Doomwyte

25

Completely surrounded by the menacing band of crows, Dubble had the awful feeling that he would be slain in the next few moments. The young Guosim could see the stream, not far off. His only chance was to break through the cordon of fierce, black birds and make it into the water. With hungry, cruel eyes, the carrion closed in on him. Dubble did the only thing he could. Yelling the Guosim battlecry, he charged for the stream. “Logalogalogalooooog!”

It was a short-lived attempt. Dubble got no more than a few paces when he was brought down. A savage blow from one of the predators’ beaks hit him on the back of his neck. The young shrew collapsed with a roar of pain. In that same instant, several events took place in lightning-swift succession.

Yelling like a banshee, a huge black otter hurled herself upon the birds. “Eeeezaranaaaaaa!” The weapon she wielded was like a pair of sword blades, with a hilt at their centre. Whip! Slash! Two crows dropped, mortally wounded. Without pausing, the lithe, muscular beast threw Dubble over her shoulder, bulled through the carrion like a juggernaut and dived headlong into the deep, running middle of the stream.

Bleeding from the neck, and shocked by his sudden submersion in icy streamwater, Dubble tried valiantly to hold his breath. Dark weed fronds rushed by as the otter held her burden tight to her back with both paws. Somewhere above, Dubble glimpsed a gleam of tree-shaded sunlight. He clung grimly to his rescuer’s powerful shoulders. Caught in their vortex, an errant fish struck him in the face. Dubble began to panic, his lungs could not sustain the wild underwater journey. There was a ringing noise in his head, water began running up his nostrils and forcing a passage into his mouth. He struggled as everything went dark around him. Dubble felt an energetic upsurging lunge, it thrust him out of the water, onto a hard, smooth surface. Then the otter landed on top of him with a bump, water spouted from his nose and mouth as he spluttered weakly. Trying to rise, Dubble felt himself thrust flat by the otter, who was muttering.

“Get all water out, shrew be better then, lie still, still! No fret, you still alive, shrew.”

More water vomited forth, until Dubble retched and sucked in air greedily. They were under a sort of overhang, on a shelf, somewhere along the streambank. Sunlight seeping in made wavering patterns on the rock walls. The big, black otter nodded, satisfied. “You good now, what name ye have?”

The young Guosim held out his paw. “Dubble!” He gasped as the otter took his paw in a grip like a steel vise.

“Dubble, eh, funny name, I be Zaran the Black.” She retrieved her weapon, and began honing the blades on the wet rock, commenting with a wave of her sinewy rudder, “This be my holt, not much, but a finegood place to hide from Wytes, carrion scum and monster snake. You see him, Dubble?”

The young shrew nodded. “Oh I saw him sure enough. Wot a giant, he scared me just to look at him!”

Zaran finished sharpening her weapon. She thrust it in a sling, which hung across her back. “Snake not hurt me, I leave him well alone. Zaran slay Wytebirds, carrion, othersnakes, lizard, toad. Anybeast that come from caves of Skurr!” The white teeth of Zaran shone as she spat out the word “Skurr!”

The big otter was an awesome sight as she prowled sinuously around the rock ledges. Zaran was the strongest-looking otter Dubble had ever seen. Muscles like coiled steel springs, sinews like greased rope, lithe and fluid at every move she made.

Dubble repeated the name curiously. “Skurr?”

Her hazel-hued eyes radiated savage hatred. “Aye, Korvus Skurr. One day Zaran will kill that one. Kill him and all his creatures. They must die, Zaran has spoken, so will it be!”

Dubble was surprised at the black otter’s vehemence. “Why must you kill Skurr and all his kind, Zaran?”

The otter snapped angrily, “No ask me that, Dubble. When Zaran ready she tell you.” Noting the respect and awe in her guest’s eyes, she changed immediately. Producing some fruit and a sun-dried trout from an aperture in the rocks, she placed them in front of the shrew. Zaran smiled briefly. “You young, eat now, young ever be hungry. Eat, Dubble, then sleep. Safe here, Zaran keep watch. We go out when nightfall. I show you. Eat, sleep, first.”

As Dubble sat eating, Zaran examined the back of his neck, where the crow’s beak had struck. For such a fierce creature, she was surprisingly gentle, murmuring softly to reassure him. “Hmm, not bad hurt, but hide is broken. Zaran can fix that, Dubble be still now. Dirty birds are carrion, never know where crows’ beaks have been!”

The young shrew finished his meal as the black otter cleaned his wound, then applied some fragrant ointment, dabbing it on with soft moss. “Dubble live to fight another day, there, sleep now.” He drifted into a comfortable slumber, watching the wavering sun patterns on the rock ledges, and listening to the soothing music of stream currents.

Night had cast its mantle over the woodlands when Dubble wakened. Zaran the black otter was sitting silently watching him. He sat up and stretched slowly. She nodded. “You sleep well, feel better now?”

The young shrew nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Much better, thank you, is it dark already?”

Zaran hitched up the double blade at her back. “We go now, Zaran will show you the lair of Korvus Skurr. Tread soft, make no sound, follow, do as I say, Dubble. Come!”

