Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  The badger’s huge paw rapped the tabletop as he repeated, ‘That’s what I’ve been telling you, the words of the song all became clear when my mother sang them. Arm not alas sand, So star land a mat, Sand not as alarm, And alas most ran. They are all jumbled-up forms of the word Salamandastron!’

  Gurmil climbed onto the table, and impudently began helping himself to Sunflash’s portion of summercream pudding. ‘Hahah! But yore mum wouldn’t ’ave knowed the song if we ’adn’t started singin’ it!’

  The badger stroked the soft spikes of his small friend’s head. ‘That’s right enough, mate. I might not have recovered if it hadn’t been for you young uns!’

  Podd licked her spoon absently. ‘Burr aye, zurr, best day’s wurk ee surrpints ever did, bitin’ ee!’

  The badger sat looking slightly puzzled, but the others fell about laughing at the molemaid’s innocent remark.

  Auntie Ummer waddled to her corner of the cave and sought out her gurdelstick. Old Uncle Blunn banged his beaker on the tabletop in time to the jangle, rattle and bump of the instrument, calling, ‘Coom on, moi ole duckyburd, give us’n’s a tune, hurr hurr!’

  Nilly smiled endearingly at Blunn. ‘Do ee sing a song, Nunc, sing Wurpldown Dumm.’

  The old mole chuckled as he patted her velvety head. ‘You’m gotten oi twisted round yore liddle diggen claw, missie. Roight ho, hurr oi go!’

  Old Uncle Blunn soon had them laughing at his song.

  ‘Oh, oi knowed a mole called Wurpldown Dumm,

  Ee wurr a rascal, a villyun boi gumm,

  An’ ee ’ad the plumpest an’ fattest ole tumm,

  As ever was see’d in yon wuddland.

  For brekkist ee eated a duzzing gurt pies,

  They say that ’is tumm wurr as big as ’is eyes,

  Ee kept ’is mouth opened so ee cudd catch flies,

  Ee ett everythink in yon wuddland.

  One day as ole Wurpldown Dumm lied asleep,

  Ee Lord o’ Dark Forest came wi’ a gurt leap,

  An’ carried ’im off furrever to keep,

  Ole Wurpldown in ee Dark Wuddland.

  An’ all ee dead vurmints cried, “Coom an’ see mates,

  O boggle us seasons, an’ lackaday fates,

  Yon fat mole ee’s eatin’ gurt Dark Forest gates,

  O get ’im back up to ee wuddlands.”

  Ee said, “Oi’ve eated butterflies, oi’ve eated bees,

  Oi’ve drinked lots o’ soups an’ cordials an’ teas,

  But gates o’ Dark Forest tastes just loike gudd cheese,

  One day oi’ll go back to those wuddlands!”’

  The merriment continued with more songs and dancing until the babes fell to snoring and had to be carried off to their beds. When all was quiet, Tirry struck a more sober note, saying, ‘Well, Sunflash, I suppose you’ll be leavin’ us soon?’

  The badger nodded his great golden-striped head slowly. ‘Aye, Tirry, I’ll be setting off an hour before dawn.’

  Dearie patted his paw. ‘You’ve got to go, friend, you always knew that. We’ll think kindly of you an’ all you did for our families.’

  Skarlath hopped down from the ledge he always liked to perch on. ‘Tomorrow ’twill be the start of autumn days. I will stay here awhile with you and make cheeses. Though I will divide my time between, sometimes flying off to watch for Swartt Sixclaw and other times keeping an eye on you, Sunflash. So, badger, you may go with a light heart, knowing these families have a protector.’

  Sunflash stretched out his heavy paw, running it lightly down Skarlath’s plumed back. ‘What creature ever deserved such a friend as you, my hawk!’ he said, his voice trembling audibly.

  Lully threw her apron up over her face to hide her distress. ‘Oi’ll make ee oop a gurt pack o’ vittles, zurr, ee woan’t be ’ungered on ee journey, an’ may’ap ’twill remoind ee of us’n’s.’

  She and Dearie were overcome with tears, and they hurried off. Sunflash stretched out both paws to Tirry and Bruff, and they shook firmly, blinking and nodding a lot. ‘Go to your beds now,’ said Sunflash. ‘I told you I wouldn’t leave without saying farewell. So goodbye, Tirry Lingl, and goodbye to you, Bruff Dubbo, my very good friends.’

  The mole and the hedgehog wiped their eyes and went to their beds.

