The Beasts of Grimheart

by Kieran Larwood

‘Take us there for what?’ Podkin asked, hoping it wouldn’t have anything to do with the words ‘sacrifice’ or ‘offering’.

  ‘To claim the Gift of Hern’s Holt,’ said Mo Grim. ‘You will need it for the war.’

  ‘War?’ Podkin and Paz said together, loudly enough to make Pook squeak. But food had been prepared and the Wardens began to dish out bowls of mushroom stew and slabs of bread the size of Podkin’s head.

  Podkin and Paz realised they were ravenously hungry as they tucked in. All their questions would have to wait. As if in answer, Mo Grim smiled and nodded at them, speaking around a mouthful of food.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We will take you there tomorrow.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Blodcrun

  After eating, even though it could only have been around midday, Podkin and Paz both fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  The Warden rabbits left them snoring, quietly going about their jobs as before. Pook amused himself by playing with Pocka. The two shared toys and laughed and giggled together as Pook climbed on to Pocka’s head and played peepo behind the enormous baby’s ears.

  At some point in the evening, Podkin woke and watched them, marvelling at how two little rabbits could get along so well without any common language to help them. Or rather, they had their own language that never had to be learnt: laughs and smiles and gestures that told each other simple things like ‘I am happy’, ‘that was funny’ and ‘you’re my friend’.

  How easy it must be, being a baby, Podkin thought, envying his little brother for the first time. Even though Pod was just a few years older, his life had already become more complicated and difficult than he could ever have imagined.

  Paz woke too, soon after, and the Wardens began preparing for another meal. They lifted stone slabs from the centre of the chamber to expose a large fire pit, in which they quickly built a crackling blaze, complete with a tripod that held a pot big enough for Podkin to have taken a bath in. This was filled with mushrooms, herbs, nuts, seeds and wild garlic, and was soon bubbling away, releasing a delicious smell.

  When ready, the stew was dished into bowls and the Wardens all came to sit around the fire. Podkin and Paz had difficulty holding their soup bowls, they were so big. Pook just reached both paws into his and started shovelling the stew into his mouth. It was spicy and earthy, but delicious.

  Podkin had ended up sitting next to Cob, the spider Warden, and at one point noticed that his cloak of carefully layered webs was moving. Looking closer, he spotted spiders of every size, silently scuttling about within. With a squeak, he edged away as quickly as he could (without being rude) and bumped into Paz who was edging the other way. She had sat next to Chitna, and had herself just noticed the living beetles in that Warden’s cloak. They shared a look of quiet horror, and sat very still until dinner ended.

  As soon as everyone had finished eating, the Wardens rose and began clearing away. Podkin had a barrage of questions stored up, but Mo Grim just looked at him and smiled. ‘Tomorrow,’ was all she said.

  One by one, the Wardens left the chamber, off to their own burrows and beds elsewhere in the warren. Chitna picked up Pocka and cradled him so tenderly it was obvious she was his mother. Pook began to raise a paw to wave, but that was too much effort for the little rabbit. He collapsed on to Paz’s lap and fell into a deep sleep.

  The last Warden to leave (Podkin thought it might be Bole, the tree Warden, judging by his wooden armour and cloak of bark strips) left them a pile of blankets. They arranged them into nests by the dwindling fireside and snuggled down, looking up to the blue-lit ceiling of intertwined roots above.

  ‘What do you make of all this?’ Podkin asked his sister.

  ‘These ruins?’

  ‘Everything. The Wardens, the Grimwode, what Mo said …’ Podkin waved his paws in the air, trying to express himself. ‘Everything.’

  Paz thought a moment. ‘Well, they haven’t tried to take the Gifts from us, even though they easily could have. So I guess we can trust them. We’ll let them take us to this oak place tomorrow and then see if we can get them to send us home. I’m guessing they know their way round the forest much better than we do.’

  ‘Mo said it was another Gift. Do you really think it is?’

  ‘I guess,’ said Paz. She yawned.

  ‘It would be good if it was. Although I don’t like the sound of this war.’

  ‘We’re already at war, stupid,’ said Paz. ‘What do you think’s happening between us and the Gorm?’

