High Rhulain

5

Tiria was up with the dawn the next morning with a sense of unfulfilled purpose that she could not name. Dressing hastily, she hurried downstairs. Her normally healthy appetite usually took her to the kitchens; instead, she avoided them and went straight outdoors. It was a fresh summer morn, the grass underpaw heavy with dew. Lawn borders were patches of pastel colours, with daisy, milkwort, rockrose and pasque flower in profusion. She paused at the northwest Abbey gable, catching the sweet chirrup of ascending larksong from the flatlands beyond the west ramparts. The sound blended melodiously with the cooing of woodpigeon from the woodland on the far side of the east wall.

The poignant moment was broken by the interruption of two gruff voices singing raucously. Tiria knew it was her father and Brink, coming up from the Abbey pond after their night fishing. She also realized that a meeting with the jolly pair would result in being questioned. What was she doing outdoors so early, couldn’t she sleep, had she eaten a good breakfast yet? Avoiding the tiresome interview, the ottermaid stepped behind a protruding buttress and waited for them to go indoors. However, the happy pair were in no hurry.

Carrying a splendid grayling between them in a net, Brink and Banjon sang away lustily.

“O I knew a worm who turned to his tail,

an’ this is wot he said,

I wish that you’d stop followin’ me,

as though we both were wed.

Said the tail to the head stop pullin’ me,

’cos I’ve no wish to go,

besides, I think yore really a tail,

an’ I’m the head you know!

This caused the worm some great concern,

he said, I’m sure yore wrong,

an’ they both began to bicker about,

to whom did the stomach belong?

Both tempers did boil, while disputin’ a coil,

they fell into an awful fight,

they wriggled an’ squirmed an’ waggled an’ turned,

for worms as ye know can’t bite.

Then a big blackbird, who’d heard every word,

came flutterin’ out of a tree,

I’ll oblige ye both, the blackbird quoth,

an’ he ate them both for tea.

So that was that, he settled their spat,

an’ I’ll bid ye all good day,

for it’s head to tails when reasonin’ fails,

a worm should crawl away!”

They finished the song, but Tiria had to wait whilst they performed a little jig on the Abbey steps, shaking paws and patting each other’s backs triumphantly. The slam of the Abbey door told the ottermaid that they had gone inside. She came out of hiding and continued her rambling walk.

With no real purpose, Tiria made her way up the wallsteps to the northwest corner of the ramparts, where she stood staring out over the flatlands. Across these plains, she had been told, were hills, mountains and the shores which bordered the Western Sea. Like many Redwallers, she had never traversed that far, but being an otter, Tiria knew that someday she would. Oblivious to the sounds of Abbeydwellers commencing their day’s activities behind her, she remained, caught in a reverie of unknown problems.

At first, she did not notice that the dark shape was coming toward her. Only when it got closer did Tiria see that it was a bird—a large barnacle goose, much bulkier than an osprey. She wondered why it was flying so low, and alone, too. Geese usually flew very high in a V-shaped gaggle known as a skein. It soared straight in over the battlements, landing on Tiria in an ungainly heap.

Fortunately, the ottermaid was no weakling. Holding on to the bird, Tiria was able to stop them both from toppling off the walkway to the lawns below. Once its progress was arrested, the goose scrambled free of her and crouched back into the lee of the wall. It was a striking creature. Greyish black with white underfeathers, it had a quaintly comical face which looked rather friendly.

Tiria straightened up, but all she could think of to say was “Er, good morning!”

The barnacle goose nodded affably. “I am bidding you a good morning also. I am thinking that this is the place of Red Walls. I am of the Skyfurrows. Some of them have been here before, though not for many seasons. Here is where you have healers, I am told?”

Tiria noticed a tattered mass of mud and leaves sticking to the newcomer’s neck. “Healers? Oh yes, we have a healer at our Abbey. Has your neck been injured?”

The goose bent his beak toward the remnants of the makeshift dressing. “It is injured by an arrow I am. The Shellhound said that help I must seek. Arrow wounds can go bad, trouble that would mean for Brantalis.”

