by Robin Jarvis
Vile and raucous songs now resounded from the dell as more and more of the lanterns were lit. They were made of baked clay, having a short handle below a bulbous depiction of a rat’s head. This was hollow and open at the top, holes for the eyes and mouth had been cut into the rest of the frightening face and flames dripped from the gaping jaws. Now all the Hobbers’ lanterns were ablaze and the countless round eyes shone horribly.
Pigwiggen capered on the brink, giving excited little hops. It was all so beautiful to him.
Then a grim and grisly dance began about the bonfire and the standing stones. The worshippers of Hobb waved the lanterns above their heads, weaving patterns of flame in the smoky air.
Ysabelle watched in morbid fascination. The lanterns seemed to float above the Hobbers like demons of fire and her eyelids grew heavy as the lurid symbols woven below, mesmerised and entranced her.
“Hobb,” the creatures chanted. “Hobb, Hobb, Hobb.”
The rats whirled round and the rooks circled over the stones—calling the deadly name in cracked and ugly voices. The chanting continued, the dancing became faster and the cries grew louder. Ysabelle found that beads of sweat had broken over her brow despite the cold of the night. Then with one last, bloodthirsty shriek to their god, the creatures fell to their knees—facing the standing stones.
To Vesper and Ysabelle’s horror, there came a flash of purple smoke—shot through with fiery sparks, and when it cleared, the tallest stone was no longer empty.
“Bless me!” yelped Vesper in terror.
“Godfrey!” Ysabelle howled. “It’s him! Hobb has come!”
Upon the stone a terrifying apparition stood with its arms outstretched—the raw head and bloody bones—in which guise the leader of the Raith Sidhe was rumoured to appear to his followers.
Ysabelle screamed as the peeled cadaver turned slowly round to view the infernal congregation.
“No,” Godfrey called to the squirrel maiden, “that isn’t Hobb—look! Do you see, no magic animates that corpse—it is but a costume! The thing that they worship was banished from this world many ages ago.”
Ysabelle stared at the awful figure and was reassured. It was indeed false—the shreds of sinew were only ribbons of coloured material and the shape of the peeled flesh was but cunning needlecraft that Griselda might have admired, if the subject had not been so macabre.
“That must be the high priest of this region,” Godfrey told her. “I have read that they dress up to impersonate their evil deity, mimicking him in their foolish adoration. Yet he is still just as deadly nevertheless.”
Upon the stone, the alarming figure abruptly leapt into the air and threw himself into the crowd. Snatching up a Hobb lantern, the figure ran three times around the bonfire then returned to its lofty position.
A frightened gasp issued from Godfrey’s throat as the high priest sprang back upon the stone. For there, hanging about the neck of the ghastly fiend and gleaming in the harsh light of the lantern—was the silver acorn.
Ysabelle saw it too and she shook her head in disbelief.
“The amulet!” she cried. “He must have stolen it from me!”
“Mercy,” gibbered Godfrey as a dreadful suspicion began to form at the back of his mind. “What madness are they about?”
But now something new was happening. The high priest held up his lantern and the frantic yammering of his followers ebbed and died. An unearthly quiet fell about the crowded basin as they all strained to catch his words.
“Children of the Raith Sidhe!” the costumed figure declared, throwing its head back and flinging its arms open wide. “Welcome! Once more are we assembled in the ring of Banbha to do homage!” it grandly proclaimed. “In this sanctified place do we honour and revere the Mighty Three. Praise their unholy names and do obeisance. Hobb, Mabb and Bauchan!”
The crowd roared fanatically and stretched their claws towards their leader in complete devotion.
The high priest basked in their adoration before continuing. “But this night,” he announced, “our celebrations are special indeed—for no ordinary sacrifices have we captured, but noble beasts from Coll Regalis, and amongst their number is one born of the royal line itself.”
Ysabelle cringed, the voice of the high priest rang coldly and seemed to cut right into her. She watched as the crowd eagerly spun round to stare, but when the bloody-bones figure pointed straight at her, she squirmed and looked away.
The mouths of the thousands that filled the dell, lolled open and their tongues slid greedily from their jaws.
