Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Thrugann mopped sweat from her brow and sat down on the bed where Abbess Vale lay.

  Faith Spinney was at her side in an instant. ‘Thrugann, are you all right, my dear?’

  The otter staggered up and crossed to the window. ‘Aye, all I need is a breath of fresh air. Help me with this window catch, Mister Furgle, I feel weak as an otter kitten.’

  ‘Redwaaaaaaallllll!’

  ‘Great acorns, what was that?’ Faith Spinney sat bolt upright on the dormitory floor.

  Thrugann flopped down beside her. ‘Now I know I’ve got that pesky Dryditch Fever – I’m seein’ things. I just saw Baby Dumble go flyin’ past that window!’

  Furgle jumped up and down, pounding the windowsill. ‘I can see him too! He’s sitting in a haversack and the biggest bird on earth is carrying the thing in its claws!’

  Faith Spinney and Thrugann went skeltering down the stairs towards the main door, yelling aloud.

  ‘Murder! Help! A big bird’s got Baby Dumble!’

  ‘I don’t care ’ow big the bird is, I’ll wring its neck if it ’urts one ’air of that infant’s liddle ’ead!’

  Tudd Spinney hurried up from the cellars and hob-skipped on his cane after them. ‘Ain’t things bad enough without an attack of big birds!’

  The Wild King MacPhearsome beat the air with his gigantic wings as he set the haversack carefully down on the lawn of Redwall Abbey.

  ‘Oh, ye didnae tell me ye lived in sich a braw nest, Dumble!’

  The infant stumbled from the haversack wreathed in Icetor Flowers. ‘It notta nest, birdie, it’s a Habbey called Redwaaaaaallllll!’

  In the island cave Mara listened with amazement to the tale that Loambudd told.

  ‘My son Urthound was the strongest and wisest badger in all the Southwest Lands, and his wife Urthrun was famed for her beauty and gentleness. They ruled and protected the Southwest and were loved by all. Urthound’s father Urthclaw had been dead many seasons. I was alone and there was trouble in the land, so Urthound took me in his home to live with him. It was autumn and Urthrun had given birth to two beautiful badger babes, male twins – we named them Urthwyte and Urthstripe. The trouble was called Ferahgo the Assassin and his gang of Corpsemakers. He was young and evil, a blue-eyed weasel who murdered for pleasure, with an army of vermin to back him up.

  ‘That winter, the babes were scarce one season old, the snow was deep and the weather hard. If I had known that Ferahgo was in the area of my son’s home I would never have gone out into the woodland that day to gather snowdrops. But I think that my son had arranged some sort of meeting with Ferahgo. It was Urthound who asked me to go and gather the snowdrops for his wife, though I know now that he only did it to get me out of his home lest I should attack Ferahgo – I was a mighty fighting badger when I was younger. Be that as it may, off I went into the winter woodlands to gather snowdrops.

  When I returned it was to find an awful scene of Ferahgo’s treachery. The beautiful home was wrecked, my son Urthound lay dead, murdered by the blue-eyed one, and his wife Urthrun too was terribly slain. Of the two little ones there was only the white one Urthwyte. As for Urthstripe, I never knew what became of him. Did Ferahgo carry him off? Or did he wander away into the woodlands to perish in the winter? I never knew until this day when you came here, Mara. Fate sent you here to let me know that my grandson still lives. I might have known it, he was a tough little thing, more like his grandfather, fierce and warlike. He must have survived somehow.

  Urthwyte is like no other; he can be gentle at times but savage when needs be. I have told him the story of what happened many a time throughout his growing, hoping that someday he might have a chance to avenge the death of his parents. That winter day I fled, taking Urthwyte with me. We wandered the woodlands for many seasons. That is where we met our goodfriend Ashnin – she was the slave of wandering foxes. I fought them off and freed her, then the three of us travelled together, looking for peace and a better life. One summer day many seasons ago we found it here, an island paradise where we lived in safety until now.’

  Mara touched the old badger lady’s paw.

  ‘Why don’t you forget the past and stay here, Loambudd?’

  ‘Because you have brought the past walking in through our door and because my grandson and I are both badgers, fighting beasts. Besides, how do you think I could stay here, knowing that kin of mine may be battling for life in the lands by the big sea? When you go, we will go with you, on the day after tomorrow.’

