"Little Thear! Where are you?" called Fiver desperately. They'd been following the river downstream for hours, looking in vain for his missing son. But there was no sign of Little Threar anywhere. "Please, answer me!"
"We've got to give it up," said Campion solemnly, "All this racket is going to bring the elil, or those hostile ithel, down on us. Every weasel around here can smell that wound of yours!" He gestured at Alan's still untreated bullet wound, which was oozing out blood. The smell of blood in the air alone was like a dinner bell being sounded. Alan was incredulous.
"I'll be damned if I'm going to leave my own nephew out here!"
"I can't just abandon Little Threar!" cried Fiver. Alan had never seen him look so upset before, not even when Hawkbit had once accused him of being a curse upon their warren because of his visions, "He's my son!"
They continued searching a while longer. Alas, their efforts were fruitless. It was as if Little Threar had completely vanished off the face of the Earth. Finally, exhausted and with heavy hearts, they were forced to give up the search. It seemed Little Threar had drowned and his body washed away by the current. The Watershipers were devastated.
"It's all my fault!" sobbed Fiver, "I should have been behind him! I let my own son drown!"
"If there's anyone who's to blame, Fiver, that's me," said Alan gruffly, wanting to kick himself for what had happened. First Sam and now Little Threar. He dreaded to think how badly Vilthuril, or Hazel for that matter, would take the news. There was going to be trouble for him when they got back home, "I was in charge of this group and he was my goddamn responsibility!"
"Don't lose heart yet, my friends," said Campion, trying to keep their spirits up, "That young bucko is a smart lad; if he made it out, then he'll try and make his way back home. We'll find him yet."
Unfortunately, none of them realised that, rather than being drowned, Little Threar was still alive and kicking, but in big trouble. Vervain had dragged him by the ears all the way back to Crowley's camp. He slammed him down flat onto the ground at Crowley's feet.
"Is this one of the intruders who tried to blow up my camp?" Vervain nodded.
"Good work, Captain Vervain. Right, then..."
Little Threar felt his stomach bottom out as Crowley casually drew his gun, aiming it directly between his eyes, ready to kill him. The cold, calculated look in his hard eyes told Little Threar that this ithe meant nothing less than to murder him in cold blood.
"No... Please... please, no...!"
After that intruder who had tried to blow up the powder magazine had gotten away, killing two of his men in the process, Crowley had ordered every inch of the countryside for several miles in every direction searched. His men had orders to bring the intruders back to him, dead or alive. He was most displeased when they'd returned empty-handed and having totalled one of their jeeps. Well, at least, he could take his anger out on this miserable fleabag of a rabbit, who had been abandoned by his own cowardly comrades.
Vervain jumped. "Wait, you can't kill him yet! We need him to revive the General!"
"They tried to sabotage my camp! That's a capital offence!" growled Crowley, losing patience, "He's got to be made an example of!"
"He isn't the one, Crowley, you idiot!" barked Hirsh, emerging from Dr Guts' tent, holding a bag of ice between his legs and another over his broken nose, "I'm telling you, it was that bloke Dr Johnson! I saw him with my own eyes!"
"Whoever caused all this mayhem tonight is a professional," said Crowley with a frown, "Where would a civilian scientist learn such advanced military tactics?" Hirsh shrugged his shoulders. Obviously, Johnson's file needed a serious revision.
"He's nothing but a fool who likes playing hero!" scoffed Vervain, "The General will make short work of him and his Outsider friends – but only if you let me revive him, to finish the job! I need this runt alive, Crowley!"
Crowley reconsidered. His orders were precise: kill anyone and anything that stood in his way, without exception. Vervain had already told him pretty much everything he needed to know about Dr Johnson and his colony of rabbits; there was no reason whatsoever not to kill this scrawny rabbit in retribution for all the trouble Johnson and his friends had caused them tonight. Finally, he reluctantly lowered his weapon.
"You've got until daybreak to carry out this hocus-pocus plan of yours," he told Vervain, "Afterward, both prisoners are to be properly disposed of." It was only then that Little Threar realised he wasn't alone in his captivity; two of Crowley's men came forward, bringing a bound Silverweed, whom they'd snatched from his warren shortly after Alan's party had departed, inside a net. What in Frith's name did they want with them?
