the Outside,¡± Brain replied, ¡°as a group. When it¡¯s safe. Once the work is done. Not before. You heard what the Tyrant said. It¡¯s The Plan. We¡¯re moving into the demons¡¯ city once we¡¯ve mined enough gold.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe the Tyrant. I¡¯ve known him a long time. What he said before, it wasn¡¯t all true. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trying to tell you. Adults tell lies. Some of them can¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    ¡°The tyrant couldn¡¯t lie about The Plan. We¡¯re moving to the city once the work is done.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, Brain. Something¡¯s not right. The city people don¡¯t even know gorgons exist. They¡¯re certainly not building houses for you. I just don¡¯t understand what Tyron¡¯s up to!¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask the Tyrant yourself, Runt. Once you win the fight.¡±


    ¡°Win? I¡¯m not going to win. I¡¯m not even going to fight.¡±


    ¡°Hur hur. Everyone. Listen! Runt gonna win fight.¡± Biff jeered. A few of the other gorgons laughed. The large joey fell into step beside them as they approached the stage.


    ¡°Biff gonna win, not Runt.¡± The joey said, staring at Runt intensely. Biff¡¯s eyes flicked to Brain, briefly.


    ¡°I gonna bash your head in, Brain. Till you dumb again. But you, Runt,¡± the large joey said, leaning in close enough that Runt could smell the booze on its breath, ¡°I gonna chuck you in the Sun Lake. You gonna fry, little Runt. You gonna burn like a pile of stick and nobody can stop it.¡±


    Time seemed to slow as they approached the stage. Runt¡¯s stomach twisted and he suddenly felt cold, despite standing directly in front of the burning lake. A sheen of sweat broke out over his body. At the signal, everyone scrambled up onto the flat slab of granite and the brawl began.


    The fight nearly ended for Runt in the first seconds atop the stage. A nearby joey lined him up and swung a massive roundhouse at his head. Runt leaned back and the fist whistled past his nose. He felt his heel slip on the edge of the platform and only just managed to save himself from falling. The joey charged at him. Runt dived to one side and heard the young gorgon cry out as it plunged down to the gravel beach below. Runt looked up and saw he was safe, for a few seconds, at least.


    A picture suddenly bubbled up and burst in his mind. He was back in the kennels, cowering behind a crate, as Tyron and Gunther once again came to blows. The stablemaster, small though he was, never lost a fight to Tyron. Not once. In fact, Runt suspected Gunther baited Tyron into fighting just for that reason. He got the giant man drunk and angry and then had some fun with him. A weasel against a bear, Tyron was possibly three times heavier than his rival, but equally slow. Gunther just needed to stay out of reach for long enough and Tyron would make a mistake. For Gunther, fighting Tyron was a marathon.


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    Back then, Runt watched without ever thinking he would actually be in such a fight himself. Now, he had no choice.


    A joey approached and Runt pushed himself to his feet. He ducked, dodged, and rolled. He bounced and hopped and darted in both directions. Walking backwards, Runt bumped into another joey and instinctively dropped to the ground. He heard the swish of a fist, and a smack, and the two gorgons tackled each other off the edge.


    Runt panted and shook the sweat off his face. He guessed maybe half the joeys were left, many locked in fierce wrestling. Others circled each other with fists raised. Another joey approached and Runt turned to face them. He felt a vice-like grip clamp around his neck. Suddenly he was dangling in the air.


    ¡°Hur hur. Runt gonna fly like a harpy,¡± Biff gloated, ¡°then splash like a rock. Then burn like a pile of stick. Bye now!¡±


    Biff leaned back and heaved. The air whistled past Runt¡¯s face. His vision was filled with the image of the lake of fire, glowing bright orange, as he rushed towards it. Then, the world spun, and Runt gasped as he slammed onto the stage. He looked up, winded, and saw Brain let go of his leg. Biff roared and ran towards them but was intercepted by another joey and they crashed onto the stage top with limbs flailing.


    ¡°You saved me again,¡± Runt wheezed, ¡°thanks, Brain.¡±


    Brain¡¯s mouth opened to reply but another joey slammed into them and they, too, fell to wrestling on the stage top. Runt staggered to his feet and looked around. Only a few joeys remained on top, now. Runt hobbled away from the group, clutching his stomach, gasping for air. He fell to his knees and vomited over the edge. The guards below laughed and shook their heads. The joeys down there looked up sullenly, some of them nursing a bloody nose or a swollen eye.


