Fire Rock Page 16

  If she'd been there to help him in his time of need, how different things might have been.

  But that was in the past. Now she would need to be strong for him, she would save him. She could do it, she had the power.

  Stay positive, she told herself, don't give in to despair.

  She would do her best– better than her best– using all the knowledge and skills that her father had taught her. And if that failed, then there was always the Dark Healing.

  Quickly pushing that thought aside, Soffen hurried on with her search, leaving Slikit to bumble along behind as best he could.

  It was some time before Soffen spoke again, and when she did, her voice held a raw determination. "You know Slikit, I think Broshee may have gone to fetch help. I think she's gone back to Brockenhurst Sett. I'm sure of it."

  "Yes, I'm sure she has," Slikit agreed quietly.

  The two badgers fell silent again, continuing their search, pushing their way through the thick undergrowth. Every now and then Soffen stopped to examine a plant before rejecting it with an impatient shake of her head.

  Finally Slikit could stand the silence no longer. "Soffen what did you hope to do with Boddaert's Magic when you found it?"

  Soffen stopped for a moment, scratching her flank. Then wrinkling her snout as though a nasty taste had flooded her mouth, she answered, "Brock had a vision in which he foresaw the destruction of Brockenhurst Sett." Having said that much, she fell silent again.

  "And you hoped to use Boddaert's Magic to save the sett?" Slikit prompted.

  Soffen nodded. "The vision wasn't too clear about how that could be done. But yes, that was our hope."

  Slikit thought this over for a moment. "But how could you possibly hope to find Boddaert's Magic?" he finally asked. "Where would you begin?"

  "We were hoping to find that answer on the Sacred Roots."

  Slikit's eyes widened in horror, his mind thrown into turmoil on hearing these words. To be in possession of the Sacred Roots could only mean that they had stolen them. There could be no other explanation. The Preceptor of Brockenhurst Sett would never have let such precious items out of his protection. Not under any circumstances. And here he was, an old fool helping the thieves!

  Soffen appeared not to notice Slikit's reaction to her words, tipping her head to one side, sniffing at the air. "Come on, this way," she called heading off at a tangent.

  In truth, Soffen was worried that she might have said too much and the old badger would refuse to help her any longer.

  Slikit followed Soffen, his slow movements reflecting his reluctance. She led him through a tangled patch of undergrowth, stopping abruptly at a stunted bush.

  "Here's some, over here," she called. "Come and take a look so you'll know what it looks like in the future."

  Slikit studied the plant. The leaves were small, with sparse hairs on top and white down underneath, the pale yellow flowers were tinged red.

  "Is that mouse's ears?" he asked, his mind still struggling with the idea of her stealing the Sacred Roots.

  A soft smile formed fleetingly on Soffen's lips. "Yes that's Mouse-ear," she replied. "And all we need now is a special fungus that usually grows in the same place."

  Gathering a selection of leaves from the plant, Soffen quickly located the fungus that she needed and headed back to the burrow. Slikit trailed along behind, doing his best to hide his agitation as he deliberated on what he was getting himself involved in.

  *

  By the time Soffen and Slikit arrived back at the temporary burrow the sky had deepened to a bright, blood red, and the air, crisp and clear, carried the scent of rain. With the prospect of a shower at any moment Soffen and Slikit hurried down to the chamber below, glad to be undercover.

  When Soffen saw how much worse Brock had become in their absence, concern clouded her face. His breathing was so laboured now that every lungful shook his whole body.

  She prepared the plant and the fungus they'd gathered, laboriously chewing them into a sticky paste, which she carefully dribbled into Brock's mouth.

  When she had finally finished her ministrations, Soffen looked across at Slikit, tears shining in her eyes.

  "He's dying," she said softly. "He's dying and there's nothing I can do about it. The only chance of saving him now is for me to get him back to Brockenhurst Sett. I've got a potion there that might work. I don't know, but he'll die for sure here. Will you help me Slikit? Will you help me get him back to Brockenhurst Sett?"