Vervain smiled wickedly at the two prisoners. At last, he had the power to resurrect his master right within his paws! How poetic, he thought, that a lowly, unworthy Outsider and a mad mystic should actually be instrumental in restoring the General to power. And how fitting that he, Vervain, the only Efrafan who stayed loyal, should have the singular honour of carrying out this glorious mission.
"Bring them along!"
Crowley's men dragged Little Threar and Silverweed inside the camp's med tent, where Woundwort's renewed but still unresponsive body lay in state on a field gurney. Dr Guts had hooked up a knotted pasta salad of bio-med sensors to his torso, monitoring his vitals. At first glance, all seemed normal, but his ERG readings remained steadily nil.
On Vervain's instructions, the mercenaries strapped Little Threar down onto a second gurney beside Woundwort with tight nylon straps. Despite his pain, Little Threar could only gaze in horror at the body of the rabbit lying beside him, which he now realized was none other than General Woundwort – the same supposedly dead rabbit they'd buried only a few days ago, now looking inexplicably almost alive, as if he were just sleeping. What kind of Frith-forsaken sorcery was this? What was Vervain playing at?
The mercenaries untangled Silverweed from his net and unceremoniously tossed him onto the floor in front of Vervain. However, several of Crowley's men stood guard all around, loaded guns in hand, making sure neither rabbit tried to escape. The show was all Vervain's now. He towered over Silverweed, giving him a diabolical smile.
"Well, Silverweed, it appears my master is in need of your services once again," he said, gesturing at Woundwort's body, "I want you to wake him up." Noticing Silverweed's reluctance, he narrowed his eyes, "Now."
Silverweed cast one look at Woundwort's body, his supernatural eyes locking with Woundwort's dead ones and gave a violent shudder. His far sight could sense something within the body; something evil and frightening, looking for an escape route. He shrunk back.
"No, I won't do it! I dare not!"
Vervain lost patience. Angrily, he pinned Silverweed down by the neck, using his hind paw to force Silverweed's face into the dirt floor, battering him up. Silverweed cried out in pain.
"Leave him alone, you big bully!" yelled Little Threar, appalled by Vervain's cruel treatment of a fellow rabbit. This was a big mistake. Vervain turned to look at him with sadistic glee, realising just how to coax Silverweed into cooperating. He approached Little Threar.
He knew exactly what to do. He pressed both paws down onto the young rabbit's face, obstructing his mouth and nose. Bound and unable to shake off Vervain, poor Little Threar found himself struggling to breathe. Several of the mercenaries laughed and cheered, enjoying the sport. Silverweed jumped.
"Stop it! You're killing him! Stop it!" But Vervain lazily kept it up, completely unconcerned. Dark spots from brain asphyxia began obscuring Little Threar's vision. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, Vervain turned to Silverweed.
"Now then, Silverweed, will you cooperate or do you need some more persuasion?" he asked coldly.
Silverweed, silently cursing himself and his mystic powers, which, as he'd feared all his life, had once again fallen into the wrong hands, was torn between doing anything to save Little Threar and keeping Vervain from unleashing a calamity upon the world. Unlike the other spectators, he could sense that terrible curse residing within Woundwort, which was of course the immortality virus, waiting to be unleashed. That rabbit had no idea what he was getting himself into by attempting to resurrect the General.
"You don't know what you're doing!" he protested desperately, "This is madness! You're tempting the Black Rabbit of Inle himself...!" But Vervain was determined to get his way, no matter what it took.
"I'm warning you, Silverweed. If you refuse, not only will this Outsider brat be killed horribly, but your friend Fiver will be next!" Vervain threatened him, "We have many ways of getting him and his family, one by one! Not even that filthy ithe Johnson will be able to protect them!"
Silverweed's paws were tied. In the back of his mind, Little Threar's life seemed like a small price to pay compared to what Vervain wanted him to do, but his conscience couldn't just allow him to sit back and watch this young rabbit be slaughtered. Fiver would never forgive him for it.
"May Frith forgive you, Vervain," he said sadly, "You're going to regret this someday..."
"Frith be damned!" spat Vervain without shame for talking blasphemy, "There's no Frith; there's only Woundwort and those who live to serve him and share in his glory! And soon, he will rise to rule again! My revenge against the Outsiders will be complete!"