  ‘Is that a war?’ Podkin scratched the stump of his missing ear. ‘I thought wars were all big battles with armies and things.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ said Paz, yawning again. ‘Can we go to sleep now?’

  ‘Just a few more questions,’ said Podkin, ignoring his sister’s sigh. ‘I’ve been thinking about the Goddess and everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, do you think she really planned all this? I mean, the Wardens expected us to arrive, and Brigid seems to know the exact second I’m about to burp, even. Has it all been put in place, waiting for us to come along?’

  ‘I have no idea, Pod.’ Paz watched sparks from the fire drift up to the twining roots overhead. ‘Maybe it has. Maybe the Goddess just had a plan in case Gormalech broke the Balance, and we happen to have stumbled into it. Who knows why anything happens?’

  Podkin pondered that for a moment. It was a very big thought to tackle. He heard Paz’s breathing beginning to deepen, but he had something else to say.

  ‘Paz?’

  ‘Mmmm? What?’

  ‘Have you noticed something about the Warden’s chief?’

  ‘She’s very big?’

  ‘No. She’s a woman.’

  ‘Yes, Podkin. I had noticed that.’

  ‘And this tribe must have been around for a very long time.’

  ‘Ages, I expect.’

  ‘So that means that female rabbits must have been chieftains once upon a time. In Hern’s Holt, but maybe everywhere else. That rule you hate so much … about only men becoming chief … perhaps it’s just been made up?’

  ‘I had thought of that,’ said Paz. ‘Not that it’ll do any good.’

  ‘I think it will,’ said Podkin. He knew what his sister wanted more than anything. He also knew that he was standing in the way of it. ‘I think we should tell the others, when we find them again. I think we should talk about it in the council and get them to say that you should be the chief of Munbury warren. If we ever get back there, of course.’

  ‘But …’ Paz sat up now, her eyes glinting at Podkin in the last sparks of the fire. ‘But don’t you want to be Chief? Everyone’s always known it was going to be you.’

  Podkin shrugged and snuggled down into his blankets. ‘I don’t mind. I don’t think I’d be a very good chief, anyway. It’s hard enough being on the war council – I’m always worried I’ll say the wrong thing, or make a silly mistake.’

  ‘We all are, Podkin,’ said Paz. ‘That’s how everyone in charge feels. That’s how Father must have felt the whole time.’

  Father. Podkin hadn’t thought of him for a while, what with all the fleeing for his life and everything. He felt a sudden pang of guilt and tried to picture him there, sitting by the fireside, looking down on his children. Podkin knew he would be happy to see Paz get her dream, and he would too, he realised.

  He smiled. ‘Good night, Chief Paz,’ he said, and pulled the blankets over his head, leaving his sister – suddenly wide awake – to stare at the embers and wonder.

  *

  Even though they had just slept through most of the day, the three little rabbits had a deep, restful night. They were woken by the bustling of the Wardens around them: re-lighting the cookfire and preparing breakfast.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Mo Grim. ‘Today we go to the Oakhenge.’ She handed them each a slab of coarse dark bread. Vian, with her cloak of feathers, was by the fireside, frying a pan of scrambled eggs. �
�But first, Vendra wishes to check your wound.’

  The elderly Warden with her leaf cloak knelt down by Podkin and carefully removed his bandage. Paz craned her neck to see and was surprised to find that the cut had completely healed. There was nothing but a small line in Podkin’s fur to show it was ever there.

  ‘This place is very special,’ said Mo, smiling at Paz’s expression. ‘It heals and restores rabbits. And those who stay here have very long lives.’

  ‘Exactly how old are you then?’ Podkin asked, forgetting it was rude to do so. He blushed as Paz glared at him.

  Mo laughed. ‘Old enough,’ she said. ‘And there are others here much older than me.’

  Piles of cooked egg were scraped on to pieces of bread, and the Wardens all gathered round the fire to eat together. Pook crawled over to share his food with Pocka and the pair of them got covered in crumbs and mess, laughing at each other in the process.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, the breakfast things were cleared away and the Wardens all gathered in a loose circle around the fire pit, each with their staff, horned headdresses and cloaks.

