Thunder oak, p.11
Thunder Oak, page 11
At that moment a huge boulder came flying through the air and struck Odds-and-Ends in the chest, scattering a few loose arms and legs.
‘Hey!’ cried several heads.
‘What?’ called one or two others.
‘We’re being attacked, we’re being attacked,’ said the topmost head of all.
Two dozen hands reached down into the trench and picked up stones. These were hurled back at the stoats, but with less force than the boulders coming back at the giant. The outlaws found they had to retreat back along the trench to avoid being struck themselves. They watched in amazement as the battle proceeded, with stones filling the air like hail.
Great rocks smashed into Odds-and-Ends, gradually breaking it apart and reducing it to a pile of rubble. It was horrible to watch. The outlaws stared in amazement and revulsion as the giant gradually fell to bits, its garden areas dropping to the ground. Arms and legs were strewn over the dyke and trench, torsos dropped as dead weights to the ground, heads rolled over the turf.
No sooner was Odds-and-Ends in pieces, however, than it began to put itself together again. Two arms soon became attached to a head. Thus, with eyes and something with which to walk, the gathering process began. Yellow clay from the dyke was used to stick the appendages and extremities together again, until Odds-and-Ends was once more itself, except in a different shape. All the bits were in different places, but essentially it was Odds-and-Ends fully formed again.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Bryony. ‘Now we’ll see some fun.’
In the distance the stoats were desperately searching for more rocks for their huge siege catapult, having used all the surface stones in the vicinity. They found one, which took off a single Odds-and-Ends head, but the giant stone statue had many more. It was a positive junk pile of heads. It had more arms than a regiment and more legs, too. It was rich in torsos.
It picked up its severed stone head, which had at one time been that of a great general of some human tribe, and bowled it swiftly towards the terrified stoats. The rolling head shrieked, ‘Charge!’ as it trundled speedily towards the soldiers. Its wicked-looking helmet was like half a horse chestnut, covered in spikes, and looked extremely dangerous.
‘Run!’ cried a stoat captain. ‘Run for your lives!’
The head smashed into the siege catapult as the stoats were scattering this way and that. It knocked the war engine over on its side. Odds-and-Ends plucked another head from its shoulders, this time the bonce of a learned man – some cleric or other – and pitched it fully at the catapult.
‘Awake!’ cried the head on its journey through the air. ‘Awake, ye sons of Satan, for a messenger of the Lord is about to strike ye down where ye stand!’
The full force of the head’s wonderful hooked nose struck the main crossbeam of the war engine and it cracked in two halves with a thunderclap sound.
Odds-and-Ends was beginning to enjoy itself, smashing the siege catapult apart. It plucked two more heads from its many-headed form and sent them flying towards two main groups of stoats who were running for their lives.
‘Tally-ho!’ cried one bronze pate, as it whistled through the atmosphere. ‘Give ’em hell, Cecil!’
This remark was addressed to the other head, which looked as if it belonged to the great god Pan rather than anyone called Cecil. It had horns, goat’s eyes and a funny little beard, all wrought in black iron. When it struck the earth, it pinned a kicking, screaming stoat to the ground, one horn on either side of the creature. The stoat struggled like mad, yelling for his comrades to assist him, while the head tried unsuccessfully to bite his flicking tail.
The bronze head, that of a favourite horse of some warrior king, landed on its neck and stuck fast. It whinnied shrilly into the nearby ear of a stoat sergeant, causing that poor creature’s eyes to start from his head. He staggered away into the undergrowth of a copse, looking as if he had been rolled into a ball and used for catapult ammunition.
After that heads began raining down on the stoats, plucked like berries from the body of Odds-and-Ends, until finally the giant statue had none left to throw.
At this point in the battle Sylver thought it wise for the group to move on, and they slipped quietly down the trench to continue their journey.
That night they camped in the ruins of an abbey, whose stone walls were almost as close to nature as the rocks and stones which sprang from the rolling downs. The weasels used the weathered ruin for shelter from the wind and to protect their fire from the sight of stoats. They sat around the flames and discussed where they were going next.