With Vervain and Crowley's thugs watching his every move, making sure he didn't try any of his tricks, Silverweed prepared to initiate the mind-penetration ritual that would send Little Threar's unique seer mind into Woundwort's dead one, to bring the latter's departed soul back from beyond. He looked sadly at Little Threar, realizing the horrors the young rabbit was about to experience where he was going. There was no telling whether he'd retain his sanity, or even if he'd survive it at all.
"Please forgive me, Little Threar," he muttered sadly, "This is the only way to save your life." Little Threar, also realizing the terrible consequences for his people if Woundwort were to be revived, tried desperately to talk him out of it.
"No, please don't do it, Silverweed!" he cried, "The future of Watership Down is far more important than me! Let them kill me...!" Vervain furiously cuffed him over the head to shut him up.
"Silence, you little runt!" he snarled menacingly. He turned back to Silverweed, yelling, "Get on with it, you mad fool! Right now!"
Little Threar watched helplessly as Silverweed's large eyes started glowing with a supernatural light. As they locked with his, he felt himself being 'pulled' into that gaze, almost as if he were leaving his own body. Crowley's camp, the mercenaries, Vervain, everything around him disappeared and Little Threar found himself plunging deep into the black void of Woundwort's dead mind...
Vervain, Hirsh, Crowley and the mercenaries all watched curiously as Little Threar suddenly went rigid under Silverweed's mystic gaze; both rabbits were frozen in space like statues, locked in each other's gaze, almost as if time had somehow stopped for them.
The freaky sight of Silverweed's glowing eyes made several of the mercenaries nervously tighten their grips on their weapons. At best, they'd expected some charlatan ritual that would yield nothing and this thing, whatever it was, was beginning to look a little too dodgy for their liking. Hirsh, in particular, was slowly backing away, as if sensing something bad that was about to happen.
For a moment, nothing happened; then, suddenly the overhead electric lights began to flicker and brighten by a powerful surge of energy that filled the air. Several bulbs burst in rapid succession; the instrument screens for the biomed sensors attached to Woundwort's body all went haywire, displaying impossible readouts: the EMG readout of his previously inert brain was suddenly off the chart, his heartbeat escalating to that of a motor engine and his respiration was like a pair of factory bellows.
The spectators all jumped back in horror as Woundwort's body began twitching violently. The previously inert body had suddenly erupted into spasms, looking as if it were about to explode. Woundwort roared; a massive, animalistic roar, more powerful than any animal that ever walked the earth, filled with agony, hate and rage...terrible rage.
"Shoot that thing!" roared Hirsh, his eyes wide as saucers, "Shoot that bloody thing now!" But the mercenaries were all paralysed with fear and confusion to react. Losing it, Hirsh drew his gun. Lunging forward, he emptied the magazine into Woundwort, who slumped back down onto the gurney, seemingly lifeless. Beside him, Little Threar and Silverweed also crumpled to the ground unconscious, the ritual complete.
"NO!"
Vervain jumped, screaming like a demented rabbit, as he lunged furiously at Hirsh and tackled him to the ground. But, of course, it was already too late. "You killed my master, you bastard ithe! You've ruined everything! I'll tear you to bits...!" But Dr Guts' voice froze him in his tracks.
"Bloody hell, look at that!"
Darting back to Woundwort's side, Vervain saw, unbelievably, his master was still breathing. In fact, there wasn't so much as a trace of a single bullet wound on him, all of Hirsh's bullets having somehow become wedged onto the metal surface of the gurney underneath the body, but without spilling a drop of Woundwort's blood. But Vervain wasn't concerned about that now. Was his Chief alive or dead? He bent over the General.
"Sire? Can you hear me?"
Suddenly, Woundwort's eyes sprang open – not a red and milk-white dead one, but rather a pair of gleaming, blood-red eyes, like that of a demon vomited out of hell, stared back at Vervain, who gasped, scared stiff. Before he could react, a snarling, monstrous Woundwort leapt from his gurney, springing at Vervain, who shrieked in terror. The mercenaries all jumped, grabbing their weapons. In the fraction of a second, Woundwort had him pinned, looking ready to rip him apart.
