Doomwyte by Brian Jacques
Trying deliberately to appear casual, Nokko strutted by, entering the tunnel. “Righto, mates, everybeast’s clear now!”
Baliss left off his grisly feast. Hissing and slobbering, he wriggled off to search for water. As the snake’s noise began afresh, Nokko took to his paws and shot off down the tunnel.
Bosie put up his sword. “Ah think yon mousey has the right idea. Let’s be off!”
Whether it was the sound of the retreating woodlanders, or a faint breeze from outside, nobeast could tell. But Baliss turned aside from returning to the rear cave and headed for the tunnel.
37
Spingo ran to join Bisky, splashing through the shallows to meet him. The young Redwaller did not hide his pleasure at seeing her so well and sprightly.
“Hello, mate, yore looking pretty chipper!”
Spingo smiled. “You don’t look too bad yourself. What’s happenin’, did we whack ’em?”
Nokko ruffled his pretty daughter’s ears. “Ye could say that, though there’s still that blinkin’ adder to deal with yet.”
Soilclaw surveyed the tunnel frontage, shaking his velvety head dubiously. “Burr, ee’m mostly ’ard, solid rock, zurr. B’aint a gurt lot us’ns can do abowt that, hurr, nay!”
Gobbo interrupted, “Why can’t ye, yore supposed t’be moles, why can’t youse block up the ’ole, eh?”
Nokko glared at his garrulous son. “Hoi, bucketmouth, give yer gob a rest, or I’ll boot yer tail straight inter that stream!”
Burgy waved a hefty digging claw. “Leave ’im be, zurr, ee young maister got a point. Yurr, Frubb, us’ll take ee lukk further in. Coom on, zurr, may’aps ee can ’elp uz.”
Gobbo was not very taken by the suggestion. “Who, me? No, mate, I don’t know nothin’ about blockin’ tunnels!”
Nokko grabbed him firmly by the ear. “Ho, don’t yer now, seems like yer had enuff t’say about it just now. Well, me son, ye can either go an’ ’elp those good moles in the tunnel, or stay out ’ere with me while I duck yer in the stream. Please yerself, the choice is up to you!”
Dragging his tail, and sticking out his lower lip, Gobbo skulked into the tunnel with Burgy and Frubb. “Huh, wot choice is that, eh? It’s not fair, Da!”
Nokko winked at Bosie and grinned. “I’ll tell yer wot else isn’t fair. The stuff on a bird, that’s not fair, it’s feathers. Ha ha…fur, feathers, get it?”
The ghost of a smile touched Bosie’s lips. “Och, very droll, Ah’m sure, mah friend. Er, by the by, did anybeast mention breakfast, ah’m fair famished!”
Garul, the elder Guosim, called to some shrews, “Set up a fire an’ we’ll see wot we can do.”
Whilst preparations were being made to serve food, Bisky and Spingo joined the Gonfelins, to gather firewood.
Gobbo came hurtling out of the tunnel, like a stone from a slingshot. He was gabbling uncontrollably. “Quick quick runrun the addersnake’s comin’ down the tunnel runrun or we’ll all be ate alive!”
He was leaping about, waving his paws frantically. Nokko tripped him neatly, sending him headlong into the stream. “Take a drink an’ get yer breath back, me ould son. Is the snake really comin’, mate?”
Frubb nodded. “Ho aye, zurr, that ee bees, though the way ee surrpint is throwen’ itself abowt, ’twill take summ toime. But ee’m a-cummen sure enuff!”
Dubble tried hard to stop himself trembling.
“W…w…wot’ll we do?”
Surprisingly, it was Gobbo who came up with the answer, summing up his solution in one word: “Fire!”
Nokko beamed as he hauled his son from the stream. “That’s the first sensible thing ye’ve said in yer life. Fire, nobeast can face heat an’ flames!”
Bisky began piling brushwood and twigs into the tunnel outlet. “Come on, mates, all paws to work. Spingo, get a light from the campfire!”
Shortly thereafter, everybeast was dashing about gathering anything that would burn, deadwood, dried rushes, moss, old ferns, twigs, branches and rotten bark.
Dusting off his paws, Gobbo stood, paws akimbo. “Hah, that should stop the scummy ould villain. Just let ’im poke ’is snout inter that. He’ll gerra good roastin, I kin tell yer!”
Bosie watched the blaze, nibbling on an apple he had found. “Aye, but fire’ll no last forever, mah friend. What then?”
