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The Lake of Souls(8)

By:Darren Shan




"Decided where we are yet?" I asked after a while. That was our favourite topic of conversation. We'd narrowed the possibilities down to four options. Mr Tiny had somehow sent us back into the past. He'd transported us to some far-off world in our own universe. He'd slipped us into an alternate reality. Or this was an illusion, and our bodies were lying in a field in the real world, while Mr Tiny fed this dream scene into our imaginations.



"I believed in the illusion theory at first," Harkat said, lowering his mask. "But the more I consider it, the less certain I am. If Mr Tiny was making this world up, I think he'd make it more exciting and colourful. It's quite drab."



"It's early days," I grunted. "This is probably just to warm us up."



"It certainly warmedyou up," Harkat grinned, nodding at my tan.



I returned his smile, then stared up at the sun. "Another three or four hours till nightfall," I guessed. "It's a shame neither of us knows more about star systems, or we might be able to tell where we were by the stars."



"It's a bigger shame that we don't have weapons," Harkat noted. He stood and studied the land in front of us again. "How will we defend ourselves against the panther without weapons?"



"Something will turn up," I reassured him. "Mr Tiny wouldn't throw us in out of our depth, not this early on — it'd spoil his fun if we perished quickly."



"That's not very comforting," Harkat said. "The idea that we're being kept alive only to die horribly later, for Mr Tiny's benefit doesn't fill me with joy."



"Me neither," I agreed. "But at least it gives us hope."



On that uncertain note, the conversation drew to a close, and after a short rest we filled our meagre lizard-skin pouches with water and marched on through the wasteland, which grew more lush — but no less alien — the further we progressed.



CHAPTER SIX



AWEEKafter leaving the desert behind, we entered a jungle of thick cactus plants, long snaking vines, and stunted, twisted trees. Very few leaves grew on the trees. Those that did were long and thin, a dull orange colour, grouped near the tops of the trees.



We'd come across traces of animals — droppings, bones, hair — but didn't see any until we entered the jungle. There we found a curious mix of familiar yet strange creatures. Most of the animals were similar to those of Earth — deer, squirrels, monkeys — but different, usually in size or colouring. Some of the differences weren't so readily apparent — we captured a squirrel one day, which turned out to have an extra set of sharp teeth when we examined it, and surprisingly long claws.



We'd picked up dagger-shaped stones during the course of our trek, which we'd sharpened into knives. We now made more weapons out of thick sticks and bones of larger animals. They wouldn't be much use against a panther, but they helped us frighten off the small yellow monkeys which jumped from trees on to the heads of their victims, blinded them with their claws and teeth, then finished them off as they stumbled around.



"I never heard of monkeys like that," I remarked one morning as we watched a group of the simians bring down and devour a huge boar-like animal.



"Me neither," Harkat said.



As we watched, the monkeys paused and sniffed the air suspiciously. One ran to a thick bush and screeched threateningly. There was a deep grunt from within the bush, then a larger monkey — like a baboon, only an odd red colour — stepped out and shook a long arm at the others. The yellow monkeys bared their teeth, hissed and threw twigs and small pebbles at the newcomer, but the baboon ignored them and advanced. The smaller monkeys retreated, leaving the baboon to finish off the boar.



"I guess size matters," I muttered wryly, then Harkat and I slipped away and left the baboon to feed in peace.



The next night, while Harkat slept — his nightmares had stopped since coming to this new world — and I stood guard, there was a loud, fierce roar from somewhere ahead of us. The night was usually filled with the nonstop sounds of insects and other nocturnal creatures, but at the roar all noise ceased. There was total silence — once the echoes of the roar subsided — for at least five minutes.



Harkat slept through the roar. He was normally a light sleeper, but the air here agreed with him and he'd been dozing more deeply. I told him about it in the morning.



"You think it was our panther?" he asked.



"It was definitely a big cat," I said. "It might have been a lion or tiger, but my money's on the black panther."



