Doomwyte by Brian Jacques
“Get all water out, shrew be better then, lie still, still! No fret, you still alive, shrew.”
More water vomited forth, until Dubble retched and sucked in air greedily. They were under a sort of overhang, on a shelf, somewhere along the streambank. Sunlight seeping in made wavering patterns on the rock walls. The big, black otter nodded, satisfied. “You good now, what name ye have?”
The young Guosim held out his paw. “Dubble!” He gasped as the otter took his paw in a grip like a steel vise.
“Dubble, eh, funny name, I be Zaran the Black.” She retrieved her weapon, and began honing the blades on the wet rock, commenting with a wave of her sinewy rudder, “This be my holt, not much, but a finegood place to hide from Wytes, carrion scum and monster snake. You see him, Dubble?”
The young shrew nodded. “Oh I saw him sure enough. Wot a giant, he scared me just to look at him!”
Zaran finished sharpening her weapon. She thrust it in a sling, which hung across her back. “Snake not hurt me, I leave him well alone. Zaran slay Wytebirds, carrion, othersnakes, lizard, toad. Anybeast that come from caves of Skurr!” The white teeth of Zaran shone as she spat out the word “Skurr!”
The big otter was an awesome sight as she prowled sinuously around the rock ledges. Zaran was the strongest-looking otter Dubble had ever seen. Muscles like coiled steel springs, sinews like greased rope, lithe and fluid at every move she made.
Dubble repeated the name curiously. “Skurr?”
Her hazel-hued eyes radiated savage hatred. “Aye, Korvus Skurr. One day Zaran will kill that one. Kill him and all his creatures. They must die, Zaran has spoken, so will it be!”
Dubble was surprised at the black otter’s vehemence. “Why must you kill Skurr and all his kind, Zaran?”
The otter snapped angrily, “No ask me that, Dubble. When Zaran ready she tell you.” Noting the respect and awe in her guest’s eyes, she changed immediately. Producing some fruit and a sun-dried trout from an aperture in the rocks, she placed them in front of the shrew. Zaran smiled briefly. “You young, eat now, young ever be hungry. Eat, Dubble, then sleep. Safe here, Zaran keep watch. We go out when nightfall. I show you. Eat, sleep, first.”
As Dubble sat eating, Zaran examined the back of his neck, where the crow’s beak had struck. For such a fierce creature, she was surprisingly gentle, murmuring softly to reassure him. “Hmm, not bad hurt, but hide is broken. Zaran can fix that, Dubble be still now. Dirty birds are carrion, never know where crows’ beaks have been!”
The young shrew finished his meal as the black otter cleaned his wound, then applied some fragrant ointment, dabbing it on with soft moss. “Dubble live to fight another day, there, sleep now.” He drifted into a comfortable slumber, watching the wavering sun patterns on the rock ledges, and listening to the soothing music of stream currents.
Night had cast its mantle over the woodlands when Dubble wakened. Zaran the black otter was sitting silently watching him. He sat up and stretched slowly. She nodded. “You sleep well, feel better now?”
The young shrew nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Much better, thank you, is it dark already?”
Zaran hitched up the double blade at her back. “We go now, Zaran will show you the lair of Korvus Skurr. Tread soft, make no sound, follow, do as I say, Dubble. Come!”
As they left the holt by a landward exit, one thing became became abundantly clear to Dubble. His new friend was a born hunter, wise in the ways of silent travel. Zaran moved through the nightdark woodlands as though it were bright noon. Silent as a leaf upon the breeze and, at times, virtually invisible.
Dubble learned a lot from his new friend that night. How to blend in with their surrounds, to move swiftly, without seeming to hurry. To stand motionless in the shadows, controlling his body, so that even his breath could not be heard. He was amazed at how Zaran would lean, draped against a tree trunk, observing all about her, whilst ignoring moths, beetles and small nocturnal predators as they wandered over her paws and across her face.
They were following another stream course, avoiding marshground, leaving no tracks upon rock outcrops, halting frequently in the shelter of overhanging willows. After awhile, Zaran pointed ahead to a large, forested hill, which could be discerned in the half-moon and starlight. She mouthed the word Skurr. Having learned the lesson of total silence, Dubble nodded. He continued following Zaran, the pair of them moving smoothly as oiled silk.
