Pearls of Lutra by Brian Jacques
Mutely they obeyed, reptilian eyes unblinking as they viewed the eerie scene beyond the doorway.
The entire chamber flickered with gold light, reflecting from the pine marten’s torch and highlighted by his shining crown. A long shallow trough built into the floor, filled with water, cast shifting patterns of golden lights around the walls. Gliding sinuously out of the trough and across the floor, the snake came hissing towards Ublaz. It was a dull ivory colour, but the water rippling on its scales caught the light, turning the serpent into a long moving stream of liquid gold.
Rearing up, the creature quivered and hissed menacingly as it faced the intruder. Few snakes in the world are more highly venomous and unpredictable than the coral water snake. As Ublaz concentrated all his powers upon the angry beaded eyes confronting him, the reptile arched, preparing to strike, mouth open wide, a crimson cavern with dark flickering tongue and poisonous fangs.
Ublaz began chanting in a high steady cadence.
‘Golden guardian of my wealth,
Hear me now, be still,
Deathly fang and coiling stealth,
Bend unto my will.’
Over and over the Emperor repeated his dirgelike chant, swaying from side to side in time with his adversary. Wide and unblinking, the mad eyes of Ublaz radiated all their power. He moved slowly forward as he chanted and swayed, until the snake’s damp breath wreathed his nostrils. With his head a hairsbreadth from the serpent’s, he strove to pierce it with his strange hypnotic stare. Side to side the two heads moved, challenging and seeking in unison with the cadence.
The snake began to subside, its mouth closed. The stiffened head relaxed and sank slowly into its bunched coils, both eyes filming over with a clouded membrane. Ublaz moved with it, down to floor level, still staring and chanting, until the venomous reptile lay still and subdued, conquered by his power. He stroked its head lightly then ceased chanting.
Ublaz stood upright, turned his back on the snake and faced the awed Monitor sentries. ‘Now you have seen the power of your Emperor!’ he hissed.
Then he swept past them and strode upstairs, knowing that tales of the sight they had witnessed would spread and grow in the telling. Ublaz knew that mightiness brought dread, and total fear and respect were based upon a frightening reputation. Soon even the sea vermin ranging the hills would realize that resistance was futile against his power.
Ice hung from the rigging of Waveworm as she nosed into a thick fogbank. The crew had long oars to manipulate port and starboard; they rowed wearily. Romsca strode up and down the welldeck, swinging a knotted rope’s end at anybeast she saw slacking.
‘Bend yer backs, ya barnacle-pawed swabs! Come on now, pull! It’s row or die in this weather, an’ this ferret ain’t goin’ t’die! Put some backbone into it, ya spineless seaslugs. Row!’
Rubby the cook was up in the bowsprit, on the lookout for rocks or the great lumps of ice that sometimes cruised the seas in the cold latitudes. Cupping his paw, he called back to Bladetail, ‘Clear ahead, mate, steady as she goes!’
The steersrat wiped frosty rime from his lips as he answered, ‘Aye aye, steady she is, dead ahead!’
Lask Frildur was wrapped in any available stitch of material he could lay claws on. The Monitor General sat dull-eyed and almost rigid in front of a miserable charcoal glow from a brazier in the for’ard cabin. As Romsca entered the foul-smelling accommodation, he winced, saying, ‘Cloze that door, I’m freezing to death, it’z cold, cold!’
Romsca slammed the door and stood grinning at the lizard. ‘What are you bellyachin’ about now, scaleface? There ain’t a wave out there t’day! It’s smooth as a babe’s fur!’
The Monitor’s head shook spasmodically. He had to wait for his teeth to stop chattering so that he could talk. ‘L-l-look, half of my Monitorz dead, frozen, iz no warmth, iz only d-d-death for uz unlezz zun shinez again!’
Romsca waved a paw on high. ‘Oh, well, why didn’t yer say, matey? I woulda tole the sun t’come out an’ shine all day if yer’d mentioned it!’
The dark muddy eyes of Lask Frildur glared hatred at the corsair. ‘Emperor Ublaz will hear of thizz inzult, ferret!’ he spat.
The corsair ferret captain laughed harshly. ‘Lissen, dead’ead, yer out at sea, in blue water! There ain’t a thing you, me, or the Emperor can do about the weather, get that inter yer thick skull, lizard! We’re all in the paws o’ fate, see, and luck’n’judgement is all I got. Right now I don’t know if’n we be sailin’ south, east, or north. No stars, sun or wind, just fog everywhere, an’ it ain’t my fault!’