    When Runt turned back only Brain and Biff were left. They both approached and the three of them began circling, each keeping their distance.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you Brain, there¡¯s something not right about this. Tyron¡¯s lying. There¡¯s no plan for the gorgons to live in the city. The demons just want the gold. They¡¯re using you.¡± Runt said.


    ¡°It takes a liar to know one, I guess. You should have told me from the start you were from the Outside, Runt. I would have listened. I wouldn¡¯t have told. I want to learn things. I could have learned so much from you. Instead, you lied to me. You acted just like the people you hate.¡±


    ¡°You suck! And you suck! Biff gonna win!¡± Biff roared, and crouched, preparing to launch at Runt.


    ¡°I hope you find the truth, Runt. I hope you¡¯re brave enough to tell me, next time we meet.¡± Brain said, also crouching.


    Biff pounded forwards, intent on smashing Runt into a fine paste. The large joey cried out in shock as Brain crashed into Biff¡¯s side in a suicide tackle. The two gorgon joeys tumbled together off the edge and down onto the gravel beach.


    The crowd roared in approval at Runt¡¯s victory. He looked down below, in a daze, as several gorgons pulled Biff and Brain, still wrestling, apart. He felt a tap on his shoulder and, looking up, one of the guards shoved a bottle into his hand. Another held the sack open. Runt stared inside. The contents were not much better than rags. Some clothes were missing buttons, others were stained, others were ripped or damaged in some way.


    Runt opened his mouth to laugh, or cry, or shout, or maybe just to tell the guards they were being played for fools. He opened his mouth knowing full well that nothing he could say would make a difference. Not even a smart gorgon like Brain could be convinced of the blatant lies. He opened his mouth and gagged as a spoon was shoved in. Runt looked up and saw the guard holding the barrel of yellowcake.

 Chapter 50: Everything turned yellow

    Everything turned yellow


    He attempted to spit but it was too late. The powder formed a sticky paste as it touched his tongue and, try as he might, it wouldn¡¯t come out. Runt¡¯s tongue began to tingle, then itch, then burn. The fire rapidly spread up his nose, out to his ears, and into his brain. The heat sank down his throat, swelled through his lungs, and snaked down through his bowels and out towards his limbs. He heard a high-pitched scream that seemed to last forever, like a kettle left unattended on a stove-top, screaming and hissing and bubbling and spitting and whistling and seething.


    Irritated by the sound, Runt wondered who would leave a kettle unattended like that. So careless. ¡°Someone needs to take that kettle off,¡± he thought, ¡°before it explodes.¡±


    The world turned yellow.


    And froze.


    A lungful of air turned to ash and ice.


    Silence.


    ¡°A statue world,¡± Runt thought, ¡°everything, made of rock.¡±


    Statues stared at him. He stared back. Impossible even to blink. Let alone think. Monsters frozen in an image of life.


    ¡°Rocks, all of us,¡± he thought, ¡°rocks carved by other rocks.¡±


    He saw it, then, like staring at a picture from a million miles away. He saw the beginning of it all. A tiny rock that decided to move, then split, and grew, then split again, until suddenly the earth and oceans boiled with statues that somehow blinked and moved and defied their essential nature of being a rock.


    ¡°Rocks don¡¯t move!¡± Runt tried to shout but, frozen still, he stared, and stared, and stared.


    He saw it, how could he not? He was trapped. Frozen. A statue. He watched the tiny rocks grow. He watched them fight and flee and grow and change and change again. He watched the tiny rocks group, and grow, and grow large. He watched them plot and plan and ponder. He watched them learn and laugh and long for life greater than that granted to those born as rocks and destined to return to the ground, mere rocks once again. He watched them weep, and curse, and rail against the unfairness of being made only to be unmade. He watched them, finally, build vast towers, dig deep tunnels, and carve crude symbols from the stone of which they came.


    He saw it. He saw it all. Every rock, made different, but each one, the same.


    The sound of the kettle returned. At first, just a small sound, like the buzz of a mosquito. But then, growing larger, and louder. The kettle screamed for what seemed like another decade, or perhaps a century, or perhaps a decade of centuries, until Runt understood the scream was his.


    The yellow statue of a gorgon standing in front of him blinked. It took another lifetime, the eyelids gradually descending, staying shut for another hundred years, before slowly lifting up again.