Skirting a stream, they took extra caution. This was due to the presence of dark carrion birds perched in the boughs of a downy birch. The birds slept on as they stole by, some of them emitting small cawing noises as they dreamed. Zaran took an upward route, into the trees which grew thick upon the hillslope. When she judged they had gone far enough, the black otter indicated a poplar. At some time during its growth, the tree had been blown askew in a winter storm. However, it had established a new position by setting down more roots. Now it grew at an angle, sticking out oddly from its neighbours. It was not difficult to walk along the poplar trunk, to where Zaran had set up a hidden lookout platform. She pointed below.
“See, Dubble, stream, cave entrance. From here Zaran sees all, snakes, toads, carrion birds, Wytes. They come and go, night and day, but nobeast sees Zaran.”
The young Guosim lay flat on the poplar trunk, staring down. It was an excellent spying post. Remembering to keep his voice low, he murmured softly, “But why do you watch them like this?”
Zaran’s teeth flashed in the darkness as she spat out the words. “Each night, every day, Skurr sends them on his evil business. I will kill them all, it is my vow. Everybeast that crawls, or flies, to carry out Skurr’s commands must be slain. Zaran will do it!”
Dubble did not doubt his powerful friend’s word, but he felt constrained to point out a fact. “There must be far too many creatures for just one beast to overcome, even a great warrior?”
The black otter slid from the poplar trunk. “Come, Dubble, Zaran will show you.”
Over the course of the next hour, the young Guosim followed his friend, awestruck at the sights which greeted his eyes. Holes, pits and deep ruts had been gouged into the steep hillside. Around rocks, between trees, wherever the earth could be dug or scraped. Every bit of the workings was disguised, by bush, rock slabs, foliage and moss.
Zaran led him back to the leaning tree, where she showed him a hidden cache of rough-fashioned digging tools, spades, picks and levering bars. She made Dubble feel her pawpads. They were deeply scored, and thickly calloused, from gruelling labour.
“Five seasons’ work, but when it is the snow season all will be ready. That is how one beast will overcome many, Dubble.”
The young shrew saw the grim determination in his friend’s face. He shook his head. “I’m still not sure how yore goin’ t’do it.”
Zaran lay back on the almost horizontal trunk, gazing off into the still summer night as she explained. “Beneath this hill is a big cave, where Skurr rules over Wytes, and all who serve his evil desires. Zaran knows all about this place, many beasts from there I have captured. They tell me all, before I send them away.”
Dubble knew he asked a foolish question, even as he spoke. “Send ’em away, where to?”
Zaran allowed herself a hint of a smile. “How many seasons are you, Dubble?”
The young Guosim thought for a moment. “Twelve, I think.”
The black otter held up her lethal double-bladed sword, watching starlight glinting on it. “My Namur would have been twelve seasons by now.” Something in his friend’s eyes told Dubble not to ask who Namur was. He sat silent as Zaran continued, “There is but one entrance and exit to Skurr’s lair, the one below us. Many times I search to find another, but there is only one. Zaran will make this hill move one day, it will collapse upon the entrance. Skurr and his creatures will have a living grave, and a slow death!”
Dubble understood then. “So that is how one will overcome many!”
The black otter gave a low bloodcurdling chuckle. “Tr
Dubble recalled being under water, when Zaran rescued him. He shuddered at the thought of being deprived of air to breathe. “What an awful an’ slow way t’go!”
Zaran’s eyes shone savagely. “I would like to be there, to see it. Then I would know…my daughter Namur, my mate Varon, her father…their deaths would be avenged!” With a swift thrust, she buried the weapon in the poplar trunk, beside the young shrew. “Dubble stay here, Zaran has work to do.” Gathering her crude tools, the lithe black otter vanished into the darkness.
It took Dubble some considerable effort to free the odd weapon from the tree. He lay on his stomach, watching and listening for any alien sounds in the still woodland night.
