"Has anyone seen Stonecrop?"
On the morning the day after the Watershipers had discovered Sam's shocking identity, the two colonies on Watership Down had woken up to find one of their guests missing. Stonecrop was nowhere to be found and hadn't been seen all night. Everyone had denied any knowledge of his whereabouts, or why he'd taken off like that. Bigwig was furious.
"That stupid young buck is going to get himself killed out there!" he shouted, "Well, he's been a nuisance long enough! Why, I've a good mind to..."
"Be that as it may, Bigwig, he's still one of us," said Hazel firmly. Although he too was furious with Stonecrop for leaving the warren without a word and intended to have a stiff word with the young buck when they found him, he wasn't about to just leave him out there to his fate. A rabbit as inexperienced as Stonecrop wouldn't last three days on his own, "We have to find him. Get your Owsla ready!"
Muttering angrily about how they'd be wasting a morning patrol searching for a disobedient, good-for-nothing pipsqueak, and how he'd enjoy cuffing the living daylights out of Stonecrop when they found him, Bigwig knew he couldn't disobey his Chief and walked away in a huff, to call his Owsla to order.
"Parli, is it really worth it?" scoffed Primrose, "If you ask me, we'd be better off without that pathetic, fat waste of space...!" But Hazel needn't chastise Primrose for her remarks, because Hyzenthlay, who'd overheard her, beat him to it.
"Primrose, how could you say such a thing!" she scolded her daughter. She clearly wasn't pleased at all, "He's a fellow rabbit! You would just leave him out there to die? Your parli and I have taught you better than that!" Primrose was incredulous.
"But, marli, that rabbit's nothing but a disgrace and a nuisance! You know he'll never fit in here; not he and not his ithe stepmother! Why continue troubling ourselves with that miserable outcast?" Although Hyzenthlay was appalled by her daughter's attitude, she still had enough patience to try and reason with her.
"Put yourself in his position for a moment, Primrose," she said, "Suppose you were the one who'd arrived in that past human world from where Stonecrop came from, without friends and without any familiarity with that place. Don't you think you'd be the strange outcast then? Don't you remember your parli's stories of everything he and your Uncle Alan went through? How would you feel then?"
"I would have no business being in such a foul, evil place!" retorted Primrose, "Even Uncle Alan always said we ought to have nothing to do with that past world!"
Over the years, Alan and the five rabbits that'd had the rare privilege of seeing the human world firsthand, including Hazel, would often entertain the youngsters with stories of their adventures. But in spite of all the magical wonders they'd seen, the rabbits in particular, having experienced Man's cruelty (namely Red Hand's attempt on their lives), had always warned them that the human world was no place for them. Even Alan and his fellow colonists, despite being humans, were glad to no longer have any ties with that corrupt, dark world that had once been their home. Hyzenthlay sighed at her daughter's stubbornness.
"Your Uncle Alan is a good soul, Primrose, but I'm afraid he's got his own inner demons to work out," she said, "You're only evil if you choose to be so; and I'm sorry to say that my own daughter seems to be headed in that direction." Primrose gasped, feeling utterly insulted. How could her own mother call her evil?
"What! Marli, how could you?" she shrieked, "Compare your own daughter to the likes of...of Woundwort or some riff-raff Efrafan? How dare you!"
"I'm only telling you this because I love you, Primrose," said Hyzenthlay calmly, "Your and Sandwort's treatment of Stonecrop – don't deny it –, just because he's different from us, is a big mistake. Don't forget, your own people all started out as outcasts from different worlds before we came to Watership Down. If you don't learn to see past your pride and stop being such a selfish brat, someday you might find it's too late." Before Primrose could argue any further, perhaps to point out that she could never have anything in common with the likes of Stonecrop, Hyzenthlay had turned and left her.
For a long while, she just sat there, pondering on what her mother had said. She didn't know whether to be angry with her for suggesting she'd turn out evil, not unlike some rabbits her mother had known as a slave in Efrafa; but, on the other hand, a small part of her couldn't help but wonder, perhaps she was right? Maybe she was being unnecessarily mean to Stonecrop? Her uneasy thoughts were cut short however when, at that moment, Sandwort, looking like he hadn't a care in the world, appeared, on his way to Owsla exercises.
"Good morning, Primrose," he greeted her, reaching out to nuzzle her lovingly, "How are you doing, my beautiful flower?" Primrose giggled at the complement, yet didn't return the nuzzling, instead gracefully pulling away. Sandwort had always admired her since they were kittens, which was slowly blossoming into romance as they neared adulthood. Indeed, the forth cycle of seasons of their births was due this coming summer, after which a young rabbit is henceforth considered of age. Sandwort personally couldn't wait for that day to arrive, mostly because of the privileges that came with it, such as joining Bigwig's Owsla (his lifelong ambition), mutual respect from his elders and of course, mating.
Being the most popular buck around, he'd always had his fair share of doe admirers, but only one of them was the apple of his eye: Primrose. Now that he was finally almost of age, he was determined to have her as his mate someday. After all, he was the best buck in the whole warren and, thus, he deserved only the best doe. He frowned slightly at her refusing his advances.
"Are you all right? What's the matter?"
