41: A Woman Who Runs With The Wolf

  The wolves were impossibly big and impossibly fast, and Kim wasn't either of those things. She moved more quickly now that her Metal Health was higher, and her Destroyer Boots Of Major Metal Destruction helped her gain even more speed, but the flat land let the giant wolves lope easily behind her.

  To add to her fear, the creatures were barking and howling, a horrid sound that showed how much they enjoyed the hunt. The pack's paws shook the very earth. She ran on, but when she looked over her shoulder, they were still gaining. Soon she would be torn into pieces.

  "Kim," she said to herself, even though it was using up her breath. "You've gotta bang your head until you get in." It was one of Uncle Gord's motivational speeches. Here, there was nothing to bang her head against, but the message was clear. Giving up wasn't in her blood. She itemized her limited knowledge of wolves. The first obvious fact was that they were usually not the size of bison. And they often hunted alone. No, wait, those were coyotes. Ah, it turned out she knew nothing useful about wolves.

  "Just keep banging your head," she said, and the words gave her a sense of calm.

  She scanned the sky, but it was empty of clouds, birds, and Fiora and Damon. She was pleased to find that she hadn't yet panicked. In fact, as the giant wolves got closer, she grew calmer. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of pulling her down and being torn apart without a fight. That wasn't how she was going out of this world or any world. Instead, she'd face them.

  Kim skidded to a stop, turned around and unsheathed Strümbringer. She was slightly proud of how all those movements had worked in unison. Maybe it had all been impressive enough to stun the wolves.

  But now that she saw them clearly, the hope in her heart sank. They were a howling wave of grey and black bundles of fur and teeth coming at her. She set her stance, held her sword with both hands and opened her mouth, not entirely certain what would come out. "Bring it on, you hairy fuzzballs!" she shouted.

  The wolves slid along the grass and dirt until they were still, only their sides moving with their laboured breath. A cloud of dust blew around them and into her eyes, but Kim didn't blink. Several of the wolves licked their lips and sniffed as if they were preparing for a meal. She picked the biggest and stared directly into his or her eyes.

  "I'm not afraid," she said. The words had been true. Yes, her heart was beating faster, but she wasn't afraid. That fear had slipped away once she'd fought. She pointed Strümbringer. "I'll take as many of you with me as I can."

  Two of the wolves gave each other sidelong glances and then opened their mouths and growled. It was the strangest, most horrible growl. And, in a surprisingly deft maneuver, one lifted a massive paw and held it against his chest. The wolf beside him shook violently with what was perhaps a seizure. Then her hearing made more sense of the growling and barking, and she concluded it was a human and familiar sound. And it chilled her.

  They were laughing. All of them.

  "Don't laugh!" she shouted. "I'm serious about taking some of you with me!"

  The growling laughter grew louder and more demeaning. Then there was a sharp bark, and they all stopped. One older wolf, who had grey ears, laughed until another wolf smacked him with a paw and he fell silent. The group stared at Kim and stood straighter, as if preparing for a military inspection.

  Three of the wolves marched ahead several steps, and she steadied Strümbringer, expecting an attack. But they moved over to one side to clear a path. A male wolf, larger than the others, plodded through the space and stood before her.

  "That was an exceedingly impressive display of courage," he said. Since she had already spoken to a large turtle made mostly of rock, it wasn't a complete surprise to have a giant wolf talking to her. "Those with courage taste better."

  "I'm a bitter meal," she replied.

  He gestured with his massive, majestic head. "You wouldn't even be a snack for these hunters."

  "I'd choke them on the way down," she said.

  If a wolf could smile, this one was. "Smart of you to face us. If not, they would have torn you to shreds and played a game called headball."

  "Oh." She was still catching her breath, but trying to hide that she was also shaking. It wasn't fear—it was her body coming down from an adrenaline high.

  He lifted a paw to his chest, and it made her think of an English gentleman introducing himself. "My name is Coverdale. I am thus named because I can cover a dale, that is a valley, in case you don't know what a dale is, with great speed. Thus, I am called Coverdale. I can run from the still of the night until the dawn of the day and beyond."

  "I am Kim," she said. "I can run through Stanley Park."

  "I am certain that is a great feat," the wolf said. "May I ask why you are on the Great Plains of Hair?"

  "I was just out for a walk."

  He narrowed his eyes. "A direct question deserves truth."

  Something in his voice indicated it was an important question.

  "My friends and I are seeking an audience with King Fidds the Druid." She also quickly concluded that saying they were there to cut off his head and take it back to Blayre the wizard in a bucket might not be the wisest thing. A druid king probably grew plants, and rabbits liked plants, and wolves liked rabbits.

  "He is the most approachable of kings," he said. "Your necklace smells of binding magic. Where did you get it?"

  "From a wizard named Blayre."

  "I see," Coverdale said. "Blayre is married to the mirror, is what my good friend Fidds said about him."

