The Hounds of the Morrigan (42 page)

Following Findepath, four more hounds came into sight. They plunged into drifts near the trees, half-sinking. Cooroo didn’t as much as twitch. The forest seemed alive with the sounds of the horses’ hooves although in truth, they were very muffled. And then the two riders were out of cover. Cooroo crouched lower. The figures of the riders, shrouded in their cloaks now turned white, were as obscured by the blizzard as the hounds were. They sat hunched in their saddles and were mere shapes. Fighting his instincts, he waited until they had gained the centre of the clearing, and then he sprang out with his teeth bared and his amber eyes ablaze.

‘I know you well! You are RAT!’ he said, making a leap at the hunters and their horses.

At once, Breda’s magic was broken and instead of the mounted hunters, four rats stood blinking on the hard-frozen snow.

The hounds were struck rigid.

They gazed spellbound at the rats, and then there was a snapping and a snarling and the blind impulse towards action. The rats were no longer untouchable.

With sharp cries of fear they scattered; and the hounds went after them.

Cooroo laughed and he glided away. Then he ran to catch up with his friends, and knowing the way made it easier.

The hounds chased the rats until they vanished as puffs of grey dust, and then disgruntled and tired, they took up their laborious work once more.

T
HE
children were overjoyed when Cooroo appeared beside them again. He was panting but he seemed to be full of something like fun.

‘I thought you’d left us for good,’ Pidge said.

‘Did you get your dinner?’ asked Brigit.

‘No,’ he said, still panting, but his eyes danced with mischief.

When he had got his breath back, he told them what had happened, stopping in his tracks to suppress his laughter.

Pidge felt awful.

‘You could have been wrong. You might have been killed. And we would never have known what you did for us,’ he said, his voice agitated.

Cooroo pushed against him with his shoulder. It was a nudge of playful good humour.

‘I wasn’t though—was I?’ he said.

‘You were lucky the hounds didn’t go for you instead of the rats,’ Pidge insisted.

‘I must have much more than a one-chance life,’ Cooroo answered jauntily, and they went on again.

In a while the wind dropped completely and the snow stopped falling. And after a long time, when they left the forest at last, it was really dark.

The night was calm and still and full of silence. It was wonderfully beautiful. Everywhere the snow lay thickly, frosted and glittering. The stars were low in the heavens and they were fantastically large and they glittered as well. The moon was a great shining gong in the sky and it hung in a bowl of brightness and was glorious in its vivid shining.

They stood and revelled in it.

‘It’s like an ORMOUS marshmallow,’ Brigit breathed with the deepest admiration.

As they walked through the snow that had settled close to the forest, they sank at every step; but when they walked in the open where the snow was frozen it bore them well, except for Cooroo. For a while all stayed perfect, and they looked around them and at the sky with the greatest pleasure and feelings of possession.

But in the end the wind came again and found them out. If anything, it was more cruel than before. In moments the snow fell twisting and swirling again.

‘Oh well, we creep on,’ said Cooroo.

Pidge could well see that even the fox was tired. He sank to his haunches step by step. His head drooped and he was panting slightly. By this time he was completely covered in snow, and it occurred to Pidge that it would be quite difficult for anybody to actually see them when they were all dressed in white.

Now the wind whipped their coats open and played round their bare knees, soon making them numb with cold. Ice needles spiked into Cooroo’s nose.

They trudged on, bending into the wind. From a long way away came the faint baying of the hounds.

‘They are well-astray and no better off than we are; let that hearten you,’ said Cooroo.

The wind stole tears out of their eyes and pinched their faces.

‘I feel so tired,’ Brigit said weakly. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to make a snow bed and lie down for a while?’

‘We daren’t, Brigit. We must get as far from the hounds as we possibly can,’ Pidge answered sympathetically.

By now, he could no longer tell whether or not he had legs. Everything felt numb and mechanical. He listened to the snow creaking under his boots. It let him know that at least he was still walking.

‘It’s no good,’ Brigit said with a moan. ‘I have to lie down or I’ll die.’

‘If you lie down, you
will
die. You’re too young to know it but it’s true. Snow isn’t as soft as it seems and it can kill,’ Cooroo said firmly.

‘I don’t care,’ she cried, her knees buckling.

‘Come on! You must keep going whatever it costs. Keep moving! Force one foot in front of the other. Keep going!’ Cooroo shouted.

Pidge stumbled in closer to Brigit to catch her arm and help her on. More than anything in the world, he wanted to lie down himself, but he knew that Cooroo was right.

A tall shape loomed in front of them suddenly. Because of the falling snow it had been impossible to see where they were going and, as there was a great, natural, muffling silence, they hadn’t heard anything approach.

They stopped dead and peered ahead to try to make it out.

It was the Great Elk.

H
E
stood motionless in the swirling whiteness, a living assertion of dignity and power.

They looked up at him with gladness as he turned his massive head towards them; already the snow was turning him white.

‘I will help you,’ he said.

At once Pidge felt greatly comforted. The Elk turned to Cooroo.

‘It is an ill thing to be hunted, is it not so, Little Red Dog?’

‘Oh thank you, Great Elk,’ said Brigit. Thank you very much.’

Slowly, carefully, the Elk bent his forelegs and knelt.

‘You are still too high,’ said Pidge.

The huge animal folded in his back legs and lay on his side.

‘Climb up and hold on tight. You also, Little Red Dog.’

Pidge helped Brigit to scramble up and when she was settled he sat in front of her, so that he could shelter her from the savage wind.

‘It’s no good,’ Cooroo called. ‘I am not able to climb without footholds. It’s because I have paws and not hands and feet.’

