by Robin Jarvis
“There!” she exclaimed. “Take me down there!”
The bat obeyed and they alighted far from the main bulk of the crippled oak.
Through the shattered tangle of torn twigs and branches, Ysabelle hurried, striving to reach what she had seen lying upon the grass.
There it was, the dark circle of the Starglass, thrown clear from the fractured tree, darkly mirroring the smoke-filled sky.
The amulet was still hot in her paws but she had borne the pain in silence; now the metal began to cool as it drew her forward.
Vesper stared at the Starglass in wonder, for already its surface was shimmering.
Ysabelle held the acorn by its chain and breathlessly brought it over the magical device.
The black glass rippled and churned and within the amulet an answering light welled up.
“Now is the time!” Ysabelle cried. “Now do I accede to the throne and claim my place as Handmaiden to Orion!”
Hesitating at the last instant, she gazed back at Vesper and tears brimmed in her eyes as she murmured in a meek voice, “Goodbye my love.” Then she returned to the enchanted device and called out, “May this new vessel serve you well!”
The stars in the heavens shone fiercely through the blanketing smoke and their brilliance burned in the churning depths of the Starglass as the maiden lowered the silver acorn. Cold white flames licked over the bubbling glass, leaping up to dance around the glowing amulet.
A high-pitched, sonorous note rang in Ysabelle’s ears and a wintry chill passed into her fingers, searing up her arm until she spluttered and a halo of silvery light shone around her. Vesper stood back as the icy fires enveloped the squirrel entirely. The power which beat from the Starglass was blinding and he protected his eyes with his wings as Ysabelle became a pure white, dazzling flame.
Then, abruptly all was dark.
Vesper rubbed his eyes, but it was a few moments before they adjusted and he was able to see again.
The Starglass was calm and still once more and, standing beside it, Ysabelle turned a resolute and solemn face to the young bat. In her paw the silver acorn gleamed brightly—cleansed of the blood which had sullied it and she fastened the chain about her neck.
“What happened?” Vesper muttered.
“I accepted the high office,” she replied with a cool dignity he had not seen before, “and the power is now channelled through me.”
“But... but what does that mean?”
“The Starwifeship is truly mine,” she told him, “and all that it entails.”
A ferocious bellow sounded upon the nearby hilltop and Ysabelle’s face grew hard. “Take me back,” she demanded.
Vesper began thrashing his wings and the Starwife held onto him as they climbed into the sky.
About the blessed hill the Lord Hobb roared. Destroying flame blasted from his jaws, remorselessly burning those who had worshipped him alongside the squirrels of the hazel Realm. The tumultuous clamour of the shrieking multitudes was terrible to hear, yet cutting through all the chaos, came a clear and strident voice.
“Lord of the Raith Sidhe!” called Ysabelle, letting go of Vesper and dropping to the ground as he swooped down. “Hearken to me—the bringer of thy doom!”
The dreadful visage of Hobb turned to her and his fire-rimmed eyes blazed with triumph.
But the Starwife was not afraid and she held the symbol of her office aloft for all to see.
Steeped in the hellish glare of the infernal presence, the amulet gleamed. Pricking through the haze like a frosty white star, it shone within the baleful light—glimmering with might and purity.
“The world has no use for thee!” Ysabelle proclaimed. “Long ago thou wert shuttered from the living and must be so again!”
A chilling noise issued from the hideous fiend above her, and those that heard it realised, with a shiver, that Hobb was laughing.
Fearfully, Vesper rushed to the squirrel’s side and took her by the paw. “This is madness!” he cried. “Let me bear you from this foulness!”
But with a determined look on her face, she pushed him aside and repeated her warning to the monster above.
“The time of darkness is gone!” she shouted. “Never shalt thou trouble the world again!”
The scathing laughter subsided and for the first time in many ages, the demonic god of the rats spoke.
To hear his sepulchral voice was like being torn and cut by knives and some of those Hobbers who remained shrieked and fell upon their swords to drown the insidious horror of that evil sound.