  The old badger exhaled heavily as he rose, weary and depressed. "Yes Soffen," he agreed, "I'll help you."

  Reluctant though he was to accompany Soffen and Brock to Brockenhurst Sett, Slikit felt obligated. Having stopped to help in the first place, he was loath to back out now. And anyway, he could slip away quietly when the time was right, there would be plenty of opportunities on the trip back to Brockenhurst.

  The febrifuge Soffen had given Brock began its work and he had soon recovered enough to sit up on his haunches. Looking about in confusion he smiled at Soffen.

  "You're better," he said throatily, his voice still weak.

  Soffen drank in every word, hungry to hear him, but knowing the effects of the medication would all to quickly fade.

  Brock looked about, wrinkling his snout as though trying to remember something important.

  "Broshee has gone to look for the stars," he suddenly blurted.

  Soffen's eyes widened in shock. "She's alive? Broshee is alive?" Soffen could scarcely believe her ears, so overcome with emotion that for one moment she could barely breathe. "But I thought—" Then shaking her head in confusion, she asked, "Stars? What stars?"

  Taking his time, with many pauses, Brock told them about the place where the stars rushed along beneath the sky following the long line of trees. How they howled and moaned at each other as they went, making the earth tremble with their anger.

  As Brock told his story, Slikit stayed well in the background, growing more and more taciturn now that there was another badger to deal with.

  When Brock had finally finished his tale, Soffen explained why they must return to Brockenhurst Sett as quickly as possible.

  Yes, she knew he felt better right now, but it would soon pass, she told him.

  Soffen was elated to hear that Broshee was still alive, but was worried that waiting for her return before starting the long journey back to Brockenhurst Sett, would mean that Brock might be too ill to travel. She would leave a sign for Broshee telling her where they'd gone and that they would meet her back in Brockenhurst.

  As they prepared to leave, Brock suddenly clasped a paw to his head, crying out in pain.

  Soffen's eyes widened in alarm and she rushed to his side. "What is it? What's the matter?"

  "A pain," Brock mumbled through clenched teeth. "A terrible, terrible pain." He shook his head violently, as though trying to dislodge something. "What? What did you say?"

  Soffen shook her head. "Nothing Brock. I said nothing."

  Brock staggered backwards, his eyes rolling wildly.

  "But I can hear voices," he cried, pounding at his head with a shaking paw. "In here, I can hear voices."

  Slikit mumbled something under his breath, backing away, wary at the way Brock was behaving.

  Brock grimaced again, then suddenly relaxed a little. "It's alright. I think it's easing now. Yes . . . it's definitely going away."

  He took a tentative breath as though testing himself, ready to stop the moment he felt the pain again.

  Soffen wrinkled her snout, smiling uneasily at him. "Are you sure?" she checked, worried by Brock's behaviour.

  Brock nodded slowly. "Yes. I just feel a bit weak, that's all."

  "Help me Slikit," Soffen ordered. "Help me get Brock outside." When Slikit hung back, Soffen frowned angrily at him, then tried reassuring the old badger. "It's alright, he's fine now. Really it's only a reaction to the potion I've given him."

  But Soffen knew that this was no reaction to the medication, or the r
esult of the illness Brock had. Something else was at work here. Something beyond her understanding.

  *

  The trio stopped for a rest beside a small pool of water and Soffen ate the worms she'd gathered. As she swallowed each mouthful, she watched Brock thoughtfully from beneath hooded eyes.

  There was something disquieting about his behaviour. It reminded her of another badger, but she couldn't think who it might be. Since leaving the temporary burrow Brock had begun talking to himself, answering questions nobody had asked, mumbling jerkily as though talking to another badger.

  Rested the group pushed on, both Soffen and Slikit taking turns to help the rapidly weakening Brock, but finally he collapsed from exhaustion and Soffen called for a further rest.

  Brock lay on the ground, his sides heaving as he struggled for breath. Soffen's snout wrinkled in concern as she watched his body twitch and judder, as though beyond his control.