"Eh...nothing, Sandwort. Nothing at all," she said, not keen on discussing the argument with her mother just yet, preferring to put it out of her mind altogether, "So are you ready for your first Owsla Patrol?"
Today was the annual Junior Owsla's cadet training patrol – a test patrol to determine potential future cadets for the Owsla. And Sandwort for one was determined to get his dream promotion to Owsla Scout for his skills and ability. Normally, Bigwig would be supervising the patrol, to evaluate the cadets, but given that he was currently indisposed, out on patrol with the rest of his Owsla, looking for the missing Stonecrop, Holly would be supervising instead.
"It's my big day today, Primrose," said Sandwort proudly, if not a big arrogantly, "When I return from this Patrol, you will be meeting a senior Owsla Scout; and by next season, you'll be seeing an officer in me. Officer Sandwort of the Watership Owsla!" Although Primrose wasn't the type to boast, she couldn't help but feel most impressed by Sandwort's courage; so much in fact that she couldn't resist wanting to see him out on the field.
Although it wasn't uncommon for does to be in the Junior Owsla, they were strictly barred from the traditionalist Bigwig's Owsla, much to the adventurous Primrose's displeasure. Instead, they were offered positions in the Healer Does' Training Corps, a new branch of the Owsla for does only, founded by Violet and Hyzenthlay. The warren's healer doe was the chief instructor to the young does, who would someday become healer-does for the Owsla troops.
After the Battle of Efrafa, it had soon become apparent how important healing skills could be to the Owsla during war; and Violet, who now nursed her war invalid mate, was an expert healer doe, having advanced her skills with knowledge of human medicine she'd learned from Josie over the years. By forming this group, she hoped to pass on all that valuable knowledge to the next generation, for when they might need it. Her daughter Bluebella was also a member of the Corps. But Primrose, much to Hyzenthlay's disappointment, showed little interest in wanting to be a healer-doe, instead determined to join the Owsla, one way or another.
"Sandwort, can I come with you please?" she pleaded, "You know I can hold my own on a patrol..."
Sandwort felt like this was an act of Frith Himself, a golden chance for him to win the heart of the finest doe in the warren and his Owsla promotion all in one day. Indeed, he had big plans for today's patrol...
Sam sat alone in her room, worried sick about Stonecrop. After waking up to discover him gone, she'd begged with Alan and the others to go out and look for him, but they wouldn't allow her, sternly reminding her that she was forbidden to leave the Down.
She'd tried again and again to reason with them, insisting she had had no idea who her brother really was, but, with only a handful of exceptions, the Watershipers had all given her a cold shoulder, their minds firmly set on the fact that she couldn't be trusted. Toppled with all the restrictions they'd enforced on her, life on Watership Down was beginning to look like life in prison. However, someone still sympathised for her and was determined to do something about it.
Over at the lab, Derek knocked on the door and entered. Alan was in there as usual, busying himself by going through the contents of the old safe they'd dug up from the crash site. They'd finally managed to cut it open that morning and emptied it. To their utmost disappointment, the seams had corroded over the centuries, allowing moisture to leak in, and rotting away most of the safe's contents. Everything was strewn atop a worktable for cleaning and examination: some crumbling, mouldy papers and books, a box of old computer floppy disks and a single ampoule, filled with a strange amber-like liquid. Nothing of particular value. Alan looked up from his desk as Derek entered and frowned.
"Look, Deke, if you've come to pick another argument with me about Sam, the matter is already closed, so you can take it and shove it..." Derek sighed in exasperation; his friend was a good chap, but could be a real prat at times, especially when he was in a bad mood, like now. He and Lucy had had a real nasty row at breakfast that morning, when he'd lost his temper – something he'd never done with his daughter before – because she'd kept insisting that her father was judging Sam too harshly. Afterwards, she'd refused to speak to anyone and stormed out of the house.
"I've only come to ask you, perhaps I could take Sam with me out to the Shack?" he asked, "I'm already well behind on my spring work and I need to get the rest of that junk we salvaged from the plane over to the workshop. I could take her off your hands for a few days."
The Shack was a field workshop Derek had built, where he undertook some of his bigger engineering projects in private. One of his projects, which he'd been working on for some time now, was the construction of a new aircraft, to allow them to explore their new world. Alan consented; although he didn't particularly like his friend being all alone with that woman, at least it would keep her away from Lucy and it would definitely set everyone's mind at ease, so they could sleep at night. At least that would keep the peace around here.
"All right, you may take her along. I'll tell Hazel," he said, "Just make sure you don't let your guard down; and don't forget to radio in every morning and evening to confirm everything's fine. Got it?" Derek nodded and hurried out to tell Sam the good news.
An hour later, the pair of them, their bags packed and loaded on the motortrike, alongside some supplies and a cargo of scavenged aircraft parts in the trailer, were driving along the dirt path on the edge of the cliff overlooking the canyon river. Sam couldn't help but marvel the view of the changed English countryside as Derek drove them along, heading towards a very familiar island in the centre of the river just a few miles away from Watership Down.
