The Gift of Dark Hollow

by Kieran Larwood

  Podkin stood at the back of the group, his arms folded over his chest, scowling at the floor.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Paz whispered. ‘We’ve just found Surestrike. You should be happy about that, surely?’

  ‘Yes. I s’pose.’ Podkin kept on staring at the ground.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong then? Are you scared that the Gorm are outside?’

  ‘Of course, stupid.’ Podkin flicked his ear at his sister. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone?

  ‘What else is it?’ she continued. ‘I can tell you’re sulking about something.’

  ‘Am not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  Podkin sighed. ‘You’ll only say I’m being childish.’

  ‘Probably,’ said Paz. ‘But tell me anyway.’

  Podkin checked to see that everyone else was still busy at the door, and then whispered to his sister, ‘I am glad we got the hammer. It’s just … well … Pook found the bridge switch, and then you opened the tomb. Zarza stopped the darts, Crom spotted the pitfall trap, Yarrow opened the door and Mash jumped the bottomless hole.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Paz. ‘That’s how it happened. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘What about me?’ said Podkin, feeling silly and selfish as the words left his mouth. ‘I haven’t done anything. What’s the point in me even being here?’

  Paz gave him a pitying look, making him feel even worse. It was true, though. He’d been unable to use any of his Gifts since the start of the mission. And apart from those, he didn’t have any special talents. In fact, all he’d done was feel scared the whole time. He felt like a useless third ear.

  ‘Podkin, don’t be silly.’ Paz gave his whiskers a gentle tug. ‘You’ve had lots of good ideas. And what about in the warren with Comfrey? You were amazing then. You got her to tell us how to get in here.’

  ‘And then we left her behind,’ said Podkin, feeling even worse.

  ‘You don’t always have to be the hero,’ said Paz. ‘Just being here is enough. I wouldn’t have been able to come without you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’ Paz gave him a hug. ‘Pook either,’ she added. ‘We all need each other. And there’s still plenty of time for being brave. We’ve got to get the hammer home, remember?’

  Podkin did remember. There were almost certainly Gorm from Applecross outside the tomb door, and what if their crows had called more? What if Scramashank himself was out there?

  Suddenly, worrying about being useful did seem very stupid. He looked back to where Crom and Zarza were ready at the doorway.

  ‘Just open it,’ Zarza was saying. ‘We will have to deal with whatever is out there. They aren’t going to go away, and we can’t stay in here forever.’

  ‘Is everybody ready?’ Crom called. There was a hissing sound as everyone with a weapon drew it. Somebody blew out the candles, and the tomb was black and cold again.

  ‘Hern help us,’ Crom muttered.

  He opened the door.

  *

  It was him.

  He was there.

  The stone doorway slid sideways, showing the island, the star-filled sky, the glassy lake; all painted silver in the moonlight.

  There were Gorm too: a whole horde of them, too many to count, but they blurred into the background, into a faceless lump of blades and metal.

  Podkin could only see their leader. Scramashank. His eyes wouldn’t focus on anything else. All his nightmares, all his worst fears had come true. The Gorm Lord was here. Now. Standing at the centre of his men, his arms folded across his spiked iron chest – his lopsided, twisted horns nodding slowly in satisfaction.

  Podkin had seen him three times before. The first was when he invaded Munbury warren and killed his father, the second was when he burnt Boneroot to rubble, and the third was when they fought and Podkin cut off the monster’s foot.

  It was back again now, Podkin noticed. Not a foot so much as a gnarled lump of iron, studded all over with thorns and needles. Somehow it suited him more than any real foot had. Whatever had been natural and rabbit-like about Scramashank had long ago been devoured by his master.

  ‘By the Goddess,’ Mash whispered beside him. They had been expecting some Gorm, but not this many. Not with him as well.

  ‘How many?’ Crom asked.

  ‘Too many,’ said Zarza.

  ‘I count thirty,’ said Yarrow, his voice almost a squeak. He must be more scared than us, Podkin realised. All those stories and songs he had carefully stored away in his memory warren. What good would they be if he died? Or worse still, became Gorm? I bet he wishes he’d written them down now, like his friend did. Or at least passed them on to somebody.

