Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Enough of this, y’ great bully. Put that maid down this instant!’

  It worked like a charm. The big, simple badger dropped Mara in a heap as he hopped about on one leg, rubbing his smarting footpaw. Urthwyte’s lower lip jutted resentfully as he muttered, ‘I’m not a bully. She’s the bully. Anyway, why are they always trying to make me fight?’

  Pikkle patted his head. ‘There there, old lad. It’s not your fault.’

  The squirrel rushed in, chattering. ‘You leave him alone, hare. Who asked you to come to our island in the first place? Go away and leave us in peace!’

  Loambudd, the old female badger, went to attend to Mara, rubbing her ribs and patting her back until the badger maid regained her breath. She was very motherly and considerate.

  ‘Stay there, Mara. Lie back and take deep breaths. There’s nothing broken. Ashnin, I don’t think these creatures mean us any harm.’

  ‘Well, they had me surrounded and captured!’ The squirrel folded her paws stubbornly.

  Pikkle gave her a playful shove. ‘Oh, go on with you, Granny. You started it by invadin’ me with bloomin’ cherry stones.’

  Ashnin gave a cackling laugh. ‘Good shot, aren’t I? Never missed ye once!’

  Urthwyte tugged Ashnin’s tail, complaining aloud just like a small badger babe, ‘I’m thirsty. Is it all right to have a drink?’

  The old squirrel threw up her paws in mock despair. ‘Oh go on, you great white tripehound, but don’t go drainin’ the pond. Leave some for others.’

  They all sat at the edge of the pool as Urthwyte sucked in great noisy gulps of water like a thirsty babe.

  Loambudd shook her head. ‘Look at him, the son of one of the greatest badger warriors ever to put paw on grass. Ah, but it’s not all his fault.’

  Urthwyte raised his dripping white snout from the water. ‘I’m hungry. It’s well past lunchtime, Nin.’

  The old squirrel tugged his ear sharply. ‘Tell me a time when you’re not hungry, you big scoffbag.’

  She turned to the three friends. ‘I suppose you’re all hungry too? D’you want lunch?’

  Pikkle bowed gracefully and kissed her wrinkled paw. ‘Feed us, O beautiful one, and we’re yours for ever!’

  ‘Oh go on with you, longshanks.’ She cuffed the young hare’s ear lightly. ‘I can see you’d take more feedin’ than a whole army, just by lookin’ at yeh.’

  Loambudd stood up and beckoned them. ‘Follow me. You’ll have to put a move on, though. I put a leek and mushroom pastie in the oven before Ashnin called. I just hope it hasn’t burned.’

  The two badgers and the squirrel lived a short distance from the pool in a beautiful natural cave. Mara looked about admiringly. It was spacious and well ventilated; two long windows had been carved through the rock, which stood like a hump in the forest. Flowers and trailing plants decorated the windowsills, woven rush matting carpeted the cave and there were several large seats carved from dead logs. These were spread with soft barkcloth covers. The rock had been carved in one corner to form a fireplace and a wide oven. In the centre of the cave was a fine table of rock slab adorned with bowls of fruit.

  They washed their paws in a trough by the entrance and sat round the table as Urthwyte and Loambudd brought the food. Pikkle’s eyes lit up and Tubgutt gave a small growl of anticipation. A crisp salad of fennel, hazelnuts, young dandelions and scallions was placed on the table, followed by a giant-sized leek and mushroom pastie, its steaming golden crust adorned with watercress. A large pitcher of cherry cordial and beakers came next, with cold mint-flavoured springwater standing by in another jug. Apples baked in honey with dollops of yellow kingcup cream topped the whole thing off, with a wide, flat, sugared plumcake standing by as an extra.

  Ashnin and Loambudd ate sparingly, encouraging the younger creatures to have as much as they liked – though little encouragement was needed. Mara ate steadily, but Pikkle, Tubgutt and Urthwyte went at it as though they were facing a ten-season famine.

  While they were enjoying the food, Mara noticed a black stone on a leather thong hanging over the fireplace. She nudged Tubgutt.

  ‘Is that Log-a-log’s famous Blackstone?’

  Tubgutt rose from the table. Going over to the stone, he touched it and bowed low reverently. ‘Aye, this is the Blackstone of all the South Stream shrews.’