As it turned out, Derek's workshop was set up on what had once been Efrafa, the former domain of the late General Woundwort. The island had originally been much larger, with the warren situated on the northern side, now long gone, sunken to the deep from the gigantic explosion that had destroyed Efrafa years earlier. The southern half of the island however still stood and, atop it, Sam could make out what looked like the ruins of some kind of old building, probably something leftover from the 21st century.
Derek stopped the motortrike on the edge of the cliff, close to a rickety-looking suspension bridge that provided the only way across the canyon and onto the island. The motortrike was too large and too heavy to drive across the narrow bridge, so they grabbed their belongings and made their way across on foot.
Sam felt her fear of heights creeping up on her as they made their way across. Beneath them was a long fall down to the misty river flowing along the bottom of the canyon – a deadly fall, which Alan had miraculously survived but General Woundwort hadn't, forever marking the river as his watery grave.
Making their way across onto the island, Derek slid a tall wooden gate shut, barring the entrance to the bridge. With the island now cut off and isolated, they had the freedom to move around without fear from elil. Derek led the way over to the ruins – what, Sam realised, was in fact once Buxton Hall, which centuries earlier had been Dr Drake's laboratory and prior to that, the Red Hand Brotherhood's safehouse. According to Derek, this place had also served as a refuge for Alan's party during their infiltration of Efrafa four years ago.
Although most of the place had collapsed from the same explosions that had destroyed Efrafa, a good portion of the old house had withstood the blast, including much of the ground floor, a few inner walls and a chunk of ceiling that formed a rudimentary roof over the still-standing section. By clearing away the rubble, or else using it to shore up holes and rebuild collapsed walls, Derek had made himself a 'luxury' holiday house, which also served as his private lab and workshop.
"Home, sweet home," said Derek, "After you, Sam." Pushing open the metal double doors that still stood in place on the porch of the ruined house, they entered. The large hallway beyond was missing its domed roof and the entire rear wall was gone, leaving the room open to the elements. Looking around, Sam saw the place was littered with chunks and components of several dismantled aircraft: the stripped-down fuselage of a Twin Otter floatplane, what looked like the instrument panel and seats of a Cessna 172, the jet engine of the crashed DC-10 they'd found at Vleflain, and even the shattered remains of her glider, which had been salvaged from the forest and brought here for safekeeping and reuse.
Sam had heard the story of how the colonists' original aircraft had been wrecked, as a result of Woundwort's savage attack, leaving them with no further means of exploring the future world. So Derek had taken up the seemingly impossible task of building a new one. The wrecked floatplane had been salvaged from the river and dismantled for parts, along with leftover components taken from other aircraft that had come through the warp back in 2012. This had been his pet project for the last four years, whenever of course he wasn't too busy with his more pressing duties back on Watership Down.
Derek led her through a side door, into what had once been the mansion's drawing room – the colonists' old refuge during the invasion of Efrafa, and now the engineer's living quarters and workshop. This was the only room in the old ruins that still had part of the ceiling standing over it and the still-usable fireplace on the far side, offering some shelter.
"This is your luxury holiday house?" asked Sam, raising her eyebrows at the less-than-impressive state of the place.
Most of the room was taken up by battered worktables, strewn untidily with tools, aircraft parts, electronics, as well as several hulks of broken-down machinery, some hundreds of years old, salvaged from the HAB and other places for dismantling and cannibalizing. After all, shiny, new machine parts were a rare commodity in this future world. On a makeshift desk nearby lay a bundle of scattered papers, bearing schematics and mechanical drawings, typical of an engineer's trade. A dirty, unmade camp bed and eating table covered in months-old maggoty leftovers in a corner served as Derek's dingy sleeping quarters. Obviously Derek Shaw knew much more about machines than proper housekeeping skills.
"Welcome to the Renaissance Man's side of town!" he announced proudly, "Make yourself at home."
Although Sam felt this place definitely needed a woman's touch, she couldn't help but feel intrigued by the wonders Derek had done here. It seemed like nothing that could be made by the hand of man was impossible for the dashing Irishman. But this wasn't the time to be admiring engineering marvels. She hadn't come here sightseeing.
"Derek, why are we here?" she asked, "I thought you said you had some better means for us to find Stonecrop..." Derek smiled and led her out a back door – or more precisely a hole in the semi-collapsed wall – and outside onto a flat plain, cleared of trees and other obstacles, with the edge of the cliff at the far end. Standing on the edge of the clearing, under a tarp made from old parachute silk to protect it from the rain, was his latest greatest invention.
Derek pulled the cover away, revealing his latest masterpiece: a finished and fully assembled fixed-wing aeroplane. And not just any plane. By joining together the wings and undamaged left engine from the floatplane and mounting it on a crudely-made, gondola-like fuselage with an extending rear boom fashioned out of fragments of old radio antenna masts, where the floatplane's rudder and elevator panels were also fitted, Derek had put together an aerodynamically-sound hybrid aircraft. The undercarriage and flight control cables and stick from Sam's glider were used for the pilot's controls, while the flight instruments from the Cessna provided basic instrumentation. Sam gasped in amazement.
"You build this all by yourself?"
