Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  A sob escaped Wildag’s lips, and he began to tremble. Swartt patted the Captain’s back reassuringly. ‘Oh come on now, bucko, cheer up, ole Sixclaw don’t like to see anybeast unhappy or ’ungry. I’m willin’ t’share my vittles with you, but to show you I’m a real comrade I’ll let you ’ave it all for yoreself.’

  He tipped the old dead crow out of the sack, smiling companionably at Wildag. ‘As y’can see, it ain’t no roast duck, but yore welcome to it.’ Then, pinching Lardtail’s ear cruelly in his claws, Swartt marched the rat over to the crow carcass. ‘Pick it up, matey, there’s a good rat,’ he said. ‘D’you want some?’

  Hauled up on tip-paw by his ear the rat whined, ‘No, Lord, I ain’t ’ungry!’

  Hordebeasts are fickle creatures at best, and now some of the gathering began chuckling as they realized what Swartt was up to. The Warlord winked at them, knowing they would be firmly on his side after he had asserted his power. Wagging his chain-mailed sixclaw in the rat’s face he explained firmly, ‘Wildag’s yore mate, so I want you to. feed this to ’im right now, all of it. Meat, bone, claws, feathers, beak, the lot! Show Wildag that Swartt is a real friend. I ain’t just sharin’ it with ’im, I’m givin’ ’im it all out of the goodness of me ’eart.’

  Roars of laughter from the pitiless hordebeasts rang out as the two assassins grabbed Wildag in preparation for his awful meal. Swartt silenced them with a wave of his mailed paw. ‘I’m goin’ to my tent now. I’ll eat at the same time we all do, in two days’ time, or sooner if we march fast. Meanwhile, don’t go mutterin’ an’ meetin’ among yoreselves, come to me. If you have anythin’ to complain about I’ll always listen.’

  Cheers rang in the Warlord’s ears as he strode off into the night. He smiled to himself. The horde were with him once more.

  The following morning was hot as usual, though not as windy. Swartt waited until the tents were packed and the last rations issued before he stood to address the horde. They gathered around, banners fluttering in the light breeze, drums beating until the entire army stood waiting. Swartt knew that if he was to stay Warlord the one thing he must do was to instil fear of his powers into the hordebeasts. He did not want their affection or comradeship – to Swartt that was mere weakness. Respect and loyalty were only gained by one thing in the ferret’s mind. Fear! He demonstrated it fully on that morn in front of his horde.

  The rat Lardtail cringed on the ground, flanked by Scarback and Marbul, the two weasel assassins.

  ‘I don’t see our Captain Wildag about, where is he?’ Swartt Sixclaw’s voice rang out commandingly.

  Marbul, so called because one of his eyes was a sightless white orb, spoke for the trembling rat. ‘Wildag’s dead, my Lord!’

  Swartt managed to look both concerned and astounded. ‘Dead, how did he die?’ he asked.

  Scarback kicked the quivering Lardtail contemptuously. ‘This stupid blunderer killed him by feedin’ him a dead crow – beak, feathers, claws, the lot! Pore Wildag choked.’

  Swartt shook his head in disbelief. ‘Choked eh? Somebeast is goin’ to pay for chokin’ a Captain!’

  Lardtail’s voice was a strangled sob of protest. ‘But Lord, you told me to feed the bird to Wildag. I was only carrying out yore orders!’

  The mailed sixclaw pointed accusingly at the unfortunate rat. ‘You liar! I never ordered you to kill Wildag, only to feed him. The penalty for slaying a horde Captain is death!’

  Lardtail screamed and grovelled in front of the Warlord. ‘No, Sire, please! Spare me, Lord Sixclaw!’

  Swartt turned his back on Lardtail, nodding to Scarback and Marbul as he did. Their daggers flashed in the morning sunlight. Turning back to the horde, Swartt did not even bother glancing down at the slain rat. A chilling silence fell over the mighty army.

