Doomwyte (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Yonder stands her stout ole ma,

  a-twirlin’ a rollin’ pin, sir.

  Skip’n’jump now one two three,

  through the window an’ yore free!”

  Bosie was blowing like a bellows with the pace. “D’ye not know any slower songs, bonny lass, mebbe a soft lullaby, or an auld funeral march!”

  Spingo giggled. “Oh, come on, Mister Bosie, a big, strong beast like yourself shouldn’t be bothered by an overgrown twig like that. Let’s see wot ye can really do, with those muscles an’ that blade! Or are ye goin’ t’be beaten by an otter lady, eh?”

  The lanky hare went back to his task like a creature possessed. Bark, wood chips, leafsprouts and twigs scattered widespread as he plied the sword blade.

  Frubb caught on to what Spingo was doing. He called to Zaran, “Hurr, ee’ll take summ catchin’ marm, boi okey ee’m will!”

  The black otter also knew what was going on, but she winked at the mole, and twirled her twin blades. “Do you think so…then watch this!” With muscle and sinew toughened by gruelling seasons of work on the hillside, Zaran was unstoppable. She hewed at the great tree with awesome energy. Soon there was no need of encouraging work songs, Bosie and Zaran were hacking at the tree in swift unison. Chack! Thock! Chack! Thock!

  Frubb watched until he judged the moment right, then called a sudden halt to the task. “Stoppee naow, guddbeasts, stopp Oi says!” After listening with his ear to the sycamore trunk, the mole nodded sagely and made his report. “Hoo arr, she’m ready t’go naow!”

  Bosie leant wearily on his sword pommel. “Och, pray tell, sirrah, how d’ye know that?”

  Frubb wrinkled his snout, lowering his tone confidentially. “A ’coz ee’m tree told Oi, zurr, stan’ asoide naow. Mizzy, will ee untie ee rope frumm t’uther tree?”

  Spingo hurriedly loosed the rope from the oak on the left, as Frubb undid the other rope, which the molecrew had tied during the rescue attempt. He gave Bosie and Zaran a rope each.

  “Roight zurr’n’marm, you’m must fasten ee ropes furmly round ee tree. Far oop as ye can reach!” Taking the other ends of both ropes, Frubb bade Spingo to follow him. They went uphill until he judged the distance straight, and just right. “Hurr, bees you’m a gud treeclimberer, mizzy?”

  Scooping up some soil, Spingo rubbed it on her paws. “Huh, good, me? You show me the tree wot needs climbin’, then stand clear, matey!”

  The mole indicated two wych elms, either side of him. “Farsten wun to each, gudd’n’igh up.”

  True to her word, the Gonfelin maid was an agile climber. She scaled both elms with ease, securing the ropes high, one to each tree.

  Returning to the sycamore, Frubb outlined to Bosie and Zaran what was an extremely perilous operation. “You’m takes three more chops apiece at ee tree. Then ’urry back up’ill. Climb up yon h’elms, an’ wait moi signal. Then chop ee ropes, get ee daown an’ run furr you’m loives to yon ’illtop!”

  Bosie nodded, putting up his sword. “That sounds clear enough, mah friend, but why do we have tae hurry?”

  The mole chuckled. “Hurr hurr, ’cos ee h’entire neighbor’ood bees goin’ to cullapse daown ee ’ole, an’ you’m doan’t wants to goo with et, do ee, zurr?”

  Bosie appeared quite indignant at the very idea. “Och, Ah should say not, Ah’ve seen enough o’ that reeky auld cavern, thank ye. Right, mah bonny tree-fellin’ friend, three chops apiece, eh!”

  The half-dozen blows were promptly delivered, then they clambered uphill to the wych elms and climbed to their positions, blades ready, close to the ropes. Spingo and Frubb carried on upward, until they reached the crest of the vast wooded hill. The mole turned, watching the woodlands at their back.

  Spingo whispered, “Wot happens now, mate?”

  Frubb did not take his eyes from the panorama below. “We’m wait, mizzy, wait an’ watch east’ard.”

  From his wych elm perch, Bosie called across to Zaran in the other tree, “Ah’m glad hares dinnae have tae live in trees. Thanks tae mah mither Ah wasnae born a squirrel.”

  The black otter managed one of her rare smiles. “Aye, me, too, I hope our friend gives the signal soon.”

  The hungry hare tasted a leaf and spat it out. “Och, there’s no’ even an apple or a pear growin’ up here. Ye‘d think a tree would at least have the decency tae grow a few nuts for a beast tae keep body’n’fur taegether whilst he’s waitin’!”