Derek nodded, "I worked as a model aircraft designer early on in my carrier, before becoming a collage professor," he said, "It was simply a matter of adapting the figures for full scale and improvising here and there. Unfortunately, this is only built for short-range reconnaissance and mapping; to circumnavigate the globe, we're going to need a bigger ship, which I'm currently working on... Anyway, I was going to do her first test-run this spring, so we might as well advance our schedule and use it to look for Stonecrop from the air."
Although Sam could see the brilliance in Derek's plan by using his new plane to speed up the search for Stonecrop, she couldn't help but feel utterly terrified at the thought of flying in a jury-rigged, homemade aircraft, fashioned out of scavenged scrap parts. After her near-fatal glider flight three months ago, she didn't know whether she dared tempt fate again.
"Is it safe?" she asked timidly, picturing in her mind the horrible thought of this rickety contraption breaking up into a thousand pieces in flight, with them in it. Derek, on the other hand, had full faith in his design.
"Just needs refuelling and a few nuts and bolts to be tightened here and there, and maybe a new coat of paint if we had any, but otherwise she's ready to take to the skies right now," he said, "If we work together, we can be up in the air within a couple of hours."
Despite Sam's reservations, the thought of something happening to Stonecrop, currently wandering lost and alone out there, finally won her over. Her chance for a future here was probably ruined; she couldn't lose Stonecrop too. He was the only family she had.
Working together, on Derek's instructions, they prepared the hybrid plane for her maiden flight. Since the colonists had completely used up the plane's fuel reserves over the years, they'd need to make more from scratch. That was why Derek had brought along several gallons of foul-smelling suet collected from Josie's kitchen. By boiling the fat down into oil, filtering out any impurities and then purifying it with a mixture of methanol and lye, he could make cheap biodiesel for his plane, which, to their good fortune, just happened to run on a diesel-powered engine.
With Sam watching the fire and stirring the boiling biodiesel in an old bathtub, Derek did a full inspection of the plane, adding the final touches and tightening the last few nuts and bolts into place. In another hour, they'd have a brand new plane up in the air...or else be mincemeat splattered all over the ground when it crashed.
Back on Watership Down, the Owsla cadets consisting of Speedwell and Buckthorn Jr, Acorn, Pimpernel, Foxglove, Frogbit, Sparrow, Forest and Sandwort were gathered for briefing on their test patrol. Some of the younger bucks, including Little Threar and even Lucy, whose father wouldn't allow her to join the Owsla before she was 16, would have to wait another cycle of seasons to join up. Although not usually overprotective, Alan knew that being in the Owsla meant a thin line between life and death and his daughter wasn't ready for that yet.
Holly called the cadets to order, "Welcome to the Owsla training program. This is an important day for all of you; today, you're taking your first great step in your new lives as adult bucks. This course will determine your worth as rabbits; it'll test your courage, your strength and your ability to defend your warren, your Chief and your families from enemies. As an Owsla officer, it is my job to make sure none of you prove yourselves weak; because you'll find neither size, nor strength are a measure of courage. True courage is always found within your heart, in your moment of need. That's what makes a rabbit a true member of Owsla..."
The cadets were listening, impressed by Holly's speech, all except Sandwort, who was trying hard not to yawn, impatient to get this show on the road. Catching his father's warning glare, he forced himself to look sharp. Nearby, Violet was addressing the members of the Healer Does' Training Corps.
"...As healer-does, your duty is to aid and offer comfort to those who've fallen to the enemy's claws and teeth, on their path to recovery and ultimate victory," she was saying, "Likewise, you'll be expected to treat the wounds of any enemy placed in your care..."
"But shouldn't an enemy rightfully be left to suffer?" asked Melsa, one of Sandwort's sisters, "I mean, isn't he's your enemy, a threat to your people...?"
"An enemy might not always be your enemy, dear," said Violet patiently, "The rabbits of Vleflain started out as our worst enemies, but after the war, rather than kill them or enslave them as Woundwort would have done us, we offered them shelter and help them rebuild. That's why today they're our friends and allies." Several of the young does exchanged expressions of amazement.
The Owsla cadets were all briefed on the details of their Patrol, which would take them first to Efrafa, from where they would divert towards a place called the Comical Field – a tricky stretch of landscape riddled with deep ravines caused by the Apocalypse quakes, like a giant maze, which they'd have to navigate across, and then make it back to Watership Down. Holly would be waiting for them on the far side, to give his evaluation.
Needless to say, this patrol would involve challenging tests of skill, not to mention dangers, and the best part of it was that the cadets would have to do it alone. Although it seemed a little extreme sending out rookie cadets on a long-range patrol without a senior Owsla escort, the ability to act independently and as a team was a key skill amongst Owsla veterans. The cadets needed to learn to depend on no one other than each other, before they could be called soldiers.
"You know your assignments; you have until nee-Frith to fulfil your mission. Go!"
And with that, the Owsla cadets set off on their first patrol. Several tearful mothers called to them, wishing them luck and praying to Frith to watch over them. Hyzenthlay was among the does too; although she had no sons of her own, instead being blessed with an all-doe litter, being her people's matriarch, she regarded all the youngsters as family. How she wished their daughters could also be among them, proving their worth in more ways than just dedicated and caring does. Primrose, despite her arrogance, was right; does deserved nothing less that to be accepted as the equals of bucks, and some day, she promised herself, they'd make that happen.