  Swartt hammered the lesson home with harsh callousness. ‘Lardtail’s learned his lesson, so has Wildag. I am Swartt Sixclaw, Warlord of all this horde! I see all, I know all, I hear all! Look at the beast standin’ next to you – he could be one of my spies. I have many, this is the lesson you must learn. Even thoughts cannot be hidden from me, I can read your mind just by your eyes. I see some of you lookin’ away from my gaze, but that won’t help. My vixen seer Nightshade can read thoughts with her eyes closed! Listen now, every slab-sided, droolin’, misbegotten mother’s whelp of yeh! Yore mine to the death, everybeast! Wherever we go I will conquer all. Bowfleg was ruler of the east scrublands. Hah! I will be Warlord of the whole country! None will stand in my way and you will see to this! If I say march, starve, fight, die! – you will do it without question. This means everybeast, females, young and families! It is two days’ march to food and water, and we’ll do it by tomorrow noon. There’ll be no stragglers – keep up or die. Drummers, beat double march time. Now!’

  The drums beat a fierce tattoo as the entire horde moved forward at double their normal marching pace. Heavy cooking utensils and cumbersome possessions were littered in the wake of the marchers as each tried to keep up with the other. Swartt strode out in front, the vixen at his side showing him the route. At the rear of the horde Marbul and Scarback trotted, blades at the ready to deal with stragglers or deserters. The lesson was being learned, and Swartt had added another title to his name – the Pitiless One!

  * * *

  8

  High above the dustclouds of Swartt’s army, far out of range from arrow or slingstone, four crows flew like ragged black specks against the sky. Two of the birds broke off and wheeled south, leaving the other two watching the horde of Sixclaw. Soaring on the high thermals and using the breeze, the first two crows were out of the desert regions and into the fertile hill lands by noon. Circling swiftly, they dropped into a copse of pines.

  Krakulat, Ruler of the Crow Brethren, sat immobile on a pine stump, his plumage covered in earth, dust and pine needles. The huge bird was grieving for his mother, and none dared come near him. The two scouts landed a respectful distance away and waited until Krakulat’s wife Bonebeak waddled up to them before making their report.

  ‘Rakkaaa! The vermin are as many as grains of sand blown by the wind, they come this way. Tomorrow when the sun is this high we will see them, Lady Bonebeak.’

  The fierce female called to her husband. ‘Yaggaaa! Did you hear that? The ones who slew your mother are coming to this place!’

  Krakulat’s talons sunk into the bark of the pine stump with rage; his bloodshot eyes widened with anticipation as he rasped hoarsely to the trees about him, ‘Harrkaa! Tomorrow will be the dying day for many vermin, do you hear me, my Brethren? Krakulat has spoken!’

  A deafening din arose from the copse as hundreds of savage crows set up a mighty cawing. Krakulat shook his feathers until dust and needles flew about him. Blue-black and beautifully iridescent, the mighty bird nodded his frightening beak up and down in a stabbing movement, screaming, ‘Karraaaa! There will be many vermin for our eggchicks to pick over as the sun whitens the bones of those who slew my mother!’

  Sunflash the Mace saw the gates of Dark Forest. He lay on the ground as they began opening before him, slowly, oh so slowly; without sound of a creak, the mist-shrouded timbers moved. He felt his body being drawn towards them and could not resist, did not want to resist; the burning pains within him eased as he felt the desire to enter Dark Forest and rest. As the gates opened wider he saw two mighty Badger Lords, fully armoured. One carried a fearsome sword, the other a double-headed axe. Now a third badger joined them. This one was simply clad and carried no weapons; he smiled at Sunflash.

  ‘My little Sunflash, do you not know me?’ he said.

  Sunflash smiled back through the tears that welled in his eyes. ‘Father!’

  ‘Yes, my son, I am Barkstripe, husband of your mother, Bella of Brocktree. These two Badger Lords are Boar the Fighter, your grandsire, and Lord Brocktree, your great grandsire. Listen to them now, they have something important to tell you.’

  Boar the Fighter and Lord Brocktree barred the gate entrance with sword and axe a
nd spoke as one.

  ‘You cannot enter here, Lord!’

  Sunflash felt a great sadness come over him. He wanted to join his sires, not to be rejected by them. He felt alone and helpless. ‘Why do you refuse me entrance when I am weary and wish to sleep, and why do you call me Lord?’ he asked.

  Again the sepulchral tones of the Badger Warriors rang out: ‘There are many long seasons to be lived before you come here. Do not surrender, rise up, the mountain awaits you! It is in need of a Badger Lord!’

  Inside the cave dwelling, the squirrel, who was called Elmjak, rubbed his back ruefully. ‘Mine old bones be yet stiff from all that dragging and pulling, ’twas the hardest day’s work in many a long season, friends, thanks to thy rush mat, goodwife Lully.’