‘There’s a forest between us and the Yellow Mountains,’ said the wizard Wodehed. We have to go through that valley if we are to reach our destination. I’m told by a reliable source that a moufflon lives in a cave there and we are to be wary of having anything to do with the creature.’
‘A moufflon?’ said Mawk. ‘What’s that?’
Ever since Sylver had given Mawk his dressing down after the Karnac affair, the outlaws had deliberately ignored Mawk-the-doubter. They had not trusted themselves to speak to him, even in wrath, knowing they would have lost their tempers. Time had blunted their anger, however, and although they still felt betrayed by Mawk they were ready to meet his pathetic gaze. Not that he was going to find friendship in their eyes.
They all stared at him pointedly, making him feel uncomfortable. ‘Did someone speak?’ asked Luke. ‘Did I hear the voice of the traitor in our midst?’
Mawk’s face became glum again. ‘I’m no traitor,’ he said. ‘I was trying to help.’
‘By fawning on that beast?’ said Alysoun.
‘I flattered him, yes,’ said Mawk, ‘but that was just to get on his good side. I wanted to persuade him to let me go, so I could fetch help from Thistle Hall. You can’t prove that wasn’t my plan – a very devious scheme it was, too!’
It was true. No-one could say what had been in Mawk’s mind. But most of the outlaws were sure that Mawk’s reasons had been purely selfish. It was always like this. They were certain he had been out to help himself at the time, yet now he cast doubt in their minds and they were not so sure. As always, Sylver gave Mawk the benefit of the uncertainty over his motives, believing a weasel was not guilty until proved to be so.
‘We’ll try to forget it this time, Mawk, but you’ll do something like that once too often,’ said Bryony.
‘You work in your way and I’ll work in mine,’ said Mawk sullenly. ‘I’m just as entitled to do things my way, as you are to do them in yours.’
So they left it at that, but still only Miniver and Scirf remained sitting near Mawk, while the others still treated him coldly and edged away from him.
‘So,’ said Sylver, once this business had been settled. ‘What is a moufflon, Wodehed?’
‘It’s a kind of wild mountain sheep, with long curved horns. The one we have ahead of us enjoys a reputation for witchcraft,’ explained Wodehed. ‘You must have heard of her, Luke. Her name’s Maghatch.’
‘Maghatch? Oh yes, I know of her. A godless creature if ever there was one. I’m told her victims are imprisoned for years in the foul oubliettes of her green chapel . . .’
‘Oubliettes?’ questioned Icham.
‘Small wells with iron grids into which animals are lowered and then forgotten. They survive on insects which crawl down there – and water which runs on the damp stones. The green chapel is a huge green mound, not unlike a human grave in appearance, open at both ends. When you enter the green chapel you descend into a hell of stone-lined underground passageways, one at least of which leads to the Otherworld of witches.’
Bryony shivered. ‘I take it we shall be avoiding this Maghatch.’
‘If we do not,’ said Wodehed, ‘it will be the worse for all of us.’
With this happy thought in mind, someone stoked the fire a little higher to gain comfort from the light of the flames.
‘Why is this world full of Karnacs and Maghatches?’ muttered Mawk. ‘Why can’t it be full of nice animals.’
‘Where’s your spirit of adventure?’ cried Scirf, his eyes shining at the news. ‘Where’s your flambeau, young Mawk? How can we strive to be better weasels wivout barin’ our teeth in the face of evil? This is a chance to make good, see? This is a golden opportunity to show what we’re made of, comrade!’
‘You show the world what you’re made of,’ muttered Mawk. ‘I prefer to hide my flambeau under a bushel.’
No-one said very much after that. Those that were not on watch lay down their heads and got some sleep. Each of the two sentries for the night went to one end of the group, taking a quiet stand on the dyke, staring out in opposite directions. The night was a dark one, with few stars and no moon. The sentries had little to stare at except blackness.
