Fire Rock

by Peter Barns

Darkburst's head broke the surface of the water and he gasped long, shuddering breaths. Then spotting a sandbank, he found a last reserve of energy to thrash his way onto the low ridge. Dragging himself clear of the river, he lay exhausted, covered in sand.

  When he had finally recovered enough strength to struggle to his feet, Darkburst looked back at the river with narrowed eyes. There was not a single fish to be seen, just the spray flecked aftermath of their activities.

  Darkburst thought hard, his mind working at the enigmas that seemed to surround him.

  Twice now he'd been saved by creatures that in normal circumstances would have left him well alone.

  This could only be the work of Grindel, and with that thought came the realisation of just how powerful the magic encapsulated within the Talisman must really be.

  *

  Grindel cradled the dying badger's head, looking down into the glazed eyes with a hard, uncompromising stare.

  Grindel had been studying the carvings in the Taproot Chamber when the familiar tug cut through his thoughts. He'd resisted at first, annoyed that Skelda had chosen that moment to summon him– just when he was on the point of discovering what Darkburst had seen in the carvings. But Skelda's prodding insistence shattered the shimmering image and the Preceptor turned away from the roots.

  Grindel arrived in time to witness the gathering of the fish, as Skelda, using the powers of the Dark Healing, saved the drowning badger. The vision of the river scene shimmering before his eyes brought the realisation of just how powerful the magic wielded by Skelda was, and it left Grindel badly shaken.

  But staring now into the deformed old badger's eyes, Grindel saw their wild red spark diminishing.

  After saving Darkburst from drowning, Skelda had seemed to collapse in upon himself, falling to the floor as the Dark Healing finally extracted its ultimate penalty. Sensing the coming death of their benefactor, hundreds of tiny grubs dropped from his deformed head.

  "You're dying Skelda," Grindel whispered.

  Skelda nodded with much effort, his twisted body trembling as he fought the inevitable.

  "And that's as it should be," his feeble voice managed. "It's the price paid for using the Dark Healing."

  As the twisted old badger's trembling turned to spasmodic jerking, Grindel leant closer, urgently shaking the dying boar.

  "Tell me," he shouted. "Tell me the secret. Tell me how to use the Dark Healing and I'll save you."

  Then placing his ear to the old badger's mouth, he strained to catch the dying words.

  "Secret?" Skelda mumbled. "You wish to know the secret of the Dark Healing?"

  Grindel's breath faltered. "Yes, yes, tell me."

  But Skelda's face relaxed and his eyes lost their light.

  Grindel began pounding the already dead body. "Tell me you old fool, tell me the secret." Snout thrust right into Skelda's face, doing his best to ignore the stench, Grindel ground out words between clenched teeth. "Tell me how to use the Dark Healing!"

  Skelda's mind was elsewhere now, floating on the Thirteenth Path of the Dark Healing, high above, near the roof of the chamber. Ignoring the exchange taking place below, the essence that was Skelda directed his consciousness outwards. Somewhere out there was the receptacle he needed, but he had to find it quickly.

  Deep within the Darkness that was his anima, something flickered, stirring from the depths, and as the last threads of life drained from his body, Skelda discovered the way forward.

  Grindel threw back his head, shrieking his frustration, tossing the useless body aside.

  "I'll do it alone then, you old fool. I don't need you, I never did."

  So saying Grindel stomped from the chamber, leaving behind the dead thing that up to now had been such a dominating force in his life.

  *

  Broshee hummed to herself as she tended her coat but there was a sadness to the sound. She had always enjoyed the closeness that grooming had brought between her and her mother; the idle chatter, the intimate touching, the lingering caresses. It was a part of cubhood that she found difficult to put aside.

  Allowing her thoughts to drift back to her confrontation with the dog, Broshee realised how lucky she had been.

  The animal, scrabbling at the earth between the rocks, had dug into her hiding place, and all she'd been able to do, was push herself further into the shallow burrow, hoping that the animal would give up and go away.