  Pikkle looked up from his cherry cordial. ‘Why the day after tomorrow, marm?’

  ‘Because a great storm is brewing. It will hit the lake tomorrow and nothing will be able to get on or off this island all day.’

  Mara rose. ‘I must go and tell Log-a-log so that he can pull the logboats up to safety.’

  The old squirrel, Ashnin, spoke. ‘That would be wise. The rock ledge they are camped on will be battered by heavy waves when the storm comes. Go and wake Urthwyte. He will haul the boats up to the woodlands for you. Tell your shrew friends to come and visit us until it is time to leave – I would like to know what sort of creatures I will be travelling with to the shores of the great sea.’

  ‘You’ll be goin’ too, marm?’ Pikkle was surprised.

  The ancient squirrel took a bow and arrows from the chimney corner. ‘I certainly will, young feller. I’ve never missed a good fight in my life. I’m a dead shot too!’

  Pikkle rubbed his head where the cherry stones had struck. ‘I can already vouch for that, marm!’

  Log-a-log and the Guosssom shrews yelled in alarm when a large white badger head poked over the cliffs at them, until Pikkle came bounding down paw over paw on a rope.

  ‘Panic over, chaps. This is old Urthwotsit, a pal of ours. He’s offered to haul the boats up to high ground – apparently there’s goin’ to be a whizzo storm tomorrow and all this ledge where you’re standin’ will be underwater. Hey, Mara, come down an’ show old Log-a-thing what you’ve brought for him!’

  Mara slid down the rope. Without a word she hung the Blackstone around Log-a-log’s neck. Immediately all the Guosssom shrews raised their paws in the air and gave a mighty roar.

  ‘Logalogalogalogalog!’

  One by one they filed past their leader, touching the Blackstone and bowing respectfully. There was not a shadow of doubt who the absolute leader of the Guosssom was now. Log-a-log clasped Mara’s paws in both of his.

  ‘I will never forget this, Mara.’ His voice shook with emotion. ‘No matter what the time, day, or season I am yours to command.’

  Nordo placed his paws over those of his father. ‘And I also. Mara, friend, words cannot thank you enough!’

  The badger maid smiled at them both. ‘Then save your words, friends. Show me by your actions when we reach Salamandastron and face the hordes of Ferahgo!’

  The white badger was a great source of amazement to the Guosssom. They watched open-mouthed as he wrapped his huge paws around the damaged logboat. Bracing himself, Urthwyte gave a single grunt and lifted the entire vessel. He carried it five paces, then deposited it neatly on the trestles they had set up for its repair.

  Nordo hesitantly touched the powerful corded muscle and sinew which stood out through the badger’s snowy coat. ‘By the log of my father’s boat! It would have taken at least fifteen shrews to even budge one of our craft. You have the strength of a giant, Urthwyte!’

  The big badger smiled and swelled out his chest. He was a simple creature and enjoyed the adulation of the shrews.

  Loambudd brought him back to earth with a bump as she commented to Nordo, ‘Aye, my grandson has strength that he has not used yet, but he also has an appetite to match. He could eat your tribe out of house and home. You should try feeding him for a season – he’s a bottomless pit, that one.’

  Log-a-log knew all there was to know about boats. Pikkle sat watching him as he deftly set about repairing the damaged craft. Taking a saw-edged dagger, the shrew leader cut away the damp splinte
red wood from the boat’s side. Working with wet clay and pine pegs, he fitted a neatly cut piece of oak into the space, bedding it with clay and boring the wood with a red-hot rapier until the pegs secured the new piece firmly. Taking a bubbling pan of pine resin from the fire, he brushed on several thick coats, rendering the whole job waterproof.

  Pikkle stood back to admire the repair. ‘I say, good show, wot! I’ll bet the old boat’ll go as fast as the day it was built now, Log-a-thing.’

  Log-a-log dipped his brush in the resin pan. ‘She certainly will, Pikkle my friend. This pine resin is a marvellous glue – they say that two coats of this around the mouth of a hare will stop him chattering and eating too much. Hold still now while I try it on you!’

  The entire camp roared with laughter as Log-a-log chased Pikkle round the boat, brandishing the resin brush.

  ‘Gerraway, you mouldy ol’ shrewfeller,’ the young hare whooped as he ducked and weaved. ‘Go an’ try that stuff out on old Tubbguts. He needs it more than me!’