They were relieved twice during the night. The last pair, Dredless and Alysoun, had the misfortune to watch the dawn creep in over the land. Grey twilight is a strange time, when shadows are light and sinister and seem to flit around like bats looking for a cave in which to hang.
You see things in the dawn that are not really there. The light plays games with your eyes. The shades play tricks with your brain. You think you see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head quickly to look, it is gone. It seems to have hidden itself in some outcrop of rocks, or to have run into a tangled thicket to lurk there. You have the feeling that something, many things, are watching you from cracks in the world. Their sinister eyes stare out at you, waiting for the time when you relax and are off your guard, before they swiftly change position again – moving closer.
Alysoun was never so glad as when the time came to wake Sylver and the others. Dredless, too, was a lot happier when the band was awake and chattering, driving away those dark fears from his head. Both these two sentries would have been happier if there had been no talk of witches the night before.
In the bright light of the new day, however, all that seemed quite silly now.
Chapter Fourteen
The outlaw band came to a forest where the trees swept up the slopes like a giant sea wave. Inside the tree line the forest was dark and musty. Like the Lightless Forest, here were only fir and pine trees in which no living creature dwelt, unless it were unspeakably menacing. Under foot was a soft thick bed of pine needles; overhead a dark-green canopy which blocked out the sky.
Here Silence reigned alone over an empty kingdom, queen only of herself.
‘We shall need Wodehed’s magic needle in here,’ said Sylver. ‘One fir tree looks much like another and the darkness makes it difficult to see our way.’
Wodehed removed the needle from his pouch. As he dangled it on its thread it swung towards the lodestone mountains of the north.
Thus equipped, the Welkin weasels entered the gloomy forest, where lurked those unknown dangers for which one can never fully prepare. They kept their slingshots and darts at the ready, just in case they were wrong about the place being empty. Such a thickly wooded area could hide an army of savage creatures, ready to spring out from behind the uniform trunks.
‘Did I say I wanted to join your band?’ whispered Scirf, as if to talk in a normal voice would be to invite the wrath of the forest gods. ‘Bit hasty of me, weren’t it? Maybe I might change me mind in a minute.’
‘It may be too late now,’ Mawk said in a quivering tone. ‘But if you do want to go, let me know, I might come with you.’
Under the canopy of firs strange mosses grew, which glowed in the darkness. Occasionally one of the outlaws would cry out and point at what looked like a figure, only to find on closer inspection that it was a moss shaped like an animal or a bird, or not like any living shape at all, but still scary.
There were also roughly hewn rocks, some cut in the semblance of a man. Certain standing-stones were placed throughout the forest, probably old signposts meant for human travellers when they made their way through the gloom. But they seemed not to be on any kind of track or path. And if they had ever had symbols on them, these were now worn away.
At one point Scirf was at the end of the line and he suddenly disappeared into the darkness. A few moments later, as the group was approaching a weird standing-stone, Scirf leapt out from behind it to confront them.
‘YAAAAHHH! DIE!’ he yelled, breaking the silence with this terrible ferocious yell.
Mawk almost fainted where he stood. ‘Oh Gawd!’ he cried.
The others naturally jumped, but when they saw it was only Scirf, they were annoyed.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ snapped Sylver. ‘Are you motley-minded, or what?’
‘I think I must be a what, ’cause I ain’t motley-minded. It was only a joke. Thought I’d liven things up a bit, see. Gets flippin’ spooky in here. What’s the matter, can’t take a bit of fun? Come on, ’s just a clack, init?’
The others had begun to back off from Scirf at this point, as a huge dark shape moved across and behind him. Scirf could not see this monstrous thing, a great mound of fur with claws and teeth. It was as tall as a man, but much bigger round the girth. Since the floor was so soft no footfalls could be heard and Scirf had no idea that something was passing behind him.
His sense of smell had long since gone. Having lived on dung heaps for most of his life, he had lost it. One of the reasons, probably, why he saw no need to wash.
The huge dark shape loomed over him, then moved on. Still he was unaware of its presence.
‘What? What did I say?’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t look at me like that. All right, come back. I won’t do it again, I promise. Why are you all going backwards? You’re not going to run off and leave me here . . .’
