The Quest of the Warrior Sheep

CHRISTINE & CHRISTOPHER RUSSELL

EGMONT

We bring stories to life

The Quest of the Warrior Sheep
First published in Great Britain 2010
by Egmont UK Limited
239 Kensington High Street
London W8 6SA

Text copyright © Christine and Christopher Russell 2010
Cover illustration copyright © Colin Stimpson 2010

The moral rights of the author and cover illustrator have been asserted

First e-book edition 2011
ISBN 978 17803 1009 1

www.egmont.co.uk

5 7 9 10 8 6 4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.

This book is dedicated to Gwen, June, Rachel and
Margaret, the Island Aunties.

A
ll the sheep were chewing cud when it happened.

Actually, that's not quite true, because Oxo, the enormous Oxford ram, had finished chewing and was butting a fence post that had given him a funny look. Links, the Lincoln Longwool with floppy curls, was composing a rap. Jaycey, the pretty little Jacob, was painting her hooves with mud and sheep-dip. And Wills, the orphaned Welsh Balwen lamb, was wishing he was at football practice.

In fact, of the five Rare Breed Sheep in Ida White's field in Eppingham, only Sal, the Southdown with a wide bottom and thin legs, was really chewing cud. She was sitting digesting yesterday's grass, passing it from one stomach to the next, and thinking about the olden days. Sal was proud to be a sheep, a member of the
great and ancient family Ovis. She worried sometimes that the younger generation, even the four other Rare Breeds with whom she shared her paddock, no longer cared about their glorious heritage.

That had been her thought as she'd stood up to sing verse 167 of her favourite poem, ‘Songs of the Fleece'. Then, quite suddenly, the lights went out. Of course, fields don't have lights as such, but that's what it seemed like. Sal felt a sudden sharp bang on the head and her legs buckled under her. Next, she saw flashing lights and bursting stars. Now, as she opened her eyes, she saw a little shadow. Had there been a different shadow, a bigger, blacker shadow, before the bang on the head? She wasn't sure.

The small shadow was caused by Wills. Wills was short and skinny, so he didn't block out much sunlight.

‘Thank Aries you're alive!' he said, then turned to call the others. ‘Over here, you guys. Sal's been hit.'

Wills' voice sounded faint in Sal's ears.

‘Quickly!' he urged.

The others, who had been ambling across the field,
increased their speed to a gallop. They stood around Sal, wondering what to do. Jaycey noticed a tiny cut on Sal's head.

‘Ohmygrass!' she exclaimed. ‘She's bleeding.' She wobbled on her dainty hooves and fainted.

‘Fat lot of help she is,' grunted Oxo.

Wills turned towards the farmhouse where their owner, Ida White, lived with Tod, her grandson. ‘I'll fetch help,' he said.

But Sal called him back.

‘No,' she groaned. ‘Just dab me with a dock leaf.' She tried again to sit up. ‘What happened?'

‘Something fell out of the sky,' said Wills, ‘and bounced off the top of your head.'

‘I'm glad it didn't fall on
me
,' said Jaycey, recovering from her faint. ‘Blood is soooo unattractive.'

Oxo and Links began looking around, though they didn't have a clue what for.

‘Was it this?' asked Links. His searching nose had bumped into a small, silvery object with stud-like buttons and a square of blue plastic. There were words printed above the square: RAMROM.COM. Most sheep cannot read but Wills could because he
had been brought up in the farmhouse kitchen.

‘Ramrom dot com,' he read aloud.

‘Dot what?' said Oxo. But he wasn't really interested. He was peering at the small golden symbol above the printed words: a picture of a ram's head. Sal peered at it too.

‘It's a mobile phone,' said Wills, amazed.

‘It's a ram!' exclaimed Sal.

‘It's a ram
on
a mobile phone,' said Wills, correctly.

But Sal wasn't listening.

‘A ram with golden horns . . .' she murmured. ‘A ram with down-turned golden horns . . .' She turned to Wills. ‘It fell from the sky, you said?'

Wills nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘And did you see a shadow?' she asked. ‘Before it fell?'

Wills nodded again.

‘Yeah, I saw it too, innit,' exclaimed Links. They had all noticed the loss of sunlight and the enormous dark shadow on the grass.

Sal looked at them gravely.

‘Surely you see what this means?' she said.

Clearly they didn't. Sal struggled to her feet.

‘You can't
all
have forgotten the ancient prophecy,' she cried.

They had.

Ignoring their blank looks and the pain in her head, Sal began to quote from the Songs of the Fleece.

‘Whilst the great Lord Aries lies

In his field above the skies

With the Baaton lying near,

There's nought to fear.'

She paused, then started again, loudly, making Jaycey jump.

‘But one day, Lambad the Bad,

Who is evil, maybe mad,

Will try to steal the Baaton

From our king!'

‘Ohmygrass!' Jaycey's mother had often warned her about Lambad, the evil ram who eats lambs for breakfast.

‘Yes,' said Sal. She fixed them with her yellow-eyed
gaze. ‘I don't have to remind you about the Baaton, do I?' They shook their heads but she did anyway. ‘It has a deeply magic power,' she explained solemnly. ‘A power that can be used for good or for evil. Whoever owns it must decide. And only two sheep
can
own the Baaton: Aries the Good or Lambad the Bad.'

She drew a deep breath and continued reciting.

‘For the Baaton they will fight,

For many a day and night,

Till to the prize they can no longer cling.'

She stood silent for a moment, then took another breath and started again. To her surprise, she heard other voices joining in, mumbling at first but gradually growing louder.

‘Then from a shadow dark and cold,

Will fall the Baaton, it is told.

And the special Rare Breeds few

Will know what they must do.'

The sheep glanced uneasily at one another. Did that mean them? They carried on.

‘For without the Baaton's magic rays,

The Ram of Rams will die in days.

Only
they
can save his life,

And the world from pain and strife.

They must be Warriors, brave and true!

Sheeply Warriors through and through!'

The voices that had joined Sal's trailed away again. The sheep stared down at the small silver object lying in the grass. Links was the first to speak.

‘So like . . .' he asked slowly, ‘are you sayin' this tingy's the silver Baaton of the
real
Golden Horn Dude? Aries, the Sheep Daddy of them all?'

Sal looked at him directly.

‘Yes.'

Links backed away a little. They all did, respectful and suddenly afraid. Even Wills began to wonder. It still looked like a mobile phone. But although he knew a bit about such things and the ways of humans, he knew much less about sheeply prophecy.

‘Brothers and Sisters of the Fleece!' proclaimed Sal. ‘We have been called. Even now, Lord Aries is wandering the earth, getting weaker by the hour. We must find him and return the Baaton! If we fail, the future of sheepdom will be . . . zilch!'

The word zilch was not in the Songs of the Fleece but this was a vital moment. They had to understand.

‘If Lambad lays his hooves on this, he will use its power against all wearers of the fleece. Just for fun, he will torment us with the unscratchable itch and turn our pastures to dust. Then he will give any of us who refuse to obey him to the dogs!'

Jaycey whimpered.

‘So . . .' continued Sal, raising her head, ‘we must find Lord Aries. And until we do, we must defend the Baaton with our lives . . . We must be Warriors, brave and true!'

There was a brief silence. The sheep looked at one another, each thinking that it was cauliflower night tonight. The human boy, Tod, would be bringing a barrow load for them at any moment.

‘Are we sheep or are we sheep!' demanded Sal.