Crom had a nasty gash on his shoulder and another at the top of his thigh. With Podkin holding the edges of the cuts together, Paz sewed them up with a curved copper needle and some thread. She slathered the wounds with cream from a little pot Brigid had given her. Throughout the whole thing, Crom didn’t make a sound: he just closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pain.
‘You’re very brave,’ Podkin said to him, when it was done.
Crom put a hand to the little rabbit’s face. ‘Nowhere near as brave as you, my friend,’ he said, before falling into an exhausted sleep. Podkin lay a blanket over him, beaming at the warrior’s warm words.
Zarza’s injuries were more serious. She hadn’t been wearing any armour beneath her grey robes, and a sword had slashed her right across the stomach. There was also a deep spear wound just above her collarbone. Blood was oozing from this one in thick, dark pulses. Her robe was soaked with it, her fur matted.
‘She’s lost a lot of blood,’ Paz said, peeling the robe away. ‘She’s barely conscious.’
Just looking at it all made Podkin feel queasy. His head suddenly seemed very hot and tingly, and he thought he might faint.
‘Don’t look,’ Paz said, her own eyes wide with worry. She took a new copper needle and thread from a pouch at her belt and got ready to sew the wounds up. Podkin let Paz guide his hands to pinch the gash closed, but turned his head away.
When she had finished, Paz mixed up a painkilling draught from water and some of the herbs Brigid had given her.
‘This should stop it hurting so much,’ she said to Zarza, holding the clay cup to her lips.
‘Thank you, sister.’ Zarza’s reply was barely a whisper. Podkin wondered why she was calling Paz ‘sister’. Did she think she was back at her temple? He didn’t know much about healing, but seeing things that weren’t there didn’t seem like a good sign.
They spent the day hiding under their shelter, frequently peeping from the treetops towards Applecross and Ancients’ Island, checking the Gorm weren’t coming for them. Paz’s brambles must have taken some kind of extra power from the tomb, because nothing moved all day long.
Podkin was glad when night fell and they could be on the move again. He wanted to get as far away from the lake and that island as possible.
Then began a pattern of running and hiding that gradually took them south, back towards Dark Hollow.
Every night they would dash between copses, trying to stay out of the open. When the sky was clear, the waning moon shining down, Podkin was able to jump ahead, checking their path was free of Gorm. From shadow to shadow he strode, enabling him to cover huge distances and back in the space of seconds. Sometimes he took the others with him, one at a time, making their passage much swifter. He wished he could jump straight back to Dark Hollow, but Moonfyre wouldn’t let him. Perhaps he didn’t have a clear enough picture of it in his head, or maybe it was just too far out of the brooch’s reach.
Several times he spotted a Gorm patrol. Two or three riders, hunched on the backs of their giant armoured rats. The beasts always had their noses to the ground, snuffling as they tried to pick up a scent. The Gorm atop them would be turning their heads slowly from side to side, those awful blank eyes trying to spot the fleeing rabbits.
Podkin had to crouch in his shadowy hiding place, holding his breath until he saw which way the figures moved on, before leaping back to his friends and telling them to change their direction. This way they managed to stay safe. The Gorm were out hunting them, but the moon brooch made them impossible to find.
During the day they would hide away under cover of trees and bushes. Podkin sliced branches down with Starclaw, Mash and Yarrow lashed them together and Paz grew leaves and vines all over the structure, enclosing everyone in a little green cavern.
Hidden in their cocoon, they had time to rest. All the leaping Podkin was doing seemed to sap a lot of energy, and jumping with the others tired him out even more. He spent most of the day dozing, building himself up for another night of moonstriding.
Only once did the Gorm come close by: another mounted patrol that woke them with their clanking armour and the stink of burnt blood and oil that came from the giant rats themselves.
Podkin peered out from the vines and branches as the Gorm passed by, a good twenty metres away, thank the Goddess. The thought of being found, trapped within their own hiding place and with only Mash and Paz to defend them … It was a long time before he managed to go back to sleep.
