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Something was happening to him. Something outside his control. Something that made him feel dirty and used.

  Brock struggled to his feet, shaking himself, as though ridding his fur of unwanted invaders. He'd made a decision, he would tell Soffen what was happening to him. The Healer would know what to do. She would help him.

  As Brock hurriedly retraced his steps back to the burrow, a blinding pain suddenly lanced through his skull, bringing him to a halt.

  "You are mine Brock," the voice cried in triumph. "I am Darkgrass; mother of Soffen: Fernbreak; father of Darkburst: Rockstay; creator of the Cimmerian Moon: Skelda; Master of the Dark Healing. You cannot cast me aside as you would a worrisome insect, I am too strong for that. Hear me. I am. You cannot deny me."

  Slowly and unremittingly Brock felt his mind slipping from his control as one-by-one each layer was taken from him.

  Finally, when there was nowhere left to go, Brock was forced to retreat into the foulest recesses of his mind, deep down where the darkest tenets lay.

  Lurching through the undergrowth, Brock staggered about as though he were a cub taking its first tentative steps. Having lost control of his mind, his psyche could do little now, other than crouch in a terrifying darkness, surveying the world from another badger's eyes.

  *

  He was thrashing about in deep clinging mud, his mouth open so that he had little choice but to swallow the cold, clammy liquid. His screams went unheard as he sank deeper and deeper beneath the stinking surface, his nostrils filling with the cloying slime. He struggled desperately, but the harder he fought, the deeper he sank. It was happening again. He was drowning.

  Darkburst came awake with a start, his heart hammering in his chest and his legs flailing wildly. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he tried to calm himself. It was only a dream. A dream. Just a dream.

  Clambering from the shallow burrow that he'd dug earlier, Darkburst shook the last vestiges of the dream from his mind and looked about. The sky was overcast but the moon shone brightly through breaks in the cloud. He'd slept a long time and judged it to be well into the moon-cycle.

  A dog barked in the distance and for a moment Darkburst's eyes flickered with fear. Then smiling to himself, he shook his head, giving a short bark of a laugh. The creature was too far away to be of any concern to him now.

  Tipping his nose to the breeze he scented the air. Fox and rabbit but little else, except the soft, cloying aroma of the nearby river.

  It had swept him a long way downstream from where he'd fallen in and Darkburst had no idea where he was. Grooming the tangles from his fur, he thought back over this second brush with death. The fish had saved him, buoying him up with their silvery bodies until he'd been able to clamber out onto the sandbank.

  Not knowing what to make of it, he pushed the thought from his mind. That particular mystery would have to wait until another time.

  Darkburst studied the clouds, pondering what he should do. He could follow the river, which would eventually lead him back to Brockenhurst Sett, but it was a winding and tortuous route, or he could strike out overland, using the stars as his guide. He'd done that often enough when a small cub playing on the forest paths. It would be the quickest way but he was reluctant to take it, especially as the sky was so overcast.

  Darkburst suddenly felt very small– small and frightened. He was alone in a strange land, reliant for the first time in his life on his own skills for survival and the sudden realisation almost overwhelmed him.

  For no particular reason, other than he had to take one course or the other, he finally struck out overland.

  *

  After walking for what seemed to be half the moon-cycle, Darkburst climbed to the top of a steep rise and stopped to get his bearings. As he mounted the crest and looked out over the vista, his breath caught in the back of his throat.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly opened them again, expecting the view he had just seen to have disappeared; be a figment of his imagination. But it was still there, and was not, as he had thought, the workings of an over-active imagination.

  There it was in front of him, the vision he'd seen within the Sacred Roots. The lake reflecting the moonlight from its calm surface, the tall stand of trees marching down to the water's edge, and further off, above the edge of the silver water, a line of stars moving swiftly across the horizon. It was an incredible sight, just as it had been when the ball of light erupted between the Sacred Roots, allowing him a brief glimpse into its secret world.