  Frubb saw the distant treetops beginning to wave. He murmured, “Yurr she cumms, mizzy, ee wind we’m a-waiten on!”

  In another moment, Spingo felt the breeze sweep over them. It all happened so quickly. Down below the taut ropes thrummed under the easterly wind.

  “Chop ee roooooopes!”

  Bosie and Zaran heard Frubb loud and clear. All it took was two sharp slashes, one from each blade. Both beasts scrambled down hastily, with the creak and groan of the sycamore in their ears. It made a noise like a massive rusty door swinging on its hinges. Krrreeeeeaaawwwwwkkkk…craaaack!

  It toppled slowly for a moment, seeming to pause for a breathless space. Then the huge sycamore fell.

  A shuddering tremor hit the entire hillside, almost knocking Bosie and Zaran flat as they fled for the summit. Spingo watched, openmouthed, as the treetop thundered down the depression, straight into the hole. Loud, sharp cracking noises reverberated around. Branches were snapped from the mighty trunk as it plunged downward through the hole. There was a resounding boom when the slab hit the ground in the cavern below. The hillside collapsed with a dull, nerve-numbing rumble.

  Zaran grabbed Spingo, hauling her backward as long, running cracks began raking the hill, leaving deep, forbidding slits in the ground. Accompanied by the sounds of rock striking rock and boiling, bubbling liquid, a whistling jet of sulphured steam shot skyward. Then there was silence.

  At the tunnel entrance, Nokko, Garul and Dubble were loading fuel into the fire. They were supplied by a constant stream of creatures, carrying any material which might prove flammable. Garul flung a bundle of dried ferns into the flames. Leaping back, he shielded his face from the backblast of searing heat. “I keep sniffin’ t’see if’n I can smell roasted serpent in there. Wot d’ye think, mate?”

  Nokko held a paw to his nostrils. “That’s my scorchin’ whiskers yew kin smell, bucko. Nobeast’d be daft enough to try getting’ through that tunnel. It must be hotter’n ten ovens in there!”

  Dubble threw a length of old spruce bark into the blaze. He turned away, wiping bleary tears from his eyes. “Then tell me, wot’s the point of keepin’ a fire goin’ if’n there ain’t no snake in the tunnel, eh?”

  Nokko bit a splinter from his paw and spat it out. “T’stop that ould addersnake from comin’ out ’ere an’ scoffin’ us, that’s the point! Aye aye, lissen t’that, sounds like a spot o’ thunder t’me.”

  He ran back a few paces, glancing uphill. The summit gave a shuddering tremor, and a blast of yellow steam shot skyward. The earth convulsed suddenly under Nokko’s paws. He raced sideways, bellowing, “Gerraway, that hill’s comin’ down! Get back, everybeast, go t’the left or right, gerrout the way!”

  Inside the cave, Baliss had been stuck in the tunnel. Badly burnt, the maddened snake freed itself, retreating from the inferno. The giant reptile coiled like a corkscrew, writhing madly in the throes of a macabre death dance. It thrashed about, heedless of what was happening.

  The massive slab of rock fell from the ceiling, striking the cavern floor with an earsplitting slam. Cackling, screeching and hissing, the remaining birds and reptiles scattered for safety. There was, however, no place left to go as their world collapsed over them.

  Bringing the entire cave ceiling with it, stalactites, earth, roots and rocks, the sycamore trunk plunged down. It struck the eyeless Doomwyte statue, driving it deep into the boiling pool. Scalding green sulphur water vomited forth to be met by gushing torrents from the overflowing lake in the rear cavern. Under tremendous pressure, it was forced through the tunnel. P
icking up speed in the narrow passage, the thundering mass smashed through the firewall.

  The watchers on the hilltop and those on the ground below were witness to an unbelievable sight. A veritable river of steaming mud and stone shot forth across the stream into the woodland, demolishing several trees in its path. It ran on for quite awhile before it slackened off. Now there was just a slow-moving ooze issuing from the tunnel. From both sides, creatures ventured gingerly forth, to stand either side of the morass.

  Everybeast was at a loss for words, with the exception of Gobbo. “Yow! Wow! Whooo! I never saw nothin’ like that in me bloomin’ life! Never!”

  For once, Nokko did not cuff or silence his astounded offspring. “Yer right there, me ould son!”

  With the mole and her helpers trailing her, Zaran joined the others at the awesome scene. Bisky clasped her paw.

  “Ye did it, marm, by thunder, ye did it!”

  The black otter pointed to Bosie, Spingo and Frubb. “We did it. I could not have done it without my friends.”

  Bosie was about to start speech making, when he was halted by a sucking noise and a faint plop from the tunnel mouth. He recoiled in horrified disgust. “Guid grief, ’tis the auld monster himself!”