  Urthwyte leaned back and stretched out. Unlooping the stone and its thong, he swung it back and forth, a mischievous grin hovering on his big face.

  ‘Oh, this? I took it from a shrew who trespassed on our island a long time ago. The little rascal took off like a shot. He must’ve thought I looked like some kind of ghost in the dark. Ha ha, most creatures do, y’know. I used to play with this stone – dreary-looking old thing, isn’t it? You can have it if you like, Mara.’

  He passed the Blackstone over, noting with a smile the gratitude on her face.

  The badger maid accepted the stone, winding the thong around her paw. ‘Thank you very much, Urthwyte. This stone means a lot to the tribe of Tubgutt, and to the father of the shrew you took it from.’

  Loambudd served Pikkle a great chunk of pastie. ‘So that’s what two boatloads of shrews came all this way for, a simple black pebble on a string. Well I never. We thought they’d come to settle here – that’s why we got Urthwyte to sound his ghost cries last night. I hoped it’d frighten them off.’

  Ashnin nibbled a fennel leaf, watching Mara with shrewd eyes. ‘But you never came here just for a piece of stone, missie?’

  Mara took a drink of the cool mintwater. ‘No, I came because Log-a-log the shrew leader wanted me to. Once he gets the Blackstone back, his authority as Guosssom leader will be complete. Then he will take me and Pikkle to the sea in his logboats to help Urthstripe in his fight against Ferahgo.’

  ‘Ferahgo the Assassin?’

  Urthwyte’s voice roared out like thunder as he threw back his big chair and reared up, a picture of massive ferocity, all traces of his former gentleness gone as fury blazed from hot angry eyes set above savagely bared teeth.

  Ashnin and Loambudd rushed round the table. They clung to the white badger’s paws, trying to pull him back down into his chair. He was yelling at the top of his voice, ‘Ferahgo the Assassin! Ferahgo the Assassin!’

  The three friends helped to calm him down and get him seated. He was shaking and trembling all over, the food in front of him forgotten.

  Ashnin slipped a small quantity of powder into a beaker of cherry cordial and gave it to him. ‘Here, drink this all up and go outside. Take a nap in the clearing and you’ll feel better. Go on.’

  Obediently the big badger drained the cup and shambled off out of the cave. When he had gone, Loambudd seized Mara’s paw.

  ‘Urthstripe – you mentioned Urthstripe. Is he alive?’

  Mara looked puzzled. ‘Yes, of course he is. Urthstripe is the badger Lord of Salamandastron. He is a great warrior, and also a stern old guardian. That’s why I left Salamandastron.’

  Loambudd sat back in her chair, shaking her head as she wiped away tears with a distracted paw.

  ‘Urthstripe alive! So, that little striped babe escaped the Assassin somehow. Tell me about him. What does he look like? Is he as big as his brother? Wait, tell me everything, all about my grandson and about yourself too, young one.’

  The badger maid related the story of her life and all she recalled of the badger Lord, from the time she became the adopted daughter of the mountain, up until the time she landed with the shrews at the island.

  31

  Three long shrew logboats shot out into the waters of the Great South Stream. The dawn was grey and overcast with a warm blustery wind coming out of the northeast. In the prow of the lead boat Samkim, Arula and Spriggat sat with their paddles shipped. There was little need for paddling in the fast-flowing current with the wind astern of the vessels.

  Arula chuckled with excitement as the sturdy craft skimmed and bobbed over the rushing waters. ‘Huhurr, boaten beats walken boi arf a se
ason’s march!’

  Now and then Spriggat would lean to one side and snap at the odd passing winged insect. ‘Huh, goin’ too fast fer an ’og to catch a bite.’

  Samkim crouched in the prow with Alfoh. Together they scanned ahead for signs of Dethbrush and his five trackers. Spray blew up into the young squirrel’s nostrils. It was his first time on a shrew logboat and he found it very exhilarating. Winking across at Alfoh, he called over the rushing stream noise, ‘This is the life, eh? Makes me wish I was a shrew!’

  The elder nodded as he shouted back, ‘You like it? Good! Your fox would have had to come this way because of the speedy current. We can follow this way until we get below the rapids!’

  ‘Rapids?’ Spriggat gave a squeak of dismay. ‘You never said anythin’ about rapids. Where are they?’