    Then, drib by drab, the brilliant yellows faded and Runt could see again. The guard looked up at him, mouth agape. Runt pushed it aside. Another gorgon grabbed Runt by the arm. He looked down at it, lifted his arm to look at it. The creature grunted and gasped as Runt shook his arm and flicked it off. He became aware of yelling, the sound swelling and crashing and washing over him like frothing waves of hatred and fear.


    Another gorgon leaped in front of him, arms out, growling up at him with teeth bared and a fearsome glare. Runt brushed it away. Movement occurred slowly, like walking through honey, and Runt nodded to himself.


    ¡°I¡¯m stuck inside a beehive wading through the honey,¡± he thought, ¡°and that¡¯s why everything¡¯s yellow and slow.¡±


    He heard a yell from behind and he turned. Slowly, of course. The air was made of honey.


    Tyron stood there, grinning.


    Runt balled his hand into a fist and raised it above his head. He moved towards the monster of a man. Tyron raised his fist, too, and they advanced on each other.


    Runt felt something brush against his face. He turned to see a gorgon, yellow eyes blazing, looking up at him with fear in its eyes. It swung its other fist into Runt¡¯s stomach. Runt looked down as the blow bounced off and, almost without thinking, he swept his hand up and across the gorgon¡¯s face, sending it flying off the stage.


    He turned back towards Tyron only for his vision to be obscured by two hairy arms grabbing him from behind. Runt bent over and watched the gorgon slam onto the rocky surface. The sounds of the cavern became sharper, the yellows faded more, the honey treacle air began to thin. Three more gorgons advanced, each looking to the other to strike first. Runt roared down at them and lashed out. Suddenly all three were on the ground.


    He spun around, breathing heavily, to face Tyron. His old master glared at him, chest heaving, blood and sweat dripping off his face. Runt heard Tyron¡¯s voice, yelling and laughing, but something was wrong. The voice came from far off, to his left, somewhere out in the wilderness of the amphitheatre, not here, not in front of him.


    ¡°That¡¯s my boy!¡± Tyron yelled, laughing again. ¡°That¡¯s my boy!¡±


    Runt lifted his hand to wipe the blood out of his eyes and watched, in horror, as the thing in front of him copied his every movement. Tyron walked forwards, towards him, as he did, and they both reached out together until their fingertips touched.


    The mirror tipped back and clattered to the ground.


    He was alone.


    Runt looked down at the sausage sized fingers of his hands. He flexed them into fists and marvelled at the way the muscles rippled and bulged up his arms. Ignoring the shouts and curses from below he turned, walking past sad piles of fur and broken bodies at his feet, and stomped over to the barrel of yellowcake. He picked it up and stared into the depths of the barrel.


    ¡°I could take this,¡± Runt thought slowly, ¡°I could take this barrel and use it to fix everything. People will listen to me now. They can¡¯t ignore me, not like this. They will listen to me!¡±


    He looked up to the crowd and laughed at their faces twisted into hatred and fear.


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    ¡°Now you will listen to me!¡± he shouted, but his mind was a blank slate. ¡°You will listen to me!¡± He shouted again, but he had nothing further to say. All his thoughts, fears, and hopes were wiped clean. There was only power. Looking across, towards the stand, he saw Tyron and the guards advancing and hatred blossomed in Runt¡¯s chest.


    ¡°You!¡± Runt roared at his old master. ¡°Now you will listen to me!¡±


    Tyron laughed again and shouted back ¡°Your body might be bigger, Runt, but your heart¡¯s still the same size. Small and weak, like you. Once a runt, always a runt. Stay there and let me show you.¡±


    Runt looked down at the barrel again. The yellowcake glittered and gleamed. It whispered to him. It spoke in the way the wind speaks. It hissed and cackled and promised great things.


    ¡°Eat more,¡± it grated, ¡°eat all of it. Eat every last scrap. Nothing will stop you, then. You will become like a god to them, and, like a god, you could do as you please. Command them. Devour them. Throw each of them, one by one, into the lake. Anything you want. But first, you need to eat the rest of it.¡±


    Runt hesitated. ¡°The harpies,¡± he thought, ¡°the harpies would thank me for it. If I finished the war. They would be grateful. I¡¯ll tell them what I¡¯ve done, when it¡¯s over, when I return. I¡¯ll do it for them. The harpies. The harpies will be grateful.¡±


    This last thought, of the harpies, bounced around in his head while he stared into the depths of the barrel. Images bubbled and burst, of Patch, of the teacher, of harpies soaring through the sky, hanging from branches, snuggled in their nests, singing and sleeping and flying and leaping and Runt snapped awake and looked around. He shook his head and trembled violently. He suddenly felt incredibly ancient and worn out. As if he had remained awake for a billion years without blinking.