Tiria suddenly forgot her own vague problems. “Brantalis, is that your name? Mine’s Tiria, I’m a Redwaller. You stay right there, Brantalis, we’ll get you to a healer quickly.”

Brantalis clacked his beak. “Wait here I will!”

Hillyah and Oreal, the harvest mice, were emerging from the gatehouse with their twin babes. Tiria called to them from the walltop. “There’s an injured goose up here that needs help. You’d best get a stretcher and some bearers, it’s quite a large bird. Would you hurry, please?”

Oreal was a creature who could become easily flustered. Hopping from one paw to the other, he called out to his wife, “My dear, it’s an injured goose, whatever shall we do?”

His wife, a sensible type, took charge promptly. “Don’t get upset, dear. Stay here with Irgle and Ralg, I’ll soon get help!”

The harvest mousewife sped off toward the Abbey, with her pinafore hitched high. Irgle and Ralg slipped by their father. The mousebabes scuttled up the wallsteps. Eager to see the visitor, they both squealed excitedly, “A hinjagoose! A hinjagoose!”

Oreal stood undecided for a moment, then chased after them. “Come back, sugarplums, come back! Be careful, it might be dangerous!”

Tiria fended the little twins off, blocking their path as they leaped up and down, shouting, “Us wanna see the hinjagoose!”

Oreal caught them by their tails. “It’s not a hinjagoose, it’s an injured goose. Come away now, you naughty sugarplums!”

Irgle struggled in his father’s grasp. “I norra shuggaplump, I a h’infant Dibbun. Lemme see the hinjagoose!”

Tiria soon diverted their attention with the mention of food. “You can see the injured goose later on. There’s raspberry jelly and strawberry fizz for breakfast. If I were you, I’d go and get some before the others eat it all up!”

Within a moment, Oreal was being towed across the lawn by his whooping babes. “Rabbsee jelly anna straw’bee fizz, quick quick, ’urry up Daddy afore it be gone!”

Brantalis gave a honking laugh. “Small ones are always hungry for the good food I am thinking.”

Tiria nodded. “Aye, though they’ll be disappointed when they find I lied to them. It’ll be the same breakfast as usual. Got them out of the way though, didn’t it?”

Foremole came trundling up with a crew of six moles, carrying a stretcher between them. He tugged his snout politely to Tiria. “Beggen ee pardun, miz, bee’s this yurr ee gurt burd us’n’s must carry to ee h’Abbey?”

Brantalis rose hastily and began descending the wallsteps in a series of wobbling hops. “I will not be carried by these strange mice, dropping me they would be. By myself I will walk!”

Tiria restrained herself from laughing at the comical aspect of Brantalis and the indignant look on Foremole Grudd’s face. She apologised to the mole leader. “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems Brantalis appears able to get himself across to the Abbey.”

Signalling dismissal to his crew, Grudd marched off with his snout in the air. “Boi okey, oi’m not a botherin’ abowt ee h’ungrateful gurt bag o’ feathers. Gudd day to ee, marm!”

Still stifling her mirth, Tiria bowed deeply to Grudd. “Good day to you, sir, and my thanks for your kind offer of help.”

Clack!

Had she not bowed, the ottermaid would have surely been slain by the crude spear which flew in over the battlements. The weapon’s chipped-flint head shattered as it struck the parapet.

Whipping off the sling Wuppit and loading it in the same movement, Tiria leaped to the walltop. Below, in the ditch that ran alongside the path stretching from north to south, she glimpsed the water rats. It was Groffgut’s gang, racing away north up the dried-out ditchbed. Tiria identified the gangleader’s voice as he shouted, “Dat wuz the waterdog! I missed’er, but ’twas dat mouse wot beated me up dat I wanna kill!”

It was a difficult throw, but Tiria whirled Wuppit wildly and let fly hard. She hit the back of the last runner’s head, downing him. Dashing to the main gate, she began swiftly unbarring it.