  Ashnin leaped about, cackling. ‘Get him, Log-a-log. That Pikkle eats more than Urthwyte an’ Tubgutt put together. I should know – it was me who served them lunch today.’

  34

  Through the drenching curtains of storm-blown rain, Alfoh and Arula watched the battle from the logboat as it bucked and pitched on the heaving surface of the Great Lake. Only Samkim’s nimbleness of paw was saving him from Dethbrush; the fox was an experienced fighter and used Martin’s sword efficiently. Samkim was on the defensive, seeking desperately to parry each slashing blow with his light shrew rapier. The remaining tracker rats clung grimly to the side of the boat, silent spectators to the duel. Steel clashed upon steel. Bobbing up and down with the storm-tossed craft, Samkim held his weapon in both paws, frantically trying to turn the ever-seeking point and edges of the glittering sword. Dethbrush pursued him along the boat’s length, hacking and thrusting until the young squirrel was trapped up on the bows with nowhere left to go. Showing his teeth viciously, the fox battered away forcefully at the puny rapier which stood in the way of a death-thrust from the sword. With a sweeping blow he struck at the outstretched weapon – and the rapier snapped off at the hilt with a metallic ping.

  ‘Paddle ’ee boats over,’ Arula yelled aloud. “Elp Sanken!’

  The three logboats nosed their way across as the Guosssom paddled wildly against the mounting waves.

  Reaching instinctively as Dethbrush raised the sword above his head, Samkim kicked out with both footpaws. He caught the fox low in his stomach, sending him sprawling into the bottom of the boat.

  Dethbrush pulled himself quickly upright, snarling, ‘I’ll use your tail as a headplume’after I’ve slain you!’

  The prow of Alfoh’s logboat struck the fox’s craft amidships. He tottered, struggling for balance as the other two vessels closed in. Samkim saw his chance. Leaping up, he punched Dethbrush on the jaw, still holding the rapier handle in his paw. A look of surprise crossed the fox’s face as he plunged overboard into the rain-lashed waters, still holding the sword.

  The Deepcoiler came suddenly, surging up from the depths like a juggernaut into the midst of the maelstrom. The fearsome head crashed through the surface, water rushing from it as the horrible mouth yawned agape.

  Dethbrush gave vent to a gurgling wail as the monster’s jaws closed across the middle of his body, and the sword fell from his lifeless paws into the water. Without thinking, Samkim flung himself headlong into the water, grabbing the sword as the fox let it go. Arula was only inches from the Deepcoiler’s head. Swinging her paddle with both paws, she struck with the strength of panic, belting it in the eye. Immediately the gigantic reptile shot back under the water, Spriggat and Alfoh grabbed Samkim by the ears and heaved him scrabbling back into the logboat.

  Without warning the Deepcoiler exploded back to the surface. The four logboats stood upright on their sterns as the mighty beast cleaved the water between them. Every creature aboard the boats was flung into the lake. Amid the driving gales of wind and rain the Deepcoiler began its killing in the crests and valleys of the sweeping waves.

  Samkim clung grimly on to the sword. For the second time in as many moments he found himself pulled to safety as Arula dragged him on to the hull of an overturned boat. Screeching and yelling creatures hung on to capsized logboats as the Deepcoiler wreaked its savagery upon them. Coils of awesome thickness lashed and crashed everywhere, and the grey and white foamed lake was tinged with red as rows of razorlike teeth ripped and tore at any moving thing, the thrashing tail stunning, killing and drowning as it whipped about in random savagery.

  Spriggat roared in pain as the deadly jaws closed on his back. Samkim cut a chunk from the rearing neck in front of him. The creature hissed, opening its mouth and releasing the hedgehog as it turned its attentions to the young squirrel. Samkim caught one glance of the glittering eyes as the lake monster came at him with open mouth, then recklessly he drove his blade beyond the teeth and into the roof of Deepcoiler’s mouth.

  ‘Redwaaaaaalllllll!’

  Arula and Alfoh threw themselves upon Samkim, dragging him back as the fearsome jaws closed with a stunning clash of teeth. All three creatures fell back on to the hull in a bundle as with its customary unexpectedness the Deepcoiler submerged.

  Samkim fought madly to free himself from the paws of his rescuers, roaring above the storm, ‘The sword! That thing has taken Martin’s sword! Let me go!’

  Arula and Alfoh dug their paws into his sodden fur.