    He blinked.


    ¡°The harpies are under those buckets, over there,¡± he thought to himself, and suddenly the yellowcake was just a strange, glowing powder again. It was silent.


    In a single leap, Runt soared off the stage and over the heads of the crowd milling around the base. He landed in a crouch, steadying himself with one arm, still cradling the barrel under the other, and dashed down the line of buckets, slapping the rocks off them one by one. Runt nearly cried when Patch emerged from under the last bucket, looking ragged and beaten and worn out.


    ¡°Patch!¡± he shouted, and bent down to hug the tiny creature. Patch looked up in fear, and scurried back several paces.


    ¡°Patch, it¡¯s me, Runt!¡± he said, and tried to say more but the words stuck in his throat.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost? Is that you?¡± The teacher said, hobbling across to them. The ancient harpy froze when it saw the barrel of yellowcake, and then raised a trembling finger to point at it.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost! You should get rid of that. Right now.¡± The teacher said, in a shaky voice.


    ¡°But teacher, it¡¯s amazing. It¡¯s made me strong! We can win the war with this stuff.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s poison! Throw it away!¡± The teacher yelled, and then the teacher, too, staggered back fearfully at the face Runt made, and at the way he suddenly clutched the barrel to his chest.


    ¡°Runt?¡± Patch said, eyes brimming with tears. ¡°When I asked the trees if you were going to save us, I didn¡¯t mean just the harpies. I meant us. Us and the gorgons. All of us. The trees thought you were going to save all of us. They didn¡¯t say you were going to kill all the gorgons just to save the harpies. I don¡¯t know, anymore. Maybe the trees were wrong. Maybe you have to do it. But, Runt, can we please go home? I¡¯m tired and hungry and I miss my trees.¡±


    Runt hesitated and looked down into the barrel. It almost seemed to vibrate in his grip with a hidden power. He grasped it more tightly and stared. Runt saw a shape emerge as he gazed into the depths of the glittering yellow powder. A face. The face of his old master, Tyron. Runt blinked, shook his head, and with a sinking heart he realised it was merely a reflection from the tiny crystalline surfaces. The face was his own.


    Runt looked up to see all the harpies, now, crowded around him with eyes full of concern. He forced himself to smile, shrugged, and threw the barrel over his shoulder. It splashed into the lake and quickly sank into the fiery depths. The teacher¡¯s eyes widened in fear.


    ¡°Wolf-ghost? That, ah, that wasn¡¯t wise. I mean, good job throwing away the awful stuff, but ¨C ¡°


    The teacher was cut off by a loud clap of thunder. It was the first sign of what was to come. Turning, Runt saw the lake begin to seethe and boil. A giant bubble the width of the entire lake rose up and burst causing another thunderous belch of sound to echo across the chamber.


    ¡°RUN!¡± The teacher shouted.


    Runt scooped up several harpies and the others climbed onto his back. He sprinted towards the nearest track leading up and out the cavern. They ran past the hive and, down below, Runt caught a glimpse of the lake. It boiled with an ever-increasing fury. The orange glow was replaced by a brilliant bright yellow as the lava churned and swirled.


    ¡°Fly harpies, fly!¡± The teacher yelled and, one by one, each of them leaped out over the lake. Runt gasped and tried to catch one but then saw how, with the furious updraft of gas and heat, they spiralled up and up as if they were flying on the pollen gust of a fey-tree. Soon only the teacher, with its damaged wing, remained. A loud explosion rocked the chamber and lava splattered around them. Runt felt a blob of it slap against his face and, suddenly, he was burning. Desperately, he beat out the flames and retreated towards the safety of the hive.


    ¡°No, not that way. We¡¯ll be trapped.¡± The teacher hissed. ¡°We need to go up.¡±


    ¡°Neither of us can fly, teacher,¡± Runt said, and grimaced at the feeling of his scorched face.


    ¡°Look at those legs you¡¯ve grown, Wolf-ghost. Jump!¡±


    Runt looked up and saw another ledge, above them. He crouched and prepared to leap but then paused. The teacher looked to him fearfully.


    ¡°You have to tell me first, teacher! I need to know what I did was right!¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about, Wolf-ghost?¡± The teacher yelled. Another giant bubble of lava rose up and the clap of thunder as it burst was nearly deafening.


