Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Lonna Bowstripe sat outside the cave, savouring the approach of summer in the harsh northeast coastlands. Pale sunlight glimmered out of a watery, cloud-flecked sky. It was breezy, but the chill had died out of the wind. Green buds were shooting out of the scrublands, seabirds mewed across the marshes.

The huge badger shifted his position near the fire, wincing momentarily and arching his back. Young Stugg sat beside him like some constant shadow, always close to the big creature. Lonna fascinated the young sea otter.

“You back still be hurted, Lonn’?”

Lonna smiled down at his companion. “A bit, but it’s getting better every day, mate. Pass me the bow, please.”

Stugg ambled across and carried the yew sapling to him. Out of six lengths, this was the one Lonna had chosen to use for fashioning his bow. Stugg inspected it closely. The wood had seasoned out until it was strong as sprung metal. Lonna had shaved away the bark, leaving a broad band at its centre that he had bound and whipped with green cord to make a pawhold. At both ends, the wood was circled and notched deep to accommodate bowstrings. Stugg watched as the badger tested the yew’s strength by bending it against his footpaws.

“Wot you think, Lonn’, bee’s it ready?”

The badger applied heavy pressure, bending the bow until it formed a deep arc. He straightened it slowly and then responded. “As ready as it will ever be, young ’un. This is a good bow!”

Stugg jumped up and down impatiently. “Putta string on it, Lonn’. Fire a h’arrow for Stugg!”

Abruc wandered out of the main holt cave toward them. “Ahoy there, young pestilence! Are ye still botherin’ Lonna? Yore more trouble than a sack o’ frogs!”

The giant badger tugged Stugg’s little rudder fondly. “Oh, he’s no trouble, Abruc. Stugg’s my good old workmate.”

Abruc sat down beside them. He could not keep the curiosity out of his voice. “Well, bigbeast, is yore bow finally ready?”

Lonna used the bowstaff to pull himself upright. “Let’s string it and see, shall we?”

A short time thereafter, all the sea otters had gathered to watch the testing of the bow. Lonna limped slightly as he went back into the cave to fetch his quiver of arrows.

Stugg stood outside, holding the bow and declaiming proudly to everybeast, “All stan’ back now, please. I help Lonn’ to make dis bow. ’Tis a very dangerful weapon, so watch out!”

The big badger emerged with the birch bark quiver. It was packed heavily with two score of long ashwood shafts, which Abruc and Shoredog had helped to fashion. Each one was fletched with grey gull feathers, gleaned from the shoreline. The arrows were tipped with flint shards, sharpened and ground to lethal points.

Lonna took the bowstring which Abruc had woven and looped it over the notch in the yew staff.

After knotting it with a skilful hitch, he remarked, “If this bow fails, it won’t be for want of a good string. This is the finest one I’ve ever seen, thanks to you, friend.”

Abruc flushed with pleasure. “Thankee. ’Tis a special string, worthy of a mighty bow.”

Lonna braced the yew sapling against his footpaw, with the string at the bottom end. Tying a loop into the free end, he leaned down heavily on the centre of the wood.

A gasp arose from the otters as the yew bent in a great arc. With the graceful ease of an expert bowbeast, Lonna slipped the loop deftly over the notched top end. It was a bow now, a mighty and formidable longbow that only a beast the size and strength of Lonna Bowstripe could draw. Taking three arrows, he set them point down in the earth and selected one, explaining as he did, “Height, distance and accuracy are what an archer needs.”

Whipping the bow up, he laid the first arrow on it, heaved back powerfully and let fly, all in a split second. Swift as lightning the shaft sped upward and was immediately lost to sight.

Shoredog let out a growl of surprise. “Whoo! Where did it go?”

Stugg gestured airily. “Stuck inna moon I appose, eh Lonn?”

A rare smile creased the badger’s scarred face. “Aye, I suppose so, mate. Let’s try for distance next.”

The second arrow he laid flat against his jaw, squinting one eye and holding the bow straight.

Zzzzip! Out across the stream over marsh and scrubland it flew, until it was lost on the seaward horizon.

Abruc clapped his paws in delight. “Speared a big fish I bet, eh Stugg?”

The young otter smirked. “Prolably two, anna big crab!”

Lonna scanned the countryside. “I need a target now.” He bowed to Abruc’s wife, Marinu. “Lady, would you like to choose one? Anything will do.”

She looked around, then pointed. “There’s a piece of driftwood just beyond the marsh, see? To the right of that rivulet which runs out onto the shore. I don’t know if you can reach that far, Lonna. Shall I pick something a little closer? I’m afraid I don’t know much about firing arr . . . !”

Her words were cut short as the chunk of driftwood went end over end, pierced through by the badger’s arrow. A rousing cheer went up from the spectators.

Lonna unstrung his bow, passing it to Stugg. “Well, mate, it looks like we made a proper bow. Thank you for all your help.”

The young otter nodded. “Searats better watch out now!”

Lonna took supper in the sea otters’ main cave that night—a large seafood pie, followed by a preserved plum crumble, washed down with beakers of last summer’s best cider. He sat by the fire with Abruc and Shoredog, with Stugg dozing on his lap.

Old Sork made Lonna hold still whilst she inspected his facial scar. “A luckybeast is what ye are. ’Tis healin’ better’n I hoped. So what are ye lookin’ so miserable about, eh?”

The big badger shrugged. “Every day that I sit here, Raga Bol and his crew get further away. Soon there’ll be no trace of them to follow.”

Abruc refilled his beaker with cider. “Never fear, Lonna. A Searat like Raga Bol always leaves a trail, a path of murder an’ destruction that anybeast with half an eye could follow. I’ve been watchin’ ye since you’ve been up an’ about. I know yore impatient to begone from here. Well, summer’s almost in, the time’ll soon be ripe.”

Lonna stared into the flames as he replied. “Raga Bol and his crew won’t live to see the leaves turn gold this autumn. I leave tomorrow!”

Shoredog helped himself to more cider, peering curiously at the big badger. “Then we’ll go with ye, Lonna, us an’ a dozen of our best fighters. Even a warrior as big as yoreself will need help with Bol an’ his crew!”

The badger shook his huge scarred head. “I’m grateful, friend, but this is a thing I must do alone. You stay here and care for your families. There will be a hard time ahead for me. Raga Bol knows I am coming.”

Abruc replenished the fire with driftwood and sea coal. “He probably thinks yore dead, mate. How could he know yore comin’ after him?”

Lonna never took his eyes from the flames as he explained. “I never knew my mother and father. Grawn, the wise old badger you buried, was the one who reared me. Not only did he teach me all the skills of a bowbeast but also many other things. When I was very small, Grawn told me that I was gifted with something few other badgers possess. He said that I was born with the power of a Seer. Old Grawn used to question me a lot. One day he said to me, ‘You have the keenest eyes of any bowbeast I have known, but you also have another eye, inside your mind. You can see things the rest of us cannot, strange things that will shape your destiny.’ It has always been so with me. Even when I was lying wounded in the cave, I could see Raga Bol. I can stare into this fire and see his face. Believe me, he knows I am coming. I want him to know, to fear me. He is evil and must die!”