"Panthers are usually very quiet," Harkat said. "But I guess they could be different here. If this is his territory, he should come by this way soon. Panthers are on constant patrol. We must prepare." During his time in Vampire Mountain, when he'd been working for Seba Nile, Harkat had spoken with several vampires who'd hunted or fought with lions and leopards, so he knew quite a lot about them. "We must dig a pit to lure it into, catch and truss a deer, and also find some porcupines."



"Porcupines?" I asked.



"Their quills can stick in the panther's paws, snout and mouth. They might slow it down or distract it."



"We're going to need more than porcupine quills to kill a panther," I noted.



"With luck, we'll startle it when it comes to feed on the deer. We can jump out and frighten it into the pit. Hopefully it will die there."



"And if it doesn't?" I asked.



Harkat grinned edgily. "We're in trouble. Black panthers are really leopards, and leopards are the worst of the big cats. They're fast, strong, savage and great climbers. We won't be able to outrun it or climb higher than it."



"So if plan A fails, there's no plan B?"



"No." Harkat chuckled dryly. "It'll be straight to plan B —Panic !"



We found a clearing with a thick bush at one end where we'd be able to hide. We spent the morning digging a deep pit with our hands and the rough tools we'd fashioned from branches and bones. When the pit was done, we harvested a couple of dozen thick branches and sharpened the tips, creating stakes that we were going to place in the base of the pit.



As we were climbing into the pit to plant the stakes, I stopped at the edge and started to tremble — remembering another pit that had been filled with stakes, and the friend I'd lost there.



"What's wrong?" Harkat asked. Before I could answer, he read it in my eyes. "Oh," he sighed. "Mr Crepsley."



"Isn't there any other way to kill it?" I groaned.



"Not without proper equipment." Harkat took my stakes from me and smiled encouragingly. "Go hunt for porcupines. I'll handle this end of the operation."



Nodding gratefully, I left Harkat to plant the stakes and went looking for porcupines or anything else to use against the panther. I hadn't thought much about Mr Crepsley lately — this harsh world had demanded my full attention — but the pit brought it all crashing back. Again I saw him drop and heard his screams as he died. I wanted to leave the pit and panther, but that wasn't an option. We had to kill the predator to learn where to go next. So I quashed thoughts of Mr Crepsley as best I could and immersed myself in work.



I picked some of the sturdier cacti to use as missiles against the black panther, and made mud-balls using leaves and fresh mud from a nearby stream — I hoped the mud might temporarily blind the panther. I searched hard for porcupines, but if any were in the vicinity, they were keeping an ultra low profile. I had to report back quill-less to Harkat in the afternoon.



"Never mind," he said, sitting by the edge of the completed pit. "Let's create a cover for this and catch a deer. After that we're in the lap of the gods."



We built a thin cover for the pit out of long twigs and leaves, laid it over the hole and went hunting. The deer here were shorter than those on Earth, with longer heads. They couldn't run as fast as their Earth counterparts, but were still pretty swift. It took a while to track down a lame straggler and bring it back alive. It was dusk by the time we tied it to a stake close to the pit, and we were both tired after our long, taxing day.



"What happens if the panther attacks during the night?" I asked, sheltering under a skin I'd sliced from a deer with a small stone scraper.



"Why do you always have to anticipate the worst?" Harkat grumbled.



"Somebody has to," I laughed. "Will it be plan B time?"



"No," Harkat sighed. "If he comes in the dark, it's KYAG time."



"KYAG?" I echoed.



"Kiss Your Ass Goodbye!"



There was no sign of the panther that night, though we both heard deep-throated growls, closer than the roars of the night before. As soon as dawn broke, we ate a hasty breakfast — berries we'd picked after seeing monkeys eat them — and positioned ourselves in the thick covering bush opposite the staked deer and pit. If all went according to plan, the panther would attack the deer. With luck it'd come at it from the far side of the pit and fall in. If not, we'd leap up whilstit was dragging off the deer and hopefully force it backwards to its doom. Not the most elaborate plan in the world, but it would have to do.



We said nothing as the minutes turned to hours, silently waiting for the panther. My mouth was dry and I sipped frequently from the squirrel skin beakers (we'd replaced the lizard-skin containers) by my side, though only small amounts — to cut out too many toilet trips.