"No, General, it's me!" screamed Vervain, too late having second thoughts about what he'd just done. What kind of monster had Silverweed summoned back from the Shadowlands? "Please, spare me!"
Like a rabbit version of Frankenstein's monster come alive, the resurrected Woundwort stared from Vervain to the humans, all now standing in attack formation, their guns trained on him, ready to gun him down. Death seemed only a second away for Vervain, who felt like he'd unlatched the reaper's gate upon himself. But then, a hint of recognition appeared in Woundwort's demonic eyes.
"Captain Vervain..."
General Woundwort, the last direct descendant of the notorious Lord Hemlock, once defeated and killed in battle, had returned from the dead. Like Little Threar had seen in his vision, the Dark One had risen again. The battle for peace was not yet done.
The expedition to Cowslip's warren had returned to Watership Down with heavy hearts for the loss of Little Threar. They'd bid Campion goodbye, thanking him for his help, and made their way to the Honeycomb to tell the rest of their friends what had happened. As Alan had feared, the Watershipers hadn't taken the news well at all.
"You left my son behind?!" screeched Vilthuril furiously, moving to strike Alan, "You miserable, careless, accursed ithe left my boy to drown?! How could you?! How in the name of Frith could you do this? I'll kill you...!" Fiver had to restrain his distraught mate from attacking and possibly mauling his heart-brother. If there was anything more dangerous in this world than the elil, it was provoking the maternal instinct of a mother-doe.
"No, please, Vilthuril, it wasn't Alan's fault! I'm to blame – I let Little Threar come along on that crazy escapade!" Vilthuril, almost hysterical with grief and anger, pulled away from her mate.
"Leave me alone!" she shouted, "How could you, Fiver?! You should have known better than to trust your own son into the care of this...this ithe!" she spat, glaring daggers at Alan. Any fondness she previously had for the human, who had been a close friend of her family for so long, was now entirely forgotten. "His foolishness got my Little Threar killed!" Bursting into tears, she turned and fled from the Honeycomb.
Her words stung poor Alan really bad. Although it was only an outburst born out of grief for her son, the tone of pain, of betrayal in her voice hadn't gone amiss. And Alan wasn't the type to shy away from the truth. He'd been the leader of the expedition; and by losing Little Threar, he'd goofed it up and goofed it up big. Desperately, he turned to Hazel for support, but only met with a disappointed stare.
"I've always counted on you," said the Chief Rabbit of Watership Down coldly, "I specifically said the enemy was not to be approached. You let me down."
"Yes, it's all your damn fault, you idiot!" piped in Hawkbit, who always had the nasty habit of making things worse by shutting his mouth off at anyone's alleged faults, "You killed that young bucko! Murderer!" Several rabbits gasped at that accusation. Bigwig shot Hawkbit a furious look.
Later that afternoon, Alan sat alone in his study, feeling most depressed. This certainly wasn't turning out to be a good day for him at all. Although Hazel obviously couldn't bring himself to punish him, tensions among the Watershipers were high. He and, to a lesser extent, Fiver, would not be winning any popularity contests any time soon.
Although the majority of the rabbits, as well as all his fellow colonists, agreed that it had been an accident beyond Fiver or Alan's control, others, Vilthuril included, still believed he was to blame for allowing Little Threar to go near to the enemy compound in the first place. Blackberry had even suggested on having him banished from Watership Down, causing Derek to furiously step in, angrily reminding him that humans had equal rights here as the rabbits did and reprimanding him for making such a heartless suggestion.
The argument had almost escalated into violence, until Hazel had stepped in, ordering them to control their tempers and suggesting they keep their distance for a while. Derek, feeling snubbed, had packed his things and, accompanied by Sam and Hotdog, had announced he was going out to the Shack for the next few days, to continue work on his new aircraft. At least there, there would be no smart-mouthed Blackberry around to provoke his temper.
Fiver, likewise, was feeling the displeasure of his family, including the rest of his children, for what had happened. Vilthuril still refused to talk to him, overwhelmed with grief for their son, who would never even be getting a proper burial. Walnut, Peanut, Almond and even Forest had backed up their mother, giving their father a pretty wide berth. Only Hazel had stood by his side.