Crom began to regain his strength quite quickly, although he walked with a limp that slowed them all down. Zarza was not so lucky. She slipped in and out of consciousness, and seemed to be hovering on the very edge of living or dying. Mash and Yarrow had lashed together a wooden stretcher to pull her along on, but the dragging and bumping weren’t doing her any good. Every time Paz examined her, she would shake her head. They had to get her back to Dark Hollow as quickly as possible, or they would lose her.
When they were sleeping, Zarza would often wake with a fever. Sometimes she was delirious, and called out things in a language Podkin had never heard before. On one occasion she was clear-headed, and just making quiet gasps against the pain. Paz and Podkin sat with her, giving her sips of cool lake water from their flasks and talking quietly to keep her mind busy.
‘Why can’t anyone be a bonedancer?’ Podkin asked her. He knew it was an order only for women, but he still had visions of himself in a mask, twirling a blade and wiping out the entire Gorm army singlehandedly.
‘No,’ said Zarza. ‘Only female rabbits. Only the strongest.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Podkin protested, but then noticed a familiar look in Paz’s eyes and quickly closed his mouth.
‘Not fair, eh?’ said his sister. ‘Not fair? Like how girl rabbits aren’t allowed to be chieftains, even if they’re the oldest? How about that for unfairness, eh?’
‘All right, all right,’ said Podkin. ‘Keep your voice down! We’re supposed to be hiding from the Gorm, you know.’
‘You should come to the temple,’ Zarza said to Paz, her teeth gritted against a sudden pang of pain. ‘You should take the trial.’
Podkin could see Paz was tempted. At least up until the mention of a trial.
‘What would I have to do?’ his sister asked.
‘First, the new applicants have to fast for a week. No water. No food. Just prayers to the goddess Nixha.’
Paz nodded.
‘Then they endure pain. Needles. Cold water. Things like that.’
Paz looked slightly less sure.
‘The final trial is the hardest,’ continued Zarza. ‘You are put into a pit with a weasel. A giant one – twice as big as a rabbit.’
‘And you have to kill it with your bare hands?’ Podkin asked, enjoying the look of horror on Paz’s face.
‘No, not bare hands,’ said Zarza. ‘There are weapons on the pit floor. You can pick any one up to kill the weasel.’ The bonedancer grabbed Paz’s arm and pulled her close, whispering in her ear. ‘When you choose, you must pick the shard of bone. Not the sword, not the club. The bone.’
‘Why the bone?’ Paz asked, in a tiny voice.
‘Because that shows you are a chosen one. Only a true bonedancer would pick that.’
‘Well, Paz?’ Podkin said, trying not to giggle. ‘Are you going to be a bonedancer then? Are you going to kill the giant weasel?’
‘Thank you for the advice,’ Paz said to Zarza, choosing her words carefully. ‘But I think my path lies with healing rather than killing.’ ‘
A good choice,’ said Zarza, closing her eyes. ‘A noble choice. At least until female rabbits can be chieftains.’ She managed a wink at Paz before the medicine she had drunk took effect and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
*
By the next morning, they were in sight of Grimheart forest itself. An ocean of trees that filled the horizon and called out to Podkin to hurry home. He had never been so pleased to see something in his life.
&
nbsp; They had to sleep the day in a cluster of gorse bushes, peeping out at the place they wanted to get back to and feeling desperately frustrated. Was their mother awake yet? Had Tansy and the farmers made it back safely? Would they get there in time for Brigid to heal Zarza?
Two Gorm patrols were spotted, sniffing around the edge of the forest. Thankfully they were far enough away to be nothing more than specks in the distance, but it made the rabbits go cautiously when they headed out, even though they wanted to just sprint for the trees.
They finally reached Grimheart in the early hours of the morning. Once the sun was up, instead of resting, they pushed on through, dying to get home, using their last bits of strength to dash over the open ground and into the trees.
The deep, dark quiet of the forest that had once given Podkin the creeps now seemed peaceful, welcoming and refreshing. It was only Yarrow who looked around with wide, nervous eyes, waiting for a wolf or the Beast to jump out at him. Perhaps Zarza would have too, but she was only barely conscious, and draped over the bard’s shoulders.