Zaran took up her curious sword, nodding to Bosie. “Come with me, I have a plan.” Something in her voice told the hare that he could trust to Zaran’s judgement. The black otter turned to Garul, who was standing by her side. “You must stay here, keep that fire alight. Bosie, come now, bring your fine sword.”
They set off uphill at a smart trot. Zaran glanced back and saw Spingo following them. Not only that, but the mole, Frubb, was also trailing Spingo. The black otter halted. “Go back, friends.”
The Gonfelin maid had a resolute gleam in her eye. “I want t’see wot yore up to. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll stay out o’ yore way, an’ I won’t get trapped under any big rocks. I’ll behave meself.”
Bosie pointed at Frubb. “What about you, mah braw beastie?”
Frubb’s homely face creased with smiles. “Ho, doan’t ee fret abowt Oi, zurr, may’ap you’m guddbeasts might need ee mole along with ee!”
Zaran nodded. “Come then, but do as I say.”
Reaching the spot where the hillside had collapsed, they stood at the edge of the hole. Yellow vapours were still pouring out, as Zaran peered into the depression. Bosie stirred the rim with his swordpoint. He watched the sandy soil silting downward, into the cavern below.
“See, yon big slab hasnae fallen, ’tis still hangin’ there. Though Ah dinnae know what’s holdin’ it up. So, marm, what’s the plan?”
Zaran explained, “I am closer than ever before to doing what I set out to do. Korvus Skurr is slain, now I must destroy his lair.”
Bosie took another look at the hole. “Aye, but even if yon auld stone drops, it won’t destroy the place. Ye told me tae bring mah sword, why was that?”
Zaran nodded toward the big sycamore above the collapsing area. The molecrew’s rope was still attached to its trunk. “All this ground is not safe anymore. If that great tree were to fall….”
Spingo interrupted eagerly, “It’d cave the whole lot in, a tree that size!”
Bosie’s head tilted back as he stared up at the massive height of the sycamore. “Skin mah scut, d’ye want me tae chop that thing doon wi’ mah sword?”
Zaran faced him impassively. “We have two swords, you and I, we will work together.” Without further ado, she went to the sycamore and began chopping.
Bosie sighed in resignation. “Och, this is no task for a Laird who hasnae been properly fed, but Ah’ll do mah best!” Drawing the legendary sword of Martin, he stood opposite Zaran and swung the blade. Then Frubb walked in the way of the swinging blades. Both beasts had to bring their swords up sharply, to avoid slicing through the mole.
Zaran spoke through clenched jaws. “Please, friend, stay out of our way!”
Frubb did not seem at all put out by his close shave. Leaning against the tree, he shook his head with disapproval. “Nay, nay, marm’n’zurr, you’m going abowt et all wrong-wise. The way you’m a-goin’, you gurt tree’ll prob’ly fall back’ard an’ flatten ee both. Ho urr aye, take et frum Oi!”
Spingo liked Frubb, so she backed him up stoutly. “I’d lissen to that good mole if’n I was you. Moles saved my life, they’re very sensible beasts!”
Frubb bowed, tugging his snout, a sure molesign of respect to another. “Whoi thankee, likkle mizzy!”
Zaran shrugged impatiently. “Then tell us what to do.”
Frubb held up a paw for silence. He paced around the sycamore, sniffing, scratching the earth and tapping on the trunk with his powerful digging claws. Whilst he performed this curious ritual, he could be heard muttering odd calculations to himself.
“Hummm, wind’ard drift…soil spillage, ho urr aye, must a-member that…taken into ’count ee lay of land
Moving to a point on the trunk directly opposite the hole, he measured two pawspans slightly left. “Cudd Oi burrow ee wepping, zurr?”
Wordlessly, Bosie passed him the sword. At about the height of his snout, Frubb notched a mark in the bark. “Start choppen yurr if’n you’m please!”
They began hewing with both blades at the sycamore. Initially their strokes were a bit disjointed, until Spingo made a suggestion. “Mayhaps if I sing a Gonfelin dancin’ song it’ll keep ye both in time. Right!”
Bosie spat on his paws, gripping the sword tight. “Sing out then, bonny lass, Ah’m game tae try it.”
Frubb clapped his paws in time to the tune as Spingo sang; Bosie’s and Zaran’s bladestrokes matched the rhythm.
“Can I come a-courtin’, sir,
an’ can I woo yore daughter?
Aye ye can try as others have,
but nobeast’s ever caught her.