“Now let the Lord Hobb be worshipped!” the high priest demanded.
Countless lanterns bobbed in the air and the shouting resumed.
“Here we go,” gurgled Pigwiggen, “this is the moment.” He teetered forward and clapped his claws with joy. “Well, well, my succulent berries,” he addressed the prisoners, “which shall be first?”
He hopped a little jig that brought him close to Vesper and pulled at the bat’s large ears. “Shall it be you—oh cuckoo in my delicious nest?” The young bat glared back at him and the hedgehog hummed happily to himself. “No,” he announced, “not thee, not yet!” Turning aside, he considered Vesper’s neighbour and nodded with satisfaction. “Of course,” he said brightly, “what better way to begin than with something strong and probably full of flavour.”
He motioned to the rats who stood nearby and two of them came forward to untie the selected squirrel.
“No!” bawled Gwydion as the ropes were cut from his paws and the rats led him down the slope. “For pity’s sake!”
Pigwiggen chuckled, “Well, at least his leg won’t be hurting for much longer,” he mused. “A fine tail that one had though; p’raps if I asked I could have it afterwards? Keep the winter draughts out lovely that would, and my poor neck do ache so.”
“Stop this!” Godfrey yelled. “You must!”
But the hedgehog took no notice, wondering only why his food was always so loud and fond of shouting.
In horror, Vesper stared after Gwydion as the rats dragged him through the crowds to the stones. The young bat shook with fear; he had never seen anything so terrifying as the grisly scene which now unfolded before his eyes.
Ysabelle cried out and quickly looked away as Gwydion was pinned down upon the flattest stone and the peeling knife was raised.
“No!” murmured Godfrey as a triumphant cheer roared from the loathsome Hobbers.
“Heathen scum!” cried Samuel Muin.
Warden Felago clenched his teeth and kept his eyes tight shut and the other three squirrels yelled in anguish as the evil work was done and the screams of their comrade were finally stilled.
Only Godfrey forced himself to watch the actions of the high priest. The heathen devil was holding the silver acorn aloft for all to see, then it plunged down and when Godfrey saw it next, the amulet was covered in blood.
“Come, Hobb!” the figure called out. “Join us here!”
“What’s happening?” Ysabelle cried. “What is he doing?”
The high priest steeped the acorn twice more, and with every sweep of his arm he called to his master.
Godfrey shook all over. “Invoking the Lord of the Raith Sidhe himself,” he answered.
“But you said that was impossible!”
“That was before I saw the acorn about that villain’s neck!” the tutor exclaimed. “That amulet holds tremendous powers—until it is joined with the stabilizing forces of the Starglass it is a perilous device. I dread to think what may befall the world if it is used for evil! There is every chance that Hobb may indeed appear!”
“Bring another victim!” the high priest called.
Pigwiggen hurriedly untied another squirrel and the rats led the unfortunate fellow down to his awful fate.
“Ooh,” Pigwiggen wistfully sighed when he was alone with the remaining prisoners, “hearken to those sounds—an expert peeler is our leader, nothing goes to waste. He’s not one of those ham-fisted hackers who just
want to have a go. Real nice job that one does—proper art it is—a pleasure to watch him at work.”
The hedgehog leaned forward and stood on his toes to get a better view. They were enjoying themselves down there—he glowered at the other Hobbers enviously and his mouth slobbered to see them.
“Coo,” he muttered, “how they go at it, look at them a-carousing—they’d best not forget me, they’d best put some giblets by!”
He jumped up and down in agitation, wringing his claws distractedly.
Godfrey eyed him and he tutted sympathetically. “Poor, poor Piggywiggy!” he said. “It isn’t fair, is it?”
The hedgehog spun round, a confused and hungry expression fixed upon his ugly face.
“Just look at all your friends down there,” Godfrey continued. “Well, you cannot in truth call them friends, can you? They won’t save you anything, and after all your hard work guarding us so well. Just listen to them guzzling and stuffing their filthy faces—not a drop nor a shred shall you get.”
Pigwiggen was beside himself with despair—he had looked forward to this all day. It had been a long time since he had eaten fresh meat and drunk warm blood and these dainties were all so violently desirable.