  ‘Up there a piece.’ Alfoh nodded ahead. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll come soon enough. I’ll pass you the word when they do.’

  Frequently the shrews would use their paddles to negotiate a rock or ward off floating driftwood, but the pace was becoming faster all the time and the banks shot by in a blur of green and brown as Alfoh roared out directions and warnings.

  ‘Duck your heads, overhangin’ willows comin’ up!’

  Arula barely made it, receiving a smart clip from a branch.

  ‘Rock to port! Get those paddles lined up!’

  Samkim shoved hard with his paddle, feeling the shock run through his paws as it struck stone. He pushed and felt the boat skip out away from the rock.

  ‘Wood stickin’ up midstream, paddles to starboard!’

  Spriggat and Arula paddled furiously, sighing in relief as they whizzed by a tree trunk that had stuck in the muddy bottom.

  Alfoh brought his mouth close to Samkim’s ear. ‘No signs yet, but don’t worry, we’ll catch the blaggards. Here come the rapids now. Stow yer paddle an’ hang on tight!’

  Samkim threw his paddle in the logboat bottom, gripping the sides tightly as he heard Alfoh yell out, ‘Rapids ahead! Stow all paddles an’ hang on!’

  White water boiled up over the prow, drenching Samkim as the boat dipped and hurtled crazily into a mad world of foaming, writhing waters. At the stern two experienced shrews sculled with their paddles, slewing the craft around jagged rocky outcrops. Arula threw herself into the bottom of the boat, digging claws hiding her eyes in fright.

  ‘Oohurr, oi’m bound t’er be a drownded mole choild afore sunset!’ Like a roller coaster the logboat tore through the rapids, sometimes with water gushing over the sides, other times with the hull groaning as it scraped over submerged rock ledges. Sterns up, heads down, the three vessels weaved and twisted with terrifying speed down the perilous watercourse. Samkim was amazed the shrews seemed to take it all in their stride, neither laughing nor looking fearful they battled away with expertise, competence written all over their faces. Finally, after one long watercourse that seemed more like a waterfall than a rapid, they splashed down into a semicircular lagoon with a thick covering of foamy scum lying slowly swirling on its surface. Behind them the rapids crashed and roared in watery chaos. Dipping their paddles, they began pushing on down the wide calm stream. Travelling easily, they felt possessed of an overwhelming tranquillity after the turmoil of the rapids. The sky was still lowering and overcast, wind soughed softly through the sedge at the banks and margins as the three logboats forged ahead.

  It was midday when the stream ahead split two ways and Alfoh held up a paw and called out, ‘Bows into yon middle bank!’

  They headed in to the tongue of land that protruded at the parting of the stream. Leaping ashore, Alfoh pointed to a high giant hornbeam.

  ‘Mollo, shin up that there hornbeam tree an’ scout the lay o’ the waters.’

  A sprightly young shrew bounded forward, but Samkim beat him to it. ‘Shrews to water but squirrels to trees, my friend!’ Like a shaft from a bowstring the young squirrel shot up the towering trunk. Alfoh watched him in amazement. Arula nudged the old shrew.

  ‘Burr, owzat furr doimen, zurr. ’Ee be a gud’n, our Sanken.’

  The giant hornbeam was so high that it was difficult to see Samkim when he was at the top. With the speed and agility of a born climber he whizzed back down again, leaping lightly to the ground, eager to deliver his news.

  ‘I could see them, I could see them! They’ve taken that stream on the left!’

  Alfoh leapt back into the boat. ‘Lucky for them. This’n on the right would’ve taken them into another waterfall and the mountain caves. How far away are they?’

  Samkim jumped in beside him. ‘Only about two hours good paddling I’d say.’

  The boats pushed off down the left fork of the stream. It sloped slightly and ran straight as a die as far as the eye could see. Alfoh struck out with his paddle.

  ‘Seems they’re headed right for the sea, but keep your eyes peeled anyway. You never can tell wi’ vermin.’

  The wind increased. Now dark cloud masses could be seen drifting over from the northeast. Spriggat snapped up a mayfly that had been silly enough to try a landing on his paw.

  ‘Looks like rain’s goin’ to bucket down afore long!’

  Halfway through the afternoon Alfoh peered at the left bank. It was heavily overgrown with willows and bushes. He had been watching out for this particular place.

