Doomwyte

With talon and beak, a gang of carrion birds held Gridj upright and motionless. Two toads scrambled up the net and gripped his head, pulling back the rat’s eyelids, forcing him to look.

Korvus came close again, allowing the smoothsnake to come eye to eye with Gridj. The flickering tongue was touching Gridj’s nosetip as the serpent spoke.

“Nobeast can lie to Sicarisssss. I sssseek the truth in your eyessss, let me gaze into your hidden secretsss!”

Gridj had no choice, gripped tightly as he was, his stare forcibly held upon the reptile. Slowly, slowly, Sicariss weaved a pattern with her head, moving from one side to the other. The rat’s eyes began following, until they were moving automatically. Sicariss moved even closer, whispering strange, sibilant things to Gridj. His mouth scarcely moved, but low words were coming from it in a kind of sighing monotone.

The snake halted her interrogation by drawing back, and tapping her chin lightly on the raven’s beak. Korvus allowed Sicariss to take up her perch upon his head plumes. She whispered to him, “The beast isss not from these partsss, he knowssss nothing of the Eyessss, he issss brainlesssss!”

Korvus Skurr took off. Flying into the sulphur-laden fumes of his cave, he circled, casting his swift, dark eye on those awaiting his pronouncement. Landing gracefully on the island, directly at the base of the statue, he made two choppy movements with his beak. One at the rat, still imprisoned by the net, the other to the steaming, bubbling pool. The cave echoed to the din of eager carrion birds. “Rakaaah! Skurr! Rakaaaah! Skurr!”

Gridj was still in a trance as the toads looped a rope through the net and knotted it. He hardly felt himself being dragged to the rim of the pool. The constantly boiling water of the bottomless lake woke him—he gave one long, agonised scream. It cut through the cawing and harking of carrion birds, then he was gone, plunging down into the scalding depths of opaque green.

Veeku, the crow leader, tugged on the rope, watching the thermal action of the water bobbing the net-enveloped carcass of Gridj around beneath the surface. He turned to Griv the magpie. “Kraak! We will feast well tonight. Come, I will take you to Korvus Skurr now.”

Outside, the driving rains continued to pound the forested hillside which housed the Doomwyte’s domain. A dark beast moved like a storm shadow along the hill-slopes, restless, ever alert. Ceasing its labours of digging away at the hillside, moving rocks and hacking at roots, the strong, sleek creature took up its post, like a sentinel upon the huge mound. Watching, waiting, planning, as its fierce, vengeful eyes gazed at the cavern entrance—the only way in and the only way out of the raven’s foul realm. The dark beast stayed motionless, always watching, waiting, planning.

3

In the warmth and comfort of Cavern Hole, Abbot Glisam, Bisky and Dwink sat listening to Samolus Fixa talking as he worked upon restoring the old table. For all his long seasons, the sprightly old mouse seemed to have perfect recall.

“Aye, they were three lifelong pals, Martin the Warrior, Gonff the Mousethief and a mole called Dinny. Though ye could say they were four, ’cos there was Gonff’s lovely wife, the Lady Columbine. Be that as it may, I’ll go straight to wot I knows of the Wytes.”

Dwink scratched at his bushy tail. “What are Wytes, what do they do, sir?”

The Abbot replied as Samolus searched through his box for a scribing tool, “I learned about Wytes from an old owl I once knew. Nobeast can say for certain what a Wyte is. It could be bird, reptile or some type of vermin, one has never been caught, or found dead. From what I’ve gathered, a Wyte is a sort of flickering light, which lives in the woodlands. They say that it can lead travellers astray.”

Dwink interrupted, “You mean make ’em get lost, Father?”

Abbot Glisam settled both paws into his long sleeves. “Aye, completely lost, or gone forever. There’s no record of anybeast turning up again, once they’ve been enchanted away by the Wytes.”

Bisky snorted. “Hah, all ’cept Prince Gonff. No Wyte would ever steal him away, eh, Grandunk?”

Samolus had found his scribe. He began marking out a design upon the tabletop with its sharp, little iron spike, not taking his gaze from the work as he answered, “That’s true, but ole Gonff, he weren’t silly enough to go off followin’ Wytes, ’twas a totally different thing wot led him to their lair.” Samolus paused to resharpen his scribe point with a file.

The Abbot enquired, “How do you know all this, where d’you keep all the research you say you’ve collected? Did you make notes?”

The old mouse tested the scribe point on one pawpad. “’Tis not just notes, Father, it’s reasonin’, ponderin’ an’ keepin’ yore wits about ye. Oh, I’ve got lots of notes, the main two bein’ Dinny’s mole scrolls an’ Lady Columbine’s diary. I don’t doubt ye’d like to see ’em. Right, then, come along wi’ me. I’ve done enough ’ere for awhile, my eyes gets tired easy these days.”