In order to take his mind off his misery, Alan had instead turned back to his original task: to make sense of the cryptic clue they'd gotten from Little Threar's last vision. At least, maybe they could figure out what was the connection. Drake's journal lay open on the desk in front of him, as he flipped through its yellowing pages.
As he'd expected, Darkhaven was indeed mentioned in the journal, which turned out to be Hemlock's original founding warren. It seemed Efrafa wasn't always the heart of his dark domain, as most assumed, but rather an outpost for his waging war against the humans. According to Drake's writings, after Hemlock had been overthrown, his two surviving heirs had argued over who would inherit the title of the 'Dark One' – the future warrior who would rise some day to finish Hemlock's noble work.
The eldest son, Hufsa dreamed of extending Hemlock's kingdom beyond the then known world of the rabbits, while the second, Henthred insisted the war with humans wasn't over yet, because of the legend of the Gift of Prince Rainbow, which had been known to rabbits even back then. Eventually, the two brothers' conflicting visions had driven them apart, each becoming Chief of his own warren: Henthred had inherited Efrafa, which, over many generations became the heart of Woundwort's domain, while Hufsa had inherited Darkhaven, their father's first kingdom. Unfortunately, Drake hadn't lived long enough to determine the location of Darkhaven, or if he had, for some reason, he'd never recorded it. The journal ended abruptly with a postscript:
'He who shall claim all the four Crypts of Civilization I bestowed upon the Four Brothers shall inherit the Earth. Beware of the Dark One, or he shall claim it all forever.'
The page after that was completely blank. There was nothing else written in the journal. Alan tried to piece everything together. Who could this Dark One be? And how was he connected to the threatening mercenaries out there?
Thinking out loud, the only one who seemed to fit the bill was Woundwort himself. But Woundwort was dead and had left behind no heirs, at least none of which they knew about.Could Hemlock have other descendants as well, which they hadn't met yet? Were they behind the disappearance of Woundwort's body? The riddle was so nerve-wracking that Alan slammed the journal down hard onto the desk in frustration.
Several bottles of chemicals that stood in a row on the edge of the desk were sent toppling over, spilling their contents everywhere. One, containing a solution of potassium and magnesium spilled all over the open journal. Muttering a curse at his clumsiness, Alan quickly grabbed a rag and started patting the journal clean, but suddenly stopped, noticing something peculiar.
Some of the solution had fallen onto the blank page at the end of the journal. As it soaked into the paper, groups of letters and numbers were appearing, revealing a hidden message written in some sort of code:
...43 72 79 70 74 73 20 6F 66 20 43 69 76 69 6C 69 7A 61 74 69 6F 6E...
Invisible ink, readable only by chemical reaction, thought Alan in amazement, Drake, you ingenious bastard! After four years, he'd finally found the missing link! Carefully, he poured more drops of the solution across the page, until the whole message came up:
54 68 65 20 43 72 79 70 74 73 20 6F 66 20 43 69 76 69 6C 69 7A 61 74 69 6F 6E 20 63 61 6E 20 62 65 20 66 6F 75 6E 64 20 61 74 20 74 68 65 20 34 20 63 6F 72 6E 65 72 73 20 6F 66 20 74 68 65 20 45 61 72 74 68 2E 20 53 65 65 6B 20 6F 75 74 20 74 68 65 20 43 72 79 70 74 20 6F 66 20 57 65 61 6C 74 68 20 69 6E 20 74 68 65 20 4B 69 6E 67 64 6F 6D 20 6F 66 20 59 65 73 74 65 72 64 61 79 2C 20 74 68 65 20 43 72 79 70 74 20 6F 66 20 4B 6E 6F 77 6C 65 64 67 65 20 69 6E 20 74 68 65 20 4B 69 6E 67 64 6F 6D 20 6F 66 20 54 6F 6D 6F 72 72 6F 77 2C 20 74 68 65 20 43 72 79 70 74 20 6F 66 20 4C 69 66 65 20 69 6E 20 74 68 65 20 46 72 6F 7A 65 6E 20 4C 61 6E 64 20 6F 66 20 74 68 65 20 49 6C 69 70 73 2C 20 61 6E 64 20 74 68 65 20 43 72 79 70 74 20 6F 66 20 53 63 69 65 6E 63 65 20 6F 6E 20 74 68 65 20 42 75 72 6E 69 6E 67 20 57 61 73 74 65 73 20 6F 66 20 74 68 65 20 47 6C 61 6E 62 72 69 6E 73 2E 20 4F 6E 20 74 68 65 20 66 75 6C 6C 20 6D 6F 6F 6E 2C 20 74 68 65 20 66 61 63 65 20 6F 66 20 4B 69 6E 67 20 44 61 72 7A 69 6E 20 77 69 6C 6C 20 70 6F 69 6E 74 20 74 68 65 20 70 61 74 68 2E
At first glance, it seemed like nothing but illegible gobbledygook; but Drake, who'd meant this message to be read by no one other than the right person, had planned it well. Alan gasped, recognising the familiar pattern of the letters and numbers, which he'd seen once before in a secret, posthumous message left behind by his late brother-in-law Miles in his suicidal attempt to expose Red Hand.
