Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Bryony and Togget stood waving on the bank, a bulging haversack between them. Pulling out into midriver the big untidy raft sailed off, its line of washing fluttering like stately banners. They shouted their goodbyes to the Pollspike family, who were grouped around the tiller at the after end of the flat craft.

  ‘Thank you for everything, friends, fortune sail with you!’

  ‘Goombye, zurr Duddle an ee famberly, thankee gurtly!’

  The hedgehogs waved cheerily, returning the farewells.

  ‘Seasons be good to you, we’ll meet again I hope!’

  ‘Rocks an’ rivers! Of course we will, take good care of yoreselves, an’ give that ferret a kick from me!’

  ‘Yeth, cut hith tail off with a thingle thwipe!’

  The last thing they heard was young Clematis Roselea, as her father held her up high, singing aloud:

  ‘If I’m very, very good my mama bakes me pies,

  Hogmaids never should bring tears

  To their dear mamas’ eyes.

  I scrub my face quite hard each morn,

  And keep my dress so clean,

  And to my little brother dear,

  I’m never ever mean!’

  Togget waved at the receding raft, pausing to blink away a tear. ‘They’m vurry dear beasts, oi diddent moind ee liddle un a jumpen on moi stummick, hurr no!’

  Making fair progress on the sloping streambank, the two travellers strode easily along through lush grass and sheltering foliage towards the mountain, following the course of the stream. Before they left the trees at midday Togget discovered blackberries, their stalks winding around a thick lavender clump. Dangling their footpaws into the water, Bryony and Togget sat on the bank, sharing a heap of the dark juicy berries. A flicker from the far bank caught Bryony’s eye; she saw a small bankvole watching them from the shelter of some overhanging ivy.

  The mousemaid smiled and waved at the little creature. ‘Hello there, it’s very beautiful around here. Would you like some blackberries? Here you are!’

  She threw the berries across the stream, and the bankvole quickly gathered them and stuffed his face greedily. He stood watching for more, his mouth and chin stained purple. Bryony threw him a few more and enquired after Veil. ‘Did you see a ferret pass this way on a log?’

  Immediately the tiny creature began dancing up and down the bank, pointing animatedly and gibbering. ‘Yis yis! Ferret, went down tharraway, right down ferret went! Yeeheehee! Ferret’ll go bumperty bump bump! Can’t stop down tharraway, ferret’ll go yaaaaargh! Right over top o’ th’big wateryfall! Yaaaaargh! Ferret’ll be smashed t’bits yeeheehee!’

  Bryony stopped throwing the berries and stamped her footpaw on the bank, looking sternly at the grinning little bankvole. ‘Don’t say such awful things!’

  This seemed to encourage the tiny creature; he leapt in the air, waving his paws wildly. ‘Ferret smashed inta likkle bits! Yeeheehee! Lotsa bits! ’Ead one place, paws anuther, fur everywhere, tail inna nundred bits. Smashed ferret! Yeeheeheehee!’

  Bryony gathered the remainder of the blackberries huffily. ‘Come on, Togget, we’re leaving here. That impudent creature isn’t getting any more berries – we’re going!’

  The little bankvole pursued them, shouting from the opposite side as he skipped and danced along. ‘All smashed inta ferrety bits! Yeeheehee! Belly smashed, dinner all over’a place, teeths everywhere, eyes smashed, eeyukka! Nose in bits, blood too, allover allover alloveraplace. Blood’s everywhere off smashed ferret! Yeeheeheehee!’

  He continued in this manner until Togget put both digging claws into either side of his mouth, pulled his lips wide and stuck out his tongue, and made a grotesque face at the bankvole. Still jumping and skipping the little bankvole returned the insult, squinching his nose and waggling his ears. Unfortunately, he did not look where he was going and went smack into an alder. Sitting flat on the ground he nursed a bruised jaw and set up a fearful yowl. ‘Waaahaaah! ’Urted me face! Waaahaaahaaah!’

  Bryony shook her head reprovingly at her molefriend. ‘Tut, tut, really, Togget, did you have to?’

  ‘Hurr, hurr, at least et stopped ’im a goin’ on abowt bits o’ furret, missie, oi wurr beginnin’ t’feel quoit ill.’

