The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

“Earth and water, wind and fire,

Speak to me as I desire.

Take mine eyes beyond this place,

Show to me each stranger’s face.

Spirits of the deep and dark,

This Razan hath served thee true,

Open up their hearts to me,

Say what secrets I may see,

I who bind my life to you!”

She sat awhile, contemplating the skull and its surrounding jumble of rocks and bone, her eyes closed, swaying slightly. Then Maguda Razan emitted a low moan, building up into a shriek like that of a stricken animal. It echoed round the bowels of the mountain and its caves, bringing Razan tribal members, both male and female. They halted at the cavern entrance, watching fearfully as Maguda arose from the steps where she had fallen from her throne. There was vexation and rage in her voice as she screeched at them.

“Go, all of ye! Seek out those who were imprisoned at Veron. Capture them, the two boys, one dark, one fair, the girl and the black dog. Bring them back here to me, I command ye!”

Staggering back up to the throne, she seated herself, waiting until the clatter of departing feet retreated into silence. Petulance and ill temper showed in her sneer. Unable to bear looking upon her equipment of sorcery, Maguda swept it away. Skull, stones and bones tumbled down the stairs. Landing upright, the skull lay grinning sightlessly up at her. Maguda spat at it. Her vision had been thwarted. She had been granted a glimpse of the Flying Dutchman —but only a glimpse. The sight of evil she delighted revelling in had been cut short. The fair-skinned boy, he who owned the black dog—she would see all of the Dutchman in his eyes. Maguda Razan quivered with anticipation. She would bring the boy under her power when she had him alone, and then … then.

Rain began falling from an overcast sky on the afternoon of the fair’s end. Folk began packing up stalls and wares to leave early before a downpour set in. Hidden beneath hooded cloaks and equipped with packs of food, Ben and his friends stood at the grilled gate by the tunnel door.

Comte Vincente Bregon gave Ned a final pat, and kissed Karay’s cheek and embraced the two boys. “Go now, young friends, this rain will provide cover for you. Garath, take them as far as the gates—you know what to do. Nobody must know you were my guests and not prisoners. Let us hope when we meet again the sun will be shining and we will be smiling. May the Lord protect and keep you from harm!”

Not many people lingered to see them marched to the gates by the good blacksmith, though the few who were witness to the scene saw Garath crack his whip over the heads of the freed prisoners and warn them sternly, “Gypsies, thieves, be off with you! Thank your lucky stars my master was in a lenient mood. Go on, get out of Veron! If you are ever seen within the walls again, you will be tied to a cart and whipped all the way to the Spanish border!”

Ned barked as Garath cracked the whip several times, then the big black dog hurried out of the village in the wake of his companions.

Ben squinted his eyes against the increasing rain as he looked toward the mountains. “We’d best cut off southeast through the forested slopes. It’ll give us some protection from this weather!”

Thunder rumbled in the distance as they squelched off across the grassy slopes outside the walls of Veron. Dominic looked back at the remainder of the market traders setting off in other ways to go to their homes.

Karay called out to him, “Come on, Facemaker, keep up! Don’t be lagging behind!”

As he caught up with the others, the girl gave him a scathing glance. “What were you gaping at those bumpkins for—fresh faces to sketch? You might as well draw pictures of turnips as of those tight-fisted clods!”

Dominic noticed that Ned was watching the departing traders, too. “You’d do well to take a lesson from Ned and me. Take a peek at those folk yourself, see how many are watching us, and then tell me: How many of them are ordinary people, and how many are Razan spies, watching which way we’re headed?”

Ned passed Ben a thought. “Wide awake, mate, that’s me and Dominic. Bet you never thought of that!”

Ben answered his friend’s message aloud. “Good thinking, Dominic. Perhaps we’d best go another way, just to mislead them.”

On Ben’s advice, they cut off at a tangent that led away from the forested mountain foothills. It was late afternoon before the coast was clear. Lightning flashes lit the gloomy landscape, and thunder boomed closer, as Karay halted at a swollen stream that threaded its way out of the woods and the high country.

“I don’t know if we’d leave much trail in the rain, but no one would be able to track us through running water. Let’s wade through this stream, up into the woods.”

The three friends went knee-deep in the icy cold waters, holding hands to stay upright.

Ned followed, grumbling thoughtfully. “Huh, rained on from above and soaked from below. I’ve seen better days for trekking. At least the rain forests in South America were warm. What d’you say, mate?”

Ben gripped the black Labrador’s collar, assisting him. “Aye, nice muddy rivers full of snakes, with all manner of insects biting and stinging and tickling. Piranha fish, too, oh for the good old days. Would you trade them for this?”

Ned looked mournfully up at his friend. “Point taken!”

At twilight, hauling themselves gratefully out of the stream, they entered the trees. Karay sat down and examined her feet. “Just look at these toes, they’re blue and numb from the cold, and wrinkled like raisins!”

Dominic chuckled. “Well, it was your idea. Up you come m’lady, let’s find somewhere warm and dry. Steady on, Ned, d’you have to shake yourself all over us?”

Ned actually winked at Ben. “Bet you wish you could dry yourself like this. Us hairy old dogs have an advantage over you pale, thin-skinned humans. Superior breeding, y’know.”

Ben tweaked his dog’s ear. “Oh, I see, then I don’t suppose a superior creature like you will bother sitting around a warm fire—built by us measly humans of course?”

Apart from the constant spatter of rainfall on the treetop canopy, the forest was silent and depressingly gloomy, thickly carpeted in loam and pine needles. Hardly any rain penetrated the arboreal thickness. It was Ned who found a good spot to make camp for the night. He bounded off through the trees and returned with his tongue lolling as he passed on the message to Ben. “Haha, at least we’ll be dry until morning, I’ve found a great place! Follow me, oh weakly fellow, I’ll show you. Oh, and if you humans make a fire, I may do you the honour of sitting by it.”

It was a deep cleft in a big rocky outcrop. Ben patted his dog affectionately. “Well done, mate. It’s practically a cave!”

Dominic found some dry, dead pine needles, and setting flint to the steel of his knife, he coaxed a fire into life by blowing gently on the tinder. He peered at the rock walls. “Artists were here long before us. Look!”

Crude representations of dancing people were drawn upon the rough rock walls in black, red and ochre, stick-legged men, women and children dancing around what appeared to be a fire.

Karay piled dead wood on the flames, commenting, “I saw a cave like this once, in the D’Aubrac Mountains. A gypsy woman said the drawings were more than a thousand years old, done by tribes who were shepherds and charcoal burners. They used to live in places like these.”

As evidence they found a heap of charcoal at the cave’s narrow end. Ben and Karay piled it on the fire. It gave out a good heat and glow once it began burning. Dominic spread their cloaks on nearby rocks to dry out. Warmth seeped through their bodies, steam rising from their hair. Ben opened one of the sacks and doled out bread, smoked ham and cheese, and also a flask of pale wine laced with water.