  ‘We go,’ said Mo Grim.

  ‘All of us?’ Podkin asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Mo Grim bowed her head to him. ‘This is a special day. We Wardens have waited many years for this.’

  She turned and led the others out in a procession, Podkin and Paz trotting to keep pace. Pook rode on Paz’s shoulders, turning to wave and coo at his new friend Pocka, who was himself being carried by his mother.

  The strange column of rabbits headed up, out of the warren, through the mossy clearing and into the forest.

  *

  The Grimwode was still thrumming with life as they marched through it. This time Podkin stared even closer at the trees, marvelling at how old they must be. In the distant green shadows between the trunks he thought he could spot shapes moving. A herd of deer, led by a stag with wide, sweeping antlers. Hunched, stalking shapes that could be wolves.

  He thought back to that sabre-toothed beast which almost ate them and shuddered. At least they were safe now. No wolf would dare come near the nine giant Wardens of the forest. It made Podkin wonder if there was anything that could hurt them. He thought of the Gorm: their metal machines were chewing their way through the trees, even as they walked. Did the Wardens know about that? What would happen if they got as far in as the Grimwode? He felt as though they should be warned.

  ‘Mo Grim,’ Podkin called. ‘Did you know there are rabbits – evil rabbits – trying to cut down the forest? They have these horrible things made of metal with teeth and axes and grinders …’

  ‘We know,’ said Mo Grim, her voice low and sad. ‘The forest cries out. Gormalech tries to break the Balance again.’

  ‘Is there anything you can do to stop them? Can you call on Hern for help? Can’t the forest fight back with its beasts and things?’

  Mo Grim stopped to lay a paw against the roots of the towering oak they were walking under. ‘Hern knows,’ she said. ‘He is angry. The forest is fighting back. It has sent you three.’

  The Warden chief stopped the march and bent down to stare at Podkin. Her eyes were deep, as brown as the soft forest earth that fed the trees all around. Podkin saw himself reflected in them. He was a tiny, earless scrap of a thing, and yet he was Hern’s defence for the entire forest? He didn’t want to criticise a god, but it didn’t seem like Hern had thought things through properly.

  Mo Grim bowed her head to him all the same and the procession continued, heading north, winding in and out of the trees until they reached another clearing.

  This one was filled with some kind of wooden structure. A circular fence, about ten metres high. It wasn’t until Podkin got closer that he realised it was made of trees. A ring of them had grown together, their branches entwining, weaving and fusing into one solid circle of wood.

  But the trees were long dead now. The leafless branches and trunks had been stripped of bark and carved all over with figures, runes and odd picture-like glyphs. There were horned rabbits, wolves, bears and stags, along with all the other creatures of the forest. Bees, squirrels, insects, spiders and images of berries, pine cones and nuts. Every inch of wood was decorated, waxed and polished to a gleaming, honey-coloured glow. It must have been the work of years, centuries, even.

  ‘The Oakhenge,’ said Mo Grim as they arrived. All the Wardens bowed their heads. Podkin and Paz copied.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Paz, reaching out a paw to touch one of the carved trunks.

  ‘It is a special place,’ said Mo Grim. ‘We go inside now.’

  Bowing low to fit through a gap between two trunks, Mo Grim walked into the wooden circle. The other Wardens followed, as did Podkin, Paz and Pook.

  They emerged into a circular space with more carvings around the inside. In the centre was another ancient tree, although this one still had one or two leaves on its branches, and even the odd acorn. Its trunk was impossibly wide. It must be a thousand years old, at least, Podkin thought.

  The Wardens all gathered around it, leaving a space for Podkin and the others to approach. They looked at them expectantly.

  ‘Here,’ said Mo Grim, ‘is the Gift of Hern’s Holt.’

  For a moment Podkin thought she meant the tree itself, then he noticed – about three metres up the trunk – something poking through the living wood. It was a small set of antlers, jutting out of the bark. They must have been placed there, centuries ago, and the tree had grown around them as it slowly, ponderously aged.

  ‘Those horns?’ Podkin asked, scratching his earstump. They didn’t seem very impressive to him.