  When they reached the gorge top the afternoon grew hot, but as the sheer sides lessened, spray from the rapids hit the two friends like a welcome, cooling drizzle. Bryony looked at the wild rapids, foaming and leaping as they dashed downhill towards the mountains.

  ‘Look at that water! No wonder Duddle said he wouldn’t dare take the raft down this way, it’s dreadful!’

  Togget pointed ahead. ‘Yurr oi think et wursens yonder, ’ark at ee roaren et makes!’

  A short distance further on they saw the mist-shrouded rainbow and the roar increased in volume until they had to shout aloud at each other to be heard above it.

  Soaked and bewildered they found a small cavelike crevice to one side of the waterfall’s edge. Crouching inside, Togget dug out a turnip and watercress flan, and they shared it, together with a flask of cowslip cordial. They peered in fascination at the colossal torrent, falling so far down that it was lost in an almost solid white spray of mist.

  ‘Whurr do et all go to, miz Broinee?’

  ‘I’m not certain, Togget, but I think it must fall into some big lake below and stream off into the mountains.’

  Bryony suddenly realized how close to the mountains they were; the falls seemed to drop into their very side. ‘Well, I’ll have to figure out a way to get down there to the bottom of this waterfall. If Veil was here, he couldn’t avoid going over. What an awful thing to happen to anybeast, Togget.’

  ‘Hurr aye, missie, oi knows ’tis ’ard, but us doan’t ’spect to foind maister Veil still aloive, do us?’

  Bryony clasped the mole’s paw earnestly. ‘You don’t have to go down there, Togget. I won’t have you risking your life to find Veil.’

  The good mole’s face was earnest as he replied, ‘Oi doan’t go, then you’m b’ain’t goen. Oi cummed this furr with ee, Broinee, burr, an’ oi b’ain’t aven ee riskin’ yore young loif furr ee wuthless vurmin alone, no zurr!’

  It was evening before they were ready to descend the slippery rocks. The two friends were ill equipped for their task; after an exhaustive search of the area all they came up with was a few short lengths of vine. Using their belts and the haversack sling they knotted them all together. Bryony fastened one end to Togget’s waist and the other round her own, and wordlessly they set off down the slick, waterworn rockface, with the deafening din of the torrent ringing in their ears. Bryony went first, Togget taking the strain as she scrabbled and slid to a smooth ledge. She waited until he had scrambled down beside her before taking a look around.

  There seemed no way off the ledge, except for a series of rocky protuberances on one side, half covered by the falling water. Carefully the mousemaid lowered herself to the first one, feeling Togget slip slightly as he was pulled by the tension on their lifeline. He waved a digging claw to show he was all right and she began the descent to the next. Suddenly a chunk of driftwood hurtling past on the waterfall struck Bryony, and she slipped, but managed to grab on to a spur. Battered by the falls and fighting for breath she hung on tight, barely able to hear her molefriend above the pounding cascade.

  ‘Oi’m cummen, missie, ’old on!’

  As Togget climbed down to her he edged too near the waterfall; it caught him and swept him away like a leaf in a gale. A split second later, Bryony screamed as the improvised rope tautened like a bowstring and catapulted her off the spur after him. Bound together both mole and mousemaid were carried off by the raging waterfall.

  * * *

  41

  Swartt had been going long and hard. He had cleared the big hills behind Salamandastron in two days, without either food or sleep, but now he had to rest, to stop awhile before he dropped. The Warlord crouched beside a stream flowing out onto the heathland, his tongue lolling from one side of his mouth. Panting li
ke a winded dog, he awaited the arrival of the rest. The vixen fell in a breathless heap alongside him and splashed water into her open mouth with both paws.

  Swartt kicked her. ‘S’bad for yer, it’ll make yer sick, y’won’t be able to run!’

  Nightshade lay back, her flanks twitching and quivering. ‘Makes no difference now, Lord. I’m old, I can’t run any more, whether you want me to or not!’

  The ferret pawed water over the back of his neck. ‘So, what’re you goin’ t’do, vixen, stop here an’ be slain by the badger? That’s what’ll happen if yer don’t move.’