  But the dog kept up its frantic activity, until it finally managed to make a space large enough to reach her, and all too quickly its powerful jaws were snapping dangerously close. Broshee growled, striking out with her claws, ripping a long, jagged tear down the dog's snout. The animal yelped in pain and sprang backwards.

  This small victory gave her the courage to launch a counter attack, and thrusting against the hard earth with her back feet, she hurled herself from between the stones, biting deeply into the dog's flank. The dog reared up, wary now that it had been hurt.

  *

  They circled each other, eyes locked, each seeking an advantage.

  Broshee sensed an open space behind her and glanced over her shoulder, instantly realising her mistake.

  Taking her attention from the dog, even for a brief moment, had given it the advantage, and it lunged forward, snapping at her neck, causing a painful wound.

  Broshee stood her ground as the dog snarled at her, not yet confident enough to follow through with its attack, its hard yellow eyes watching her every movement.

  They moved back and forth across the bare earth, testing each other's defences, looking for any weakness to exploit. Warm blood trickled from the wound on Broshee's neck and she realised she had to finish this quickly.

  Sinking her claws into the dry ground, she turned sideways to the dog, scooping a pawful of earth into its face. Her heart faltered as the animal growled deep within its throat, tossing its head violently to clear its eyes.

  The stinging dust had momentarily blinded the dog and taking full advantage of her luck, Broshee turned and fled.

  Running like the wind, her heart pounding, her breath pumping through her open mouth, feet barely touching the ground, Broshee fled for her life.

  Onwards she ran, on and on through ferns and thickets, across deep leaf mould and hard stony ground, beneath tall trees and high waving grasses, until she finally collapsed, unable to run any longer. But even as the young sow lay exhausted, her legs twitched and shook, as though still carrying her away from danger.

  *

  Shaking a light layer of moisture from her coat, Broshee stopped to rest. It was impossible to see very far in the thick early mist, and she was afraid that she might lose her way if she continued. Settling down she ate the solitary worm she'd found earlier, but was still ravenous. The countryside around her was desolate, flat and featureless.

  She'd tried digging for food, but it had proven fruitless and frustrating. The black surface was much too hard, refusing to yield to her tough claws. Here and there, an odd tuft of grass, or a tenacious spindly plant, had somehow managed to grow to maturity, but apart from that, even the vegetation had given up the unequal struggle.

  Running the tip of one claw over the strange looking ground Broshee shuddered, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Tilting her head to one side she listened attentively, hearing once again the voices of the stars as they called to each other. She was much closer to them now and felt their movements beneath her feet– the soft vibrations they made as they flew on their way.

  Broshee waited patiently in the slowly shifting mist, her thoughts turning once again to her father.

  *

  Broshee stretched and stood up. The sun had finally burnt off the mist and it was time to go. It felt as though it was going to be hot and sultry, the kind of sun-cycle when sensible badgers should be safely tucked up underground, not traipsing about on a surface that burnt their feet. She was hoping that arriving at the trees during the sun-cycle would mean that the stars would not be there. Something about them frightened
her deeply.

  Broshee started out once more, her determination to succeed burning brightly in her mind. As she walked she allowed her thoughts to wander, reliving past times; happy moments spent in Brockenhurst Sett.

  She smiled, remembering the gossip she'd swapped with her friends. Greenblade's assignations with young Hawn– the secret meetings of two badgers in love– and Hawn still almost a cub at the time. Broshee giggled at the memory. But then her face saddened.

  She should be back there now, she told herself, not out here in this strange land chasing the Circle of Claws in the middle of a hot sun-cycle.

  Clinging to these fond memories Broshee continued on, hoping her journey was nearing its end.

  *

  Climbing a gentle rise Broshee topped the hill and stumbled to a halt, her mouth falling open in amazement, struggling to make sense of what she saw. Sweeping her gaze over the scene from side to side, eyes widening as her brain unscrambled the confusing messages it was receiving, Broshee took a shuddering breath. Then her nerves gave out, and her mind screamed at her to run.