  The molewife peeked over her apron top. ‘Hurr, ’ee ole rush mat’ll be wore’d out arter draggen it all that way wi’ zurr badger layin’ on et, aye, wore’d out loik us’n’s be.’

  Outside, the little molemaids and hoglets played on the sward under a soft morning sun. Unaware of how close to death Sunflash lay, they had invented a new game, as infants will, fighting off adders. The two little molemaids clung to each other shrieking, ‘Eee!’Elp ’elp, ee surrpints be a goin’ to eat us’n’s oop!’

  Gurmil and Tirg were jointly pretending to be Sunflash. ‘Stop still – we’ll save ee!’

  Bitty and Giller the two little hogmaids stood on the sidelines, yelling, ‘Better save’m quick afore they get etted up!’

  ‘Gurr! Go ’way, nasty ole snakers!’ Gurmil and Tirg roared, as they thrashed imaginary adders. ‘Yah, slinky stinky ole slimy snakes, take tha’!’

  Dearie Lingl hurried out with a paw on her lips. ‘Shush, ’ush now, liddle uns! Keep yore noise down, we got a very sick badger to nurse in there, do be quiet, please!’

  The babes halted their game and clung to her apron.

  ‘Whoi do ee gurt Sunflasher be sicked, marm?’

  ‘Badgers be too big to get sicked!’

  ‘Ee surrpints bited ’im, twenny ’undred toimes!’

  ‘Will Sunflasher get deaded?’

  ‘Ee squirrel make ’im better oi thinks, hurr!’

  Dearie rummaged in her apron pocket until she came up with some dried apple pieces, which she gave them, saying, ‘Sunflash’ll only get well if you keep very quiet. Be good beasts now, try not to make too much noise, my liddle buttons.’

  They sat in a row on the grass, watching each other as they ate.

  ‘You’m chewen orful loud, Maister Gurmil!’

  ‘I can’t ’elp it, ’tis a noisy apple piece I got.’

  ‘Hurr, then keep ee mouth shutted!’

  ‘Then I won’t able to talk!’

  ‘Gudd, that keep ee soilent, hurr hurr!’

  Elmjak the squirrel was old and wise. He sat at table with Tirry, Lully and Bruff, and all four took a breakfast of mint tea and wild oat scones spread with honey. They ate in silence, watching the badger. Sunflash lay on his pallet of rushes and fragrant dried grass, and Skarlath hovered over him. The kestrel had not moved from his friend’s side for two days and nights.

  Dearie crept softly in and tugged Skarlath’s back plumage gently. ‘Come an’ eat now, sir ’awk, or we’ll end up nursin’ you too.’

  Skarlath followed her reluctantly and they joined the others.

  Sunflash moaned softly and tried to turn over. Elmjak hurried to his side and calmed him, bathing the badger’s fevered brow with dampened dock leaves. He checked the poultices which he had applied to his patient’s wounds, saying, ‘This one will live, mayhap. Never did I see a beast of such strength; no creature known to me could live through even one adder bite. Look at him now, friends, sleeping like a babe!’

  Tirry poured a beaker of the fragrant mint tea for Elmjak. ‘More power to yore good poultices, sir, they seem to work right well indeed. You must tell us ’ow t’make them.’

  The recipe for the poultices had been in Elmjak’s family for long generations, and now he recited it for his new friends:

  ‘If beast be bit by fang of snake,

  And lying near Dark Forest gate,

  This ancient poultice you must make,

  To thwart the paws of fate.

  Find berries from the rowan tree,

  Add one small green pine cone,

  With young leaf of raspberry,

  Pounded flat beneath a stone.

  Heat o’er a flame ’til coloured dark,

  Stir fast to make a paste of it,

  Bind hot and tight with aspen bark,

  Unto the limb the serpent bit.

  Change oft from dawn until nightfall,

  Make sure the beast lies still,

  Mayhap he’ll live to thank us all,

  If he be strong of will!’

  Bruff Dubbo wagged a sizeable digging claw in the big badger’s direction. ‘Burrhoo! Nobeast be stronger than ee gurt zurr Sunflash!’

  Dearie Lingl agreed wholeheartedly with him. ‘Great seasons! Who ever heard of a beast so mighty that he slayed two poisonteeth after bein’ struck twice by ’em?’