  ‘Is there any chance we can hold them off long enough for the children to get to the bridge?’ Crom asked.

  ‘None,’ said Zarza. She seemed very calm, considering. It was all Podkin could do to stand still and not go running back into the tomb, slamming the door behind him. What would be worse: starving to death in the pitch darkness, or being captured by Scramashank? He thought he’d prefer the tomb, if it came to it.

  ‘Well.’ Scramashank’s voice, when he spoke, was as hard and cold as ever. The sound of it made Podkin’s fur bristle, his stomach clench and churn. ‘Look who it is. The little foot-chopping runt and his blind bodyguard. And some new friends too, I see.’

  Podkin wanted to say something brave, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Instead it was Paz who shouted out.

  ‘Let us pass, you monster! Or we’ll chop something else off this time!’

  There was a chorus of horrid laughter from all the Gorm. It sounded like an avalanche of metal, like a rumble of deadly thunder.

  ‘None of you are going anywhere,’ Scramashank said, when they had finished cackling. ‘But before you die, you will give me that hammer. And the other Gifts you are carrying.’

  ‘We’ve only got my dagger,’ Podkin shouted, his voice finally coming back. ‘And you can have that stuck in your eyeball, you big metal ferret!’

  ‘Oh, you have more than that,’ replied Scramashank. ‘I have it on good authority.’

  He turned to his horde of soldiers and beckoned one forward. It walked awkwardly, with a lopsided limp. When it stood next to Scramashank, he reached across and lifted off its helmet.

  Podkin gasped, and he heard Paz sob beside him. They both recognised the tortured face of the Gorm underneath. It was Comfrey, the Applecross priestess they had left behind in chains.

  Except it wasn’t her any more. All trace of rabbitkind had vanished now. Metal scales flecked her torn and battered fur. She had a fierce, violent scowl on her face, and her eyes were blank and rust-red. The pillar had claimed her, and the Gorm had covered her broken body in their twisted armour. Comfrey was now one of them.

  ‘You’ll pay for that!’ Podkin screamed. He felt a fury fiercer than the sun. White-hot, searing anger for Scramashank, for Gormalech – his master – but also for himself, for not saving Comfrey when he had the chance. He whipped Starclaw from his belt and shook it at the Gorm, feeling the dagger buzz with a rage that matched his own.

  ‘Leave the leader,’ Zarza said to them. ‘He is mine.’ And she charged, howling something in a language Podkin had never heard before.

  ‘For Hern the Hunter!’ Crom yelled, and charged as well.

  ‘And the Goddess!’ shouted Mash.

  ‘For Munbury!’ Podkin heard himself scream, Paz echoing him, and then they were all running down the slope from the tomb, towards the Gorm, weapons waving in the moonlight.

  It was all over very quickly.

  Zarza made for Scramashank, but there was instantly a wall of warriors in her way. She wove and danced around their blades, sending poisoned darts flying like hailstones, but couldn’t break through.

  Two Gorm fell, clutching at their eyes, but a third struck her with a frantic swipe of its sword. Zarza shrieked and staggered, then was struck again with a spear. She collapsed, her grey robes puddling around h
er.

  Crom hit the wall of Gorm a second after. He knocked one to the ground, and then parried most of the blows that followed. A sword glanced off his armour, then another and another, until finally five blades came at once. He blocked three of them, but the others pierced his leg and shoulder. Gorm dived on top of him, then, bearing him down under their weight. Podkin lost sight of him under a mound of spiked iron.

  Mash didn’t even get as far as that. He was readying his blowpipe to shoot, when a Gorm warrior charged him from the side, snatching him up by the ears and pulling Surestrike from his belt.

  Podkin and Paz stopped running, just a metre or two from the enemy. They clutched at each other instead, staring in horror at their fallen comrades. Behind them, they could hear Pook crying in terror. Thank the Goddess that Yarrow had kept their little brother safe. For the moment, at least.

  ‘Get them up,’ ordered Scramashank.