Lask buried his huge head in frost-numbed claws. ‘You loze the way, the ship iz lozt!’
Romsca’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Clever ole reptile, the acorn’s finally dropped, eh! Right, matey, ’tis about time yer realized, none of us might get out o’ this liddle fix alive, an’ I doubts if I could make it over t’this Mossflower shore an’ then back to Sampetra, ’cos I ain’t ’alf the cap’n that Conva was. Aye, Conva, now there was a stoat wot knew ’is way about the seas. But where is Conva now, eh? Prob’ly rottin’ in some dungeon ’cos yer precious Emperor didn’t like ’is face!’
‘Land ho to starboard an’ clearin’ weatheeeeer!’
Rubby’s shout from his position as lookout in the bows sent Romsca hurtling out on deck as Waveworm’s vermin crew yelled in joy and relief.
‘Land ho! We made it, mates, land ho!’
The shoreline could be seen through the thinning mists and pale watery sunlight. Romsca vaulted nimbly up to the bowsprit beside the jubilant Rubby.
‘Haharrharr! We did it, Cap’n! Ain’t it a pretty sight?’ Rubby cried.
The ferret narrowed her eyes, peering hard at the rocky coast. ‘Aye, any land’s a pretty sight, mate, even if it ain’t Mossflower.’
Rafglan, searat bosun of the Waveworm, scrambled up beside them. ‘If this ain’t Mossflower, then where’n the name o’ blood’n’fangs are we?’
As she stared at the approaching land, realization dawned on Romsca. ‘This is far north, where we slew the otters, all for those accursed Tears, on our last voyage. Hah! I know where Mossflower is from ’ere. Bladetail, bring ’er ’alf round t’port! Ship those oars, mates! Rafglan, break out sails! Step lively now, buckoes, we’ll beat down the coast south’ard to Mossflower an’ the sun!’
By mid-noon a stiff breeze had sprung up. Waveworm had left the foggy regions far in her wake. The sun was out, though the weather remained brisk and nippy. Romsca helped Bladetail at the tiller as the vessel chopped and crabbed against the white-crested coastal rollers. The corsair ferret watched the rocky coastline.
‘Another few days an’ we’ll be keepin’ our eyes peeled fer that freshwater stream runnin’ out o’er the shores. That’s ’ow I’ll know Mossflower – I remembers that stream well, mate.’
The for’ard cabin door slammed open and Lask Frildur stumped heavily out, still swathed in wrappings, but with a glint of the old imperiousness back in his eye.
‘You, Romzca! Make arrangementz for my ten dead Monitorz!’
In a flash the corsair had drawn her curved sword. She let go of the tiller and approached the Monitor General, a tic in her left eye quivering with rage.
‘It’s Cap’n Romsca t’you, an’ I’ve got a ship t’run on yore Emperor’s orders! My crew’s got other things t’do, so go an’ give yore commands to yer own kind. You’ve got enough livin’ lizards to shove ten o’ their dead mates overboard. Don’t try pushin’ me round, Lask, I warn yer. I’m in command on this ship!’
Lask Frildur bared his lethal yellowed teeth at the corsair. ‘I hear you, Romzca. You are in command . . . until we reach the land of Mozzflower!’
The corsair roared at the Monitor as he strode away to his cabin. ‘Until we reach Mossflower, eh? The day ain’t dawned yet when Romsca the corsair is afeared of a lizard! Just you give the word when yer ready, an’ I’ll show ye the colour of yer insides!’
Ever since the lizards had begun to sho
Bladetail nodded in admiration of his captain. ‘Haharr, that’s the stuff, Cap’n. Let’s ’ear yer brag, go on, like you do in the tavern at Sampetra.’
Romsca felt her good humour return. Waving her curved blade she danced around the welldeck, throwing out the traditional corsair challenge while the crew cheered her on.
‘I’m the babe of a bloodripper,
Born in the teeth of a gale,
I’m the one who wields the sword,
An’ makes the foebeast wail.
I’m as sharp as the reef rock,
I carry death in me paw,
Go where I like, slay who I will,
That’s the corsairs’ law!