  It had been hard and wearisome getting Sunflash from the pond back to the cave and caring night and day for him, and sleep had only been snatched in fits and starts. Now, with the badger resting peacefully, there was some long overdue slumber time. Mid-morning was calm and warm, and the friends relaxed on the grass outside. Tiring of their games, the little ones sprawled beside their elders. It was not long before gentle summer cast its spell and, amid distant birdsong and the lazy hum of bees, they were soon dozing off.

  However, Gurmil and Tirg did not take kindly to sleeping all day. Shortly before noon they were wide awake. Whispering and chuckling to each other, they tip-pawed past the slumbering elders and made their way into the cave. But they had not gone unnoticed: their sisters Bitty and Giller, followed by the molemaids Nilly and Podd, came hurrying after them.

  They threw their little aprons over their faces in imitation of their mothers.

  ‘Gurt seasons, you’m villyuns, wot be ee a doin’ in yurr?’

  ‘Come away now, you’m wake Sunflash!’

  But Gurmil and Tirg were determined to visit their hero. ‘Garr, we b’ain’t wakin’ ’im, on’y come’d to sing the song nice an’ quiet. Sunflash likes the song.’

  They gathered round the huge form of the sleeping badger. Nilly twitched her button nose cautiously, saying, ‘Us’n’s best be singen quiet, lest ee ’awkburd ’ears an’ eaten us’n’s all oop wi’ ee gurt beak!’

  Tiny paws stroked the great golden-striped muzzle as the babes sang soft and low.

  Dark Forest and its dread gates had receded from Sunflash’s dreams; now he wandered lonely through sunlit vales and flower-strewn hillsides. Lying down in the cool shade of a great oak, he looked up at the sky. A shadow passed over him and a face appeared; Sunflash found himself staring into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. It was a badger, wise beyond dreams and calm as a still lake in the dawn. He knew instinctively it was Bella, his mother. In that moment he felt sadness and joy, yearning and fulfilment. Comfort and serenity shone through her smile as she stroked his golden stripe and began singing:

  ‘Arm not alas sand, ’way south in the west,

  So star land a mat, there’s where I love best,

  Sand not as alarm, lone seabirds do wing,

  And alas most ran, list’ to me whilst I sing.

  I’ll walk alongside you, my lost little one,

  We’ll find the mountain . . .’

  ‘Salamandastron!’ bellowed Sunflash, finishing the song.

  Wakefulness hit the creatures sleeping outside like a lightning flash and a thunderbolt all in one. They leapt upright, fur and spikes bristling at the sound of the booming roar from within the dwelling cave. Skarlath shrieked with shock and took off into the air like an arrow, and the babes came tumbling and howling into the open as the mighty shout reverberated once more:

  ‘Eeulaliaaaa! Salamandastron!’

  Limpi
ng slightly and supporting himself on his horn-beam mace, the badger appeared in the bright sunlight. Tears flowed openly from his great dark eyes, yet he was smiling. Casting the mace aside he scooped the petrified babes up in both paws.

  ‘Salamandastrooooooon!’

  Sunflash executed a great whirl, circling crazily until he fell on his back with an earthshaking thud. Caught up in the wild excitement of the moment, hogbabes and molemaids yelled aloud with their badger friend.

  ‘Salamandastrooooooon!’

  * * *

  9

  The fire burned bright and late in the dwelling cave that night as the homely celebration went on. A great cauldron of woodlanders’ stew steamed thickly, its wondrous aroma tickling the noses of all who fancied a second helping, or even a third, or in Sunflash’s case, a fourth and fifth. Elmjak and old Uncle Blunn had ranged far and wide for the ingredients. Potatoes, leeks, turnips and mushrooms had come from the farm patch, but the special touches like watershrimp, wild onion, fennel, and a delicious addition they had never seen before that Elmjak called southbeans, had taken some finding. The babes greatly enjoyed a summercream pudding that Skarlath and Lully had concocted between them; there was nutbread and even some early strawberry cordial.

  Sunflash had told the story of his dream over and over again. Tirry smiled indulgently as his friend recounted the tale once more. Sunflash ladled himself another bowl of stew, saying, ‘You’re laughing at me, Tirry Lingl.’

  The good hedgehog smiled even wider. ‘Nay, not laughin’ at you, big feller, I’m laughin’ for you. Yore parents an’ grandsires, you know their names, you’ve seen ’em, you know who you are now, aye, an’ even where yore bound. Hoho! Salamandastron, eh, who’d ’ave thought it?’