  All thoughts of returning to Brockenhurst Sett vanished abruptly, and with a growing sense of wonder, he studied the landscape, suddenly realising his destiny. It was beyond the shimmering lake where the stars fell to the earth.

  It was here that Boddaert's Magic awaited him.

  *

  He was going mad!

  As he lay in the undergrowth Brock's mind swirled wildly with the memories of what had happened to him over the past few moons– the pain in his back, forcing him to limp along with a shuffling gait; the growth on his head, now weeping a foul smelling pus; the voice constantly pursuing him into the furthest recesses of his mind.

  These events were not normal. He had no choice but to admit that to himself now. And the conclusion was obvious, could mean only one thing.

  He was going mad!

  Brock had no idea how long he'd lain under the bush while his mind and memories were systematically stripped from him. One by one they had flickered and died, becoming overlain with memories of another badger's life.

  Now, as he peered out from his prison with an acceptance born of hopelessness, Brock gave up the unequal struggle, realising at last that he'd lost the battle.

  Strangely enough, with that realisation came an inexplicable feeling of relief. He could give up the struggle now without guilt. Having done his best it was not his fault that the dark shadow in his mind– so much quicker, so much stronger– had crushed him so completely. He'd give himself to the seductive aura waiting on the edges of his consciousness and stop his ineffective resistance.

  Settling back Brock began to do just that, feeding his memories to the hungry force that waited so impatiently to devour them.

  Starting with his earliest recollections– those of his birth and the first opening of his eyes as he stared about in fright and fascination at the strange new world surrounding him– Brock allowed each moment to slip away, fluttering towards the blackness, like a leaf on a summer breeze. As the process continued more and more memories followed, each blinking from existence like a firefly's brief flash.

  But then Brock glimpsed an image of Soffen, and so strong was the image that it jolted him from his hopelessness.

  It was a reflection of her gentle face, outlined by the strong, full moon. She was beckoning to him, a half-smile on her lips, waiting patiently for him to come to her. The gentle sonnet that she sang stirred a haunting emotion within Brock's heart, but eventually even this image flickered and faded, until it had disappeared along with the rest.

  As the dark aura sent its tentacles into this last bastion of Brock's being, the realisation came to him that he was about to lose a love he'd not yet experienced. It brought a great ache to his heart, a soul-lurching numbness that angered him to the very core of his being.

  "NOOOOOOO!"

  Brock's anguish rang out into the still air echoing back from an emptiness that matched his mind. Three times he screamed, and each scream generated a renewed strength, a renewed resolution.

  Brock felt himself fill with a deep intensity, a determination to regain control of his mind. He would fight to wrest his soul back from the darkness that was swallowing it piece by piece.

  Digging deep into himself Brock connected with his strongest instincts, using them to bolster his fight for survival, and suddenly his imprisoned being broke free, racing upwards and outwards, rekindling the dim memories of a life that had almost been extinguished forever.

  However, as Brock fought to regain control of his being the dark
aura rose up once more, stronger now, it's voice more powerful and painful in its intensity.

  "It is useless Brock. Give this up!"

  But Brock had been fortified by the images of his love and he refused to be stilled.

  As the two essences struggled for control of the one mind, Brock's body twisted and turned as though he were standing on burning grass. He fell, his limbs flailing the ground with such force that it was a wonder his bones did not break. His tortured cries echoed through the undergrowth as he regained his feet, staggering about, struggling with the unseen darkness threatening his mind.

  Desperately clinging to Soffen's image, Brock fought off the tentacles swirling inside his head, his mind filling with the love he felt for her.

  Slowly, layer by layer, Brock began to reassert himself, taking back control of his mind as he pushed the dark aura back to the depths from which it had come.

  As Brock regained control of his body, his senses began to return, and with them the sights and sound of the countryside.

  First his hearing, and the soft, piping wheeb of a distant bullfinch. Then his sense of smell, and the sweet scent of crushed grass and the earthy aroma of fresh worm casts. Lastly, that of touch and taste.