  Practically filling the width of the tunnel mouth, the swollen carcass of Baliss oozed slowly out into the light of day. It slid forth, coated in mud and slime, far more revolting in death than it had been in life.

  Gobbo prodded it with a stick. “Ha ha, anybeast fancy a cob o’ roasted reptile?”

  This time it was Bosie who took the liberty of cuffing his ear. “Ach, come awa’ frae that thing, ye might catch a plague by even touching it!”

  Nokko winked at the hare. “Thank ye, sir, feel free t’give the wretch a slap anytime ye like, it’ll save the wear’n’tear on my ould paws!”

  Soilclaw watched the waste matter run out to a trickle, commenting with solid molesense, “Given a cupple o’ seasons, ’twill all go a-minglin’ with ee stream. Hurr, thur’ll be a gurt, foine watery meadow all round yurr. Peaceable, with watery lilies, an’ flowers, dragonflies, fishes, too. You’m wull see, this’ll be a noice place for ee to visit!”

  Zaran sat down on a rock, staring out at the spreading mess, as it joined with the stream. The black otter bowed her head, speaking slowly. “It would be pleasant to see, I will visit here someday, to relive my memories.”

  Bisky held out his paw to her. “We’ll come with ye, friend. Come on, let’s go home now, to Redwall Abbey. We need an otter lady there.”

  38

  Homecomings can be coloured by many emotions. Abbot Glisam tried to touch on them all, as he addressed everybeast. It was after sunset, Great Hall was lit by candles and lanterns. Garlands of summer blossoms draped the columns, in honour of the returning visitors. Zaran sat alongside Skipper Rorgus, who had been fascinated by the black otter from the moment he set eyes upon her. Dwink and Perrit sat side by side, constantly together since their adventure in the woodlands. Next to them, Bisky and Spingo shared the same platter.

  The feast was splendid—Redwallers were wondering who had produced many of the new dishes. It was Bosie who found out. “Och, would ye credit it, young Dubble seems tae have taken charge, Ah’m thinken he should be Laird o’ the kitchens, seein’ as the job hasnae been offered tae me.”

  Brother Torilis cocked a severe eye at the gluttonous hare. “That would be like leaving baby minnows to be nursed by a hungry pike!”

  Glisam left them happily feasting, until he judged the right moment for his speech. Signalling Umfry Spikkle to ring the table bell, the Father Abbot rose. “Redwallers, Guosim, Gonfelins, friends. First allow me to thank you from my heart, for making our Abbey and Mossflower Country safe from evil—Doomwytes, predators and the dreadful Baliss, who created fear and terror for long seasons. However, each triumph has its cost. Words cannot describe our sadness at the death of four loyal and faithful moles: Rooter, Grabul, Ruttur and our beloved Friar Skurpul.

  “Alas, their bodies were never recovered, but they will live in Redwall memory as long as anybeast can record or recall their bravery in saving the life of a Gonfelin maid. Such is the way we honour friends at this Abbey.”

  There was a prolonged silence, punctuated by lots of sobs, particularly from Foremole Gullub and the remainder of his crew.

  Abbot Glisam sighed, and took a deep breath before continuing. “Now, on to more cheerful things. Our thanks is due to Aluco, for finding the first Doomwyte Eye. Then to Dwink and Perrit, whose endeavours helped greatly in the recovery of the other two eyes.”

  Removing the cover from a bowl, the Abbot turned the three stones out onto the table. A gasp of admiration arose from the onlookers as two round emeralds and a single blood-hued ruby were revealed. They lay on the table, reflecting the candle and lantern lights, sparkling with their own strange fires. The Abbot shook his head ruefully.

  “Alas, that is where the trail ends, there are no clues as to the location of the final Doomwyte’s Eye. The missing ruby may never be found.”

  Bisky was smiling as Spingo stood up, calling out aloud, “Oh, yes there is, I know who’s got the red stone. Aye, so does Bisky…. An’ so does another beast I could mention. A Gonfelin sittin’ ’ere at yore table, Father.” She turned her accusing glare from the Abbot to Nokko. “I don’t mean that Father, but this Father—you, Da!”

  Nokko squirmed under his daughter’s stern eyes. “But…but that’s ours, me darlin’, booty, pawpickin’s, loot. It belongs to our tribe.”

  Spingo’s paw was pointed like a spear at her hapless parent. “Our tribe are Redwallers now, Da, there’ll be no more lootin’, swipin’ an’ thievin’. We’re good, honest creatures now. So come on, cough it up!”