“Quiet!” he told Godfrey, with a stamp of his foot. “They won’t forget me.”
Godfrey laughed and his fellow prisoners stared at him in amazement—what was he doing?
“Well, even if they do remember,” he told the slavering hedgehog, “there won’t be much. Just look how many of them there are and how few of us to be shared round. I know what will happen, my prickly friend, those at the front shall scoff the most and those at the back won’t even get a lick. Up here you have no chance.”
“Ooooh!” moaned Pigwiggen, tearing at his spines. “’Tain’t fair—that’s downright selfish and greedy.”
“Bring another to the altar!” the high priest’s voice rang from the stones.
Pigwiggen whimpered and reluctantly untied another of his precious lovelies.
When two rats came to take him, the squirrel called Felago did not cry out but gazed back at Ysabelle. “For the Hazel Realm,” he said simply—before they hauled him to his doom.
Godfrey winced at this new torment, but he had to resume what he had started.
“Oh deary me!” he shouted above the horrendous cheers which met this fresh victim. “Not many of us left, are there? Only six—soon it will be only one and when that one has gone... what shall you do then, Pigwiggen?”
The hedgehog was biting his claws in dismay. “Not one juicy drop for me,” he lamented, “not a morsel to be had, no marrow to slurp and no bone to chew.”
“Of course,” Godfrey persisted, “there is a way to cheat them.”
“Cheat?” snapped Pigwiggen crossly.
“Only of what you deserve,” Godfrey goaded him.
The hedgehog scratched himself, then pattered closer to the tutor. “How could I do such a thing?” he asked in a conspiring whisper.
“You could always slip away with one of us,” the squirrel replied, “go to some dark retreat and have a quiet munch of your own, with none to disturb you.”
Pigwiggen’s eyes sparkled at the thought and he moistened his lips as his beady eyes roved towards Ysabelle.
Godfrey saw it and an approving smile lit his face. “If I might proffer a suggestion—may I nominate my mistress? See how tender her young flesh is.”
Pigwiggen squealed in rapture. “Yes, yes!” he vigorously agreed. “I shall take her!”
Godfrey shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered, so none of the others could hear, “she won’t go with you. Untie me first—the maiden trusts me. I can persuade her to follow you to your table.”
“Hoo, hoo,” the hedgehog wickedly cackled as he untied Godfrey’s paws, “a fine feast I shall have and nothing will I spare for the others...”
But that was the last they heard him utter, for Godfrey’s fists punched the stupid hedgehog with all their might and he stumbled backwards—rolling into a bristling ball.
“Well done, Master Godfrey!” Ysabelle cried.
The tutor rubbed his knuckles and hastily set the others free.
“Hey!” shouted Vesper. “What about me?”
But the squirrels did not have time to release a wretched bat, for they might be spotted at any moment.
“Let us run!” Ysabelle urged them. “We must escape this nightmare!”
But Godfrey shook his head, “Not yet,” he said, “they would catch us at once—no, I think I see a way to even the balance.”
He scurried along the edge of the dell, keeping well out of the crowd’s sight. Up to the pitch barrel he hurried and with the help of Samuel Muin and the other two squirrel guards he heaved the vessel onto its side.
Oily black goo went splashing and rushing down the slope and when it reached the bottom it spread over the ground, seeping between the feet of the infernal congregation. But the Hobbers did not notice the sticky pitch that oozed over their toes, for the third sacrifice was over and the body was flung amongst them—in the mad frenzy that followed nothing would have diverted them.
“Please,” Ysabelle insisted, “let us go now!”
“No, My Lady,” Godfrey said, “the silver acorn must be retrieved at all costs.”
Ysabelle stared at him incredulously—had he gone mad? How could they possibly hope to take the amulet from the high priest?
Godfrey whispered a few words to the other squirrels and, after a moment’s hesitation they all consented. “Very well,” the tutor whispered before turning back to address his sovereign. “My Lady, we must do all we can—but you stay here. If we do not succeed... then run for your life.”
“But... but Godfrey!” she stammered. “The risk is...”