  Turning away Soffen forced herself to think about other things, things she would have to do once they arrived back at Brockenhurst Sett. She would need to dig up the piece of bark in which she'd hidden her strongest potion. She had buried it soon after her father's death, cursing it for the pain it had brought her.

  Soffen's father had prepared the potion using the Dark Healing, and she was convinced it was this action that had drained the last of his strength.

  Over many seasons Soffen had begged and pleaded with her father not to use the Dark Healing when he was preparing his palliatives, but he would never listen to her, boasting instead how his potions were the finest and most powerful in Brockenhurst Valley, indeed in the whole of Boddaert's Realm.

  Soffen had to admit that she never had succeeded in producing anything that matched the potency of her father's specifics, but she remained too frightened of the Dark Healing to ever consider using it as an aid.

  One moon, after an absence of almost three seasons from the sett, her father had returned to tell her that he was dying. As she stood before him it was obvious how weak he had become. His limbs trembled with the effort of keeping on his feet and his head hung low. He asked her to help him get to the base of Fire Rock, not having the strength to manage the journey on his own.

  On their stumbling walk, he had told her about the secret chambers located beneath Fire Rock, and how he wanted to spend what little time remaining to him in their confines.

  Following his instructions, she dug out the entrance tunnel and helped him inside, imploring him to let her stay and comfort him while he died. He would have none of it, instead making her promise to hide the entrance once he had entered.

  Reluctantly Soffen agreed, watching her father struggle into the dark tunnel through tear filled eyes.

  She could picture him now, as though it had only been yester—moon, turning to say goodbye, his body swaying from side to side as he tried to keep his footing. The fur on his back, patchy and thin, with the scabby skin beneath showing through. Soffen's eyes suddenly widened when she finally made the connection.

  There it was, the similarity that she'd been reaching for as she'd watched Brock.

  It was her father!

  That time beneath Fire Rock, when he'd entered the tunnel. The vacant, troubled look in his eyes, the uncertain gait, the mumbling talk to a badger who was not there to hear.

  Quickly pushing the memories aside Soffen stood up, shaking her head as though dismissing the idea. She had enough to worry about already without letting an overactive imagination make things seem worse than they really were.

  Shaking Slikit and Brock awake, she led them out into the wilderness again. They must continue with their journey she told them, they still had a long way to go.

  Walking through the darkness, taking many stops to rest, they struggled on. Brock fluctuated between bouts of energy and lethargy– Soffen, between hope and deep despair.

  And as the sun tinged yet another sky, she dug a temporary burrow so they had somewhere to rest, after which they all crawled inside and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

  *

  Slikit was worried and dithered about the burrow entrance in agitation. He'd woken from a deep sleep, and rising to relieve himself, had spotted at once that Brock was missing.

  Hurrying outside the old badger scouted around, finding some tracks leading away into the undergrowth. Hurrying along the trail, he followed the tracks as far as he could until they eventually petered out on the stony ground.

  Slikit returned to the burrow in a dejected mood, knowing that he would have to tell Soffen about Brock's disappearance, but he delayed, frightened of what her reaction might be. She'd blame him for not keeping a closer eye on the Teller.

  Now would be as good a time as any to slip away and return to his life of foraging and sleeping, he thought.

  But in the short time that he had known Soffen, he'd grown close to her. He liked the way she put others before herself, her strong will and her gentle strength. Soffen reminded Slikit of his own mother, evoking cherished memories that were special and secret.

  "Soffen, wake up." Slikit shook the sleeping badger carefully. "Soffen come on, wake up!"

  Soffen yawned loudly and looked up at Slikit, her eyes still clouded by the vestiges of sleep. Getting stiffly to her feet she yawned again and shook herself, looking around the temporary burrow, her eyes widening in alarm when she saw that Brock was not there.

  "Where's Brock?" she asked at once, concern lining her snout.

  "I don't know," Slikit admitted. "He was gone when I woke up." Turning his head, Slikit nodded at the entrance. "I followed his trail for as far as I could, but lost it when the ground got too stony."