Finally, finally, they came within sight of the familiar hill, topped with its towering Scots pine. The Dark Hollow gates were nestled in the mess of roots at the bottom.
Home.
But what was that sat outside it? Somebody had built a canvas shelter out of stitched blankets and branches. It looked like some sort of tatty circus tent.
The returning rabbits stumbled up to the shelter, just as the familiar, stooped figure of Brigid stepped out. She stared at them for a few moments, then laughed. ‘I knew it would be today,’ she said. ‘But I’m still so happy to see you!’
She rushed up to hug Paz, then Podkin, and then snatched Pook down from Crom’s shoulders and swung him around. She even had a quick kiss on the cheek for Crom.
‘Brigid, quick,’ said Paz. ‘We have a very sick rabbit here.’
‘You’re right,’ said Brigid. ‘Welcomes can wait for later.’ She helped them carry Zarza into the tent, where she already had an empty bed and an arrangement of medical supplies set out next to it.
When Podkin stepped inside, he was surprised to see his mother and Auntie Olwyn lying on makeshift beds on the ground, still unconscious. Dab, the other Munbury rabbit was also there, and the comatose Redwater rabbit. Of the old lop and the two Cherrywood sables, nothing could be seen.
Brigid carried the injured bonedancer in, laid her down and started undoing her bandages to look at the wounds. She talked quietly to herself as she worked.
‘We must be quick,’ she muttered. ‘Not much time left. Pass the honey, Paz, and the turmeric. I shall have to draw out the infection too. We’ll be needing some onion paste.’
When the healer had cleaned, treated and bandaged Zarza’s injuries, she started grinding up some more herbs with a stone mortar and pestle. Podkin took the chance to question her.
‘Why are you out here, Brigid? What’s happened in the warren? Why isn’t Mother awake yet? And where’s Mish and Tansy?’
‘So many questions!’ Brigid stopped grinding, and started to mix up some kind of potion. She smiled over at Pook, who had climbed up next to their mother for a cuddle. ‘A lot has happened since you’ve been gone. We lost some of the other rabbits, as you can see. I’m pleased to say that these four are doing much better. I’ve moved them all outside for some fresh spring air. Helps the healing, you know. Their bodies are strong enough now, I think. I hope they will wake properly in the next few days.’ Podkin’s heart leapt at the thought.
‘Mish and Tansy are out foraging,’ she continued. ‘Not long after you left, Tansy came back, along with some farming rabbits and that Vetch from Golden Brook.’
‘What’s happened?’ Crom asked, sensing something in Brigid’s voice.
‘Now, don’t you go getting all cross and fighty, Crom,’ Brigid said. ‘It’s nothing to lose your fur over.’
‘What’s Vetch done?’ Crom was definitely getting cross and fighty. Podkin took a step away from him.
‘Well, he’s kind of gotten himself on the council,’ said Brigid. ‘He said you’d have wanted it.’
‘He said what?’
‘And he’s been telling the others that you lot aren’t coming back. That the place was crawling with Gorm and much too dangerous for you to stand a chance. I told everyone not to believe him, and they didn’t at first. But as the days go by …’
‘Right.’ Crom spoke through clenched teeth, in what was more of a growl than a word. And with that, he marched out of the tent, Podkin and the others scurrying after him.
*
There were no guards on the warren door, and the little party walked right in, down the corridor and into the longburrow.
The familiar war council of Dodge, Rowan and Rill were sitting at their table, except now Vetch was there also, still wrapped in his expensive cloak, half smiling and glancing nervously at the others. The council didn’t notice Crom enter the chamber, and the last part of their conversation was clearly overheard.
‘… and without the hammer there doesn’t seem to be much hope, don’t you think?’ Vetch said. ‘Perhaps we should all go our own ways? Or maybe we could find some way to work with the Gorm? I’m sure they’d be reasonable if they were approached in the right way …’
‘Work with the Gorm?!’ Crom’s voice boomed, making the rabbits jump out of their fur. They span round to see who had shouted. The shock of seeing Podkin, Paz and the others made their eyes pop out and their mouths hang open. Vetch, especially, looked as though he had seen several ghosts at once.