It had been a long, hard day, Dubble soon dozed off. He slumbered for a short time, then rolled over, almost falling from the poplar trunk. The sword fell to the earth, one of its two points sticking in the ground. Steadying himself, Dubble sat up, immediately alert. Somebeast was close by, and it was not Zaran. He began inching from his perch to reach the sword.
26
Dawn was banishing the dark night hours, turning the skies to a kaleidoscope of gentle, pastel hues. Woodpigeons in Mossflower’s trees commenced their broody chuckling, as the first larks of day ascended chirruping joyously. None of the inhabitants of Redwall had yet broken their fast, but they appeared in force on the dew-kissed lawns. Everybeast had turned out early—even the Dibbuns—to witness the banishment of the Painted Ones to the western flatlands. The spectators crowded the walltop over the main gate.
Fully armed, Bosie led a contingent of Gonfelins, Guosim and able-bodied Abbeybeasts to the door of the Belltower.
Corksnout Spikkle stood guarding the entrance. He saluted with his huge bung mallet, knocking his cork nose to one side. Hastily adjusting it, he indicated the tower with a nod. “Ain’t been a peep out of ’em all night, mate!”
Bosie returned the salute with a flourish of Martin’s sword. “Mah thanks tae ye, sirrah. Off tae yore bed now, Ah’ll take charge o’ this wee task!”
Completely subdued, the tree rats filed out of the Belltower. Since their bath in the stream, plus the removal of their grisly body trophies, and the attendant weeds, they looked a sorry bunch.
Nokko moved them along with a stick. “Well now, ya don’t look like much, eh? No more painty faces, an’ trees to ’ide in. Step lively at the back there, awkward paws!”
The watchers on the walltop stood silent, as the heavily guarded rodents shuffled their way to the big front gate. Then the tiny molebabe set the Dibbuns off, with his raucous bass shouts. “Gurrout of yurr, you’m villyuns, goo on be h’off!” The Abbeybabes booed and hissed, shouting out some quite ripe comments at the sullen mob of captives.
“Hah, I cut you tails off wiv a hooj knife!”
“Yurr, et won’t smell so stinky in yurr when you uns bees gone, hurr hurr!”
“H’if youse cumm back, Mista Bosy’ll baff ye again. Better run very quicker!”
Abbot Glisam stood on the threshold, at the west wall centre. He waited until all the prisoners were lined up on the path, facing the flatlands on the far side of the ditch. Silence fell over everybeast when he raised his paws. Then he addressed the vermin prisoners in a no-nonsense voice.
“Hear me now: you are to be given your freedom, which is more than your tribe ever did for anybeast. But, there are conditions, under which you are released. There will be no return to Mossflower woodlands for any of you. Travel west, toward the setting sun at eventide. After one night out on those plains, you may choose whichever way you want to go. West, south, north, but not east, not back this way. I will post guards to look out from these walls. By this time tomorrow it will spell death for any they can see. Is this clearly understood?”
Amidst the silent shuffling of footpaws, Bosie paced up and down, sword on shoulder, berating the rats. “If’n certain beasties, whom Ah willnae mention, had their way, ye’d all be lang slain! Och, ye wee, ungrateful creatures, do ye not want yer life an’ freedom? Bow tae the guid Abbot an’ thank him right now. Come on, bow yer scruffy heids an’ say ‘thankee, Father,’ all of ye!”
With very bad grace the tree rats bobbed swift bows, muttering thanks. Abbot Glisam nodded to his guard force, below on the path.
“That’s sufficient, send them on their way now!”
Many of the rats hesitated at the edge of the ditch, but they were urged on by stern warriors, with shoves and pushes. “Come on, it ain’t that deep, either climb down, or jump over!”
Nokko put his footpaw behind one or two. “I ain’t carryin’ youse over on my back, git goin’!”
Tugga Bruster was about to swing his iron club at Tala, the mate of Chigid, whom he had slain. However she preempted the move by leaping right across to the other side of the ditch, where she faced him, hatred and defiance glittering in her eyes.
“See me, spikeymouse, I be Tala, I killya one day!”
The Guosim Log a Log began waving his club, roaring, “I’ve taken enough o’ this, I’m comin’ over there to finish you off, like I should’ve done!”
The Abbot shouted from the walltop. “There’ll be no killing done here, stop him!”