“NEVER SHALL I BE RETURNING TO THE LOWER DEEPS!” he rumbled. “NO LONGER CAN THEY HOLD ME! THINE SPARKLING JEWEL DID FREE ME OF THEM FOR ETERNITY. NO, NOW THE LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD HATH DOMINION OVER THE UPPER REALMS. DARKNESS AND DEATH WILL I SPEW FORTH AND THE LUST FOR SLAUGHTER CRAWL INTO EACH PITIFUL CREATURE’S MIND.”
Ysabelle almost swooned before the force that was in that unearthly voice, but she roused herself and strode defiantly forward with the amulet in her paws.
“Not to the Pit which is broken do I consign thee!” she cried. “But to another confinement—of my own devising!”
“NEVER!” the Lord Hobb arrogantly scorned. “THERE IS NO FETTER IN ALL CREATION STRONG ENOUGH TO BIND ME. I AM FREE AND THY HAUGHTY WORDS CAN INFLICT NO HARM.”
“Though the fastness of the world’s dungeons is breached,” Ysabelle called, “I cannot permit thee to stalk the troubled earth and bring forth thy consort and the trickster. Begone from here—Beast of the Poisoned Seas!”
Behind the plumes of sulphur, the awful face contorted and a ghastly sneer formed on the dark blue lips. “PRINCE OF THE DESPAIRING DEAD AM I!” he roared. “HEIR TO THE INNER VOID WHICH WAS AND WILL COME AGAIN. CAST THY PETTY NETS ELSEWHERE, SQUIRRELING, FOR THY REIGN IS ENDED!”
A torrent of flames gusted from his mouth, but Ysabelle darted beneath him as the fires erupted where she had been standing and in a condemning voice, pronounced his fate.
“Father of lies!” she called. “Hear my curse and tremble! By the powers of this amulet you were summoned from the Pit, and to the acorn thou wert drawn. Take now that which I give so freely—may thou have that which lured thee!”
As she finished speaking, the sulphurous jets that belched from the soil shivered and stirred before the night airs and the Lord Hobb glared around him suspiciously. Quickly the breeze grew in force until a fierce wind fell on the hilltop and the reeking yellow fumes were scattered throughout the sky.
With the gale tearing around him, the rat god heard a low rumble shake the heavens which were suddenly ripped asunder as bolts of lightning jagged over his repulsive head.
The amulet in the Starwife’s paws crackled with magical force and the stars blazed in the firmament as the power waxed steadily.
Ysabelle closed her eyes as the full might of the silver acorn seared through her and her voice rose in unbearable anguish.
Bawling, the Lord Hobb raised a cloven hoof to crush the squirrel beneath him. Yet, even as he brought it smashing down, a streak of lightning struck one of his horns, which burst into white flame and a pall of livid green smoke spluttered into the flashing sky.
Never had the Lord of the Raith Sidhe known such pain and he screeched in convulsing torment as the fire burned and scorched.
“WITCH!” he roared. “WHAT HAST THOU DONE?”
Arcs of blinding energy raged about the titanic fiend, bristling down his forked tail and wreathing around his deformed head.
The Starwife shuddered as the lethal forces locked within the amulet flooded out, lashing against the demon with unstoppable fury. The awesome might of the silver acorn coursed through Ysabelle’s entire being, charging through every sinew and streaming forth to enmesh the Lord of the Underworld in a cage of dazzling stars that blistered and devoured him.
“NOTHING CAN HOLD ME!” he raged through his agony. “I SHALL NOT SUBMIT!”
Ysabelle felt the strength draining from her as the energy relentlessly beat out and
the lightning crashed around the towering figure above.
Hobb was now covered in white flame and the gnarled claws that thrashed the air wove a frantic web of fire in the rampaging storm.
All around the hilltop, his followers and the squirrels gaped in terror as he bayed and shrieked. Then they rubbed their eyes as gradually a change stole over the evil creature. The flame-enveloped figure was slowly diminishing, dwindling behind the sizzling sparks and shrinking into the ground.
“NOOOO!” Hobb’s resounding scream echoed.
An inferno of blinding heat and light erupted from the soil and the fierce bolts of lightning that snaked from the amulet in Ysabelle’s grasp whipped furiously about the land of Greenreach. Then all was dark and the raging wind sighed into a calm and peaceful silence.
The hideous majesty of the Lord Hobb had utterly vanished.