‘If you don’t, you’ll never be able to keep up. You’ll get left behind,’ Pidge cried desperately.

‘Then I must follow on after you,’ Cooroo said, with resignation.

‘No!’ Pidge said in a shout. ‘We’re not leaving you behind now. You’ll never find us again if we do.’

‘You’ve
got
to come with us or it’s just not fair!’ Brigit called to him tearfully.

‘I’ll give you a lift up—wait a second,’ said Pidge and he slid back down onto the snow.

He grabbed Cooroo by the thick hair that grew at the scruff of his neck and with his face set for the effort, he pushed and half-hoisted him up onto the Elk, hoping that he was not hurting either animal. With this help, Cooroo, who was making bucking movements, got near to the Elk’s shoulder where he lay in a sprawl.

Before Pidge clambered back up himself, he leaned into the wind and struggled through the snow until he could peer up at the Elk’s head.

He screwed up his eyes against the blinding snowflakes and whispered:

‘Could you take us towards the mountains, please?’

The Elk was silent and made no sign of having heard.

For a moment Pidge stood in the blizzard wondering if he should risk saying it again in a much louder voice. But he thought he heard Brigit moaning and he turned away.

He gripped and he climbed until he was placed between Brigit and the fox. And then, inch by inch, the Elk righted himself while they responded by shifting and wriggling with matching caution, to centre themselves on his spine when he at last stood upright.

Now Pidge took off his gloves and gave them to Brigit to hold. While the Elk waited he felt in his pocket and found the squashed balls of spider-rope. Taking a kneeling position he passed the ropes several times around Brigit’s body, doing his best to make her secure. First he fastened an end of a rope to the Elk’s hide by sticking it on, as Mawleogs had done, and he didn’t fail to do this kind of bonding as many times as he really thought he should, although his hands were getting very cold.

When he was sure of Brigit he settled back in his place and did the same for himself and Cooroo. He didn’t bother with reins. At last he felt that they were as ready as they’d ever be, and he took his gloves from Brigit and with the greatest difficulty, he put them on his now frozen hands.

And now the Elk began his journey.

Soon they were going at a good speed with the Elk galloping as smoothly as he could so as not to shake them off. The wind whipped their faces. Ice crystals fringed their eyes. But it was so much easier now. All the slogging labour of walking had gone and it was simply a question of not falling off and of enduring the cold.

At times Pidge fancied that he was riding and controlling a horse, and at those times he would press a knee against the Elk’s hide and imagine that the Elk obeyed him.

Although he trusted the ropes, he kept his arms stretched out in front of him clutching at the Elk with his gloved hands. In this cradle, Cooroo lay shivering and very soon Pidge’s muscles ached from the strain. He worried about Brigit sitting behind him. Even though her arms were clasped about his waist, he feared that she might fall off without his knowing. But when she laid her head sideways against his back and he felt her weight, he was reassured.

Sometime during the journey, it came into Pidge’s mind that this was forever. They just went on and on through the storm, with unchanging sheets of whiteness on either side and they seemed to be going nowhere.

Abruptly it stopped snowing and it was possible to really see. Pidge couldn’t help but gasp in wonder, not only at the beauty the snow had created, but because at some distance ahead of them, a light was glittering in the moonbright night.

What could it be?

It seemed natural that the Elk should head in the light’s direction. The patient animal slowed down and walked. In time they reached the place where the light sparkled in the crisp night air.

It was a lantern tied in a tree and it swung to and fro in the wind.

What does it mean—is it a trap—why would someone tie a lantern in a tree except as a guiding light—or is it a lure? Pidge’s thoughts wandered uncertainly, muddled at this new confrontation.

He tried to stare against its light to see if the lantern had any trace of gold about it, but his eyes felt too tired for the effort.

‘This place is good,’ said the Great Elk. Immediately the responsibility of decision was removed from Pidge’s dulled mind.

The Elk lowered himself once again; but nothing could make getting down an easy matter; for, in spite of their coats, they were frozen into a terrible stiffness and every joint, muscle and bone ached unbearably. The Elk held himself very still, until at last they were standing painfully beside him.

‘Look!’ cried Brigit. ‘Smoke!’

It was true.

Just a little way in front of them the snow had formed a long low ridge. From a bump in the middle of the ridge, a thin plume of smoke was rising. At once they realized that there was a house. It was obviously built in a hollow or the roof wouldn’t be so low. The whole house was completely covered in snow.

In a second the Elk had started to dig, his forehooves working at a terrific rate. Clouds of snow came flying backwards and upwards, and landed with muffled thuds at the base of the tree.

While the Elk was digging, Pidge glanced around at the near surroundings and was startled to find that they were at last among the mountains and that they were now in a valley. The valley was broad and they had come all the way along it; and it is no wonder, he thought, that we seemed to be travelling through sheets of whiteness for such a long time, when the mountains are completely covered in snow.

He watched the Elk again. It was clear that he had incredible strength. He had already carried them for miles and miles on his back, as if they were no more than straws, and now, even with all this digging, still his breath came evenly and without effort.

As the snow was being cleared away from the hollow in front of the house, great lumps of it dropped from the walls to the ground. A small lighted window appeared but they couldn’t see in through it, as it wasn’t made of glass. It seemed to be made of thin honey-coloured horn.

A big blob of snow fell from just under the thatch, uncovering a sign. It read:

And then there was a door.

‘I will leave you now,’ the Elk said, and before they could realize it, he had leaped out of the hollow and was out of sight. The snow was falling again but they could hear him galloping away. They hadn’t even had the chance to thank him for all that he had done.