"Hexadecimals! Of course!" he exclaimed. Now, all he needed was to find a hexadecimals table. Someone surely had to have one lying around somewhere. Browsing through the lodge's library, he couldn't find anything useful. After all, what use would the colonists have for IT books in this world, where computer technology was practically non-existent? Then, an idea struck him.
Hurrying upstairs, he entered Hotdog's room. His friend was out, helping Derek and Sam over at the Shack. Grabbing Hotdog's laptop, he hurried back down to the study. A former computer hacker, Hotdog kept tons of stuff on his laptop, for just such an emergency. Sure enough, Alan didn't take long to find a Hex chart in his files. Following the chart, he began deciphering Drake's message on paper:
'The Crypts of Civilization can be found at the four corners of the Earth. Seek out the Crypt of Wealth in the Kingdom of Yesterday, the Crypt of Knowledge in the Kingdom of Tomorrow, the Crypt of Life in the Frozen Land of the Ilips, and the Crypt of Science on the Burning Wastes of the Glanbrins. On the full moon, the face of King Darzin will point the path.'
Alan stared perplexed at the message for several minutes. Instead of finding directions in simple English, as he'd hoped, he'd found another riddle. And this probably wouldn't be so easy to solve.
Being technically the world's leading expert on Watership Down, Alan was well familiar with the names and places mentioned in the message. The Kingdom of Yesterday, the Kingdom of Tomorrow, the Ilips, the Glanbrins... All of them were mythical places and creatures from the tales of El-ahrairah from Adams' novel, many of which had later been used to rename many places in the future world, after the rabbits had inherited the Earth.
In all the years he'd been living in the future, he'd never heard of these places actually existing anywhere. The only one who might be able to tell him something more about this was the warren's renowned storyteller: Dandelion! Picking up the note, he hurried out.
On his way to the Honeycomb, he met with a returning scouting patrol consisting of Bigwig, Hawkbit and Strawberry. Bigwig had been sending out search parties all day long, in the hopes that perhaps Little Threar had survived and was trying to make his way home. Alas, there was no sign of him. Alan could hear the rabbits deep in conversation. Pausing behind a tree, he was able to hear what they were saying, making his heart sink.
"...This is hopeless," Strawberry was saying, "There's no way that young bucko could have survived out there for so long."
"We don't know that," insisted Bigwig, "Not until we've found his body."
"I don't know why Hazel-rah doesn't have Alan thrown out," put in Hawkbit, "No less than what that rotter deserves! If you ask me, he deliberately used Little Threar as bait, to save himself...!" At this, Bigwig blew up. Furiously, he rounded on Hawkbit, so they were almost nose to nose.
"If you don't shut that big trap of yours right now, Hawkbit, Frith help me, you'll find pieces of your hide scattered all over the Down!" he barked, "You've served in this Owsla with Alan for hrair seasons and you know that's a bunch of backstabbing hraka!"
"Hazel-rah doesn't think so...!" retorted Hawkbit, glaring at Bigwig, although deep down he felt that maybe he had stepped out of line.
"However disappointed Hazel may be with Alan at the moment, he wouldn't for one minute assume he'd deliberately endanger someone's life!" said Bigwig sternly, "And guess what, Hawkbit? Neither would I! And neither will you, or any of you duffers! Not if you want to remain in my Owsla! Do I make myself clear?" The rabbits solemnly nodded their heads.