    ¡°The picture, teacher! It showed harpies killing gorgon joeys. Did that really happen?¡±


    ¡°Wolf-ghost! There¡¯s no time. I can explain later!¡±


    ¡°You will tell me now!¡± Runt yelled, and his voice was so loud it drowned out the noise of the eruptions for the briefest moment.


    The teacher looked away sadly. ¡°I was there,¡± the teacher began, ¡°I saw it happen. It was harpy magic gone wrong. Made by the teacher who taught me. A group of eggs were destroyed. Not just gorgon eggs!¡± The teacher quickly added, as Runt sucked in a huge breath. ¡°But harpies, too. It was a mistake. The magic failed. The gorgon and harpy eggs all perished together. It was a terrible accident. Unfortunately, a gorgon saw what happened, saw the eggs perish, and did not understand. They assumed we were trying to eliminate the gorgons.¡±


    ¡°Why? Why did the teacher do it? Why use magic on the eggs in the first place?¡± Runt asked, as another blast shook the chamber. The entire platform began to tremble and sink.


    ¡°Out of desperation, Wolf-ghost. Out of fear. The teacher tried to make the eggs stronger. To make harpies and gorgons that could stand up to the power of the demons. But it failed. It should never have happened.¡± The teacher said, shaking their head.


    ¡°No, it shouldn¡¯t have happened. None of this should have happened. But it did. All we can do is try to fix it.¡± Runt replied, and, with a yell, he leaped upwards with all his might. They landed safely on the next platform. Runt looked up, saw another ledge, and leaped again. And again. And again.


    All the while, the cavern shook, and the lake roared. Rocks tumbled. Tunnels collapsed. Huge gusts of heat, fire and gas belched upward now. Runt leaped again and, with a cry of relief, he saw the tunnel that led to the quarry. The last leg of the journey was a maddening sprint against all hope of living. Cracks appeared in the tunnel as he ran. Dust and rocks rained down. He saw the harpies, at the end of the tunnel, looking back in fear. The way was shut. With the last of his strength, Runt leaned up against the rocks guarding the exit and heaved.


    The sound of the rocks, as they grated against the earth, reminded him of stone teeth grinding against stone.

 Chapter 51: The end?

    The end?


    The teacher sat on a branch in the great fey-tree¡¯s uppermost canopy and stared out towards the horizon. Runt sat nearby with his legs wrapped around the limb. He would never truly get used to being this high up. Even years later, when the next generation of young harpy joeys began climbing and leaping over him, and following him across the wild lands, and begging him every night to sit up in the tree with them and tell his story of the times of trouble between harpies and gorgons, even then Runt would wrap his legs around the limb and try not to look down.


    He did look down now, though, and smiled. Stripes was stalking again. Runt¡¯s dog crept along with ears pricked and tail erect before pouncing on the wolf. Runt laughed at the two of them play fighting and then sighed.


    ¡°I thought he was gone, teacher.¡± Runt said, glancing up for a second. The teacher continued to stare out at the horizon, looking content.


    ¡°When he didn¡¯t show up after the first day or two, I thought he was gone. Dead, I guessed. Or just gone. Gone and found a new home. And he has, in a way.¡±


    Stripes splashed out into the lake and the wolf followed. Runt smiled and sighed again. They were off hunting and wouldn¡¯t be back for hours. It was like this every night, on dusk.


    ¡°The wolf-dog is happy. He found where he belongs.¡± The teacher replied, looking to Runt for the briefest moment before turning back to the horizon.


    ¡°Teacher? I need to ask you something.¡± Runt said, gently. The teacher sighed, guessing the question, and fearing to answer.


    ¡°I need to know what I am. Why I can turn invisible. Why the gorgons and even some harpies assumed I was a gorgon. And why I grew large when I ate that yellowcake. I need to know what¡¯s inside of me that makes those things happen.¡±


    Runt looked down at his hands. They were a normal size again. The process of returning to normal, though, still haunted him. It had not been pleasant.


    The teacher turned to Runt and stared at him before speaking.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need me to tell you what you are. Just like you don¡¯t need me to tell you who you are. Those are things you find out for yourself. So tell me, who are you? Are you Runt? Are you Wolf-ghost? A demon? A gorgon? A weird born? Or are you someone else?¡±


    It was Runt¡¯s turn to stare out to the horizon. The sun was beginning to set.