  ‘Pull over here, shrews. That’s it, now back water an’ hove to.’

  Samkim watched intently as the elder inspected the thicketed edge. ‘What is it, Alfoh? What are you looking for?’

  Alfoh slashed at some vegetation with his rapier and pulled a clump of bush lupin to one side. ‘Hah! I thought so. Look here!’

  It was a hidden side creek, overgrown by bush and tree, which wound its way into thick woodland. Alfoh ponted to recent scrapes in the day of the bank at water level.

  ‘Aye, that’s a fox for ye, always one jump ahead of a grasshopper! The villain knew we’d follow t’ get our boat back, so he’s sidetracked off down here – though I suspect he doesn’t know where he’s goin’ to. This isn’t the way to the sea.’

  ‘Whurr do et lead to, zurr Affaloh?’ Arula peered up the dim overgrown waterway.

  Alfoh scratched his chin. ‘Only one place it can lead to, Arula: the Great Lake.’

  It was like paddling through a long green tunnel. The water reflected the trees overhead as they crowded low, and the mossy banks, and everywhere was green. Samkim looked at the faces around him, tinged by the green light. Apart from the muted sound of paddles, they were in a cocoon of verdant silence. Spriggat paddled and snacked upon various winged denizens of the hidden waterway, lifting his eyes as the splatch of water on the leaves above announced the arrival of the rain. They ate as they went, passing back oatcakes and small fruit scones preserved in honey and flower syrup.

  Arula took gulps of cooling lilac and rosewater from a hollow gourd and passed it to Spriggat. ‘Yurr, wash’ee flies down, zurr.’

  All along the waterway there were signs that the fox had passed in the stolen boat – broken branches, bruised plants and scrapes in the mossed banks. The wind increased overhead, howling a dirge through the treetops. The banks started to rise higher and the watercourse flowed faster as it took a downward slope.

  Suddenly Alfoh pointed ahead to the stern of a logboat vanishing round a bend. ‘There they are! Dig those paddles deep. We’ve got ’em!’

  Dethbrush heard the shout. Looking over his shoulder, he called to the five tracker rats, ‘Paddle for your lives! It’s those shrews!’

  Other side streams, swollen by the rain, began gushing into the watercourse, and the stolen boat picked up speed, zinging along on its downhill course to the inland lake. Behind it the three logboats raced to catch up.

  Dethbrush’s boat tipped dangerously and took off into the waters of the Great Lake with a loud splash. It was followed soon after by the Guosssom boats. Now all four were in the open waters. The howling northeast wind whipped the surface into foaming grey waves driven along in a wild slanti
ng downpour of battering rain. Samkim wiped rainwater from his eyes, shielding them with a paw as he tried to keep his sight focused on the boat ahead. The storm drove it powerfully over the wave-crested waters. Up and down bobbed the prow of Samkim’s boat, driving deep into the troughs and being lifted high upon the crests. The crew pulled with might and main, until Samkim could see the back of the fox drawing closer.

  ‘We’ve got ’em, lads. Dig those paddles deep!’ With a shrew rapier in his paw, the young squirrel stood balancing as far out on the prow as he could go. ‘Paddle! Paddle, you water-wallopers!’

  Within a third of a boatlength Samkim braced himself and took off with a mighty leap. Hurtling across the water with the waves almost hitting his paws, he sprang across the gap between the two boats to land scrambling for balance on the stern of the fox’s boat. A rat raised a paddle at him, but Samkim ducked and thrust in one movement, taking the tracker through his midriff.

  Dethbrush turned, brandishing the sword of Martin the Warrior. He advanced on Samkim, calling above the storm, ‘Come on, I’ll carve your gizzard to doll rags! ’S death for you, young un!’

  32

  Ferahgo lay stretched upon the rock. An old cloak that belonged to him had been soaked in seawater by Sickear and thrown over him to heal his scalded back. He sprawled flat on his stomach, feigning sleep, watching the shoreline through half-open eyes. The Assassin was expecting an attempt upon his life, whether from Klitch or some other source he knew not, but he was certain of one thing: injured leaders were a good target for the rebellious. When his penetrating stare caught the telltale movements far out among the rocks of the shore, he called Sickear to him.

  The rat was weary after nursing Ferahgo all day, he lolloped across and threw a desultory salute. ‘Yes, Master? Can I be of service?’