  Until that moment Brock hadn't realised how completely his mind had been taken over, how even his most basic senses had been wrested from him.

  He fought harder still, grunting in triumph when the cloak covering his eyes lifted, allowing the bright colours of the world to come flooding back in. And with the return of his sight came an understanding of what had taken place here beneath the low gorse bush under which he sheltered.

  Using the force of the Dark Healing, an unknown badger had attempted to take over his being, take his mind for its own. But the mind-snatcher had failed; Soffen's love had given him the strength he needed to cast it out.

  But at the pinnacle of Brock's triumph, just when he thought he'd won his battle, he was cruelly cast down again. Deeply, through a swirling kaleidoscope of images his mind was speedily overlain until he was locked away inside a colourless silent prison from which there was no escape.

  Brock screamed a soundless plea to the Prime Mover, begging Her to help him, even though he knew there was no defence against the dark aura that now held his mind in its rock-like grip.

  *

  Skelda's invasion of Brock's body marked another successful step in his stratagem. Stretching the strong limbs that were now his, he nodded in satisfaction as powerful muscles rippled beneath the skin. It was a fine body, a body that would serve him well.

  He stood with his head held high, scenting the cool air. Sharp smells came to him, stirring memories of a better time. His legs trembled and he shifted them warily, first one then the other, until he could coordinate his movements. His blood, powered by a powerful heart, thrummed through his veins with a vibrancy not felt since cubhood, and his eyes flicked here and there with renewed pleasure, picking out colours he'd forgotten existed. This was better than he'd ever imagined it could be, and he celebrated with a silent elegy to the Guardian of Blackness, who had made it all possible.

  It took Skelda a little practice before he was able to make his new body obey him, but eventually he was gambolling around like a young cub again, with no shortage of breath and no searing pain in muscles deformed by the use of the Dark Healing.

  How long had it been since he'd been able to do that? Far too long.

  And this new back of his– it was flexible, pliant, which meant that he could walk properly and was no longer forced to scurry about like a crab because of his bent and twisted frame.

  Skelda looked up at the clouds and smiled, his lips moving at his command instead of hanging slack as was usual. His brilliant success brought a lightness to Skelda's heart and a new determination to his being. This was his duty, his future, and he would bear it well.

  But first he had to get back to Brockenhurst Sett and deal with Grindel, and somehow he had to accomplish this without Soffen and Slikit realising what he was up to, or they would do their best to thwart him.

  Scenting the air, Skelda began an exploration of the area. He was searching for a particular odour; dead flesh, a scent well familiar to him. Locating what he sought at the base of a gorse bush he began to dig, his sharp claws quickly stripping the clods of earth aside.

  Revelling in the strength of his new limbs, he dug the dead vixen from her lair. She'd suffered a broken leg and unable to hunt, had starved to death. By her side were three dead cubs.

  Working quickly Skelda chewed off four pieces of the vixen's pelt and wrapped them around his feet. Then smiling at his own cunning, he made his way across the stony ground, happy in the knowledge that the scent he was leaving behind would confuse even the best hunter, let alone an ancient badger like Slikit and a Healer as inexperienced as Soffen.

  Chapter 19

  Grindel inspected his fortifications with a satisfied air of accomplishment. Cherva had turned his vague orders into reality and now the sett was protected on all approaches.

  Using badgers drafted in from the surrounding districts, Grindel and Cherva had raised the tall banks of earth in front of the sett in a surprisingly short time. As well as this precaution, most of the entrance tunnels to the sett were now filled with large stones and packed earth, which ensured that no badger could gain an entry unnoticed.

  Only two tunnels remained open– one facing the large semi-circular clearing between the front of the sett and the new earthworks, the other, a much smaller tunnel leading into the rear of the sett. The smaller tunnel acted as a vent, allowing the circulation of air through the various levels. Even so, closing down all the other entrances had made the lower chambers hot and uncomfortable to live in, but Grindel considered this a small price to pay for the security the arrangements gave him.