  But Broshee, too shocked to move, stood rooted to the spot, her heart thumping in her chest. She was looking at a track, but a track so wide that she could barely see to the other side. It was the widest track that she had ever seen, so wide she wondered if it was really a track at all. And hurtling along this track were monsters that could only have come out of her worst dreams.

  Gross, overpowering creatures, that smelt of burning bushes. Creatures that blasted out great bouts of heat as they rushed passed, howling and screaming at each other with voices that deafened any badger who listened. Running on strange round paws that hummed on the hard surface, these terrifying creatures chased each other with a speed that was breathtaking. Broshee wondered what they might do if they ever caught each other.

  The young sow finally turned and fled, running mindlessly over the hard ground, petrified that one of the monsters would see her before she could get away. Tumbling back down the hillside, Broshee collapsed in a heap at the bottom, her limbs trembling so violently that even her teeth rattled.

  Finally regaining some composure, Broshee glanced back over her shoulder towards the brow of the hill, breathing fast. Her trembling eased a little when she saw that no monster had followed her.

  She slowly regained her feet, still on the verge of panic, every muscle tense and ready to flee. More time passed and the monsters still did not come, so she began to relax a little more, giving some thought as to what she should do next.

  Broshee felt less panicked now. It was becoming obvious that the creatures had either not seen her or were just not interested in following her.

  Perhaps she'd be able to find Boddaert's Magic after all, but to do that she'd have to cross the track to reach the trees growing on the other side. The thought brought a new terror to her mind and she sat back on her haunches trying to control the trembling that had started in her limbs. Her mouth went dry when she thought about what the monsters might do if she tried to cross the track.

  They'd surely kill her.

  Slowly the answer came to her and the young sow breathed a little easier. She would wait until the moon rose, and when the stars came out they would chase away the monsters. It was so obvious!

  The stars had called her here so they would protect her. Having reached her decision Broshee settled down to wait.

  Chapter 15

  He mumbled and tutted and grumbled at every step. Mumbled whenever a particularly large stone got in his way and he was forced to go around it, tutted when his failing eyesight led him astray and he had to retrace his steps, but mainly he just grumbled. Grumbling was a way of life with Slikit, he was the kind of badger who would always find something to grumble about, even when things were going well.

  As Slikit plodded along, the moonlight reflecting from his silver-grey fur, caused his jerky movements to stand out in the darkness.

  Slikit would have been hard put to tell you his exact age, he'd forgotten that long ago, but in his mind's eye he was still the lithesome young badger who'd bounded along forest tracks without a care in the world. But cold moons told a different story and he knew that the lithe young body had been replaced with something older and slower and now it would often fail him, letting him down when he needed it the most. Like now, when the damp weather affected his joints, making walking a touch painful.

  When had it happened, he wondered? Where had he been when time had stolen his young body away?

  In his long life Slikit had witnessed many things, amongst them the destruction of his home set in Spinningbrock. It had been so many moons ago now that the memory was almost lost in the hazy mists of time. Screaming yellow monsters had scooped up the sett by the mouthful, spitting them out into the maws of other creatures that had scurried away with their prize. At the time Slikit could only suppose such a terrible thing was happening because the Custodians of Spinningbrock had forsaken the old ways when younger more impatient badgers had challenged their customs, thinking they knew better how to live life.

  Slikit had left the ruins of his sett on the edge of Veyatie Copse and never returned. Since then, he had lived a solitary life, roaming Boddaert's Realm in an uneasy search for he knew not what.

  Slikit was thin, his ribs clearly visible along his flanks, but it was a wiry thinness that belied surprising strength. His claws, now blunt and well worn, had lost the ability to regenerate themselves, his teeth too, so he found it hard to chew anything other than soft worms. Slikit would grumble heartily when trying to crack the shell of a beetle, but he seldom gave up until he'd succeeded.

  Slikit had lived alone for longer than he cared to remember, so when he stumbled across the scent of another badger, he was tempted to turn aside and continue on his way. But something stopped him– an unusual feel about the badger's scent invoked his curiosity and he decided to track it.