  The words good friend Fidds stuck in Kim's brain. She was even more aware of how flat this part of the land was and how it would be impossible to escape. So the only way to escape was through words: "You met Blayre?"

  "We Children of the Night know everyone. The borders of the powerful mean little to us. My question, and it's an important one, is why did Blayre give you that necklace?"

  She stared into the brown eyes of the wolf. He was an incredibly calm beast, and at this height, they were eye to eye. Except for the turtle, he seemed to be the most truthful being she had met so far. She decided, despite the size of his teeth, that truth was the only acceptable way to deal with this beast. "He wants me to kill King Fidds," she said.

  The Varg looked over his shoulder, perhaps making sure the rest of his pack hadn't heard. "Did he give you a way to accomplish this impossible task?"

  "No. We don't have a proper plan." Why was so much truth coming out? Had the varg cast a spell on her? But he was so calm. It was trust, she decided.

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  "You and your friends are very small in terms of size and ability. Even a dragonspawn, though tough, isn't a great power. Your quest will fail."

  "It's mostly a joke to Blayre," Kim said. "If we succeed, he wins. If we fail, he wins."

  Coverdale looked up at the sky and then scanned all around them. "There are no signs of your winged friend. One would like to think friends are with you through thick blood and thin marrow." He sniffed the air. "That doesn't mean she isn't watching from a distance. The dragon-born can see much further than a varg. But if she is somewhere watching, I'm sure she's wondering what we're talking about." He gave a friendly wave with his paw in a direction that may have been where Fiora and Damon were.

  "Are you not concerned about my friends and our intentions with… with King Fidds?"

  Coverdale shook his head. "Fidds has a heart of pure green moss, we say. Which might even be literally true with him. Your best bet is to fall on his mercy the moment you are brought into his presence. But my guess is that Blayre has set those necklaces to kill you if you take that action. It is a sad outcome, but not one that I can change without just killing you outright." He said the last line in a very matter-of-fact manner. "Tell me something, Kim: are you angry at your friends?"

  "Angry?"

  "Well, a pack of handsome vargs appeared and chased you down, and your companionss left on your own to be eaten. So wouldn't you like a little revenge?"

  "Are you offering to kill them?"

  He gurgled out another laugh. It was so close to sounding human. "What I am offering you is a way to make them jealous."

  "Which is?" Kim asked.

  "To ride on my back over the border of Balladria and past Love Bites Mountains, all at a truly great speed. They will have to follow at breakneck speed. I find it funny. Don't you find it funny?"

  "Maybe." Kim looked at how tall the Varg was. He was almost twice the height of a horse. It was a long way to fall if she were on his back.

  "It is hilarious," he concluded. "You can discover why I am named Coverdale because… well, we will cover many dales. My pack and I were going in that direction anyway, so it is no fur off my back."

  "Yes," she said. "Yes. I absolutely love that idea."

  Coverdale took a step forward and lowered his head. "Take a place on my shoulder where a king, a witch and one baby who was lost in the forest have ridden. None of them died while in my care."

  "Well, you're doing better than most airlines," she said.

  "I shall laugh at your comment even though I know not what it means," he said, letting out a chuckle. The vargs behind him also chuckled.

  It was very much like climbing onto a shaggy horse. His neck was thick, and the fur so long it was more like a mane, and yet when she sat there, slightly back of his haunch, she was reminded of the few times she'd gone horse riding and had adored the experience. Horses were such powerful, sure-footed creatures. But this varg had even more muscle and strength. "Can I hold on to your hair?" she asked.

  Coverdale turned his head to look at her and nodded. "We call it fur in our world. And yes, you may hold it. I suggest keeping a tight hold."

  She gripped with both her hands. At this moment, she felt safe. Perhaps for the first time since she'd been zapped to this strange world, she was safe in the moss-scented hair of this varg.

  The feeling of safety lasted until Coverdale started running. It was not smooth as a horse's gallop. She found her grip slipping as he went faster and faster. She grit her teeth and held on as tight as her ten fingers would allow.

  "I forgot to tell you we can run as fast as the setting sun," Coverdale said.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the pack of vargs, happily running behind them. And beyond them, in the distance, was a bird carrying a glowing light. Or was it Fiora and Damon?

  "This is amazing," Kim said.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying the ride. Neither the witch nor the king nor the baby did." Kim laughed like a madwoman because her heart, at this speed and joy, was very much at peace.

  And the Varg laughed too. Especially as he covered the distance of a dale in a few heartbeats.

  42 Good Times, Bad Times

  For Damon, his return to the land of consciousness was very much like riding an elevator. In his mind, he had that sensation of rising; the bell dinging as he passed each floor and then the door opened and he was blinking in the bright light.

  "Your nose continues to glow," Fiora said, her voice not even tired even though she'd been flying for several hours. "It won't dim even when you've been knocked out. That's bad."

  The sun had set. But another sun glowed between his eyes.

  "It is attracting a great number of bugs," she added. And this, too, Damon saw was true. There were flies, mosquitoes, and even moths fighting for landing space on his nose.