"This is a harsh lesson you must never fail to learn," continued Bigwig, "Accidents like this can happen at any time, no matter how experienced an Owsla rabbit you are. You duffers just haven't had the misfortune of seeing one until now. Nonetheless, Alan is still our friend and comrade, and a valuable and experienced member of this Owsla, and you will respect him as such!"
Although somewhat touched by Bigwig's support, Alan figured this wasn't the right moment to intervene. He hurried away, towards the Honeycomb. Dandelion was there all right, chatting with Hazel, Holly and Blackberry. Blackberry frowned as Alan entered.
"Well, speak of the Black Rabbit..."
"What is it, Alan?" asked Hazel. Although polite, his voice lacked his usual warm tone of greeting. But Alan didn't have time to worry about that now.
"I've got something to show you," he said, unfolding the decrypted message, "This was just found in Drake's journal." He read the message out loud for all the rabbits to hear. Unfortunately, their reactions were hardly what he expected.
"Well, what of it?" asked Blackberry coolly, "How does it concern us?"
"I think you ought to listen to this," continued Alan, taking out Robbins' voice recorder, which he'd nicked from the mercenaries' camp. He fast-forwarded the tape to one particular recording that had caught his interest whilst going through it. They all listened to Robbins' voice.
"...Woundwort has finally confided in me his ancestors' mission: to discover the long lost troves of mankind's legacy, rumoured to have been safely hidden away by the last human survivors. That could be the key to total control over this new Earth. Must figure out the secret before he does..."
Alan switched off the recorder, "I guess that pretty much sums it up, doesn't it? That's what those mercenaries have been after all along. They're picking up where Robbins left off."
"And why should we even care?" retorted Blackberry. Alan couldn't believe the rabbit's stubborn, narrow-minded attitude.
"Don't you see, you moron?" he asked incredulously, "If they realize we have the key to the secret, they'll come after us to get it!"
"No, they're coming after us because you were stupid enough to provoke them by going near their stronghold!" retorted Blackberry angrily, "You bloody fool might very well have given us away to the enemy! As if getting Little Threar killed wasn't enough..."
"You don't have to worry about being discovered anymore," scoffed Alan in disgust, "They're coming after us soon or later, to get their prize! And unless we do something, other than just sitting on our tails, we'll be done for!" He turned to Dandelion.
"Dandelion, do you know anything about the Kingdoms of Yesterday and Tomorrow? Or the Lands of the Ilips and the Glanbrins? I need to know everything you do and fast. Can you help me there?"
"Why, certainly, I know all about the tales of..." Dandelion said, but Blackberry, realizing where Alan was going with this, quickly cut him off.
"You be quiet, Dandelion!" he barked, "No, don't you dare say another word! This ithe is a reckless lunatic who's going to get us all killed! I forbid you to put any more crazy ideas into his head!" He turned to Alan.
"You're trying our patience to the limit!" he snapped, "You've gotten one good young rabbit killed and now you want to proceed with this new folly of yours? Why must you tempt fate at every turn? Did you even stop to consider what the consequences might be if these Crypts were ever found? You would be reviving the old human world of death and destruction! And I thought you actually cared about keeping our world safe from human intervention. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but a common, black-hearted ithe!"
Alan lost his temper, "Why, you miserable...!" He balled his fists, ready to thump Blackberry one good right in the mouth, but Holly stopped him.
"That's quite enough, Alan!" he barked, "And not another word from you, Blackberry!" he added, glaring at the rabbit in question. As a senior Owsla officer, one thing he couldn't abide with was a disrespectful display of two members of this warren brawling in the presence of the Chief Rabbit! Alan desperately looked at Hazel for support, but the latter only shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Alan, but there aren't going to be any further expeditions for now," he said firmly, "We're all going to keep a low profile for a while. I'm not risking any more lives."
"But, Hazel, surely you must understand, this is more than just our safety that's at stake here...!"
"That's an order, Alan, and I want no further debate on this matter!" said Hazel, raising his voice. The matter was closed and that was it, "Now, unless there's something else you want to say, I'd appreciate if you'd leave us in peace." Alan shook his head sadly.