Too late—the four squirrels were already creeping down the slope.
Over the pitch-soaked grass they slithered, keeping well out of the circle of firelight. Towards the standing stones, they stealthily made their way, at times running back into the shadows to escape the sight of the hellish revellers.
Godfrey kept his gaze fixed upon the high priest who towered over his disciples. The silver acorn still gleamed about his neck and the old counsellor hoped that his hastily conceived plan would work.
But the third sacrifice had already been devoured by the terrible followers of Hobb and some were now wiping their mouths and turning to where the remaining prisoners were held.
“Ahh!” they screamed. “They are gone—only one is left!”
“Find them!” snarled the high priest.
“Look!” shrieked a vicious little mouse. “They’re over there!”
Everyone glared at the dark area behind the standing stones, where four shapes crept through the gloom.
“Kill them!” screeched the high priest. “Kill them all!”
“Godfrey!” Ysabelle called from the top of the dell.
Thousands of Hobbers surged forward through the tarry mire, streaming past the altar like a foul and deadly tide.
Ysabelle watched helplessly as the seething masses rushed for Godfrey and the guards, yammering for their blood. “Run,” she told herself, “it’s hopeless now—he wanted you to run! Escape while you can!” But instead of hurrying away from the horrendous spectacle, the squirrel maiden tore down the slope—to where Godfrey and the others were cornered.
A short, skinny rat whose eyes shone with a ruby light, came charging at the forefront of the infernal crowd. With a long sword in his claws, he let loose a blood-curdling yell and plunged the weapon into the first of the squirrels.
Samuel Muin sprang at the beast and ripped the sword from its grasp. “Maggot!” he bawled. “Go serve thy master in the Underworld!” and in a moment the rat was dead.
Yet more of the congregation took its place and they had many daggers, knives and spears. Samuel swept the sword through the front rows, cutting them down like reeds, and the foul enemies squealed as they fell to the ground.
From t
he ferocious mob, a huge rat came lumbering. A great pike was in its fist and with a hollow chuckle it ran at Samuel Muin and slew him cruelly.
“Samuel!” cried Godfrey as the hellish horde advanced. Only two squirrels now remained and the last boundary warden ran in front of the counsellor to protect him. But a black feathered arrow came singing from the shrieking mass and he collapsed with it buried deep within his breast.
Alone before the pagan crowd, Godfrey eyed them fearfully. Another arrow was aimed and countless daggers glinted thirstily as the Hobbers came slowly towards him.
Then a foul looking rabbit, whose teeth had been sharpened into fangs, chanced to look behind the solitary squirrel and its grimy ears quivered with evil joy. “Look!” it shouted. “Another of them!”
They all stared past Godfrey, to where Ysabelle came hurrying to her tutor’s side.
The counsellor wailed to see her, then darted forward and snatched a Hobb lantern from a startled vole.
“Kill them!” commanded the high priest upon the stone nearby.
Godfrey dragged Ysabelle behind him and threw the lantern into the midst of the murderous children of Hobb.
With a rush, the pitch-covered ground burst into flame and the worshippers screamed in panic. Sheets of fire rippled outwards and many were roasted alive. The Hobbers howled in dismay and ran wildly from the crackling blaze, for the dell had become a frightful cauldron of swirling flame. Fur was smoking, whiskers frazzled and no one had time to deal with the prisoners—to flee the terrible fire was all they could think of. With flames licking about their feet, they rampaged over the sides of the dell—abandoning those who could not escape.
The foul-looking rabbit bounded from the scene with an insane shriek screeching from his lips. The beast’s tail was burning and its long ears smouldered—leaving two threads of black smoke trailing behind him. Somewhere amid the furnace, a badger screamed, his huge bulk rearing above the flames that blasted upwards to swallow him. With a tremendous crash, the writhing creature fell—overcome with flame and smoke, and in the ruin of his fall, many other animals perished.
A carrion crow furiously beat its wings to flee, but the flames caught it and the bird plummeted into the lethal heat. Streams of rats and squealing mice poured up the grassy banks, with white hot sparks fizzing after them and leaping into their fur.
