The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Night closed in around the four figures crouched around their fire on the bleak mountainside. The bracken did not last long, as it was brittle and burned quickly.

Dominic tossed his toasting twig into the embers. “We’re in for a cold night. ‘Tis a pity there isn’t any wood hereabouts—all the forestland’s far below us now.”

Karay shivered. “My back is freezing. That wind seems to go right through these cloaks!”

Ben rose and trampled the fire embers flat, until the spot was just a warm patch of ground. “There’s nothing more to burn, mates, so let’s sit on the ground with our backs against the rock. It might help a bit.”

When they had settled themselves and huddled together, Ned climbed over Ben and lay in front of Karay. “There! That’ll keep her warm. Ben, I can hear somebody coming this way. Quick, tell our pals to duck under the cloaks and keep very still!”

Ben whispered to the other two, “Someone’s coming. Let’s throw the cloaks over our heads and keep quiet!”

Ned shuffled back and got under the front of Karay’s cloak. A moment later, the tap of a staff end hitting the rock became audible. Ned had been right—someone was coming. Ben peeked through an open fold of his cloak, covering his mouth so that his breath would not mist out into the open.

It was an old woman, bent almost double—whether it was from old age or the heavy jumble of tattered shawls, scarves and blankets draped across her back, Ben could only guess. She leaned for support on a tall pole from which the bark had been peeled, making the wood appear stark white. She halted not far from where the travellers lay hidden, then slowly she turned until she was facing them.

Ben caught his breath, then immediately relaxed. The old crone was blind. She wore a dark strip of cloth bound about her eyes. He caught Ned’s thought. “She can’t see us, mate, though I’ve never seen a woman who looked more like a witch in my life!”

Ben stared at the old one. He had to agree with the dog: her face was like a bundled-up and creased parchment with hairs sprouting from odd bumps all over it. Above her shrunken, toothless mouth a hooked nose practically touched an uptilted chin. Truly the image of a witch. When she spoke, her voice was wheezy and shrill. “Are ye friend or enemy?”

They kept silent, scarcely daring to breathe. She swung the staff. Ben felt the whoosh of air as it whipped by, inches from his face.

The hag took a pace forward, calling out, “I am Gizal, friend of the Razan. I know ye are there. Speak.”

The friends held their silence. Gizal cackled nastily. “A touch of my staff can turn folk into bats, toads or worms. So, my children, if ye speak not, I will cast a great spell on thee. ‘Tis the last chance I’ll give you. Now speak!”

Dominic felt Karay’s hand grasp his beneath the cloaks. The hag took another pace forward and grasped the staff tight in both her clawlike hands, swinging out as hard as she could. Thock! The wooden pole struck the rock, sending a shock through the hag’s body and stinging her hands into numbness. She fell backward, letting go of the staff and wailing with pain. “Nnnnnyyyaaahhh! Yeeeeeeehhh!”

Ben clasped his hand over those of Dominic and Karay, urging them to remain quiet.

Gizal rolled about, clutching her clenched fists to her mouth in agony and making a noise as if she were humming. “Mmmmmmmm!”

After a while she pulled herself up onto her knees and started crawling about, arms outstretched as she searched for her fallen staff. It had dropped between Ben and Karay, one end up against the rock, the other end on the ground. Gizal blundered forward, her hands grasping the air as she came closer to them. Ned took a chance. Poking his head from the cloak, he butted the pole outward. It toppled, striking the old woman’s shoulder. Instinctively she grabbed it. Slowly she hauled herself upright, hissing viciously through her shrivelled lips.

“I curse thee to the pit of Eblis and the fires of the damned! Ravens shall pick over thy bones and maggots devour thy flesh whilst thou art still alive and praying for death!”

She shuffled laboriously off into the night, still muttering the direst of curses and predicting unthinkable ends for the four companions.

They waited quite a while before anyone ventured to speak. It was Ben who finally broke the silence. “Whew! She’s got a very nasty mouth on her for an old lady.”

Karay sounded nervous. “She looked just like a witch— maybe she can really curse folk.”

Dominic laughed. “You don’t believe in all that old rubbish, do you? Huh, I wish we had some of those hellfires she was raving about here right now. At least we could get warm from them, eh, Ben?”

The boy stood up, stamping life back into his cold feet. ‘Aye, right, Dom. Don’t worry about some old biddy’s curses, Karay. I’ve been cursed at much worse than that, and look, I’m still here. Ned, too!”

The dog’s thoughts cut in on Ben. “We may be here, but I think we’d be better off somewhere else. That old Gizal is bound to run into the Razan gang up ahead. No matter how quiet we kept, she knew we were here. If she tells the Razan, I’ll bet they’ll send men to search us out. I don’t think they take kindly to being followed.”

Ben mentally thanked Ned and suggested to his friends that they needed to find somewhere else for the remainder of the night. They broke camp hurriedly.

Further up the mountain, Ligran Razan sat beneath a canvas awning, cooking goat meat over a fire and listening to Gizal’s story. He gave her wine and a few of the roasted goat ribs to pick on as he weighed the situation. Gizal was respected among the Razan hierarchy—it was not considered wise to ignore her words. Ligran kicked out at a man lounging nearby. “Rouge, you an’ Domba take Gurz. Track back down the mountain an’ see if ye can capture whoever ‘twas hidin’ out there.”

Gizal butted in. “There’d be two, mayhap three, and a dog. I’m sure I could smell dog. Look ye for young ones, their breathing was gentle, not noisy like grown folk.”

Rouge, a big redheaded ruffian, clasped the chain to the mastiff’s collar. “Gurz’ll sniff ‘em out, never fret, Gizal. Me an’ Domba will give the brats a good slappin’ before we drag ‘em back here. If they’ve got a dog, so much the better, look at Gurz there. Eh, boy, ‘tis a long time since you had a whole dog to yerself for dinner, eh?”

Domba jerked the lead, coaxing a snarl from the big ugly mastiff. Both men picked up their long knives and set off, with Gurz sniffing noisily at the ground as he tugged them along.

Gizal gulped wine greedily, falling into a fit of coughing before she turned her face to Ligran. “So then, how is thy bear behaving himself on his way home?”

Ligran took a burning piece of pinewood from the fire. He threw it at the bear, who was bound to a rock by iron chains. The animal gave a frightened moan as the burning wood bounced off its paw.

Ligran chuckled. “I’ve a feeling ye took all the runnin’ out o’ that one. I’m teaching him to dance now. Maguda will enjoy that—she’s never had a dancin’ bear to amuse her.”

21

BEN KNEW HE HAD PICKED THE WRONG direction to search for a camp. The path he had chosen narrowed as it rose. Now they were on a high ledge. Above them was only the cold night sky. At their backs was smooth rock towering upward. With his back against the rock, Ben saw only space and a stomach-churning drop to the forest below if they missed a single footing. Spreading his arms wide against the rock face, he touched Dominic’s fingers. “Maybe we’d better go back and look in a different direction?”

The facemaker inched forward until he was clasping Ben’s hand. “No, press on. I think we’ll find someplace up ahead, maybe a cave or a deep rift. Don’t look down, though, just keep your face level with the side of these rocks, and don’t try to walk. Shuffle sideways—not too fast, nice and easy does it.”