But with a triumphant snarl, the grizzled wolf skids to a halt, and calls after us –
*It does not matter. You cannot escape now.*
Chapter 12
We soon see why. The gully ahead is blocked by a wall of boulders covered in twisting creepers, looking like they’ve just been thrown there on top of one another. Six very hungry wolves are bearing down on us from behind. I can see the young cub yapping at their tails, his lips pulled back in rage. If I could just talk to him, perhaps I could …
But before I can say anything the stag has begun to clamber up over the boulders, scraping his hoofs against the stones. He slips, he slides, his horns bash the side of the rocks, but with an extra kick we stumble to the top. He immediately trips over a knotted root crossing the rocks, hung with dead leaves, and I bang into his horns with a jolt.
We’re right in the middle of the forest now. The Ring of Trees.
The wolves can’t climb up the boulders so easily. They keep leaping up and skidding off. I can hear them arguing about the best way up. Beneath me, the stag heaves for breath. Everything around us is silvery and soft, the light coming through the leaves in patches. Ahead of us are rows and rows of trees, like streets, all leading in different directions. I look at them, hoping to see the bright light of the outside world shining at the end of one, but they all seem to go on for miles.
*Do you know the way out?* I ask the stag as he stands surveying the corridors of green in front of us. There are more snarls and howls from below.
*Our old deer walk-upons finish here. We have not been this close to the edge of the Ring since we arrived.* He turns his head towards me and I notice how deep and brown his eyes are. *No one has. Do you think your magic instrument could tell you?*
I have no idea what he’s on about.
*The coloured device you wear around your paw.*
He must mean my watch. Pressing the various buttons, I’m hoping a magic map of the forest will just appear. It doesn’t. Only all the photos I’ve taken — of the General, the sick animals, the wolves.
*Let us stand our ground and fight to the death!* declares the cockroach from my pocket.
There’s a sound of scrabbling very close behind us, followed by a husky howl.
*Or, er, on second thoughts — perhaps you should use the magic green device, soldier,* says the General, turning a paler shade of orange. *And that’s an order. You gave your word you would help us.*
I look at the watch, look at the photo of Mum, pretend to study it closely and then … the strangest thing happens. The screen starts to shudder and shimmer, like a signal is being interrupted, and the photo I took of the General in the lift, perched on my hand and staring at me, reappears. Then the picture flickers and disappears again. I must have knocked the watch in the tunnel or somewhere and sent it haywire.
But it reminds me that the General is right. I said I would help them. They’re looking to me. All I can think is — what would Dad do? What would Dad want me to do? Not let them down.
*This way!* I point straight ahead. Without another word the stag gallops straight on down the wide avenue of trees.
*Faster! Faster!* whoops the General.
I look over my shoulder. The line of trampled bushes behind us is empty. The stag leaps on.
*Are you sure this is the way?* he calls.
*Yes, yes!* I shout, caught up in the moment, the air rushing past my face.
In fact, the dark green of the tunnel of trees does seem to be lightening up ahead. The thorns and brambles criss-crossing our path like ropes seem to be curling back. Maybe I was actually right. Maybe I guessed our way out.
‘Just say something,’ Dad used to say, ‘even if you don’t know the answer … have a guess.’
The air is getting lighter. I can feel a warm breeze. The trees begin to fall away. And then with a short, sharp shout, the stag rears back, lifting his hoofs in the air like a bucking horse. I grab on to tufts of fur where I can, squeezing as tight as I can with my knees so I don’t fall off.
He staggers and crashes back down to the ground. Pulling myself up, I can see why. The alleyway of trees has ended. But so has the ground. Behind us, a tangled mess of fallen trees and mangled undergrowth. In front of us, a leafy, thorny fringe marking a slab of sheer rock, falling hundreds of metres down to where a river roars over a bed of stones.
A twig snaps. Slowly I twist around.
There, approaching us through the shadows, is the semicircle of wolves. Slouched down low, the hunters approach us, balanced on the very edge of their world.
For a moment the only thing I can hear is the rush of water from far below, along with the blood rushing in my head. The leader of the wolves breaks the line and steps forward. There is still a growl to his voice, but his tone is softer.
*Noble Wildness — my quarrel is not with you. Give up the human child and we shall let you return in peace.*
The stag doesn’t reply at first. He stares straight ahead. His nostrils quiver. Puffy breaths curl out of them into the sky.
*Guardian, you know that I am the last of my kind.*
*Yes, Wildness, this is why we shall let you live. Our duty is only to protect the last wild, to preserve the natural order.*
The stag neatly turns so he is facing the dripping jaws of the wolf pack. Even the half-size cub looks like he could take a big chunk out of him. There is a new emotion in the stag’s voice when he speaks though — anger.
*Yes — a natural order that suits you the most — to have us all at your disposal as your prey. But we now all face a far greater danger than you. That is why we have joined forces, and sought human help.*
The grizzled wolf shakes his muzzle gruffly.
*We will survive this as we have other threats in the past. Why do you not have faith in the way of the wild?*
*You know as well as I that this danger is different to any that we have faced before. It will be the end of all of us unless we get help from the humans.*
*I do not want to destroy such a good and wise creature as yourself —* the wolf braces his legs, as if getting ready to pounce — *but you give me no choice. Throw the child off and we shall let you go in peace.*
The stag takes half a step back towards the valley edge. His feet dislodge a couple of loose stones, which tumble noisily into the chasm below, their clatter echoing all around.
The wolf tries one last time. He sounds as if he is losing patience.
*I will not tell you again, Wildness. Let beasts be beasts and men be men. That has always been our way. That is how we have survived until now.*
*And that time has passed,* replies the stag, glancing up at the sky. He is about to say something else when there is a noisy scuffle in the trees above. We all look up. The grey pigeons burst through the branches in an explosion of leaves.
*A way out!* they sing excitedly. *We have found the way out beyond the trees.*
*These trees are way out!* says the white pigeon, arriving late behind them. *Beyond way out!*
They weren’t cowards at all. They were looking.
Then everything happens quickly. The grizzled wolf leaps at us with a blasting roar. The stag leaps too. As he does, he tilts his head. With a sickening crunch, we collide in mid-air. Gored in his side by the stag’s horns, the wolf yelps with pain. Too late to stop, he falls over the edge, slithering down the slope, flecking the white stones with bright red blood.
The stag doesn’t pause. He leaps in a single move over the other wolves and ploughs on once again into the forest. I twist on his back and see the cub peering over the edge of the chasm, his tail between his legs.
*Follow us, follow us,* trill the birds, soaring on ahead.