    ¡°That¡¯s my boy.¡± Runt thought to himself. ¡°Maybe Tyron did mean it, after all. He called me his boy. Me. For the second time in my whole life. His boy. It was my secret name. I¡¯ve always just wanted to know where I belong. But what if I really do belong to him? Would I be better off not knowing?¡±


    The teacher watched Runt stare at the horizon for some time before speaking.


    ¡°It is not an easy question. Some of us never truly reach the answer. But that¡¯s alright. We walk this earth, each day learning something new about ourselves. We are who we are.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Runt nodded and pulled the long sliver of rock out of his pouch. He never did find his spear again, or the drop-bear claw, or his cloak. None of that mattered, though. He would make a new spear. He would find another claw. And there were more skins to be reclaimed. There was much more work to be done.


    Using the sliver of rock, Runt began cutting away the rest of the singed hair from the side of his head. He was lucky. If not for his tremendous mop of hair the lava may have burnt his face to the bone. Instead, his hair took most of the damage. Runt cropped it short on one side until all the damaged hair was gone and then, to even things up, he used the stone knife to cut away the hair on the other side.


    He left the hair long on top but brushed it back. ¡°No more hiding my face,¡± Runt thought to himself, ¡°but I¡¯m leaving the top long. The demons will hate this hair cut when they see me next. And that¡¯s kind of the point. I hope they hate it a lot when they first see it. But they¡¯ll get used to it. They¡¯ll have to. To them, I¡¯ll be the Wolf-ghost, the Wild Boy. The thing they cannot tame.¡±


    Patch appeared, yawning and stretching. Dusk accelerated towards night now.


    ¡°Cool haircut, Runt,¡± the little harpy said, ¡°it really makes your ears stand out.¡±


    The three of them sat in the uppermost branches watching the sunset flood across the forest. Fey-trees lit up within the red glow and, soon enough, the spirit of the dragon began erupting across the Wilds. Runt reached up and felt his ears. They didn¡¯t feel any different, which is to say, they felt like they always had. Still, looking at the three of them from behind, as their bodies became dark silhouettes against the blazing red skies of sunset, there was no difference between the three pairs of ears. Runt¡¯s ears pointed sharply, like each of the harpies next to him. He didn¡¯t think they were ugly anymore. Just different.


    ¡°We are who we are.¡± Runt whispered, looking out towards the horizon.


    The dragon¡¯s head was no more. The calamity in the heart of that mountain led to its collapse. Humans bolted out of bed at the terrible sound but, in the dead of night, they simply locked their doors tighter, crept back to bed, and hoped to live until dawn. The next morning, the riders who made it there first wheeled their horses around and raced back to the city to report what they saw.


    Where once a giant, twisted mountain stood in the shape of a dragon¡¯s head, now only a pile of rubble remained. The quarry was destroyed, the lake of tears and the dragon¡¯s crystal eye, vanished. No longer did sailors need to navigate beneath the Drake¡¯s maw. No more stories were told of the dragon swallowing its tail. The dragon was beheaded.


    Most importantly, the war-hungry gorgons, and their vast caverns, and their violent magic, were buried and gone. No sign of them could be found in the days and weeks that followed.


    Now, on dusk, with the head destroyed, the light of sunset flooded across a much larger area than before. The fey-trees soaked it up, stored its energy, and released their pollen high into the air. Harpies flew the loop, collected the pollen, and the bellies of the old ones grew fat with the eggs of the next generation. Meanwhile, the grating rumble of gorgon joeys chewing wood contentedly beneath the bark of the fey-tree continued throughout each and every day and the glowing harpy grubs shone brightly each and every night. Runt would stay until every last one of them was born. And after that, who knew?


    The three of them sat there and watched. The teacher, and two young teachers in training. They watched harpies flying the loop and were pleased. There was a chance. There was hope. A fragile balance had been restored. It was up to them, now, to ensure that balance remained.


    The three of them sat, and watched, and mourned for friends lost along the way. Now was a time for birth, and growth, and the finding of new friends. Now was a time for making things right. There was work to be done.


    Runt looked away from the fey-trees and up towards the glowing lights of the city. Yes, the Wild Boy thought grimly. There was work to be done.


    The old ways were lost. The old stories, forgotten. That is why no one even raised an eyebrow when, months later, orange smoke once again started wafting out of the rubble and ruins of the dragon¡¯s head. Humans, with their short and fickle memories, assumed it had always been that way.


    THE END?