  In the hour before dawn the dwelling cave was still and warm, and its occupants, all save one, were asleep. Without a backward glance Sunflash picked up his mace and the sack of provisions; moving softly, he was off on his quest. Outside in the dim light, he started at a sound. Elmjak crept up, a paw upon his lips. The badger nodded, and together they cut into the woodlands, going south and west. Neither beast spoke as they carefully picked their way through bush and undergrowth until they reached the brow of a small knoll. Amber and lilac washed a pale swathe through the eastern skies; woodpigeon, thrush and blackbird could be heard as they rose to herald the dawn; the earth felt tranquil, green and dew-laden.

  Suddenly the old squirrel halted and, grasping his companion’s mighty paw, he shook it firmly. ‘Thy path and mine part here. I walked this far with you so that you would not be leaving the dwelling of friends alone.’

  Sunflash was careful not to squeeze Elmjak’s paw too hard. ‘Thank you, my friend. I would be dead were it not for you. But where do you go now, what path will you travel?’

  Looking back the way they had come, the squirrel smiled. ‘My wandering days are done. I will return to the dwelling cave and live happily in peace and plenty with those two families of innocents. Methinks they will have need of my special skills. So worry not, Sunflash – like your kestrel, I will watch over our friends gladly.’

  The badger touched his golden stripe as a mark of respect. ‘You are a goodbeast. My heart is lighter knowing you are protecting the families of Tirry and Bruff. We will meet again someday, I feel it. Send a message by Skarlath should you ever need me. Goodbye, Elmjak.’

  Reaching into his herb bag, the old squirrel drew forth a turquoise stone. It was flat, intricately carved into the shape of a sycamore leaf and strung on a thin cord. He looped it around Sunflash’s paw, saying, ‘This amulet may be of use to you sometime. Show it to any squirrel or otter you may encounter. Tell them it comes from the oakdens of Firjak and was given to you by his son Elmjak. It will make your path easier by bringing you help. Fare you well, Sunflash the Mace. Find your mountain, defeat your enemies and grow great in the land!’

  Then with enviable agility in one so old, the squirrel went bounding off through the trees.

  * * *

  10

  Morning sun evaporated the damp and dew, clothing the woodlands in a brief gauze of mist. Sunflash trudged steadily onward as the trees and foliage became more luxurious and dense. Digging his footclaws into the loamy ground, the badger descended a steep wooded hillside, noting a warm decaying odour and the earth growing squelchy as he progressed downward. Upon reaching the bottom, Sunflash was forced to balance between a rock and a rotting beech stump. Seating himself, he unpacked oat scones and a flask of dandelion and burdock cordial. He ate and drank slowly as he evaluated the land, the great swamp he would be forced to cross. In front of him, and as far as he could see from left to right, dark treacherous ooze showed between the tall foxgloves, fungus-like growths clung parasitically to half-sunken logs, and clouds of midges swarmed about the mosses and liverwort which abounded everywhere.

  From the shelter of clumped elderbushes the badger was being watched. Many reptilian eyes stared unblinkingly from their hiding places. Sunflash was stoppering his drink flask when a strange sound reached his ears; looking around swiftly he identified the source of the odd noise. It was a reed flute, played by a small skinny newt. The creature had painted itself orange and bright blue with plant dyes. It hopped and frisked about with scant regard for the treacherous surface of the morass, skipping from plant to twig, from rush to flower, tootling and twiddling tunelessly. It popped up alongside Sunflash, virtually pushing his footpaw off the rotten log as it made r
oom for itself.

  The badger greeted the newcomer. ‘Good day to you, little sir . . .’

  Further conversation was interrupted as the newt scrabbled to get inside Sunflash’s provision sack. The badger nipped the invader neatly by its baggy neckskin and held it aloft. Indignantly, it kicked in mid-air, snarling nastily in a high-pitched nasal squeal, ‘’Ey yew, ’ey yew, gerroffofme an’ giz me vikkles, ’urryup!’

  Sunflash gave the impudent reptile a warning shake to silence it. ‘Hold hard there, cheekyface, who d’you think you’re talking to?’

  It tried to strike at the badger with its reed flute. ‘Stripeydog thicky’ead badjerpadjer daftdog . . .!’

  Sunflash had put up with enough. He stunned the newt with a tiny flick of his free paw beneath its chin. Unknown to him the myriad of reptile eyes still watched from the cover of the elderbushes. Sunflash laid the newt carefully out on the stump and waited for it to recover, and when it stirred and opened one eye he trapped it gently with a footpaw and lectured it.