Blood’s me favourite colour,
Swifter’n lightnin’ aye,
Stand out me way, stand out I say,
Step aside now, or die!
’Cos I’m the spawn o’ nightstorm,
An’ death sails in me wake,
I sheath me blade in innards,
An’ what I want, I take!
Come one, come all, I’m waitin’,
I’ll flay yer carcass bare,
So everyplace I go they’ll say,
“Ahoy, you bold corsaaaaaaiiiiiirrrrr!”’
Lask Frildur crouched over the charcoal embers in his cabin, listening to the roistering sea vermin applauding Romsca. The Monitor General also heard the dull booming splashes as his lizards jettisoned their companions’ dead bodies astern into the restless sea. Lask gritted his teeth until they hurt, muttering, ‘Enjoy yourzelf, corzair! One day I will danze on your grave!’
Evening came with long rolling purple clouds tinged beneath with gold from the setting sun. Waveworm beat a course slowly south, following the darkened coastline which led to Mossflower country.
12
NIGHT BROUGHT WITH it the rain, drizzling at first, then a distant rumble of thunder and a faraway lightning flash that illuminated the dark horizon. Grath Longfletch shook water from her eyes as the rain increased. Her little longboat rode the rollers bravely, tacking south down the coast. The otter sat astern, guiding the small tiller lightly, watching the prow plunge up and down as it met each wave’s onslaught. Easterly wind buffeted the boat’s single square sail, pasting its middle to the slender rowan mast then pulling it away, allowing the canvas to flap wetly, driving the frail vessel towards the rocky shores.
Knowing it was dangerous to be caught out in a storm on a coastline peppered with reefs, Grath steered for the shore, silently hoping that her boat would not encounter any hidden rocks. She leant on the tiller and let the sail blow full out. Sideskipping the eastering wind, her longboat skimmed the floam-flecked wavetops, running for shore like a swift to its nest. Thunder boomed and in the lightning flash that followed Grath saw the cove – small, shingled and dead ahead. Rain-battered but exhilarated, the soaking otter clung tight to the tiller, sending her craft straight as one of her arrows, prow on into the cove and safety from the storm.
Leaping into the shallows Grath grabbed the headrope and began pulling her boat up the tideline, when a cheery voice rang out above the gale.
‘Lend a paw there, y’slab-sided shellackers, give the seabeast some ’elp t’beach that craft!’
A lantern glimmered high in the cliff surrounding the cove, and ten or more small raggedy furred creatures with brightly coloured headbands came dashing down and seized the headrope. With their aid Grath soon had the boat high and dry above the tideline. The small fat creature carrying the lantern approached her. He was obviously the leader; he carried a small rapier tucked into his waistband. He held out a paw to the otter.
‘I’m Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim shrews!’ he announced.
The paw was taken willingly. ‘Grath Longfletch, last of the Holt of Lutra!’
Log a Log set about gathering Grath’s few possessions from the boat. ‘Hah! You would’ve been nought but a drowned otter if ye stayed out at sea in that little lot, matey. Dabby, Curlo! Take this big bow atwixt ye afore it knocks me flat. Come on, Grath, ’tis no fit night for beast nor bird to be out in the open. Follow me.’
Halfway up the cliffs, sheltered from the sea by a protruding rockrift, Grath sat snug in a cave with her new-found friends. She drank shrewbeer which had had a red hot rapier thrust in to mull it, and the one called Dabby served her with a bowl of seafood soup from a cauldron bubbling at the edge of a seacoal and brackenwood fire. Grath ate with an appetite that amazed the shrews, tearing off hunks of flat barleybread to dip in her broth. As she satisfied her hunger, the otter related her tale.
When she had finished, Log a Log patted her broad, scarred back, smiling. ‘Well, at least you lived through it, Grath, an’ you eat like you survived a seven-season famine, mate. Lucky we found you. We’re the Guosim shrews – stands for Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, though we’re a long way from that place up ’ere. Guosim like to wander, y’see. Every spring we come up to the coast an’ feed off its bounty. We fish a bit, gather seaweed an’ collect shellfish. Guosim are river shrews; our boats are back inland a piece, moored in a creek. Nobeast knows the rivers’n’streams like we do, eh, mates!’
An old shrew began tootling on a flute. Log a Log nudged the young female called Curio. ‘C’mon, sleepychops, stop noddin’ off in front o’ that fire an’ sing a ditty fer our new pal Grath!’