As she turned to look at her daughter, she realised Primrose was gone, having slipped away it seemed. Where was she...?
In his lab, Alan had finished cleaning the contents of the safe best he could and was busy examining them. Most of the papers had long since rotted away from mould, leaving only a few fragments that were partially legible. Most of the print had faded away over the years, but examining one of the larger pieces under a magnifying glass, Alan saw something that caught his eye: the familiar seal of a swastika with an eagle perched on top.
Placing the piece of mouldy document into a glass bath and treating it with a few chemicals to enhance the faded print, he managed to clear up some of the German text. Running the few words he could make out through an e-dictionary on his computer, he realised it was part of a sealed order issued by the Kriegsmarine. He could also make out the words 'top secret' stamped in red and a date from sometime back in 1945. But the rest of the document was too badly damaged to make out any of its contents. Another fragment was likewise interesting as it bore the signature of a Dr Martin Heinz – a Nazi medical scientist and one of the lead virologists of the Third Reich, who had fled into hiding, but had later been apprehended and hanged for war crimes in 1958. But with none of the documents legible anymore, it was impossible to know what he'd been doing with the Kriegsmarine in the final months of the war. The only word he could make out was 'Unsterblichkeit', which was German was 'immortality', and which made no sense whatsoever.
The box of floppy disks didn't tell him much either; all he could make out was the logo of a certain Virusine Ltd, printed on their faded labels. Virusine...Virusine... Now where have I heard that name before...? Turning back to his computer, he looked it up. Online searching was of course long obsolete, since the Internet hadn't survived in this future world, but that didn't hinder the colonists, who always had alternatives up their sleeves.
One of the things Hotdog, the colony's computer geek, had brought with him from the 21st century was an archive file containing a full backup of Wikipedia, which could be accessed directly from the hard disk. All of the colonists had a copy of this on their laptops. As it turned out, there was a Wikipedia entry on this Virusine, a former military contractor for the British Armed Forces, specializing in bio-weaponry research. Originally a private enterprise, the company had filed for bankruptcy in 2010, after a fire had destroyed the facility and the mysterious disappearance of its CEO and chief scientist, Dr Clint Van Owen and all of his research.
Dr Clint Van Owen? But wasn't that the one who...? Suddenly, Alan remembered; yes, he did know that name! Clint Van Owen had been his brother Royce's close friend, whom he'd briefly met at the latter's funeral years ago. Could these old floppy disks be the man's missing research finally found? But what the hell was it doing lying buried in an old safe, alongside a pile of mouldy World War II-era Kriegsmarine documents, out in the middle of nowhere? An intriguing mystery, to say the least.
Baffled, he turned to examine the last artefact from the safe: the ampoule of amber liquid. There was no label and the shape of the ampoule was pretty common, used in any number of different drugs and chemicals. Then, Alan noticed a small engraving on the glass: I.S.V. But, running it through his computer, he found no formula or drug that matched. The only way to find out what this stuff was would be to open the ampoule.
Putting on an old bio-mask he'd taken from the HAB's medical bay, in case the stuff was something contagious, and keeping a bottle of spirits and matches handy, in case he had to burn it before it became airborne, he cracked the ampoule open. Using an eyedropper, he prepared several slides. He placed the first one under the microscope.
What the hell is this...?
The Owsla cadets' patrol was doing well so far. They'd left Watership Down and followed the canyon downstream as instructed, heading towards Efrafa, from where they'd be diverting theth from their original freth course. Although the lagomorphs didn't use compasses, they could navigate by the sun and stars – a human skill, which Alan had taught Bigwig's Owsla and the Junior Owsla, greatly improving their navigational skills. So far, their only concern was an unexpected last-minute addition to their group.
Primrose had caught up with them just beyond the boundaries of Watership Down, just as Sandwort had instructed her to, begging them to let her tag along. Despite the majority's disapproval of taking a doe along on such a dangerous patrol, Sandwort had stepped in and calmly assured them that he'd make Primrose his personal responsibility and that she was more than capable of handling herself out there.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Sandwort," said Speedwell Jr disapprovingly, "You do realise if something happens to Primrose, you'll be the one who'll have to answer for it to Hazel-rah. The rest of us are taking no responsibility." Sandwort shot him a dirty look, telling him to go mind his own damn business.
He could count on nobody blabbing about this; they may be Owsla cadets now, bound by strict Owsla regulations, but they were still childhood friends, bound by their code of mutual trust for one another. Out here, away from the eagle eyes of a senior Owsla officer to enforce authority, their own rules of the game prevailed. They continued on their way.
Sighting Efrafa up ahead, Buckthorn Jr called a halt. They'd reached their diverting point; from here, they'd make their way eastward, towards the Comical Field, making sure to avoid the Great Marsh further downriver. The Great Marsh was another part of the great Meadows of Fenlo, a vast marshland situated just south of Efrafa, where the delta of the canyon river spilled out. And like Lord Brock's Wood, the Great Marsh was another forbidden area, filled with dangers, and not just elil. Sandwort, Primrose noticed, was staring in the direction of the Marsh, thinking, scheming...