  ‘Hurr, yon beastie near got ’ee too Sanken, but yore safe naow!’

  Out of his mind with frustration and battle lust, Samkim bit fiercely at the paws of his friends. ‘Let me go, I’ve got to get the sword! Stupid shrew, blundering mole, let go of me!’

  Samkim did not see the paddle that Arula swung at his head until too late. Stars burst inside his brain, then suddenly he was falling through rushing darkness.

  It was night-time when Samkim regained consciousness. The rain had stopped but northeast winds were still sweeping across the lake. He lay on his back at the bottom of a logboat, watching wind-driven columns of cloud scudding across the face of a pale moon. A cool damp cloth was pressed to his head. It lessened the nagging pain which pounded in his temple. Samkim groaned and tried to sit upright.

  Alfoh pushed him none too gently back down. ‘Be still, you wild squirrel. I’m trying to reduce the size of this bump on your skull. How do you feel?’

  Samkim closed his eyes, and the throbbing receded slightly. ‘Ooh! A massive headache, that’s all I can feel. What happened, Alfoh? I can’t remember much of what went on.’

  The shrew held a beaker of water as Samkim drank slowly. ‘Hmm, can’t remember, eh? Well, let me refresh your memory, though I don’t know whether you’ll trust the word of a stupid shrew. Or maybe you’d like to ask the blundering mole?’

  Arula leaned over her friend’s face and winked broadly. ‘Blunderin’ mole ’ee called oi, hurr hurr. Oi blundered ’ee one o’er yore ’ead wi’ moi paddle! Sanken, you’m wurr loik some orful woild beastie. You’m said bad things ’bout us’ns.’

  The young squirrel winced as memory of the events flooded back. ‘Arula, and you, Alfoh, I’m very sorry for what I said, but it was the thought of losing Martin’s sword like that. Forgive me.’

  ‘You’m a mad ol’ feller, but you’m moi best matey.’ The molemaid’s homely face creased into a friendly smile.

  Arula took over the ministrations with the damp cloth as Alfoh explained what had happened while Samkim had lain unconscious.

  ‘Deepcoiler went straight down and never reappeared, at least not so far. We lost six shrews, all the rats and one boat. I can tell you it wasn’t much fun trying to turn three boats upright in that storm and keep you and Spriggat above water at the same time . . .’

  Samkim pushed the cloth aside and sat up. ‘Where is Spriggat? Is he all right?’

  Alfoh pointed across to one of the other boats. ‘He’s over there. We
can’t really see how badly the poor creature is injured. When it gets light we’ll check up on him. Don’t worry, my Guosssom are attending to him as best as they can. Rest now and try to sleep. Our position is none too good – we lost all the provisions and this wind is driving us along very fast, though to goodness knows where. There’s no point in paddling or fighting against things. Lie back and rest – that’s all we can do. At least the rain’s stopped and that horrible monster hasn’t shown up again.’

  It was a long night. Completely exhausted, wet and shivering in the blustery wind, they curled up in the bottoms of the speeding logboats, trying to ignore waves splashing over the sides as they were rushed on through the gusty darkness.

  Samkim was the first to wake at dawn. His headache had cleared up and he felt much better. He lay still awhile, enjoying the light warmth of early sunlight. Alfoh, Arula and the rest were still snoring peacefully as Samkim sat up slowly and looked about. The wind had dropped and the clouds were gone. The lake was calm, mirrorlike and silent, and the three logboats lay side by side, becalmed on the tranquil surface of the great waters. Ripples spread as Samkim dipped his paws to drink the clear lakewater.

  ‘I’d give a whole waspnest fer a drink o’ that. C’n yew get some across t’ me, young un?’

  Spriggat’s head lolled against the boatside as he watched Samkim drinking. The young squirrel found a beaker and filled it. Treading carefully, he stepped over sleeping shrews, and the logboat wobbled slightly as he climbed across into the other craft. Cradling the old hedgehog’s head in his lap, Samkim held the beaker to his lips.

  ‘Take it easy now, Sprig – just small sips, don’t try to gulp it. Well, how are you feeling today, you old flyscoffer?’

  Water dribbled from Spriggat’s mouth as he smiled wearily. ‘Yore a good young un an’ I don’t want to upset ye.’

  Samkim wiped his friend’s mouth. ‘Why, what’s the matter?’