  He looked ahead. In the far distance, there was a cloud. "Where are we?" he asked.

  "I circled around so that we would be behind the vargs."

  He squinted. "I can't see that far."

  "Well, turn off your nose," she said. "And you will."

  He dug around in his mind to find the spell word, but his thoughts seemed scrambled. "You hit me too hard," he said. "I can't turn it off."

  "I hit you just right," she insisted. "Hard enough to snuff the light of your consciousness and soft enough that your head didn't come off. I wouldn't complain about my skill."

  There were a lot of things he could complain about. His neck ached. His teeth felt loose when he touched them with his tongue. There was a far longer list of complaints. Instead, he thought, solve the problem at hand, dude. And thinking the word hand was all he needed. "Of course," he said. He put his hand over his nose and blocked most of the light.

  There was an enormous dust cloud far, far in the distance.

  "That's them?" he said. "Is Kim alive?"

  "They didn't leave her bones behind. Well, they wouldn't. They are tidy eaters and tidy poopers." She chuckled. "She clearly locked up the wolves with her words, for she is riding on the lead wolf. That has only happened in the greatest of rock legends."

  Damon sucked in a breath, the relief flooding over him. Kim was alive. Good. Good. She hadn't needed him to save her. "She is clearly legendary," he said.

  "Well, don't go too far." Fiora sniffed as if she were fighting an allergy. "I assume you'll apologize now. I was right to leave her there."

  "You weren't right!" Damon said. "All three of us could be riding vargs right now."

  "Ha!" Fiora squeezed him harder as she laughed. "You would be varg scat, which would make you a lot more valuable. And that is not an insult or a lie. I have done my best to keep them within sight, but soon we will have to land. And they will not halt." She sniffed again. "We find a place to sleep. Every bug, bird and animal will be attracted to your nose." In the last bit of light from the setting sun, he caught his last glimpse of the dust cloud of the vargs. He wished he could ride beside Kim. He was curious about what it would be like to ride a wolf. A varg, he corrected himself. They likely didn't smell as good as Fiora.

  "Why are you sniffing?" she asked.

  "I'm still trying to catch my breath from when you choked me."

  "Desist in your whining—I was only bringing you to your senses. Make the glowing stop!"

  He tried again, but it failed. As if someone had switched on a light switch and he was stuck. "Again, I'll point out that you hit me too hard."

  "If you touch my Metal Health again, you won't have to worry about choking because your head will be separated from your body. Promise you won't try that evil trick again."

  Did he really want to make that promise? Her hand rested near his neck. "Promise me," she repeated softly.

  "I promise," he said.

  "Good," she said. "I know your word is as hard as hard rock. Now, search for a place where we can be safe."

  He found that by adjusting his hand he could shine his nose like a spotlight. "See, I'm useful."

  "That's so metal," Fiora said. "Good work. Nice nose."

  "Thanks," he said. A hill came into view, revealed by his nasal light. They hovered over the hillock. No wargs. No mutt mindslayers. It looked perfect. Well, except that the sparse grass seemed to shift. "Did the hill move? Or is it my eyesight?"

  "It was shadows cast by your light."

  She spread her wings wider, and they floated down like a scaly-winged dandelion seed. They landed on the side of the hill, and she let Damon go. The ground beneath his feet was spongy, which made him wonder if there were layers of moss on this hill. Then his nose light reflected from two rocks. A moment later, the reflecting stopped. Then started again. He stared at the orbs, and they, well, they stared back.

  And blinked.

  "Wait," he said. "The hill blinked."

  "Are you playing with madness?"

  "No." He directed his nose over them again, and they looked like two rocks. Just sitting on top of the hill. Roots of a long-dead tree were criss-crossed behind them. Then, some sort of pads rolled back on the stones. And they blinked again. He shone the light on one, and it closed.

  Like an eye.

  "Oh, my," Fiora said.

  And in that moment what looked to be a cave opened up.

  No, wait, he realized it wasn't a cave. It was…

  A mouth.

  Damon jumped into Fiora's arms. "Up!" he shouted. "Up, Fiora!"

  The mouth was larger than both of them.

  "Hades Bells!" Fiora flapped her wings, rising too slowly because of his weight. He worried she would soon come to the logical conclusion of dropping him. Instead, she grunted and flapped harder. A tentacle swooshed just below his feet.

  They were high enough to be out of reach of the tentacles.

  Fiora sighed. "That was a—"

  At that moment, the hill, which Damon now recognized was not a hill, came up towards them. The mouth opened.

  He had enough time to think: this is just like that scene from Star Wars when the Millenium Falcon flees from the mouth of a space slug. It was using his light as a guide so he imagined a light switch switching off.

  His nose went out. He took a deep breath.

  But the giant mouth between all those tentacles and at the end of a long neck snapped them out of the air and swallowed both whole, shutting out the light of the moons and the stars as if it were a total eclipse.

  "This is all the fault of your stupid nose," Fiora said before they ran out of air.