Making their way eastward, they soon reached the edge of a valley, where the Comical Field was. A vast network of deep clefts torn into the ground from the splitting earth long ago, many several feet deep, snaked across the landscape in all directions, creating a natural-occurring maze. The escarpments on either side of the clefts were steep and rocky, completely impossible to climb by either human or rabbit, creating a strong sense of entrapment, not to mention fear by what might lurking around in that place. The Owsla had sure picked the ideal challenge for its cadets.
The only one not impressed was Sandwort. This was but a dumb obstacle course, as far as he was concerned, which any member of the Junior Owsla could easily take on. He might have known. Well, he wasn't about to take anymore of this hraka. He had a plan.
As per standard Owsla procedure when navigating unfamiliar ground, which they'd been trained for, the cadets divided into groups of fours, each of which would take a different route across the Comical Field. That would allow them to cover more ground in less time, as well as minimise the risk of attracting elil out here in the open if they stuck together as one large group.
Sandwort, the designated leader of his group, included Primrose, his brother Acorn and Fiver's eldest son Forest to his party. But once the other groups were out of sight, he turned and led his group back the way they'd come. They set off, following the river downstream. Although Primrose didn't seem to mind this unexpected detour, Forest and Acorn were puzzled.
"Where are we going, Sandwort?" asked Forest, "We should be following the others..." Sandwort turned to look at him as if he were the dumbest rabbit in the world.
"Do you really think I'd go along with that bullying oaf Bigwig and that crackpot Holly's stupid test patrol?" he scoffed, "They insist on making Owsla rabbits out of us and yet they give us the easiest thing they can throw our way, just to keep us safe. The Comical Field challenge? Ha! No, we're taking on the Great Marsh, lads! While those idiots waste their time getting lost in those clefts, we're going to rely on our courage and take the shorter, dangerous route. Bigwig will never know." But neither Forest nor Acorn was pleased with this plan.
"That would mean deceiving our own future comrades, Sandwort!" said Forest reproachfully, "Besides, you know the Great Marsh is dangerous. We could all meet the Black Rabbit venturing in there...!" Sandwort felt his anger rise at being chastised.
"Only pathetic cowards avoid danger," he spat, "What, you think life is fair and will keep you safe forever, if you keep your noses out of danger at every turn? Well, I'll be snared if I join the Owsla without proving I know no fear!" Beside him, Primrose felt like swooning at his apparent fearlessness.
"You're barking mad!" gasped Acorn. His eldest brother was often an arrogant prat, but this was too much. "Please, brother, don't you understand? You're being blinded by your own pride and it's driving you to destruction! Parli will kill you when he hears...!" Sandwort glared at his brother. He'd never gotten on well with any of his more down-to-earth, obedient siblings, or his father for that matter, and now that he was about to cover himself with glory, he wasn't about to let anyone spoil it for him.
"Parli is a fool and a loser!" he sneered, "He was no good as Captain of Owsla at Sandleford and he's no better now. Fine, you two pathetic miscreants can go hide under your marlin, for all I care! But if you breathe a word about this to anybody, Frith help me, I'll tear your ears off!"
Acorn, furious at being insulted like this, seemed about to strike Sandwort, but Forest stopped him. Like his father, he knew how to control his temper at moments like this. And this wasn't something worth fighting over.
"We're going now, Sandwort," said Forest sadly, "If you want to go ahead with this madness, you're on your own." He turned to Primrose, "Primrose, as your cousin, I beg you, come back with us, before this raving lunatic sends you to meet the Black Rabbit of Inle..."
Before Primrose had a chance to answer him however, Sandwort interrupted again, "You keep her out of this, if you know what's good for you! She's my future doe and you have no further business with her, you hear? Now, get out of here, both of you stinking cowards!"
As the two bucks turned and walked away, Primrose turned to Sandwort, her cousin's words not having gone amiss, "Are you sure we should do this, Sandwort? Maybe we're only asking for trouble...?"
"You can expect no trouble, as long as you're with me, Primrose," he said, puffing up his chest proudly, "I dare any elil to try and mess with me and I'll teach it a lesson in fear!"
Back on Watership Down, Bigwig and his Owsla had finally returned from a long and thoroughly exhausting patrol, having combed every inch of the surrounding countryside for Stonecrop, but without success.
"Any sign of him?" asked Hazel. Bigwig shook his head.
"No, we've looked all over. He must have wandered off too far and gotten lost out there. If something's happened to him, we'll never find him..." At that moment, Hyzenthlay came running, looking extremely worried.
"Hazel, Primrose's gone!" she cried, "I've looked everywhere; she isn't on the Down. And it looks like Pipkin and Lucy are gone too..." The rabbits all looked at each other in alarm. The answer was plainly obvious: they'd snuck off, against their parents' orders, following the Owsla cadets' Patrol! Or Primrose was at least...
Following the map she'd nicked from her father's study that morning, Lucy and Pipkin were making her way south along the canyon river, using it as a pointer towards the Great Marsh. But, unlike Primrose and Sandwort, currently on their way there too on a reckless adventure, Lucy and Pipkin had totally different plans in mind.