Dance around an’ tap tap tap,
d’ye think ye stand a chance?
Many a swain has lost his heart,
to a pretty maid at the dance.
Round the floor now hop hop hop,
whirl her round just like a top!
Swing her high but hold her light,
an’ don’t ye try to kiss her,
four big beasts are watchin’ you,
an’ she’s their little sister.
Keep on dancin’ don’t dare stop,
wot a fix yore in, sir.
Yonder stands her stout ole ma,
a-twirlin’ a rollin’ pin, sir.
Skip’n’jump now one two three,
through the window an’ yore free!”
Bosie was blowing like a bellows with the pace. “D’ye not know any slower songs, bonny lass, mebbe a soft lullaby, or an auld funeral march!”
Spingo giggled. “Oh, come on, Mister Bosie, a big, strong beast like yourself shouldn’t be bothered by an overgrown twig like that. Let’s see wot ye can really do, with those muscles an’ that blade! Or are ye goin’ t’be beaten by an otter lady, eh?”
The lanky hare went back to his task like a creature possessed. Bark, wood chips, leafsprouts and twigs scattered widespread as he plied the sword blade.
Frubb caught on to what Spingo was doing. He called to Zaran, “Hurr, ee’ll take summ catchin’ marm, boi okey ee’m will!”
The black otter also knew what was going on, but she winked at the mole, and twirled her twin blades. “Do you think so…then watch this!” With muscle and sinew toughened by gruelling seasons of work on the hillside, Zaran was unstoppable. She hewed at the great tree with awesome energy. Soon there was no need of encouraging work songs, Bosie and Zaran were hacking at the tree in swift unison. Chack! Thock! Chack! Thock!
Frubb watched until he judged the moment right, then called a sudden halt to the task. “Stoppee naow, guddbeasts, stopp Oi says!” After listening with his ear to the sycamore trunk, the mole nodded sagely and made his report. “Hoo arr, she’m ready t’go naow!”
Bosie leant wearily on his sword pommel. “Och, pray tell, sirrah, how d’ye know that?”
Frubb wrinkled his snout, lowering his tone confidentially. “A ’coz ee’m tree told Oi, zurr, stan’ asoide naow. Mizzy, will ee untie ee rope frumm t’uther tree?”
Spingo hurriedly loosed the rope from the oak on the left, as Frubb undid the other rope, which the molecrew had tied during the rescue attempt. He gave Bosie and Zaran a rope each.
“Roight zurr’n’marm, you’m must fasten ee ropes furmly round ee tree. Far oop as ye can reach!” Taking the other ends of both ropes, Frubb bade Spingo to follow him. They went uphill until he judged the distance straight, and just right. “Hurr, bees you’m a gud treeclimberer, mizzy?”
Scooping up some soil, Spingo rubbed it on her paws. “Huh, good, me? You show me the tree wot needs climbin’, then stand clear, matey!”
The mole indicated two wych elms, either side of him. “Farsten wun to each, gudd’n’igh up.”
True to her word, the Gonfelin maid was an agile climber. She scaled both elms with ease, securing the ropes high, one to each tree.
Returning to the sycamore, Frubb outlined to Bosie and Zaran what was an extremely perilous operation. “You’m takes three more chops apiece at ee tree. Then ’urry back up’ill. Climb up yon h’elms, an’ wait moi signal. Then chop ee ropes, get ee daown an’ run furr you’m loives to yon ’illtop!”
Bosie nodded, putting up his sword. “That sounds clear enough, mah friend, but why do we have tae hurry?”
The mole chuckled. “Hurr hurr, ’cos ee h’entire neighbor’ood bees goin’ to cullapse daown ee ’ole, an’ you’m doan’t wants to goo with et, do ee, zurr?”
Bosie appeared quite indignant at the very idea. “Och, Ah should say not, Ah’ve seen enough o’ that reeky auld cavern, thank ye. Right, mah bonny tree-fellin’ friend, three chops apiece, eh!”
The half-dozen blows were promptly delivered, then they clambered uphill to the wych elms and climbed to their positions, blades ready, close to the ropes. Spingo and Frubb carried on upward, until they reached the crest of the vast wooded hill. The mole turned, watching the woodlands at their back.
Spingo whispered, “Wot happens now, mate?”
Frubb did not take his eyes from the panorama below. “We’m wait, mizzy, wait an’ watch east’ard.”