Skipper Banjon and Brink, together with Tiria’s three friends, were walking down the Abbey steps when they spied her flinging the gate open and racing out onto the path. Banjon was off like an arrow. “Wot’n the name o’ rudders is that gel up to? C’mon, mates!”

Some distance up the ditchbed, they came across the ottermaid, standing over a sprawled-out water rat. She was shaking her head as her eyes roved north up the dried-out watercourse. “It was those vermin we met yesterday. I was on the walltop when one of them threw a spear at me and missed. I heard him shouting that it was the mouse he wanted to slay, the one who had beaten him. Anyhow, they’re well gone now, probably cut off east into the woodlands farther up. I managed to hit this one from the walltop.”

Girry looked back to the Abbey ramparts. “Good grief, you mean to say you slung a stone that far, from up there, and you hit your target? Is he dead?”

Brink knelt and checked the rat briefly. “Oh aye, this ’un’s dead, sure enough!”

Shocked, Tiria dropped her sling as though it were a poison snake. Her voice shook as she explained, “I didn’t mean to kill anybeast, honestly. I only wanted to drive them away from Redwall. It was just a wild shot. I wish I’d never slung that stone!”

Skipper pressed the sling Wuppit back into his daughter’s paw. “You said there was eight of the vermin. So, one of ’em wants to kill hisself a mouse, eh?”

A tremor of fear ran through Brinty, but he put on a show of bravado. “Huh, I’m not frightened of scummy water rats!”

Banjon eyed Tiria levelly. “An’ ye didn’t mean to kill the rat. Why?”

She shrugged. “Can’t say, really. I’ve never slain anything before. It’s just not a very nice feeling I suppose.”

Her father’s gaze hardened. Raising his voice sternly, he addressed his daughter. “Not a very nice feelin’, ye suppose? You lissen t’me, gel. Those rats are thieves, murderers an’ torturers, all of ’em! ’Tis about time ye grew up an’ learned about vermin. If’n I’d been with ye when y’found ’em tormentin’ that bird yesterday, I would’ve finished ’em all, instead o’ lettin’ the villians go free to roam Mossflower. There’s seven of the scum out there now, all ready to rob an’ kill any decent, innocent creature they come across!”

Banjon nudged the carcass of the fallen one. “Ye can’t reason with vermin, Tiria. This rat won’t be doin’ any more evil,’cos you stopped him. You did the right thing, protectin’ our Abbey an’ yore friends. Remember, gel, yore a warriormaid with Wildlough blood!”

The force of her father’s final phrase hit Tiria like a thunderbolt. It was the exact line spoken to her by the otter in her dream, which came instantly back to her in vivid detail. She swayed and had to support herself by leaning against the side of the ditch.

The skipper leaped forward and steadied her. “Tiria, are ye alright? What ails ye?”

Brink took his friend to one side, whispering, “Leave ’er be, mate. Pore missy, ’tis prob’ly the shock of it all. I think ye were a mite harsh with ’er, yellin’ like that. May’aps she ain’t old enough to grasp it all yet.”

Banjon turned to his daughter apologetically. “I didn’t mean to shout at ye like that, beauty. I’m sorry.”

Brink threw a paw around Skipper’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, mate. She knows ye meant no ’arm. Come on, me’n’ you’ll see if’n we can’t pick up the trail o’ those vermin. Brinty, why don’t you an’ yore mates take Tiria back to the Abbey? Aye, go an’ see how yore goose is farin’, pretty one. Great seasons, bringin’ two big birds back to the Abbey in two days. Wotever next, eh?”

Once they were alone, Tiria could not wait to confide in her friends. She told them everything about her previous night’s dream.

Girry’s eyes were wide with awe at her narrative. “You actually saw Martin the Warrior?”

Now that she could recall it all, Tiria began feeling more positive and cheerful. “Aye, I saw him, true enough, but it was the strange otter lady and what she said to me.”

As soon as they reached the Abbey, Tribsy clambered up out of the ditch. “They’m wurr ee gurt load o’ wurds she’m sayed to ee. ’Ow can you’m a-member ’em all?”