Not a murmur disturbed the stunned quiet that followed, only the soft beating of leathery wings as Vesper landed at Ysabelle’s side.
“You destroyed him!” he marvelled.
The Starwife shook her head feebly. “He cannot be destroyed,” she answered in a drained whisper, “the god of the rats lies yonder.”
Nervously, Vesper flitted to where she pointed but he could not see anything upon the ground. Then he gave a small cry and peered at a tiny object that lay upon the charred soil.
It was a simple acorn, the ordinary green fruit of the oak tree—similar to the millions that grew in the forest. Yet, with infinite caution, Vesper picked it up and brought it reverently back to Ysabelle.
“There is the prison I wrought,” she said with great strain showing on her face, “no other choice was there. An acorn called him and by that was he doomed.”
The young bat gazed at the small round shape doubtfully. “I do not understand,” he muttered, “surely he can break free from there?”
“Do you not see?” she asked, putting her paw to her brow and swaying unsteadily. “Hobb is not merely trapped within the shell—his very being is locked within the nature of this and as long as it lasts, and a squirrel sits upon the Oaken Throne, so shall the term of his imprisonment.”
“Then you must keep it safe,” he replied, putting it into her paws.
“No, Vespertilio,” she breathed, “the acorn must be buried. A tree must grow and that oak shall flourish for over a thousand years. In every splinter of its timbers Hobb shall be sealed and... and while a twig... or leaf of it... remains, the world... the world is... is safe.” And with that, she slumped to the floor—exhausted by the forces she had unleashed.
But the danger was not yet over. All around the ruptured hilltop, the members of the Hobb cult were rising from where they had cringed and prostrated themselves. Madness shone in every staring eye and, hissing and gibbering, they took up their weapons once more and stole forward.
With a sudden wail, they leaped upon the squirrel army, rending and hacking, butchering the royal guards with a wild savagery that was terrible to behold.
Cawing maniacally, the carrion birds dived upon the Knights of the Moon and their armoured bodies began to fall in a grisly rain.
As the madness and uproar seethed about them, Vesper took hold of Ysabelle and carried her over to where the roots of the ruined oak had been torn from the ground.
“Ysabelle,” he called, laying her against the mangled tree, “can you not stop this?”
The Starwife opened her eyes wearily, and gazed in despair at the carnage which rampaged around them. “I am too spent,” she breathed. “I cannot wield the magic to protect our forces. I am sorry.” Then her head fell to her chest and she knew no more.
A guttural shout made Vesper whirl round, just as a hump-backed rat sprang for him. The young bat’s knife flashed in his grasp and a moment later the rat lay dead.
Yet the number of Hobbers was immense; their insane yammering travelled to the farthest shores of the great river and filled the wild expanse of the forest. Brutally, they swarmed over the defending forces, and, into the gaping fissures which scarred the earth, the hot blood of bat and squirrel gushed and flowed.
With his back against the Hallowed Oak, standing over the body of his beloved, Vesper slew many raving creatures. Yet always others leaped in to take their place and he knew he could not hold out much longer.
Overhead, the Knights of the Moon were failing against the gore crows and rooks, whose beaks and claws were stained a bright and sticky scarlet.
Warden Mugwort called to his troops, rallying them to him and keeping the flames of their courage burning. Yet the army of Ysabelle was hemmed in on all sides and, with each second that passed, another of their number fell before the rabid Hobbers.
From the flanks of the shrieking enemy, a jagged dagger came flying. Mugwort cried out as the barbed blade plunged into his shoulder and he tore it out fiercely—yet even as he cast the repugnant weapon from him, a blackness closed over his senses. The dagger had been dipped in venom and, with a cry of anguish, he fell dead.
The squirrels around him yelled in dismay. Roars of victory erupted from their broiling foe as they surged forward in one violent charge. The forces of the Hazel Realm were swept aside and the battle seemed to be nearing a grim conclusion.
Vesper was overwhelmed by the countless hordes. A shrilly squawking hedgehog rushed at him swinging a cudgel above its spine-covered head. The young bat threw up his wings to defend himself but his assailant delivered a terrible blow to his ribs and Vesper was thrown sideways.