  There was a clanking of armour as the Gorm soldiers climbed off Crom. They heaved the injured warrior to his feet, Zarza too, and dragged them over to where Mash was being held. Surestrike was passed to Scramashank, who clutched it in an armoured paw, chuckling to himself with glee.

  ‘Perhaps the most pointless show of bravery I have ever seen,’ he said. ‘And I have seen quite a few. Your father, for example. He died almost as quickly as you will.’

  ‘Don’t talk about him!’ Podkin shouted. His voice shook with fear. Would it hurt, when it happened? Would they all suffer much?

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Scramashank. ‘Enough talking. Bring me your dagger and the other Gifts. Do it now, and I’ll make your deaths quick. That’s more than you deserve.’

  Podkin looked at Paz. Was there any way out of this? There was no Brigid with her magic this time. There was no bang-dust or secret weapons to save them. He let go of his sister and stepped towards the Gorm.

  ‘No,’ Paz whispered. Podkin heard Crom grunt from where he was being held tight, arms bent behind his back.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Podkin said, sounding brave even though he was shaking in terror. ‘At least this way it’ll be quick.’

  ‘Podkin,’ Paz pleaded, tears running from her eyes, but he just squeezed her paw and took another step.

  ‘Yes,’ Scramashank beckoned. ‘Quickly now. My master wants the Gifts. He wants the power.’ Podkin took another step. Four of the sacred Gifts, given to the enemy in one night. What would that do to the Balance? How much stronger would the Gorm become?

  There must be some way to stop it happening. But how? There was no part of Scramashank that wasn’t covered in iron now. Even his good foot had been clad in armour. Starclaw was useless against him.

  That’s not your only Gift. In a heartbeat Podkin remembered Moonfyre, pinned inside his jerkin, against his fur. He looked up to see the full moon at its zenith, gleaming down on the horrid scene below.

  Podkin turned the corner of his jerkin back, letting the moonlight shine on the silver, letting the stone drink it in. Scramashank groaned when he saw it, filled with the need to possess its power.

  A shadow, Podkin thought. I need a shadow to jump through.

  He scanned the ground around him and saw nothing. All the shadows were falling to the left, away from him. Could he leap that way quickly enough? He looked at the waiting soldiers, their spear tips following his every move, twitching and ready to fly. If he ran for a shadow, he’d never make it in time.

  Scramashank was staring at him with those blank red eyes, watching him come closer and closer. When he was within striking distance, the Gorm Lord began to raise his jagged iron sword.

  He’s going to chop me in two, Podkin realised. He doesn’t trust me enough to let me hand over Starclaw. He wants to kill me and take it from my dead body.

  ‘Closer,’ Scramashank was whispering. ‘Closer.’

  Podkin gulped and took another step. His eyes were on the ground, on the shadow of the blade as it rose higher. He couldn’t reach it yet, but if he was quick … if he timed it just right …

  From where Paz was standing, she could see her brother walking slowly to his death. His head was low, his eyes on the ground, and the sword of Scramashank was about to come slicing down …

  She couldn’t bear to watch, but also couldn’t tear her eyes away. Should she run and drag him back? Should she brave the Gorm spears that would pierce her body if she did?

  Down came the sword, whistling through the air. Podkin stared at the grass before his feet as if waiting for something, for just the right moment … and then, as the blade’s edge was about to touch the fur on his head …

  He vanished.

  *

  Swish.

  The shadow of the falling sword had been quick, but Podkin was quicker. He had stepped into it, thinking of the clutch of bushes behind him, and was gone.

  There was a lurch, the world shifted sideways, and suddenly he was looking down on the Gorm below, the soft darkness of brambles all about him, their little thorns jabbing into his flesh.

  Not that he minded. Being jabbed by bramble thorns was a lot better than being jabbed by an iron broadsword.

  He peeped out from the leaves, almost laughing out loud when he saw Scramashank shout in surprise and rage. All his Gorm warriors began to look around them, frantically trying to see where he’d gone.

  All very good, and most satisfying, but what now? His friends were still captured, Paz and Pook were still in danger … he couldn’t just sit up here in the brambles forever.

  Brambles.