Tiria heaved Brinty from the ditch. “Because they’re burned into my brain. I can repeat exactly what she said. Listen.

“Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew,

to set the downtrodden free.

A warriormaid with Wildlough blood

must cross the Western Sea.

She who looks ever through windows

at the signs which feathers make,

seek the Green Isle through her knowledge,

for all thy kinbeasts’ sake.”

Girry twirled his bushy tail in puzzlement. “It sounds rather mysterious. What d’you make of it, Tiria?”

The ottermaid broke into a trot. “I’ll have to think about it, mate, and nobeast thinks well on an empty stomach. I haven’t had breakfast yet, I’m famished!”

Speeding into a run, she bounded over the lawns, with the others pursuing her. Tribsy, who was slowest, was shouting, “You’m wait furr oi, gurt ruddery creetur!”

Breakfast was about finished when they arrived at the kitchens, but the kindly Friar could not bear the thought of a hungry creature. “Indeed to goodness, ’tis lucky you are that I have some hot farls and honeymaple preserve put by. Oh, and there’s an apple dumplin’ for you, Tiria, ’cos I recall these three rascals havin’ breakfast earlier, with your da and Brink.”

They sat in the almost empty dining room, dipping farls in honeymaple preserve and sipping pear cordial. Girry eyed the ottermaid as she tucked into her dumpling. “Well, have you had any thoughts about your dream riddle yet?”

Tiria poured herself more cordial. “Don’t rush me, I’m thinking about it.”

Tribsy appeared quite amused by her comment. “Hurrhurrhurr, you’m thinken abowt thinken abowt ee riggle. Hurrhurr, that bee’s a gurt deal o’ thinken, miz!”

They were joined at table by another latecomer, little Sister Snowdrop, Old Quelt’s Assistant Librarian-cum-Recorder. Snowdrop had a pure white patch of fur on her head, hence her name. She was a dry-humoured old mouse, though nowhere near as ancient as Quelt.

Tiria made room for her. “Sister, you’re usually one of the first here every morning. What kept you late today?”

Snowdrop dipped her farl in hot mint tea and sucked at it. “I am rather late, Miss Wildlough, so would you do me a favour? Please don’t bring any more large birds to this Abbey at mealtimes. Yesterday it was an osprey, just before supper. Today it was a barnacle goose at breakfast time. Quelt had me dashing around the library, pulling out reference books on geese and their seasonal flying times. It doesn’t do a creature’s eating habits any good, you know!”

Tiria licked sauce from her paw. “Sorry about that, Sister. So, Quelt has met Brantalis, has he?”

Snowdrop nodded. “He has indeed. It is his opinion that geese are more sociable and forthcoming than ospreys. He likes the Skyfurrows especially, having treated several of their gaggle in bygone seasons.”

The ottermaid agreed. “I like Brantalis, too. Did he say how he came by his wound?”

The little Sister poured herself more tea. “Brother Perant said the wound could have been a lot worse. He was cleaning and dressing it as I left the Infirmary. Your friend Brantalis told Quelt that he had been shot by a cat’s arrow.”

Brinty interrupted. “A cat’s arrow? But there aren’t any cats in Mossflower Country anymore. I wonder where he was when he received the wound?”

Using her habit sleeve, Snowdrop wiped steam from the tea from her tiny square glasses. “Over the great seas, in someplace called Green Isle, that’s what I heard him say.”

Girry thumped the table, sending plates clattering. “Green Isle! That’s the place you said the otter lady mentioned in your dream, Tiria!”

The ottermaid promptly repeated the line. “Seek the Green Isle through her knowledge.”

The Sister looked up from her breakfast. “Through whose knowledge? What are you young ’uns rattling on about?”

Tiria had already left the table and was heading for the stairs. “I’ll tell you later, Sister. Right now I’ve got to go and speak with that goose!”

She hastened up to the Infirmary, followed by her three friends and a curious Sister Snowdrop.