Dwink shot forward, grabbing Tugga Bruster in a head-lock. The shrew bit his paw, tripping him and pushing him into the ditch. Nokko was on Bruster in a flash, knocking the iron club to one side. With a driving headbutt he knocked the Shrew Chieftain out cold. The Gonfelin leader smiled.
“I been wantin’ t’do that fer a good while now! Cummon, young un, out ye come.” Reaching down he grasped Dwink’s paw and heaved.
The young squirrel tried to stand, then cried out in pain. “Yowhooch! Me flippin’ footpaw!”
Samolus scrambled down to his side, inspecting the footpaw. “Must’ve fell awkwardly, it’s broken!”
Willing volunteers carried Dwink into the Gatehouse, where Brother Torilis hastened to attend him.
Up on the threshold rampart, Abbot Glisam watched the freed vermin wandering willy-nilly, as if in no particular hurry. He turned to Skipper Rorgus. “Is that a bow you have there, friend?”
The otter proffered the weapon. “Aye, Father, ’tis.”
Glisam selected an arrow from the Skipper’s quiver. Laying the shaft upon the string, he drew back and let fly. The arrow fell just behind the back vermin rank. Glisam raised his voice in command. “Right, all archers prepare to shoot on my order. Ready…”
Without turning to ascertain the threat, the vermin took to their heels and fled in disorder. Sister Violet watched the receding dust cloud, remarking to Skipper, “I didn’t know Father Abbot was such a fine bowbeast, that was a splendid shot!”
Glisam did something quite out of character for the Father Abbot of Redwall. He winked roguishly at the astonished Sister, mimicking a rough otter voice. “Haharr, there’s a lot ye don’t know about me, matey, ain’t that right, Skip?”
Skipper Rorgus returned the wink.
“Aye, right as rain, me ole shipmate!”
Inside the Gatehouse, Dwink stifled a yelp as Brother Torilis gave the injured footpaw an experimental waggle. The gaunt-faced Torilis pronounced solemnly, “More than one bone fractured. Some poultices to prevent swelling, a firm dressing, lots of rest and you should be up and about by autumn.”
“Autumn?” the young squirrel cried. “I ain’t layin’ round here ’til then, we’ve got to go an’ find Dubble!”
Torilis gave him a wry glance. “We? If you mean me I have no intention of going searching for a shrew, and you, sir, are certainly not going anywhere. Huh, we!”
Dwink explained with a pained expression, “I didn’t mean you, Brother, I meant Bisky, Spingo and Umfry Spikkle. We vowed to help Dubble.”
Bisky and Spingo wandered into the Gatehouse. The Gonfelin maid smiled cheerily at Dwink. “How’s the ole hoof, Dwinko?”
Brother Torilis looked up from a draught he was mixing for the
Dwink shrugged helplessly at them. “Sorry, mates.”
Bisky patted his friend’s bushy tail. “Don’t worry about it, me’n’Spingo will find ole Dubble. You’ll have Umfry for company, though. Corksnout Spikkle left word that he can’t leave the Abbey ’til he’s finished up the job we started out to do. Cleanin’ out the cellars, an’ tidyin’ all those barrels, remember?”
Dwink nodded. “That seems like a long time ago now. Anyhow, you two take care of each other, an’ good luck with the search. I hope ye find Dubble safe.”
Friar Skurpul was kindness itself to both young searchers; he packed them a haversack apiece. “Yurr naow, Oi put in summ gurt vikkles for ee. Hunnycakes, dannyloin’n’burdocky corjul, candied chesknutters, parsties an’ ee few o’ moi speshul ’efty dumplin’s!” The good old mole gave a rumbly chuckle. “Ahurrhurrhurr, Oi wuddent go a-swimmen arfter eatin’ wun o’ moi dumplin’s. Loikely you’d be a-sinken, daown to ee bottum. Hurrhurrhurr, they’m not a-called ’efty furr nought!”
The pair thanked Skurpul, and quit the kitchens in high spirits, feeling a great sense of adventure for their coming trip. Striding across the sunlit Abbey lawns, Spingo encouraged Bisky to get into step by lustily singing a Gonfelin marching song.