  ‘Now don’t say a single word or I’ll squash you like a gnat! Right, listen to me. Didn’t your parents ever teach you any manners? You come here, diving into my bag, demanding food and then you start insulting me. Have you got no respect for others? Keep a civil tongue in your head, I warn you!’

  The little reptile swallowed, its throat rising in a gulp. ‘A wiz ’ungry, yew got vikkles, giz Smerc sum . . . pleez.’

  ‘That’s better!’ said the badger, opening his sack. ‘My name is Sunflash the Mace. You want food – good, tell you what I’ll do. Obviously you know your way about this swamp, and if you agree to lead me through it I’ll feed you. Is it a bargain?’

  The newt wriggled out from beneath the badger’s footpaw. ‘Barrgin, barrgin! Giz Smerc vikkles, I show yadda way!’

  Sunflash broke an oatcake in half, twirled a leaf into a cone and filled it with cordial, and gave them both to Smerc. The skinny little creature ate as if it had lived through a seven-season famine, sucking the drink noisily and chomping at the oatcake until crumbs flew. To the badger’s amazement it demolished the food and finished the drink.

  Holding out the conical leaf cup, Smerc shook it in Sunflash’s face. ‘Yehhhh! A like it, goodgood, giz me summore!’

  The badger eyed it coldly until he heard the word.

  ‘Pleez!’

  Refilling the leaf cone, Sunflash gave it to Smerc with the other half of the oatcake. The newt’s table manners were totally appalling. When it had finished eating, it grabbed at the amulet which Sunflash had hung about his neck, hissing, ‘Luvly meggle giz me it, for showyer across swampy!’

  Sunflash understood Smerc completely. He had spent a lot of his young life in a vermin camp where creatures behaved like that as a matter of routine. The only thing such creatures respected was brute force, and now he decided to show the newt a bit. Picking Smerc up, Sunflash set him on a low laburnum branch.

  ‘So then, your name is Smerc. Watch and I’ll show you why I’m called Sunflash the Mace!’

  Sunflash seized the great hornbeam mace and swung it.

  ‘Eeulaliaaaaa!’

  One sweeping sideways blow at the rotten beech stump caused it to disintegrate, exploding into a shower of damp wood, powdery dust, slugs and woodlice. When the debris settled there was no sign of the stump. Smerc stood open-mouthed, quivering all over with fear. Sunflash shouldered his mace, saying, ‘I’ve fed you, that’s my half of the bargain. Now you will guide me through this swamp. Move, Smerc!’

  Slow worms, eels and newts in a silent slithering procession followed as Sunflash negotiated a passage through the wide morass. He followed Smerc, sometimes waist deep as the newt skipped carelessly over lily pads, other times gripping the moss-covered limbs of long-submerged tree trunks. It was tough going. At the centre of the swamp a jutting oak branch stuck up at an angle. As he moved towards it, the badger felt the shifting ooze gripping and sucking at his body. He floundered, tasting the foul mud in his mouth, unable to wipe it from his eyes as it flopped and splodged with his wild efforts.

  Smerc’s voice rang out from somewhere nearby. ‘Grab ’old o’ d’branch, stripeydog, or yer sink!’

  Summoning his strength, Sunflash made a mighty surge forward, grabbing blindly at where he knew the tree limb to be. There was a moment’s cold panic, then he felt his paw grip wood. Looping the cord of his mace handle over a gnarled burr, he pulled himself from the sticky morass. After what seemed an age his limbs came clear of the swirling sucking mud.

  Sunflash clung to the wobbly limb shaking with exhaustion; it had been a formidable task pulling his huge bulk from the swamp. Feeling slowly about him he was surprised to find his provision sack, still hanging from the old cord which served him as a belt. He dug his paw into the sack and pulled out the flask of dandelion and burdock cordial, then, biting out the stopper, the badger tilted his head back and poured the fragrant liquid into his mud-blinded eyes until they were free of swampdirt. Gratefully he cleared his throat by drinking what was left in the flask, then he looked up to see Smerc and the band of reptiles who had been following him. The wicked newt was perched on the head of a big eel, obviously the leader.

  Sunflash tried ignoring them as he reasoned with Smerc. ‘Come on, be fair, you haven’t completed our bargain. Get me out of this swamp. Which way do I go now?’