"I thought I knew you better, Hazel. I really did." Without another word, he turned and left the Honeycomb in disappointment. Hazel stared after him. Was he really doing the right thing, taking Blackberry's advice?
Alan walked away from the warren in a huff, feeling really pissed off. There he was, trying to make these blithering idiots realize that they could be in even greater danger than they even thought possible and they were just shrugging him off, even Hazel. He was so irritated about it all that he didn't realize for several minutes that someone was calling his name.
"Alan, wait! Please, I want to talk to you." Turning, he saw Clover hurrying over to meet him. Taking a few calming breaths to compose himself, Alan greeted her cheerfully, as cheerfully as he could anyway, given how lousy he felt.
Although he and Clover weren't particularly close, Alan still liked her. She was a good-natured and friendly doe, formerly a hlessi who had run afoul of Cowslip's warren and picked up by the humanoids, until she was rescued by Alan's group and joined the warren on Watership Down.
"Oh, hello," he said, hoping she would just get straight to the point and then leave him alone. He really wasn't in the mood for chatting with anyone at the moment.
"Holly just told me what happened," she said, "I'm sorry they're all being so brash with you. I know how difficult it must be..."
"Never mind, it will pass," said Alan, not in the mood to discuss it, "Is there something you wanted?"
"Actually, yes," said Clover, suddenly sounding concerned, "I need your help, Alan. It's about Sandwort."
"What about him?" asked Alan with a frown, "What's he done this time? Another scuffle?" Clover nodded.
"Yes, this time with the Junior Owsla," said Clover, "They volunteered to help in the search for Little Threar. Pipkin asked whether he'd like to help too, but he brushed them off, saying he couldn't care less for 'a half-sized pygmy of a rabbit'. Silver had to break up the fight between him and Forest."
Alan felt his temper rise. Although he had accepted that Sandwort was a downright ass, who was beyond redemption, this was starting to go a bit too far.
"Has Holly been told about this yet?"
Clover shook her head. "No, I dare not tell him. He's already thinking of disowning Sandwort as it is. He needs help, Alan! He may have made some bad mistakes, but I know he's still a good soul."
"Clover, love, I'm not his father..."
"Holly and the others are only pushing him to destruction," insisted Clover, "Please, Alan! I don't want my own son to go astray! He's not evil!"
Frankly, Alan had no idea how Sandwort could possibly hope to find any sort of redemption if he continued to push everyone away from him. As far as he was concerned, that young bucko was just an arrogant little sod who wasn't worth his time. But, sympathizing for Clover, he finally agreed to give it a try.
"All right, I'll talk to him," he said, "Maybe I can knock some sense into his thick head."
"Thank you, Alan," said Clover gratefully, "I appreciate it." As she turned to leave, she turned to look at him.
"It wasn't your fault what happened to Little Threar. No matter what Blackberry says, we don't hate you. You're still and will always be one of us." Alan smiled gratefully at the small Angora doe.
Elsewhere, Fiver sat alone under a clamp of rocks, pondering on his own miserable thoughts. It was his fault Little Threar had been lost. No matter what everyone kept telling him, that Alan was to blame, he knew better. He had let his own son, his very family, down! And, to make matters worse, Alan was now paying for his mistake. He deserved better than that!
Suddenly, Fiver's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar shiver running down his spine. He shuddered as a new vision of sheer terror filled his mind. A voice, that wasn't his own anymore, spoke in riddles.
"A sacrifice must be made so the Evil One may live again; neither claw nor fang can stop him then. A friend will pay and we will sorrow..."
Pipkin, who happened to be passing by at that moment, found Fiver lying moaning on the ground, looking as if he was having a seizure. Not too far away, in the mercenaries' camp, Little Threar was being carted out of the med tent a mindless, catatonic shell of his former self.
"Are you all right, Fiver?" he asked with concern, "You were twitching and moaning something awful! Was it another vision?" Fiver had to muster every ounce of self-control to pull himself together. He couldn't believe what he had just seen! But, unfortunately, his visions never lied.
"I must see Hazel," he mumbled, "Quickly..."
Author's note: Cliffhanger, eh? Please stay tuned for the next chapter, to find out what happens next. Enjoy and please review!