With insanity shining in his eyes, the hedgehog lumbered up to Ysabelle and licked his teeth gruesomely.
Vesper struggled to his feet, but the blow had knocked all the strength from him and he collapsed at Ysabelle’s side just as the creature prepared to pounce.
Suddenly a loud trumpet-blast boomed over the hilltop and the hedgehog gazed blankly around him. His squinting eyes bulged in terror at what he saw and, with a frightful yelp, he threw down his cudgel and waddled away as fast as his bow legs could take him.
Vesper shakily lifted his head and a cry of joy blurted from his lips.
From the forest an immense host was marching up the hill. Never had such a force been assembled, for here were two of the remaining squirrel houses and their mighty armies contained ten thousand courageous souls—all geared for war and eager for battle. Yet what made Vesper’s heart leap inside him, was the sight of those who came at the vanguard of the vast number.
With swords drawn, the surviving woodlanders from the ruined mound stormed up the hillside—and Fenny was at their head.
“Ysabelle,” the bat called, “we are saved.”
The children of Hobb uttered terrified screams as this new threat advanced. The clamouring rats tore blindly about the hilltop, stumbling over themselves, fighting each other in their fear. Before the vast host had arrived, many terrified creatures had already perished at the feet of their brethren.
As the woodlanders reared over the rim of the hill, a number of the crazed Hobbers rushed at them and were swiftly slain, while others fled down towards the flowing river and were drowned trying to escape.
When the glorious reinforcements rushed at the enemy, the battle-weary army of Ysabelle revived and continued their fight—refreshed and filled with hope.
Yet in the sky the carrion birds were undaunted by the arrival of the unbounded legions and set about the Moonriders with more ferocity than ever. It was not until the squirrels strung their bows and shot volleys of arrows into the air that the crows paid them any heed. Each flurry of arrows brought three score of the feathered Hobbers down and they dropped like stones from the sky.
Screeching, the birds veered from the hill, but the Knights of the Moon pursued them unto the furthest reaches of the forest and none escaped their vigilance.
The ensuing battle was brief and deadly; nearly all the worshippers of the Raith Sidhe were destroyed, but some managed to flee with their lives and ran shrieking into the forest—to lick their wounds and wait for another day.
About the hill of Greenreach cries of jubilation rang out and the squirrels of the Hazel Realm greeted their long-sundered cousins.
But this rejoicing was marred with great sadness, for the cost of victory had been dear and the tally of the fallen ran into hundreds.
With jubilant cheers mingled with wails of lamentation filling his ears, Fenlyn Purfote strode through the bodies of rat and squirrel, over to the huge roots of the Hallowed Oak, where Vesper and Ysabelle lay.
At first he thought that both were dead but, as he drew closer, he saw the young bat stir and welcome him with a feeble grin.
“Hail, Captain,” Vesper whispered, “glad am I to see you again.”
The mouse smiled then looked at the maiden at his side. “Thy friend is pale,” he observed. “The denizens of the Ivy House are skilled healers, let me call them.”
“No,” said Vesper putting his wing about Ysabelle, “the Starwife is fatigued—no more.”
Fenny whistled through his teeth. “The Starwife!” he exclaimed, but before he could say any more an anxious voice trilled behind him.
“M’lady!” squealed the mousemaid. “Don’t fret none I’ll soon be with thee!”
As Griselda hurried from the midst of her mistress’s army, Vesper made a desperate appeal to the mouse captain.
“Please,” he asked, “keep that nursemaid from us for a while longer.”
Fenny nodded and turned to lead the clucking mouse away from the tangled roots.
Alone with Ysabelle, Vesper drew her close and kissed her lightly on the forehead and, as her eyelids fluttered open, the first rays of the morning sun edged into the sky.
Ysabelle
The celebrations lasted for many days, yet it was a time in which Ysabelle saw little of Vesper, for his people had one last score to settle and had besieged the chamber of the evil Lord Hrethel.
Having been the one to expose his dire treachery, and proving himself to be valiant and courageous, Vespertilio finally achieved his lifelong ambition and followed in the tradition of his forefathers. Now he too was a Knight of the Moon. As such, his duty had compelled him to encamp with the other survivors of the final battle about the lair of their last enemy.