  The eels, slow worms and newts remained silent, fixing the badger with a concentrated basilisk glare. Smerc, however, was delighted that he had lured the badger into a trap. He pointed at Sunflash and giggled insanely, ‘Yeeheehee! Which way ya go now, stripeydog? Yeeheeheehee! This’s yer deepest part o’ th’swamp, on’y one way t’go, badjerpadjer. Yeeheeheehee! Down!’

  Hot rage engulfed Sunflash the Mace, and he hurled the empty flask at the sniggering newt. Had his aim been tempered by calmness the missile would have slain Smerc, but as it was, the flask struck a glancing blow to both the newt and the big eel on whose head he was perched. Smerc flopped senseless on the eel’s head, which was now sporting a livid bruise and a rapidly rising bump.

  The eel reared up, opening its mouth to reveal two rows of greeny-yellow, needle-pointed teeth. ‘Sssssink ’im!’ it hissed.

  The whole mass of reptiles moved backward and the oak limb began turning on its side. Sunflash threw himself flat, clinging tight to the branches. To his horror he saw a thick vine hawser rise clear of the mud. It was attached to the underneath of the oak limb and the reptiles were pulling on it.

  The badger was helpless. He hung on to the turning limb shouting, ‘Stop! Stop! What do you want?’

  The big eel sank back and, wrapping itself around the hawser, it pulled with the others as it answered, ‘Want you . . . Sssssink!’

  The awful realization that there was nowhere to go swept over Sunflash; he held on to the tree limb as it was pulled down, turning slowly, into the fathomless depths of mud.

  * * *

  11

  Krakulat withdrew his Crow Brethren to a place where the horde of Swartt Sixclaw could not see them. They settled behind low hillocks, waiting for nightfall. The Crow Leader had been off hunting with his Brethren when the weasels Scarback and Marbul had slain his mother with slingstones. Fearfully the old ones reported the murder to Krakulat on his return, and the savage crow’s rage and grief had been awesome, more so when his scouts reported back to him on the dreadful end his mother’s body had met. Krakulat decided to take his vengeance without regard to life and limb, and once his initial rage had subsided he planned the time and place his Brethren would strike.

  Swartt had suddenly become a great Warlord and the toast of the horde. Never, not even in the eastlands, had the hordebeasts known such a delightful spot. There was a broad stream, fruit trees and an abundance of edible vegetation. The fact that no birds were to be seen was forgotten when Aggal the stoat Captain speared a large fat chub in the stream. The vermin soldiers and their families flocked to the water, and drank, sported and splashed, some catching watershrimp, others huntin
g caddisworm and tadpoles. Fires were lit, tents were pitched and a holiday atmosphere prevailed. Using a tent canvas under the vixen Nightshade’s supervision, a team of soldiers dragged the stream, bringing in a goodly catch of chub, dace, perch and even a big old pike.

  The sixclawed ferret sat beneath a shady tree, painting glowing pictures of the good times ahead to his officers. Swartt’s unobtrusive wife, Bluefen, scurried about serving fruit and fish. Swartt hardly noticed her.

  ‘This is only the start,’ he said. ‘Give me one good season travellin’ south’n’west an’ everybeast in the land’ll be flockin’ to my banner, you’ll see.’

  ‘Hmm, southwest, eh? Is that where the badger is?’ Scraw, the rat, now a Captain, mused idly.

  The good mood of Swartt Sixclaw suddenly dissipated, and his voice became a questioning snarl. ‘Who told you about the badger?’

  Scraw was not intimidated by the Warlord’s ill humour. ‘Some o’ those beasts you were running with before you came to the tents of Lord Bowfleg,’ he answered. ‘They say the badger is young, but a great warrior, fearless in battle . . .’

  Swartt leaned forward anxiously. ‘What else do they say? Tell me.’

  ‘They say he was the one who ruined your sixclawed paw, made it dead for ever and that you have sworn to slay him.’

  Swartt upturned his metal drinking cup, and suddenly dealt it a swift blow with the chain-mailed and copper-bound gauntlet he wore over the withered sixclaw. The vessel crumpled, flattened beneath the force of the blow. Swartt stared at Scraw. ‘Don’t ever make the mistake that my sixclaw paw is useless. It’s slain more foebeasts than you’ve had hot dinners, rat. As for the badger, I hear he calls himself Sunflash the Mace now, take it from me, that one’s a walkin’ deadbeast!’