Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Skipper placed both paws against his brow in despair. “Aye, ’twas my fault, I couldn’t stop ’em!”

Bosie patted the otter’s stout back comfortingly. “Ach, ye canna blame yerself, Skip, Ah’ll wager ye did all ye could tae save the young un. But dinna fret, Ah’ll rescue Bisky frae yon vermin rogues. Aye, an’ Ah’ll make ’em weep bitter tears for their wrongdoin’s, ye have McScutta’s word on it!”

Aluco gave the hare a withering sideways glance. “Bravely said, sir, and when, pray, is all this going to happen, eh?”

Umfry interrupted, spikes a-bristle with righteous wrath, “H’as soon h’as possible, h’in fact right now!”

The tawny owl’s huge eyes widened. “Excuse me saying, but do you think that’s wise?”

Dwink sprang up, fitting a rock to his sling. “Wise? There’s no time t’worry about bein’ wise, we’ve got to save our pal Bisky from those fiends!”

Foremole Gullub shook his head at the young squirrel. “Ee owlyburd b’aint no fool, you’m lissen to ’im, zurrs!”

Knowing that mole logic could not be disputed, Samolus agreed with Gullub. He bowed to Aluco. “Carry on, friend.”

The owl puffed out his chest feathers, launching into an explanation. “I know this may sound dreadful, but forget about saving your friend for a moment. Our main problem is how to save ourselves. Think about it. Just up that tunnel there’s a whole army of Painted Ones, thirsting for our blood. Believe me, you wouldn’t last the wink of an eye. I know their leader, Chigid, he’s been injured by the lantern flames. That one won’t rest until your skinned carcasses are hanging from his five-topped oak tree. I was a captive of the Painted Ones for many seasons, I know how they think. They’ll be sworn to avenge themselves against you at all costs.”

Samolus had a question. “But how did you escape from them? And one other thing—where did you get that Doomwyte Eye, the big, green jewel you carry?”

Aluco placed the stone where the lantern light reflected its verdant fires. It was the size of a pigeon’s egg, completely smooth and highly polished. “’Tis a long story of how I escaped those savages. However, I jumped into the hole, near the five-topped oak. With twoscore Painted Ones pursuing me, I went in a mad scramble. I’d never been in the tunnels before, so I just plunged blindly along, not knowing where it would lead me, and totally in the dark. I was beginning to tire, out of breath, they were coming fast, almost right on my tail. The front runners were carrying blazing torches. Just around a bend, I ran smackbang into a locked door. I must have hooted and screeched aloud with pain and shock. Right at that moment they came racing round the bend, holding up their torches. The tunnel was suddenly filled with green light from the stone, which was fixed to the center of the door. What with that, and the dreadful noises I was making, they turned and fled. I could hear them shouting, ‘Baliss! Baliss!’

“I was very frightened, having heard of the great serpent Baliss. So I lay still there for awhile. When nothing happened I rose, and picked up a torch which one of my hunters had dropped. Blowing the torch back into flame again, I looked around. There was myself, a locked door and the great, green jewel, but nought else. I sat there a long time pondering, until I solved the puzzle. That door must have been the gate to the serpent’s lair. The Painted Ones must have thought Baliss had slain me.

“Well, I was not waiting around for the serpent to devour me, so I picked up the torch, took the green stone and hurried off. Whenever I thought there were Painted Ones lurking in wait, I began hooting and yelling out ‘Baliss.’ It must have worked, because they left me well alone. I found a place to hide, on the other side of the pit. I’ve lived alone there, until you came along, friends.”

Dwink looked sympathetically at the tawny owl. “It must have been dreadful, down here in the darkness, with nothing to eat.”

Aluco blinked his great eyes, almost coyly. “Oh, I wasn’t exactly starving, I’m quite vengeful myself, you know. If one can hunt, there’s always a meal to be had, though one can’t be too choosy.”

Umfry gazed at the owl in horrified awe. “Y’mean you ate Pain—”

Tactfully, Samolus cut across Umfry’s question. “Well, I never! So that’s where the green stone was, attached to the back o’ that door. Hah, an’ we knocked it flat an’ trampled over it to search the tunnels. The door wasn’t an entrance to a snake’s den, Aluco, it comes out in the cellars of Redwall Abbey.”

The tawny owl gave a long, hooting sigh. “Redwall Abbey, if only I’d known! D’you think they’d have let me in? I’d dearly love to visit there.”

Foremole Gullub stroked the owl’s flightless wing. “O’ course, zurr, you’m cudd make yurr ’ome thurr with us’ns, iffen ee so desoired!”

Aluco seemed overcome with gratitude. “Oh, thank you, friend, it would be wonderful, a real dream come true. Thank you so much!”

Dwink loaded a stone into his sling. He shot it pointlessly off into the dark abyss. “I’d save my thanks if’n I was you, mate. We’ve found the jewel we came for, shiny, useless thing! All this searchin’ for the Eyes o’ the Doomwyte, what’s it got us, eh?” Usually an easygoing young squirrel, Dwink surprised them all with his angry outburst. “It’s got us trapped here, miles underground, by a mob o’ savage vermin. An’ wot about my pal, we don’t even know if’n he’s dead or alive. That’s wot huntin’ for some stupid jewel has got us!”

He grabbed up the big emerald, shouting, “Down that deep hole, that’s the best place for this thing. I never want t’see it again!” He swung back his paw to throw the Doomwyte Eye, when a well-aimed kick from Bosie’s swift paw sent him flat on his back. The mountain hare picked up the gem, holding Dwink down with his paw.

“Ach, nae so fast, laddie. Ah’ve been figurin’ a plan tae get oot o’ here. This wee bauble is part of it. So, do Ah take it yore with me, or do ye all want tae set there, wi’ faces like auld biddies who’ve burnt the oatcakes?”

Skipper grasped Bosie’s free paw. “Here’s me heart an’ here’s me word, mate, we’re with ye!”

The mountain hare adjusted his fine lace cuffs. “Gather ye round an’ hearken tae me, braw beasties, here’s how we’ll do the deed!”

14

Sometime in the late evening, Bisky regained his senses. A searing pain in his tailtip caused the young mouse to cry out in anguish. He was being bitten by a rat of about his own age, a Painted One. Bisky assessed his situation at a glance. His forepaws were strung to an overhead limb, high up in a massive five-topped oak tree. The tree rat bit him again, sniggering at its own joke.

“Yikkachikka, I eatin’ you, mousey!”

Fortunately, Bisky’s footpaws were unbound. He kicked out hard, catching his foe in the stomach. The vermin lost his breath in a loud whoosh, falling from the bough where he was perched. He hung by his long tail from the smaller branches below, wailing. “Waaaaah! Mouse tryna kill Jeg, ’elpeeeeelp, Mammeeee!”

An older female, presumably Jeg’s mother, came rushing through the foliage, accompanied by three other ratwives. She snapped an order at her companions. “Gerra likkle Jeg backup ’ere, ’urry, ’urry!” Whilst they scrambled to do her bidding, she set about scratching viciously at Bisky’s ribs. “Juss yew ever raise a paw t’my Jeg agin, an’ I scratch yer ’eart out, an’ yer eyes, too, d’yer ’ear?”