Dark Angels. Katherine Langrish

be far, the cave: but at first he couldn’t find it. They stumbled about, linked by Hugo’s firm grip on Wolf’s shoulder, ducking under the scratching twigs. The sky was a grainy grey above the black branches. There was a patter of rain like aerial feet running over the treetops. That could be elves. But it rattled down on them in large, cold drops.

      Wolf shook with excitement. He was afraid of failure. Not just because of the knife; what really bothered him was that Hugo would think he had lied. And he hadn’t; he’d seen an elf. He forgot his doubts. Lord Hugo wanted an elf, and an elf it must be.

      But he was mortally afraid of losing his way —making a fool out of this great lord, this crusader. Hugo had listened. He might be hot-tempered, he might lose patience. If he wanted, he could cut Wolf’s throat and leave him lying, and no one would ever know. But he listened. And he’s giving me a chance to show I spoke the truth. He’s rough, hut he’s fair. And here’s me, Wolf walking beside Lord Hugo of the Red Mound, looking for an elf.

      It felt like something out of an old song.

      They pushed onwards, upwards. The soft ground got steeper, and there was the sour, pungent smell Wolf remembered from before. His heart lifted. Here was the place, the tumbled stones at the bottom of the cliff, and the clump of nettles. He strained his eyes. And there was the cave: a black crack under a shelf of rock.

      “Here,” he whispered in triumph.

      “That? That’s one of the old mines.” Hugo shook his shoulder. “So where’s the elf?”

      “I don’t know.” And he didn’t; in dismay he realised that the elf might have come scuttling out by now. “Somewhere inside,” he said hopefully.

      “Easy to say,” Hugo began. But the greyhound, which had followed them back through the wood, let out a strangled whine and dashed past. It disappeared into the dark hole. The glimmer of its white coat went out like a snuffed candle.

      “You see?” Wolf pulled free from Hugo’s hand. He scrambled over the stones and dropped on all fours, peering under the dripping lip of rock. Just past the entrance the darkness was absolute. From further in, perhaps not far, came a knock, click and rattle of tumbling rocks. And the dog barked, a flat sound like a muffled handclap.

      “Splendour of God.” Hugo was close behind him. “There’s something there after all. Argos!” He leaned over Wolf, calling into the darkness. “Argos!” He whistled, but the dog didn’t come. He leaned in further. “Eluned?” he called, and Wolf was startled by the change in him. He sounded eager, desperate, imploring. “Eluned, are you there? Oh, where are you?” He listened with his whole body, as if straining for an answer, but the cave seemed to eat the sound and there wasn’t even an echo. He grabbed at Wolf.

      “This elf — what was it like? Did it look like a woman?”

      Wolf longed to say yes, for plainly this was what Hugo hoped to hear. “No… it looked like a child. But the face —” he shivered “— it’s all red down one side, like a dark stain.” He checked his memory. “It could be a girl, but only a very young one. A little, naked child.”

      “An elf-child. A fay.” Hugo blew out a long, strained breath. “And you think it’s in there still?”

      “Yes, sir. And the dog knows.”

      “That could be anything. A badger.”

      “I told you, I saw its face.” Its sharp, frightened face.

      It began to rain properly: earnest, steady, soaking rain that would go on all night. Hugo stood, staring at the cave. “Is it possible?” It was a rough whisper, full of doubt and wonder. “That’s the gate of Elfland? That hole?”

      “I’ll go in,” Wolf said impulsively. Sudden excitement boiled through him. He’d do it. He’d do anything to impress Hugo, prove himself right, show that he wasn’t a snivelling little clerk. “I’ll go in and scare it out. And I’ll find your dog. I’ll do it now.” Now — this very minute, while his blood was up — without thinking twice.

      “In the dark?” Hugo’s voice rang with disbelief. “You wouldn’t dare.”

      Watch this, Wolf thought. He hitched up his robe and ducked under the rim of the cave.

      “Wolf…”

      Wolf looked back, expecting a word of encouragement. Hugo was a black shape against the grey. “If you’ve been lying to me, don’t even think about coming back out.”

      “I’ve not been lying!” Wolf said fiercely — and hit his head on the roof. “Ouch!” He blundered on. Behind him he could hear Hugo laughing.

      The entrance sloped down and was too low to walk upright. It was like going downstairs at night, but stairs made for dwarfs and buried in loose rubble. He was forced to bend in half, bracing his hands against the wall, feeling for each foothold. Soon the roof got lower. He had to crawl.

      It was cold and wet — cold as a fresh-dug grave. And dark! Of all the different shades of black in the wood, none had been like this. Soot black — dead black, pressing on his eyes.

      The ground levelled. He explored around him with his hands. Mud and gravel and heaps of stones. Shallow puddles. Something curved with sharp edges, like a broken pot. Who had left that here? And there was that smell again, that sour, foxy reek. Lord Hugo was right. This dirty hole couldn’t lead to Elfland, could it?

      It must. It has to, or why would the elf be here? He listened, holding his breath. Nothing but a horrid, dripping silence. But what was that? That pattering, rustling sound?

      Out of nowhere, something pushed a wet nose into his face and slipped away again. “Argos?” Wolf called, but the dog was out of reach. He crawled painfully after it, guided by the slip and splash of its paws on the wet floor. The cave went on further than he’d thought, even though the roof was so low.

      His breath came quick and raw. What if elves were all around — unseen, but somehow watching him? And what if Lord Hugo got tired of waiting and went away? Or blocked up the entrance to wall him in? He screwed his neck round to look behind him, and could see nothing.

      I’m lost!

       No. It’s all right. Even if I can’t see it, the entrance is there, not far away. Lord Hugo won’t leave me. And of course he won’t shut me in. Not when his dog is here with me.

      He rubbed his eyes, and saw floating colours, spectral greens and blues. This must be the beginning of elfish enchantments. Soon, perhaps, a weird light would blossom, and he would see—

      What would he see?

      Through clacking teeth he began to mutter his prayers. “Pater noster qui es in caelis…” He crept, wincing, over sharp rubble. “…sed libera nos a malo. Amen.” The familiar prayer made him feel better and safer — it was a lifeline to God. He took a calming breath and began again. “Pater noster…” How much further did this cave go? He crawled on over the cold, wet stones. “…Amen. Pater noster…”

      He broke off. Somewhere just ahead, an animal was growling.

      “Argos?”

      And then everything happened at once. He bumped into the dog’s hindquarters, feeling its long, bony legs and thin tail like a long, wet feather. It snarled in shock and turned on him. Teeth clicked somewhere near his ear. Wolf flung himself aside, shouting, “Argos — it’s me!” — and smashed into the wall.

      A flash of bright agony tore through his head. The darkness split open like a pea pod. Colours swirled in the gap and settled into a vision of low, green hills on the other side of a rust-red, lazily flowing river.

      Wolf stretched out unbelieving fingers.

      Elfland! he thought. The rocks had opened, and he was seeing into the kingdom of Elfland! As he stared, it slowly faded into a ghostly image of itself.