As they left the holt by a landward exit, one thing became became abundantly clear to Dubble. His new friend was a born hunter, wise in the ways of silent travel. Zaran moved through the nightdark woodlands as though it were bright noon. Silent as a leaf upon the breeze and, at times, virtually invisible.

Dubble learned a lot from his new friend that night. How to blend in with their surrounds, to move swiftly, without seeming to hurry. To stand motionless in the shadows, controlling his body, so that even his breath could not be heard. He was amazed at how Zaran would lean, draped against a tree trunk, observing all about her, whilst ignoring moths, beetles and small nocturnal predators as they wandered over her paws and across her face.

They were following another stream course, avoiding marshground, leaving no tracks upon rock outcrops, halting frequently in the shelter of overhanging willows. After awhile, Zaran pointed ahead to a large, forested hill, which could be discerned in the half-moon and starlight. She mouthed the word Skurr. Having learned the lesson of total silence, Dubble nodded. He continued following Zaran, the pair of them moving smoothly as oiled silk.

Skirting a stream, they took extra caution. This was due to the presence of dark carrion birds perched in the boughs of a downy birch. The birds slept on as they stole by, some of them emitting small cawing noises as they dreamed. Zaran took an upward route, into the trees which grew thick upon the hillslope. When she judged they had gone far enough, the black otter indicated a poplar. At some time during its growth, the tree had been blown askew in a winter storm. However, it had established a new position by setting down more roots. Now it grew at an angle, sticking out oddly from its neighbours. It was not difficult to walk along the poplar trunk, to where Zaran had set up a hidden lookout platform. She pointed below.

“See, Dubble, stream, cave entrance. From here Zaran sees all, snakes, toads, carrion birds, Wytes. They come and go, night and day, but nobeast sees Zaran.”

The young Guosim lay flat on the poplar trunk, staring down. It was an excellent spying post. Remembering to keep his voice low, he murmured softly, “But why do you watch them like this?”

Zaran’s teeth flashed in the darkness as she spat out the words. “Each night, every day, Skurr sends them on his evil business. I will kill them all, it is my vow. Everybeast that crawls, or flies, to carry out Skurr’s commands must be slain. Zaran will do it!”

Dubble did not doubt his powerful friend’s word, but he felt constrained to point out a fact. “There must be far too many creatures for just one beast to overcome, even a great warrior?”

The black otter slid from the poplar trunk. “Come, Dubble, Zaran will show you.”

Over the course of the next hour, the young Guosim followed his friend, awestruck at the sights which greeted his eyes. Holes, pits and deep ruts had been gouged into the steep hillside. Around rocks, between trees, wherever the earth could be dug or scraped. Every bit of the workings was disguised, by bush, rock slabs, foliage and moss.

Zaran led him back to the leaning tree, where she showed him a hidden cache of rough-fashioned digging tools, spades, picks and levering bars. She made Dubble feel her pawpads. They were deeply scored, and thickly calloused, from gruelling labour.

“Five seasons’ work, but when it is the snow season all will be ready. That is how one beast will overcome many, Dubble.”

The young shrew saw the grim determination in his friend’s face. He shook his head. “I’m still not sure how yore goin’ t’do it.”

Zaran lay back on the almost horizontal trunk, gazing off into the still summer night as she explained. “Beneath this hill is a big cave, where Skurr rules over Wytes, and all who serve his evil desires. Zaran knows all about this place, many beasts from there I have captured. They tell me all, before I send them away.”

Dubble knew he asked a foolish question, even as he spoke. “Send ’em away, where to?”

Zaran allowed herself a hint of a smile. “How many seasons are you, Dubble?”

The young Guosim thought for a moment. “Twelve, I think.”

The black otter held up her lethal double-bladed sword, watching starlight glinting on it. “My Namur would have been twelve seasons by now.” Something in his friend’s eyes told Dubble not to ask who Namur was. He sat silent as Zaran continued, “There is but one entrance and exit to Skurr’s lair, the one below us. Many times I search to find another, but there is only one. Zaran will make this hill move one day, it will collapse upon the entrance. Skurr and his creatures will have a living grave, and a slow death!”

Dubble understood then. “So that is how one will overcome many!”

The black otter gave a low bloodcurdling chuckle. “Trapped in there, they will die once fresh air is gone, slain by the yellow poison fumes!”

Dubble recalled being under water, when Zaran rescued him. He shuddered at the thought of being deprived of air to breathe. “What an awful an’ slow way t’go!”

Zaran’s eyes shone savagely. “I would like to be there, to see it. Then I would know…my daughter Namur, my mate Varon, her father…their deaths would be avenged!” With a swift thrust, she buried the weapon in the poplar trunk, beside the young shrew. “Dubble stay here, Zaran has work to do.” Gathering her crude tools, the lithe black otter vanished into the darkness.

It took Dubble some considerable effort to free the odd weapon from the tree. He lay on his stomach, watching and listening for any alien sounds in the still woodland night.

It had been a long, hard day, Dubble soon dozed off. He slumbered for a short time, then rolled over, almost falling from the poplar trunk. The sword fell to the earth, one of its two points sticking in the ground. Steadying himself, Dubble sat up, immediately alert. Somebeast was close by, and it was not Zaran. He began inching from his perch to reach the sword.