Curio had a lively gruff voice, and she sang out with a will.
‘Guosim! Guosim!
Sail ’im, dip ’im, douse ’im,
If’n you see a shrew in river or stream,
Who can jump like a trout an’ swim like a bream,
Fight like a pike an’ sing like a lark,
An’ paddle a boat from dawn ’til dark . . .
Yer lookin’ at a Guosim!
O Guosim! Guosim!
Sail ’im, dip ’im, douse ’im,
If’n you see a shrew who c’n cook up a stew,
Brew dark beer an’ bake bread too,
An’ bend ’is back an’ pull an oar,
Row all the day an’ shout fer more . . .
Yer lookin’ at a Guosim!
O Guosim! Guosim!
Sail ’im, dip ’im, douse ’im,
Not an otter or a waterdog,
No nor a spiky ole ’edge’og,
Even a warty toad or frog,
So it’s three cheers for our Log a Loooooooooog!
We’re Guosim Guosim Guosim!’
The merry song was so catchy that Grath laughed aloud and asked Curlo to sing it again, which she did whilst two old shrews leapt up and gave the lie to their long seasons by dancing a merry jig to the tune.
Log a Log refilled Grath’s beaker, saying, ‘You’ve got a great laugh, friend. Y’should use it more often!’
The big otter stared into the fire. ‘There’s not been much to laugh about the last few seasons, matey.’
Curio tugged at Grath’s big calloused paw. ‘Will you sing a song fer us, marm?’ she asked.
The otter shook her head at the disappointed shrewmaid. ‘I’m not a very good singer, but I’ll do some magic for you.’
‘Magic, what sort of magic?’
‘With my bow, I’ll shoot a star for you!’
All eyes turned on Grath, who winked secretly at Log a Log.
The shrew Chieftain nodded sagely. ‘Aye, she looks like a magic otter t’me. Trimp, Dimple, fetch our friend her big bow an’ quiver.’
The shrews watched intently as Grath strung the great longbow and chose an arrow. Then she passed her paws over the bow, murmuring, ‘Magic arrow travel far, I will shoot a bright night star!’
Grath stepped outside onto the ledge in front of the cave, surrounded by curious shrews.
‘Which star do you want me to shoot?’ she asked Curlo. ‘Point it out.’
With a hearty gruff giggle, Curio pointed. ‘That’n up there!’
‘Which one, that bright twinkly one?’
With a mock serious face, Log a Log shook a paw at her. ‘I see you don’t believe friend Grath. Right, go on, mate, show ’er!’
Grath sighted on the star, and bent her bow full back, the arrow tight on the tautened string. Whipping the bow aloft, she loosed the green-feathered shaft, and in seconds it was speeding upward, lost in the vastness of the night sky.
‘Quickly, everybeast inside!’ Grath shouted.
The shrews dashed into the cave, with Grath behind them yelling, ‘Stand well back from the fire then look at it hard for a few seconds.’
After a short interval the otter called to them, ‘Close your eyes tightly, keep them closed and come outside!’
Doing as they were bidden, the shrews filed outside, clasping each other’s paws with their eyes screwed shut.
‘Now, turn your faces to the place where the star was in the sky,’ Grath announced in a loud, mysterious voice. ‘Open your eyes quickly and blink once!’
Roars of wonderment went up from the Guosim shrews.
‘She did it! She did it!’
‘The star burst in a great flash of light!’
‘I can still see it bursting, there’s lights everywhere!’
One tiny shrew ran round shrieking, ‘I saw the arrow hit the star, miss! Grath is magic!’
Later the wind abated, and the thunder and lightning ceased. Outside the rain continued, but not so hard as before. Grath and Log a Log sat with their backs against the cave wall, watching the flickering firelight cast patterns over sleeping Guosim shrews and listening to the steady patter of raindrops on the rocks outside.
The shrew Chieftain yawned. ‘That was a good trick, Grath. Have you got any more magic t’stop this lot snorin’?’
The otter chuckled. ‘You want to try living in an otter holt sometime. It makes shrew snores sound like gentle music. They don’t bother me, friend.’
Log a Log closed his eyes, paws folded on his fat stomach. ‘Good! Then y’won’t mind me addin’ my snores to ’em, mate. Peace be upon your rest, Grath Longfletch!’