  When Slikit eventually found the badger he was tracking, he could see he'd been right to follow up on his instincts.

  "Oh dear!" Slikit shook his head, peering closely at the unconscious badger laying in the shallow hollow. "This poor boar is very ill indeed."

  Swaying from foot to foot in a hiatus of indecision, Slikit grumbled quietly to himself, wondering what to do, his nose jerking this way and that in an endless search for clues.

  "He just lies there, as though he's dead!"

  Circling the badger Slikit tutted angrily when a large thistle snagged his coat.

  "Are you alright badger?" he asked, prodding the prone figure then wrinkling his snout in consternation.

  Looking closer, Slikit noticed that the boar's chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythmic pattern.

  "Ah, then at least you're not dead," he muttered with a feeling of relief before bumbling on. "That's good, very good."

  Prodding the boar with another determined poke, Slikit tried to wake him, but only managed to cover his snout with some sticky yellow mucus that was oozing from the boar's mouth. After wiping his snout on a nearby tuft of grass, Slikit shook the stranger again, more roughly this time.

  "Come on, come on, you can't just lay there. Get up! Get up!" But the sick boar still refused to respond to his urgent demands.

  Slikit began pacing back and forth in agitation. "Oh dear, he must be very ill indeed. What shall I do?" Pacing off a short distance he thought hard, then paced back again. "He'll surely die if I don't help him, indeed he will."

  Grumbling mightily to himself, Slikit looked longingly at the moon but found no inspiration there.

  "In past times there would be a Healer to help in such a situation, indeed there would."

  Slikit quickly lost himself in one of his usual tangents, arguing the merits of the past compared to the present, regaling himself with memories of his cub-hood and better times. Then the moon broke through the clouds and he noticed a trampled grass trail leading off into the undergrowth.

  "Ah now, there's a clue," he muttered.

  Keeping his snout close to t
he ground, he followed the spoor, bumbling along as he contentedly grumbled at anything that got in his way.

  Even though Slikit had his eyes screwed up tightly to see all the better in the dim moonlight, he still managed to miss the dark shadow standing in his path.

  "Ouch! Who put that there?" he demanded, pulling his snout from a pile of earth, snorting crumbs of soil from his nose. "Stupid badger! Stupid, stupid, badger!" he ranted, cocking his head to one side as he studied the fresh mound. "But that's from a burrow, indeed it is. And it's a badger's burrow."

  Searching around, Slikit found a small opening in the ground which was obviously an entrance to a temporary burrow.

  Pushing his head inside, he shouted, "Hello in there," but there was no reply.

  Slikit grumbled and fussed around the entrance for a time.

  Why didn't the badger inside answer, he wondered? He could scent her clearly enough. Should he wait for an invitation or just go down anyway?

  Finally growing impatient, Slikit pushed his way into the tunnel and grumbled his way down into the interior of the burrow. On entering the crudely dug chamber Slikit immediately spotted a sow lying on a pile of dry leaves.

  "Well this is a fine how-do-you-do," he began at once. "He's out there and you're in here and when I called you, you ignored me. A fine how-do-you-do indeed." The sow made no reply and Slikit moved nearer, tutting impatiently. "What's the matter with you? Are you ill as well, or is—?"

  Slikit's voice trailed off when he reached the sow's side and saw that she was indeed ill as well.

  "Two," he grumbled, "bad enough with one, but two—"

  Slikit suddenly felt as though the troubles of the whole world were bearing down on his thin back, and shaking his head, he exhaled heavily, then turned to study the burrow entrance as though contemplating leaving. But finally he turned back, sighing yet again, even louder this time.

  "A fine mess this is. A fine mess indeed," he muttered to himself.

  *

  Broshee lay quietly, her mind in turmoil. She was studying the moon, seeking reassurance from its pockmarked surface and eventually the bright countenance calmed her. She jumped when a dog barked in the distance, flicking an ear in alarm, perhaps it was the same dog that had attacked her earlier. Broshee shivered, reluctant to move, her courage deserting her now that it was time to leave.