  Nightshade watched the rest lolloping up and dropping exhausted by the stream. ‘I’ve got a plan, Sire, listen. You take five and twenty with you, leave me the rest with some bows and arrows. Look to the east there – see that fringe, it’s woodlands. Keep low and stay in the stream; ’tis only shallow, but the water will cover your tracks. Once you make it to the trees, wait there for me. I still have poison. We will lay an ambush; those who are hunting us will be coming fast, with the badger in the lead. They won’t be expecting a sudden shower of poison shafts. We’ll let fly at them, then we’ll use the streambed to follow you. I think my idea is our best hope.’

  Swartt stared curiously at his seer. ‘Yer an odd one, vixen, why would you do this fer me?’

  Nightshade closed her eyes. ‘You are not defeated yet, Lord. I follow my visions. I see the badger laid low at your footpaws, you standing atop of a mountain, smiling and victorious . . .’

  Swartt’s eyes lit up, and he leaned towards Nightshade. ‘More, tell me more, what d’you see then?’

  The seer opened her eyes and shrugged. ‘Then it gets hazy and I see an old female badger, silver with seasons, very ancient and wise looking, then I wake.’

  The Warlord brought his chainmailed sixclaw down hard. ‘The badger laid low, me victorious. This is a good dream – it’s not over yet. As for your old silver female badger, when I’ve finished with Sunflash I’ll find her an’ slay ’er!’

  Nobeast was more surprised than Sunflash the Mace when Rockleg and Fleetrunn caught up with him. He was facing the bottom of the final hill when the two hares came loping swiftly along and saluted him.

  ‘Splendid day for huntin’ vermin, Sire, wot!’

  The badger halted, his chest heaving as he sucked in air. ‘Where in the name of fur did you two spring from?’

  Fleetrunn gestured over her shoulder. ‘Actually, there’s more followin’, we’re the jolly old front runners, makin’ the pace, scoutin’ ahead an’ so on.’ She unslung a canteen from her back. ‘Here, Sire, care for a drop o’ the ole oat’n’barley water, rather good in this hot weather, y’know.’

  Gratefully, Sunflash took a brief sip, scanning the sky. Skarlath came soaring out of the blue and landed beside him. ‘Kreeh! Eight vermin and the vixen are awaiting your arrival over this hill, they are laying an ambush, with archers!’

  ‘Well sighted, my friend. What of the Sixclaw, where is he?’

  ‘Swartt and the rest are following a shallow streambed towards the forest to the east, staying in the water so that they cannot be tracked.’

  Sunflash turned to the two horses. ‘Here is what we’ll do. You wait here until the rest of your Long Patrol arrives, I’m going off to skirt this hill and pick up the streambed south of here. Watch the sky;, when you see Skarlath dive then you may charge the vermin, but do it carefully, keep out of arrow range. When you hear me attack then come in fast. Take your Long Patrol to this hilltop and watch for my hawk’s signal.’

  It was hot and uncomfortable in the depression around the stream, and those with Nightshade were anxious and impatient. The shallow water had been warmed by the sun and the presence of the vermin caused a cloud of midges and gnats to descend upon them. Nightshade swatted at the insects, sweat blurring her vision as she tried to focus on the hillslope in front of her. A quarrelsome rat drank some streamwater and spat it out, complaining, ‘Yurk! Doesn’t taste too good after twenny odd pair o’ dirty paws ’ave been sloshin’ through it!’

  Tension hummed on the air as the vixen snapped at him, ‘Then don’t drink it, fool, keep your eyes on the slope and your claws on that bowstring. Lord Sixclaw wants no slip-ups.’

  A burly weasel scoffed as he spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘No slip-ups eh? Lissen, mate, it’s been one long round of slip-ups since I took up with this lot, an’ who was the one who did all the slippin’ up, eh? Ole Sixclaw, that’s who!’

  The vixen stared hard at the burly weasel. ‘I’ll tell Lord Swartt you said that when we catch up with him in the forest – or would you sooner tell him yourself? You look like a big brave beast.’

  The rat who had complained about the water signalled the vixen. ‘Look, atop of the hill, I kin see those ’ares, they’re watchin’ us!’