  Soffen left the burrow at a trot, with Slikit right behind her, doing his best to keep up as she ran through the undergrowth. They reached the point where Brock's trail disappeared and Soffen cast about in frustration, her nose quivering urgently as she scented the ground.

  Slikit stood off to one side watching the Healer's frantic actions, which quickly became more and more desperate.

  Finally, Soffen stopped her search, looking over at Slikit, shaking her head in confusion.

  "I don't understand," she complained. "His scent just vanishes." Slapping a paw on the ground in frustration, Soffen exhaled loudly. "There's fox and stoat aplenty here, but no badger, not one single trace. How could he have just disappeared like that?"

  Chapter 18

  Brock woke with a start, his mind still echoing with unintelligible words. Tossing and turning he tried to get back to sleep but finally gave up and left the burrow so as not to disturb the others.

  The sun blazed down from a clear blue sky and a heat-haze shimmered on the horizon. Hunting up some worms he sat and ate them in a despondent mood. His head hurt and his back felt as though someone had been repeatedly jumping on it. His cough had disappeared and he silently thanked Soffen and her powers of healing for that but now there was something else wrong.

  Raising a paw he touched the tender patch of skin on his head, feeling a hard lump beneath the surface just behind his ear. Sitting back on his haunches he finished the last of the worms and sighed dejectedly.

  "Brock!" the pervading, now familiar voice spoke seductively from within his head. "Brock, you cannot deny me."

  The voice had grown steadily stronger over the past few moons, sounding now as though someone were speaking to him from right inside his head. But worse than that were the spurious memories he was experiencing.

  Memories of a strange cubhood; memories that did not belong to him; memories that wove themselves into his own recollections until he wasn't sure which were real and which imagined; another badger's memories.

  Throwing back his head Brock bellowed at the madness that had invaded his mind, imploring it to leave.

  "Don't deny me Brock," the insidious voice came again. "You're not strong enough."

  Screwing his eyes tight shut, Brock tried to ignore the voice, knowing his acknowledgement would be an admission of his own insanity– he was
near enough to that already.

  When the voice first made itself known to him, Brock had thought it a symptom of the yellow cough, but no matter how hard he had tried, he couldn't rid himself of the annoying whispers. In the end he turned to the powers of The Way to cast it out but quickly realised his mistake.

  After falling into his usual trance, where he stood amongst the familiar pathways, Brock witnessed a shimmering shadow emerging from the far recesses of his psyche. This shadow, though insubstantial, emitted an aura of great evil and Brock could not help but flinch away from it.

  But the blackness swirled nearer, its deep, dark centre filling his mind until its pernicious tentacles froze the very core of his being. Brock felt as though his mind had been unexpectedly plunged into a deep foul hole– a place where the rocks bore inwards with unrelenting pressure– and as his thoughts began to slip away, he realised that he must act decisively if he was going to save himself.

  Brock suddenly understood that the powers of The Way had somehow been wrested from his control and were now threatening to crush his mind. He was on the point of losing his sanity, and with it his life. Snapping open his eyes he forced himself from his trance, gulping great breaths of air into his lungs. Then he collapsed back onto his haunches, trying to control his trembling body, panting loudly as though he'd just outrun death itself.

  From that moment onwards, Brock was too frightened to use the powers of The Way again, recognising how close to madness it had brought him. Something frightening and very dangerous had just happened but he'd no idea what, and as he constantly picked over the events, the questions spun around in his head.

  Was this the Dark Healing that he'd been warned about during his training? In his attempts to cast the insidious voice from his mind, had he somehow activated it?

  Shaking his head in confusion Brock tried to ignore the indomitable feeling of alienation that now lurked at the back of his mind, as though a stranger were settled there.

  For the present the voice had faded but Brock knew the compelling whispers would soon return. As surely as the sun followed the moon, the voice would rise again from the peccant foulness where it had set up its burrow. It would rise again to tempt him with its beguiling promises of wonderful rewards, and all he had to do was listen; listen and let go. Become one with it.