  To ensure the loyalty of his guards, he ordered chambers to be set aside for them in the fresher upper tunnels, the remaining badgers having to make do with the discomfort of the lower levels.

  Grindel nodded in satisfaction, Cherva would see to it that they learnt to live with the new arrangements with no complaints.

  Brockenhurst Sett was now filled to overflowing with conscripted badgers brought in from the smaller setts scattered about the forest and space was at a premium. Even the internal latrines had been filled in to make room for more badgers.

  However the Great Chamber had been kept free for Grindel and Cherva's personal use, a fact frequently commented on behind the guard's backs by badgers forced to live in the discomfort of the deeper chambers.

  The earthworks laid out around the main entrance formed a complicated maze of corridors that had to be negotiated before gaining admittance to the large semi-circular clearing in front of the sett itself. Its walls where thick and walkways of packed earth had been fashioned along the tops. At regular intervals along these walkways were tall piles of stones, ready to be thrown down on any invader. As an additional precaution the undergrowth for a considerable distance around the sett had been cleared so that no badger could approach the sett without being spotted.

  Grindel had covered every eventuality he could think of and felt confident, that should a group of badgers decide to attack the sett, they would fail.

  But there was one weak point– the air vent at the rear of the sett.

  Unlike the main entrance, this had no labyrinth to protect it, so Grindel had Cherva and his minions build an enormous mound of rocks on a ledge over the opening.

  This precarious mound was held in place by a single small keystone, the removal of which would cause the whole pile of rocks to come crashing down. Any badger unlucky enough to be standing below at the time would be killed instantly. Two badgers were on permanent guard duty here, with another pair posted nearby as a precaution.

  Grindel looked out over his domain and sighed happily. As yet it was small, only reaching to the periphery of Brockenhurst Forest, but soon he would expand his influence to encompass all of Boddaert's Realm. His fighters wer
e well trained and keen to follow Cherva's lead.

  At the thought of Cherva, Grindel frowned, pondering the power he'd given this boar, his eyes clouding as he schemed how he might ensure the badger's loyalty. Grindel had realised early on that he needed some hold over Cherva, something to keep him compliant.

  For the present he pushed the thought aside, there would be time enough for that later.

  Chewing on the remains of a small hedgehog, Grindel considered his next move. Badachro Sett was the key to his plans, that much was certain. If he wanted to succeed he would need to destroy it.

  *

  The name, Badachro Sett, was really a misnomer, because in the strictest sense it was not a sett at all, more a scattered collection of separate tunnels and chambers that made extensive use of a natural cave system at the base of the Badachro Mountains.

  A frightened sow who had been chased from her sett with her tail-less cub many generations earlier had discovered the caves and made a home for herself there. It was this same tail-less cub who had grown up to be the fabled fighter, Bawsen: the badger who fought so bravely to save Boddaert's Realm when Evaert had threatened to destroy it.

  Over time, other badgers had joined the embryonic sett, until now, outside of Brockenhurst Sett itself, it was home to the largest cete of badgers in Boddaert's Realm.

  But the population of Badachro was unlike that of any other sett.

  Most of them were refugees from their home setts, outcasts with nowhere else to go. Some had missing or misshapen limbs, others had deformed ears or eyes, but most had variations not so easily spotted. Whatever their differences, they found a home in Badachro Sett amongst badgers of their own kind.

  Over the generations the sett had grown so large and sprawling that most other badgers left it well alone, even Evaert giving it a wide birth during his attack on Boddaert's Realm. A decision that cost him dearly when Bawsen and her ragbag collection of followers had risen up against him.

  Grindel was determined not to make the same mistake. He knew it would be necessary to crush Badachro Sett if he wanted to gain control of the lands surrounding Brockenhurst Forest.

  Letting his gaze sweep the clear sky, he studied the stars for a favourable sign. They shimmered back at him with a comforting brightness that cut to his innermost core. Closing his eyes, he began a chant of laudation to the Guardian of Darkness, gathering his strength for the coming battle.