The great form, which they all now realized was a bear, vanished into the gloom behind Scirf. The outlaws all let out a sigh of relief. Sylver moved forward to take his place at the front of the line. ‘You’ll never know,’ he said to Scirf. ‘You’ll just never know.’
The others all murmured in agreement with their leader.
‘What?’ cried Scirf, realizing he was the brunt of a joke, and wanting to know what it meant. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ replied Icham.
The group enjoyed the opportunity for a clack after such a close encounter with a giant.
‘If only the bare facts were known,’ added Wodehed.
Another clicking from the crowd – that is, from all except the unhappy Scirf.
‘You barely made it that time,’ said Dredless.
Alysoun said, ‘Good job you didn’t bare your teeth.’
‘Whoa! Whoa!’ cried the ex-dung-watcher. ‘I’ve got a feeling you lot are makin’ fun of me. You watch it. I can’t bear being made fun of . . .’
They all clacked with merriment, leaving him feeling absolutely bewildered.
In the deepest part of the forest the trees began to thin out a little. They were not so dense here. Grass began to appear in little glades. Rocks which had not been placed there by human hands began to poke their backs above the surface of the land. Clumps of undergrowth appeared, where the light penetrated the canopy. There were pools of water.
Sylver halted his band and surveyed the area ahead. ‘This looks a more dangerous region,’ he told them. ‘While the forest is black and lifeless, we have little to fear, but places like this can support life. Be on your guard. Watch for any sign of habitation.’
They moved forward more cautiously now, going in and out of the light, which now fell over them in ripples. Finally they came to a spot where there were dark square shapes in the upper branches of the trees. Here was a village high above ground.
‘What are they?’ asked Bryony. ‘Rooks? Is this a rook colony?’
‘Rooks still live in nests,’ Wodehed said. ‘You won’t find rooks building huts in the trees.’
At that moment the keen-eyed Sylver noticed grey-brown shapes with dark-brown faces above white bibs, moving amongst the trees ahead. Some were wearing helmets which looked as if they might be made of tree bark. They held spears in their forefeet and had armour strapped to their breasts and backs.
Suddenly one of these creatures detached itself from the darkness of the trees and rushed forward. Sylver could see now that the helmet was like a mask, with two eyes looking through holes in the tree bark strapped around the creature’s head. Two knobbly bits of root stuck up like horns from either side of the helmet. On the creature’s knees, all four of them, were caps made of horse-chestnut cases, bristling with spikes.
‘Haaaaaaa!’ cried the creature, throwing a spear.
Even while the weapon was swishing through the air, the strange warrior had vanished to one side, into the forest again.
The spear came down with the point between the toes of Mawk’s right hind leg, as he stood on tiptoe trying to see what was happening. It quivered there, stuck in the ground. The rest of the band, still startled by the suddenness of the attack, took a moment to recover, before rapidly retreating to a safer place.
‘Good grief!’ cried Mawk. ‘What was that? I nearly lost a foot. What in the devil’s name was it?’
Sylver took a dart from his belt. ‘I think we’ve run across a village of savage pine martens,’ he said. ‘Can’t be sure, because of those mask-helmets and the body armour, but I saw a flash of dark brown against a lighter brown, and a cream bib.’
Icham, who had been looking around him, suddenly gave a gasp. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘What are all these?’
The outlaws stared in the direction Icham was pointing and realized they had crossed a line of posts with faces carved in them. The faces were grotesque and horrible, with bulging eyes, tongues sticking out, nostrils flared. This was some kind of sacred area for the martens, over which the outlaws had stumbled.
Luke said, ‘Pine martens’ burial place. Look!’ He indicated some platforms built out from the trunks of trees. From these rough shelves made of dried bracket fungus and twigs hung the skins and bones of tree martens. They dripped bits of pelt, scraggy tails and hanging claws. One or two sightless skulls, still partially covered in skin, stared down between rough bars made of sticks. Sheets of flies like moving black shrouds covered the suspended corpses.