  A vision popped into his head like a wonderful, magical bubble. A memory of him and Paz, in the graveyard outside Dark Hollow when he had first shown her Moonfyre and jumped her into the bramble bush. She was down there now, and here was another lot of brambles. Would it work again? Were there enough shadows down there for him to use?

  These were vital questions, but there was no time now. He just had to pray that it would work. Pray, and trust in the Goddess.

  Podkin looked down at where Paz was standing. He stared at the shadow the moon was casting on the ground beside her. He focused all his attention on that patch of darkened grass and jumped.

  Swish.

  From the bramble bushes to Paz’s side, in a fraction of a heartbeat. Podkin heard a shout go up from the Gorm when he flicked into view, but he was too busy grabbing tight hold of his sister. He held a picture of the bramble bushes in his head as he grasped her and jumped again …

  Swish.

  Back in the brambles. This time, Paz was beside him. Down there, on the spot they had been standing in just a blink ago, three spears were sticking out of the ground, juddering from their sudden impact.

  ‘Podkin? What—’ Paz started to speak, but he slapped a paw over her mouth.

  ‘Shh!’ he hissed. ‘It was the moon brooch! I jumped through the shadows, like before!’

  Paz looked around her, seeing the brambles everywhere, and down below the Gorm horde with Yarrow and Pook now the only ones out of their clutches.

  ‘Of course!’ she whispered back. ‘But what do we do now? They still have the others!’

  Podkin pointed to the bushes that enclosed them. Thick, ancient bushes that had been here almost as long as the tomb, their roots growing through the rocks to drink the cool lake water around them.

  ‘Use the sickle,’ he said. ‘Wrap the Gorm up like you did before. They can’t stand it, and there’s enough brambles here to capture the lot of them.’

  ‘Yes! You genius!’ Paz kissed him quickly on the forehead, then pulled Ailfew from her belt. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply a few times and then focused.

  Maybe it was the ancient power in that sacred site. Maybe it was the full moon, higher and brighter than Podkin had ever seen it before. Maybe it was just that Paz was very, very angry … Whatever the reason, the vines and brambles she summoned were thicker, faster and fiercer than any of those she had called so far. They tore out of the patchy earth with explosions of gritty soil and reared up like striking cobras, befor
e lashing out to whip themselves around the Gorm.

  Thwip! Thwip! They coiled about legs and arms, smacking armoured bodies into each other with clangs like bells pealing. The Gorm screamed and wailed as the living greenery touched them, as if it burnt them through their thick plating.

  Podkin gasped as he watched. A forest of spiky tendrils snapping and scraping as they pinned every single warrior to the spot. Scramashank himself was wrapped over and over, from his feet to the tips of his horns: bound like a mummy with only his hateful red eyes gleaming out of the layers of thorns.

  Gradually, the screaming stopped, as the brambles slowed their growth. Just the odd tendril could be seen slithering now: tightening, squeezing, crushing the air out of their prisoners until the island was covered with frozen green statues. Iron Gorm spikes jutted out next to bramble thorns. Weapons fell out of bound hands and Zarza, Mash and Crom were dropped by their captors, falling to the floor in heaps.

  When he was sure every Gorm was completely trapped, Podkin tapped Paz on the shoulder. She came out of her trance with a gasp, and looked down on her work, blinking her eyes in surprise.

  ‘There was so much,’ she murmured. ‘It was so powerful.’

  ‘Quickly,’ said Podkin. ‘Before they break free.’

  They hurried out of the bramble bushes, tearing their cloaks and scratching their fur, and ran down the slope from the tomb. When Pook saw them, he went crazy, shouting, ‘Pod! Pod! Paz!’

  Yarrow followed his gaze and cried out in surprise. Podkin thought he heard him murmuring something about ‘the story of all stories’ as he dashed past, but there was no time to stop and talk.

  Paz ran to Crom and Zarza, ready to tend their wounds. Mash was already turning the big warrior over, rummaging in his pack for bandages.

  Podkin headed for the bristling green statue that was Scramashank. It took all his courage to walk up to him, trapped as he was, but Surestrike was still clutched in his hand, wrapped all around with brambles now.