After that nasty row with her father this morning, Lucy had realised the only way to help Sam would be to find solid proof of her innocence. Since she didn't believe Sam meant trouble – she of all people would know in a heartbeat whether she had anything in common with Robbins, having been held prisoner by that psychotic for over a year –, she was determined to prove it. And the only way to accomplish this would be to find Drake's lost letter she claimed she'd been carrying, to prove her story.
At first glance, this seemed like an almost impossible task; a letter blown out of a disintegrating glider at altitude could travel for miles in the wind and could be anywhere. But once an idea got into Lucy Johnson's head, she wouldn't be swayed otherwise. Sheer stubborn she was, that girl, just like her father. And, like him, she had brains. So, with some persuasion enlisting the help of Pipkin, who also shared her belief about Sam, the two step-siblings had worked out a plan together.
The most difficult part was figuring out where the letter could have landed on the ground. They only had a few hazy reference points to work with: the colonists had noted down Sam glider's crash site on the map, along with the spot where they'd found Stonecrop's parachute. By comparing these two locations against the direction the wind had been blowing that night, Lucy had figured the letter would have ended up somewhere around here, in the Great Marsh.
There was no point in asking for permission to go; her dad would never have allowed her, or Pipkin, to come out here. Although both were well aware of the danger they was putting themselves in, they knew Bigwig's old Owsla motto: "Who dares, wins." Nothing ventured, nothing gained, they'd reasoned.
Of course, Lucy wasn't crazy enough to go on such an adventure without taking a few precautions first. With Pipkin watching for elil, she kept her trusty crossbow handy and loaded, alongside her compass, some signal flares, a radio she'd managed to nick from the equipment cabinet back at the lodge, its batteries fully charged, and a machete. Remembering her training, at the first sign of trouble, she'd signal for help and they'd pull out. As long as they kept their wits about them and didn't take any unnecessary risks, she figured they'd be all right.
They'd already come a long way from Watership Down. Up ahead was the delta of the canyon river and beyond that a vast marshland that stretched out to the horizon for miles; although the edge was permanently flooded by river water from the delta, it grew shallower further out on the marsh, eventually becoming a mire, filled with dangerous quicksand. Concealed by layers and layers of peat from accumulating dead plants flushed out by the river, the soft ground beneath was a death trap, Lucy knew, ready to swallow up anyone and anything that took a wrong step. This was the infamous Great Marsh.
Wading their way through waist-deep water, Lucy using the machete to cut their way through the thick rushes and reeds, she made her way up to higher, drier ground. Here, the ground was nice, flat mire, with a blanket of soft peat and tall brown grass that grew in this place. The earth beneath her bare feet felt soft and muddy, seemingly safe to walk on, but Lucy wasn't deceived that easily. One wrong step out here and she or Pipkin could find themselves sinking to an unmarked grave in the quicksand.
Picking up a long stick she'd found floating in the water to use to feel the ground in front of her, she led the way along, moving in a zigzag pattern, the pair of them searching for a needle in a haystack...
Meanwhile, Sandwort and Primrose had also reached the Great Marsh and were making their way through the reeds, trying to find their way across. With Sandwort in the lead and with a fretting Primrose sticking as close to him as she could for protection, they two of them slowly made their way along.
Oblivious to the danger surrounding them, Sandwort was in a class of his own; now he was the one in charge and in the company of the doe of his dreams nonetheless. Today, he felt as tall as Frith Himself. Primrose, on the other hand, was beginning to feel real frightened by the marsh. The eerie quietness of the place spooked her silly and Frith knew what dangers could be lurking in here.
"I'm scared, Sandwort," she was whimpering. This adventure was beginning to look a bit too dangerous for her liking, "We're completely exposed out here; any elil could ambush us at any moment. Please, let's go back..."
"You have nothing to fear, Primrose," said Sandwort confidently, "You're with me now." Unfortunately, in his pathetic attempts to charm her, he had completely forgotten to stay downwind, as to pick up the scent of any approaching elil. Neither of them realised that, thanks to Sandwort's carelessness, they were being stalked at that very moment...
"Oh, you're so brave, Sandwort," purred Primrose. Noticing how he'd managed to charm her, Sandwort couldn't resist putting forward the question most young bucks would shy away from.
"Primrose, would you do me the honour of becoming my mate?"
Although taken completely aback at being asked such a bold question, Primrose didn't know what to say. Although, yes, she'd always held Sandwort in high regard, more like a young doe's crush than anything, she wasn't so sure whether she wanted him as her mate.
"I...I don't know, Sandwort," she muttered shyly, pulling away from him, "I think you'd need my parli's approval first..."
"Oh, come on, Primrose," persisted Sandwort, advancing on her again, "You know it was meant by Frith for us to be together someday," he said without thinking, "I'll always be there to protect you from anything, whether it is elil or some loser rabbit daring making eyes at you..."
"What...what did you just say?" gasped Primrose, realising what Sandwort had just said. Her tone was suddenly serious. Did this mean he knew something more about Stonecrop running off than what he let on? What had he done to him? Sandwort seemed to realise his blunder and desperately tried to explain himself.