From his wych elm perch, Bosie called across to Zaran in the other tree, “Ah’m glad hares dinnae have tae live in trees. Thanks tae mah mither Ah wasnae born a squirrel.”
The black otter managed one of her rare smiles. “Aye, me, too, I hope our friend gives the signal soon.”
The hungry hare tasted a leaf and spat it out. “Och, there’s no’ even an apple or a pear growin’ up here. Ye‘d think a tree would at least have the decency tae grow a few nuts for a beast tae keep body’n’fur taegether whilst he’s waitin’!”
Frubb saw the distant treetops beginning to wave. He murmured, “Yurr she cumms, mizzy, ee wind we’m a-waiten on!”
In another moment, Spingo felt the breeze sweep over them. It all happened so quickly. Down below the taut ropes thrummed under the easterly wind.
“Chop ee roooooopes!”
Bosie and Zaran heard Frubb loud and clear. All it took was two sharp slashes, one from each blade. Both beasts scrambled down hastily, with the creak and groan of the sycamore in their ears. It made a noise like a massive rusty door swinging on its hinges. Krrreeeeeaaawwwwwkkkk…craaaack!
It toppled slowly for a moment, seeming to pause for a breathless space. Then the huge sycamore fell.
A shuddering tremor hit the entire hillside, almost knocking Bosie and Zaran flat as they fled for the summit. Spingo watched, openmouthed, as the treetop thundered down the depression, straight into the hole. Loud, sharp cracking noises reverberated around. Branches were snapped from the mighty trunk as it plunged downward through the hole. There was a resounding boom when the slab hit the ground in the cavern below. The hillside collapsed with a dull, nerve-numbing rumble.
Zaran grabbed Spingo, hauling her backward as long, running cracks began raking the hill, leaving deep, forbidding slits in the ground. Accompanied by the sounds of rock striking rock and boiling, bubbling liquid, a whistling jet of sulphured steam shot skyward. Then there was silence.
At the tunnel entrance, Nokko, Garul and Dubble were loading fuel into the fire. They were supplied by a constant stream of creatures, carrying any material which might prove flammable. Garul flung a bundle of dried ferns into the flames. Leaping back, he shielded his face from the backblast of searing heat. “I keep sniffin’ t’see if’n I can smell roasted serpent in there. Wot d’ye think, mate?”
Nokko held a paw to his nostrils. “That’s my scorchin’ whiskers yew kin smell, bucko. Nobeast’d be daft enough to try getting’ through that tunnel. It must be hotter’n ten ovens in
Dubble threw a length of old spruce bark into the blaze. He turned away, wiping bleary tears from his eyes. “Then tell me, wot’s the point of keepin’ a fire goin’ if’n there ain’t no snake in the tunnel, eh?”
Nokko bit a splinter from his paw and spat it out. “T’stop that ould addersnake from comin’ out ’ere an’ scoffin’ us, that’s the point! Aye aye, lissen t’that, sounds like a spot o’ thunder t’me.”
He ran back a few paces, glancing uphill. The summit gave a shuddering tremor, and a blast of yellow steam shot skyward. The earth convulsed suddenly under Nokko’s paws. He raced sideways, bellowing, “Gerraway, that hill’s comin’ down! Get back, everybeast, go t’the left or right, gerrout the way!”
Inside the cave, Baliss had been stuck in the tunnel. Badly burnt, the maddened snake freed itself, retreating from the inferno. The giant reptile coiled like a corkscrew, writhing madly in the throes of a macabre death dance. It thrashed about, heedless of what was happening.
The massive slab of rock fell from the ceiling, striking the cavern floor with an earsplitting slam. Cackling, screeching and hissing, the remaining birds and reptiles scattered for safety. There was, however, no place left to go as their world collapsed over them.
Bringing the entire cave ceiling with it, stalactites, earth, roots and rocks, the sycamore trunk plunged down. It struck the eyeless Doomwyte statue, driving it deep into the boiling pool. Scalding green sulphur water vomited forth to be met by gushing torrents from the overflowing lake in the rear cavern. Under tremendous pressure, it was forced through the tunnel. Picking up speed in the narrow passage, the thundering mass smashed through the firewall.
The watchers on the hilltop and those on the ground below were witness to an unbelievable sight. A veritable river of steaming mud and stone shot forth across the stream into the woodland, demolishing several trees in its path. It ran on for quite awhile before it slackened off. Now there was just a slow-moving ooze issuing from the tunnel. From both sides, creatures ventured gingerly forth, to stand either side of the morass.