  Nokko hesitated a moment, then Bisky whispered, “Do the right thing, sir, make yore daughter happy.”

  A mighty cheer went up as Nokko produced the ruby and placed it with the others. He smiled sheepishly. “Ah well, as long as it makes me darlin’ Spingo ’appy. Add that un to yore collection, Abbo!”

  Abbot Glisam picked all four of the Great Doomwyte’s Eyes up, he held them aloft. “What has come from evil will return to evil, in memory of four goodbeasts who lie there. Foremole, take your crew and bury these on what is left of that hillside in honour of our fallen friends!”

  Everybeast raised their drinks.

  “In honour of fallen friends.”

  Bosie McScutta, the Laird of Bowlaynee, had the final word. “An’ now, back tae the feast, mah braw beasties. Bowlayneeee! Eulaliaaa! Redwaaaallll!”

  39

  A noontide nap can be a tranquil pleasure. Nothing to do, nowhere special to go, happily captured in the enchantment of a high summer day. The old mouse allowed his paw to drift in the idle flow of the water meadow. Lounging comfortably on a pallet of moss and dried ferns, he had released his hold on the tiller, allowing the raft to wend its own way through the proliferation of water lilies, bulrush reeds, sundew, gipsywort and comfrey which carpeted the cool, dim water meadow.

  Closing his eyes, the ancient one took in the sounds. Snatches of songs and conversation from his companions, mingling with the squeals and chuckles of Dibbuns playing in the shallows. The buzz and hum of bees in the background, an occasional plop from a leaping trout. Distant birdsong, reed warblers, dippers, chiffchaffs and migrant firecrest, competing with their own careless raptures. Old Samolus moved his eyelids lightly, trying not to twitch his nose as a beautifully patterned marsh fritillary butterfly landed on it.

  Perrit whispered to her mate, Dwink, “I think that butterfly might wake old Samolus.”

  The insect flew off as the ancient mouse spoke. “Old Samolus is awake, thank ye, marm, wonderin’ when afternoon tea will be ready.”

  Skipper Rorgus yawned cavernously. His mate, Zaran, called to their little son, who was frisking in the water nearby, “Rorzan, go ashore and see if tea’s ready yet.”

  The young one waved his chubby rudder. “Hurr, Oi’ll do thart doire
ckly, Mum!”

  Bisky laughed at the otterbabe. “That’s a very good mole voice he’s learned!”

  His daughter, Andio, replied, “Ho yuss, wee’m all atalken loike that, b’aint us, Mumm?”

  Bisky’s mate, Spingo, answered their daughter in mole dialect. “You’m surrpinkly are, moi dearie!”

  Perrit and Dwink’s little one, a tiny squirrelmaid they had named Mittee, was of a different mind. “Och, weel, Ah’m no’ goin’ tae speak like a mole, Ah want tae be a hare like Laird Bosie!”

  Aluco, the tawny owl, twirled his head almost full circle, blinking in mock alarm. “As long as you don’t learn to eat like him!”

  Friar Dubble called out from the bank, “Ahoy, raftbeasts, tea’s ready!”

  Bosie joined him, shouting hopefully, “There’s no hurry, bonnybeasts, stay oot there if’n ye be enjoyin’ yersel’s.”

  Skipper Rorgus grabbed a paddle, yelling a reply. “Ye great, famine-faced glutton, don’t touch a single crumb ’til we’re ashore, somebeast stop him!”

  Umfry Spikkle, who in the last couple of seasons had attained his full growth, and was bigger even than his grandhog, Corksnout, assured Skipper from the bank, “Don’t worry, Skip. I’ll keep a h’eye on Mister Bosie. Shall h’I sit h’on ’im for ye?”

  From beneath a sunshade of bushes, Brother Torilis wheeled Abbot Glisam out to join the diners. Fully renovated, and running smoothly, the old wheelchair was now the aged dormouse’s main means of getting about. Glisam often shed a tear for little Sister Ficaria, who had gone to sleep peacefully two winters back, never to wake again. The Father Abbot of Redwall would pat his chair fondly, saying, “My friend Ficaria wanted me to have this chair, as a reward for all those morning strolls. I think it was the damp grass which got to my old footpaws.”

  It was a memorable afternoon tea. All the food, which had been transported from Redwall kitchens, was prepared to perfection by Friar Dubble. Soilclaw sat sipping a beaker of cider, made from last season’s good russet apples. He gestured up at the curving, wooded hill, which skirted the bank as he explained to the Dibbuns, “Oi a-members sayin’, jus’ arter ee caves bee’d curlapsed, that this’n yurr’d make a gudd watery medder. Hurr, Oi wurr roight.”