‘Work with the Gorm?’ Crom yelled again. ‘And who said you had a right to make any decisions about this warren? Why are you even sitting on the council, you ginger-furred weasel?’
‘I’m sorry … I … I …’ Vetch shrank into his cloak, ears flat against his head. He jumped away from the table as if it were made of red-hot iron, and visibly cowered before Crom. Podkin thought the big warrior might be about to hit Vetch. But Crom was better than that, surely? Podkin reached up to rest a paw on his arm. A moment, and then Crom covered Podkin’s paw with his own, leaving Vetch to slink away un-punched. There might be talk about it another day, but for now they were finally home – things like that could wait.
The scene was interrupted by Sorrel and a crowd of other rabbits running in from all around the warren.
The huge blacksmith gasped when he saw them, then punched one huge fist against the palm of his paw. ‘You’re back! Goddess be praised, I knew you weren’t dead! Did you get it? Did you get Surestrike?’
‘Mash?’ Crom said. The dwarf rabbit bowed and then drew something from the bandolier on his chest. It was the head of the Applecross hammer, the brass glinting orange in the light from the warren lamps.
‘Goddess be praised,’ Sorrel said again, this time in a whisper. He went down on his knees before Mash and took the hammerhead from him, gently turning it over and over in his fingers. Podkin winced, waiting for him to start shouting about the precious wooden shaft having being chopped off, but instead was shocked to see the blacksmith break down in tears. Huge sobs of joy shook his shoulders, and he pulled Mash into a hug that nearly crushed the dwarf rabbit to a pulp.
The other rabbits cheered, and suddenly there was a crowd around them, slapping them all on the back and asking a thousand questions about what had happened. After a few minutes of shouting and babbling, Crom silenced everyone by clapping his hands together, hard.
‘Enough for the moment,’ he said. ‘There will be time for tales and questions at the feast tonight!’
Someone called for mead and acorn cakes, and the celebrating began.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gormkillers
First thing the next morning, all the rabbits (at least those whose heads weren’t too sore from celebrating the night before) gathered in the blacksmith’s forge with Sorrel.
While Podkin and the others had been gone, he had been busy sweeping, dusting and preparing the place, waiting for their return. The
forge was stoked, the tools oiled and ready. Podkin and Paz stood watching as the smith prepared to create the first arrowhead with the sacred hammer of Applecross.
Tansy was helping to work the bellows, Mish and Mash stood holding hands (as they had been ever since Mish returned from foraging to find her beloved brother alive and well), and a bleary-eyed Yarrow was propped in a corner, one hand on his forehead, trying to memorise the event for his ‘epic tale’ while muttering something about never drinking mead again.
Sorrel had replaced Surestrike’s shaft with a plain one from another hammer. Even without the beautiful pale wood, it looked impressive. Everyone held their breath as the master smith took a pot of molten bronze from the forge and poured it into his mould. He waited for it to cool, then took the arrowhead out with tongs and laid it on the stone anvil. Surestrike was raised, sparkling in the forge light. Sorrel closed his eyes for a few seconds, his mouth moving, whispering words nobody else could hear. It seemed, for an instant, that the hammer twinkled brighter than before. Then Sorrel smiled and brought it down – almost gently, Podkin thought – to tap, tap, tap at the soft metal.
He hadn’t really watched a smith work before, but Podkin was sure it would normally be a lot trickier than it seemed to be with Surestrike. The bronze appeared to move by itself, twisting and sharpening into shape. After only a few minutes, Sorrel held up his work to appreciative gasps from his crowd. A beautiful, deadly looking arrowhead: sleek, sharp, with twining curls of metal in the centre. It glimmered in the same way Starclaw and Ailfew did.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Podkin. ‘Well done, Sorrel.’
‘I didn’t do much,’ said the big rabbit. ‘Surestrike speaks to the metal somehow.’
‘Has it worn the hammer down much?’ Paz asked, remembering the weakness of the magic Gift. Sorrel held Surestrike out for them to check. Podkin squinted at it. Did it seem a little smaller, or was that his imagination?
‘It has worn down a bit,’ Brigid confirmed. ‘I can feel it more than see it.’
The Gift of Dark Hollow Page 15