  Nightshade could barely see a few javelintips and long ears poking over the hilltop. ‘Aye, they’re up there sure enough. Strange, I wonder what they’re waiting for?’

  The burly weasel ventured an opinion. ‘Some sorta signal maybe?’

  Then the vixen spotted Skarlath, hovering halfway between the streambed and the hares. ‘That’s it, the badger’s hawk, it must be able to see something that we can’t. I’ll stop it spying on us!’

  Wiping the moisture from her eyes, the vixen rubbed dirt on her paws to prevent them slipping. She selected an arrow, sighting down the shaft to make sure it was straight and true, from feathered flight to poisoned barb. Testing the air with her eartip, Nightshade noted with satisfaction that there was not even a slight breeze to ruffle the still summer noon. Notching the shaft to her bowstring she took aim and drew the arrow back until the yew wood bow bent almost to a perfect semicircle.

  Then Skarlath dropped from the sky, giving the signal.

  Nightshade was quick, she dropped her aim instantly and fired. The arrow struck home. Skarlath gave a piercing cry, and his wide wings flopped loose as he tumbled to earth.

  The vixen turned in triumph to the others when she saw Sunflash charging along the streambed from around the bend in the hill. Her courage drained from her. The huge Badger Lord pounded towards her, bellowing out his grief and rage. Dropping the bow she fled, deserting the vermin in the depression. They turned too late. Sunflash was amongst them with an earsplitting roar.

  ‘Skarlaaaaath!’

  On top of the hill Sabretache heard the Badger Lord’s anguished cry and saw the hawk lying halfway down the hill, a bundle of feathers and a broken arrow. The hare Captain drew his sabre.

  ‘Long Patrol! Eeulaliaaaaaa!’

  The hares came charging down the hill, dust rising in clouds from their paws, weapons at the ready. With a bound they sprang into the depression. The stream was slowly being dammed, choked by dead vermin and smashed weapons. The berserk Badger Lord had done his work, and now he was gone. Sabretache signalled them forward, and they rushed off in a spray of streamwater, following the shallow bed towards the distant forest.

  Nightshade ran as she had never done before. Paws pounding, brushy tail standing out behind like a streamer, her heart banged like a triphammer as she fought to suck in the hot air. The wound in Sunflash’s footpaw had reopened, tingeing the streamwater red as he sped roaring in the wake of the beast who had slain Skarlath. Terror lent speed to the vixen; she dashed for the shelter of the forest, well ahead of the badger, though a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he was beginning to shorten the gap between them. Blinded by tears and aching all over from battle wounds, the Badger Lord pursued his enemy doggedly, determined to catch up with the lighter, swifter fox.

  Swartt was well within the woodlands, ravaging a wild cherry tree with the rest of his vermin. He turned swiftly at the approaching patter of paws. It was a stoat he had left on watch at the forest edge.

  ‘Lord, I climbed a tree and saw your vixen,’ gasped the stoat. ‘She is running fast towards these woods, with the badger hard on her tail. There are no others, he must’ve slain those you left to ambush him, it loo
ks like Nightshade escaped! There are hares too, more than half a score, coming up fast!’

  The Warlord did not hesitate. He took off north into the trees taking his band with him. ‘The vixen bungled the ambush,’ he growled. ‘If the badger catches her, well, that’s ’er lookout. If not she’ll pick up our tracks an’ find us. But that badger an’ his hares can track too, so move yerselves if you want ter stay alive!’

  Nightshade made the forest cover on trembling limbs. Expecting Swartt and the others to be waiting there, she slowed her pace as she dashed into the trees yelling for assistance. ‘Lord, the badger’s after me! Get him! Cut him down!’

  But no help was forthcoming. Staggering with exhaustion the vixen loped off through the woodland. The crash of heavy footpaws pounding through the undergrowth in her wake caused Nightshade to turn her head fearfully. She tripped over an exposed tree root and fell flat. She managed to scramble halfway up before a huge footpaw knocked her down again. Sunflash the Mace stood over her, tears coursing down the golden stripe, his massive paws shaking with fury as he raised the great warclub. Nightshade scrabbled against the earth. ‘No, Lord! Mercy pl . . . Yaaaaaggh!’