  ‘They are part of a crown,’ Mo Grim explained. ‘Blodcrun: the horned crown of Hern’s Holt.’

  ‘Why is it in a tree?’

  ‘It was placed inside the Oakhenge many, many years ago,’ said Mo Grim. ‘This tree was just a sapling then. As it grew, it swallowed the crown up. Nobody has been able to remove it, although many have tried.’

  ‘Didn’t your people want to use the Gift?’ Paz asked. The twelve magical items had been granted to tribes by the Goddess herself. Letting one get enveloped by a tree didn’t seem a very good way to take care of something so precious.

  ‘We could not use it,’ said Mo Grim. ‘We could not understand what it was for.’

  ‘It doesn’t have a power?’ Podkin had seen four Gifts so far, and each of them had a special ability. He didn’t think the Goddess would make one that didn’t do anything.

  ‘It does,’ said Mo Grim. ‘But we never found out what it was.’

  Podkin and Paz shared a look. The Gifts had been given out thousands of years ago, back when there were just twelve tribes of rabbits. If the forest Wardens hadn’t figured out what the crown did in all that time, what hope did the two of them have?

  There was a long period of silence as the Wardens stared at Podkin and Paz, and Podkin and Paz stared at the tree with the crown’s horns poking out.

  ‘Well?’ Mo Grim finally spoke. ‘Are you going to take the Gift? It has been foretold that you will claim it.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Podkin. He looked up the tree trunk, then at Paz again and swallowed. How was he supposed to even reach it? Could he ask Mo Grim for a boost? And how would he get it out of the tree when no one else had been able to? Help me out, Goddess, he silently prayed. This is supposed to be part of your plan, after all.

  ‘I’ve got an idea, Pod.’ Paz put a hand on his shoulder and held up Ailfew. ‘Maybe I can use this?’

  ‘Yes!’ Podkin could have kissed her. The sickle allowed Paz to control plants and trees just by thinking about it. Maybe she could get the tree to drop the crown?

  He stood back as Paz knelt at the foot of the tree. She lifted Ailfew and closed her eyes, using her mind to feel the growing, living thing before her. She frowned. It was so old, its roots so deep, and yet there was hardly a glimmer of life inside the whole thing.

  ‘Can you do it, Paz?’ Podkin whispered. The Warden
s were all staring at them, expecting a miracle. This could end up being very embarrassing …

  ‘I think,’ said Paz, frowning. ‘There’s not much of the tree left alive. Just a sliver. If I push …’

  There was a low, creaking sound. Slowly, so slowly, the bark of the ancient oak began to twist and move. Podkin looked up to where the horns of the crown jutted out. They were beginning to tremble: a tiny bit at first, and then a definite twitch.

  ‘It’s working, Paz!’

  Podkin laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder, hoping it would give her strength somehow. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her brow wrinkled in concentration. The crown twitched again, and gradually began to emerge from the wood around it.

  It was like watching some alien plant burst from the soil. The prongs of the antlers seemed to grow, getting longer and longer. Then the headpiece appeared, joining the two horns together. Finally, with a creaking pop, the tree spat the crown free and it tumbled down for Podkin to catch.

  He held it up, admiring the delicate workmanship that attached the bone antlers to a circular, silver crown decorated all over with twirling vines. The Wardens all gaped, then spoke together in their language of hoots and howls. They fell to their knees, bowing their heads to the forest floor.

  ‘Thanks,’ Podkin whispered to his sister. They had at least managed to get the crown free. Even though the Wardens were going to be very disappointed when they discovered he had no idea how to get the thing working.

  ‘Well?’ Paz whispered back. ‘What are you waiting for? Try it on!’

  ‘Me?’ Podkin said. He turned it over in his hands again. It did look about the right size for his head. Would the Wardens mind if he put on their Gift?

  They were all staring at him again, eyes expectant. I suppose there’s nothing else for it, he thought.

  Turning so his back was to the tree, Podkin raised the crown high then brought it down on to his head. It was a perfect fit, the circlet resting on his brow, the antlers stretching out on either side of his head, as if he were a miniature version of the Wardens themselves.