"I only drove him out as a favour to you, Primrose," he said, "You always said how that pathetic lump of hraka was causing you and your parents such embarrassment. I took the liberty of actually doing something about it – and I'll do the same with that traitorous ithe-marli of his when the time comes, you watch..."
Primrose was utterly horrified and disgusted; and even more so because, she now realised, she was as much to blame for this as Sandwort was. True, she distasted Stonecrop for being such a vain and useless rabbit, but she'd never wish to drive him out like this, leaving him at the mercy of the elil. Why, that would make it nothing short of murder! Suddenly, the awful realisation of what they had done – what she had done – seemed to strike her back in the face like a slap. Sandwort, however, remained completely unrepentant.
"You needn't worry about it," he said coldly, "The elil have surely made short work of him by now. Saves us the trouble. Nobody will ever know..." Primrose suddenly felt like she was staring back at a monster. But she never got the chance to express it verbally however, because at that moment a menacing growl caught them both off-guard.
The pair turned to find themselves staring face-to-face with a gigantic stoat that had emerged from the reeds. Thanks to Sandwort not keeping his attention on the patrol as he should have, the ever-vigilant elil had caught them unawares. At the sight of that monster barring its sharp, drooling teeth at them, hungry for rabbit meat, Sandwort froze in terror. His alleged infinite courage had suddenly deserted him; now he was but a scared Junior Owsla buck, finding himself in a situation way over his head. Primrose screamed.
"Scatter!"
The two rabbits split up, running for their lives. That move ironically bought them a few precious seconds; the stoat hesitated for an instant, seemingly deciding which rabbit was worth going after, before chasing after Primrose.
Primrose ran as fast as her paws would carry her. Fear gripped her, realising too late how foolish it had been coming out here. She could hear the hungry stoat quickly gaining in on her. Looking up ahead, she saw the woods on the edge of the marsh, giving her a tiny ray of hope. If she could just make it into those trees, she could find someplace to hide... But, in her fear, she'd forgotten the marsh was a death trap to walk on.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her paws gave way; in the blink of an eye, she sank through the peat, leaving her submerged up to her forepaws in a blackish, watery mud. And not just any mud – quicksand!
"Help me! Sandwort, help!"
She struggled desperately to pull herself out, but the suction on her hind legs was too great, as the quicksand slowly pulled her under. Within seconds it was up to her shoulders and rising fast. Looking frantically behind her, she saw the stoat, having sensed the danger ahead, had barely managed to stop itself, missing the quicksand. With its intended prey now trapped and helpless, it began to advance on Primrose, who shut her eyes in terror; but then, feeling its paws start to sink into the quicksand, it backed away and disappeared into the foliage. There was more easy prey still out there.
Primrose continued to struggle frantically, but it didn't do any good. With every move, she only continued to sink deeper and deeper into the black bog. At that moment, her heart soared with relief as Sandwort appeared. Thinking he'd given the stoat the slip, he'd doubled back for her.
"Hold on, Primrose! I'll get you out!" he called, but for the first time in his life, Primrose noticed, he was scared, trembling with fear, like he'd just seen the Black Rabbit of Inle. All his previous boasting of infinite courage was clearly nothing but hot air. Sure enough, noticing the quicksand, he backed away, afraid of sinking into the bog as well, leaving Primrose just out of reach.
"Sandwort, please, you've got to help me!" Primrose cried out to him for help, tears of fear and anguish rolling down her face, "I'm sinking, please!" But before Sandwort could muster the courage to reach out to her, the growls of the stoat made him jump. The eli was still lurking nearby – he could smell its scent in the wind and it most certainly could smell his – and was quickly gaining in on him. He looked desperately from the trapped Primrose to the safety of the trees in the distance. Primrose noticed this and began to panic.
"Sandwort, please don't leave me! Please, I don't want to die! Wait, no!"
People say that in moments of sheer panic, even the bravest of souls might place their own lives above that of someone in danger; and Sandwort was no exception to that rule. Right now, fear and confusion spelled out only one thing in his mind: run for survival. And that's what he did. Abandoning Primrose, he turned and run, disappearing into the foliage.
"No, Sandwort, please!" cried Primrose, unable to believe he was leaving her to her fate, "Please, for Frith's sake, come back! Don't leave me!" But Sandwort was already gone.
"Frith, help me..."
The mud was up to her face now, giving her only seconds to live. In another minute, she'd be completely buried and the mud would pour into her mouth and drown her. Giving herself up for lost, she tearfully gazed skyward at Frith. Why would He do this to her? Why have the Black Rabbit take her, a young and healthy doe with a future still ahead of her, in the prime of life? She pitied her parents, who would be devastated when they found out what had happened to her – if they ever found her at all. She cursed Sandwort, as well as her own stupidity.
With her last breath, she turned to look in the direction of Watership Down, a long way away and out of sight, for the last time. Then, the black muck covered her eyes, swallowing her up forever.
But then, suddenly, in the darkness, someone grabbed her by the ears...
Author's note: Sorry for cutting the chapter short at the climax, but it was getting too long. Also, an interesting surprise awaits you all in the next chapter. Enjoy and please review!