Brother Perant showed them into his sickbay, bowing ironically. “Ah, welcome to the Abbey nesting place. Any more big birds today, Tiria? A swan, or an eagle perhaps, or is it too early for them to come calling?”

Brantalis came waddling behind the Brother. He seemed spry enough and was proudly sporting a clean white-linen dressing around his neck. The barnacle goose pointed his beak at the Infirmary Keeper. “Right you were, Tiria. A great healer this mouse is, I am thinking. See, Brantalis is lively as an eggchick!”

The ottermaid nodded approvingly, then came straight to the point. “What do you know about a place called Green Isle?”

The osprey, perched up on the windowsill picking at the remains of his fish, spoke for the first time. “Kyeeh! Pandion Piketalon knows more of Green Isle than a Skyfurrow. It is my home. His kind only stop to feed there before flying on. Piketalons have always lived on Green Isle!”

Brantalis spread his powerful wings and flapped them. “Anywhere would I sooner dwell than the place of cats. A bad and wicked isle it is.”

Tiria stepped between both birds, who were now eyeing each other truculently. “Please, let’s not start arguing. Pandion Piketalon, do you know where the Green Isle is?”

The osprey looked slightly crestfallen. “Keeharr! I was hurt, and driven high over the great waters in a mighty storm. I could not tell you how I came to Red Walls. Kraaawk, I am far from home and lost!”

Brantalis puffed out his chest. “I am of the Skyfurrows. I am knowing the way, but I am thinking, no earth crawler could follow where I fly!”

Tribsy wrinkled his snout sagely. “Burr, you’m surrpintly currect thurr, zurr!”

Brinty threw up his paws irritably. “Then what’s the point of solving dream riddles if you can’t get to this confounded Green Isle place, eh?”

Sister Snowdrop looked over the rims of her tiny square spectacles. “Will somebeast please tell me, what is all this business of dreams and riddles?”

The osprey fluttered down from his perch. “Kreeaah! I know nought of dreams or riddles!”

Brantalis edged away from the fierce fish hawk, murmuring, “I am thinking the Piketalon knows nought but catching fish.”

Pandion’s golden eyes stared unblinkingly at the goose. “Better than dabbling in mud and honking to frighten clouds!”

Brother Perant stamped his paw and raised his voice. “Enough, do ye hear me? I will not have squabbling in my Infirmary. You, Pandion, back up on that sill! Brantalis, under the table and hold your beak!”

Girry winked at the normally mild-mannered healer. “That’ll teach ’em, eh Brother?”

Perant pointed to the door in a frosty manner. “Out, the lot of you! Go and solve your problems elsewhere, and leave me in peace. Come on, begone with you, and you, too, Sister Snowdrop!”

They shuffled silently out onto the landing. As the door slammed behind them, the little old Sister pulled a comical face, even though Perant could not see her. “Yah, stuffy old bandage bonce, go and physick yourself!”

Tiria shook her head wearily. “We’re not getting very far with this, are we?”

Snowdrop took her by the paw. “Don’t be so easily defeated, young ’un. Follow me, I’ll help you with your riddles and puzzles. I’m rather good at that sort of thing.”

Sister Snowdrop took them upstairs to the lower attics, where she worked as Old Quelt’s assistant. “Let’s go into the library. I can think better in there.”

The friends were reluctant to invade Quelt’s inner sanctum, since it was the ancient squirrel’s retreat from everyday life. Tiria whispered to the little Sister, “But won’t Old Quelt object to us disturbing him?”

For all her long seasons, Snowdrop was quite young at heart. Placing her paw on the library doorlatch, she giggled. “Heehee, not to worry, the old buffer’s probably taking his morning nap!”

Without warning, the door opened inward and the Sister fell flat as she went with it. Snowdrop found herself sprawled on the floor, staring up into the face of Redwall Abbey’s revered Librarian-cum-Recorder.

Quelt bowed politely. “Come in, friends. As you can see, the old buffer’s had his morning nap. Eh, Sister Snowdrop?”