High Rhulain

18

Noontide sun warmed the worn wallsteps of Redwall Abbey. Old Quelt’s audience sat entranced, listening to him reading from the book which had lain hidden under the gatehouse bed for countless seasons: Tales of Ancient Life, by Minegay (yet another alias of the devious Sister Geminya). The Recorder read aloud to his attentive friends. The archive took the form of a story related to Geminya by a very old otter granmum:

“I am Runa Wildlough, daughter of Alem Mossguard, Skipper and Chieftain of the Norwest otters, and wife of Corriam Wildlough. This is my tale. The weight of age upon my grey head tells me that I will not see many more seasons, but that is the way of all living things. My time at Redwall has been long and happy. I have sons and daughters whose offspring now care for families of their own. In short, I am surrounded by kinbeasts who wish to care for me. However, since last winter, when I lost my husband, Corriam, the light has faded from my life. My only wish now is to join him by the still waters which flow through the quiet places of eternal summer.

“I was nought but a young ottermaid when I first met Corriam Wildlough, many long seasons ago. My friends and I were gathering shells and driftwood on the shores south of the River Moss when we came across him. He was lying amid the debris of the tideline, covered in sand and long kelp. We all took him to be dead. The others ran off, fearful to go near him, but I was not afraid. I went to him and began cleaning him off. He was a tall, handsome otter, older than me by some six seasons. Clutched tightly in his paws was a magnificent lance, which was snapped at its centre, and a coronet. This was a narrow band of beaten gold set with a wonderful green stone, an object of rare beauty. I tried to release his grip on the lance and coronet. Imagine my feelings when he grasped them tighter and then let out a groan—he was still alive! My friends had all fled, so I took it on myself to care for him and to get him back to my father’s holt, though this was no easy journey. As best as I could, I half carried, half dragged his sorely wounded body back to where our tribe dwelt, where the River Moss joined the woodlands.

“Alem, my father, was not too pleased. He said that the daughter of a Mossguard chieftain had better things to do in life than nurse some half-dead beast washed up by the tide. This made me only more determined to care for my mysterious otter (I was rather headstrong, as most young ones are at that certain age). Looking back, I think my disobedience drove a wedge between me and my father, but I continued to care for my patient. I fed and cleaned him for many days, during which he never uttered a single word. Then one evening he suddenly began to talk. He told me that his name was Corriam Wildlough, younger brother to the High Queen Rhulain, ruler of a place far across the Great Sea called Green Isle.

“I asked him how he came to be lying on the shore, wounded and close to death. He had been sailing the seas in a great ship, he told me, together with his sister, the Rhulain, and a crew of Wildlough clan warriors. They were pursuing a vessel full of wildcat raiders who had been attacking the coasts of Green Isle. The wildcats were believed to have come from beyond the great seas to the south. They were ruthless beasts who hungered for the conquest of other lands. But the High Queen Rhulain was a great warrior in her own right and the equal of any wildcat conquerors.

“ ‘Our ship chased after the wildcat vessel,’ he said, ‘ranging far across the Great Sea. Unfortunately, she gave us the slip one foggy night. Next day we saw land, a great mountain called Salamandastron, where a Badger Lord named Urthwyte—a huge, silver-furred beast—made us welcome and provisioned our ship with food and fresh water. We stopped at the mountain for three days. On the fourth dawn, we sighted the wildcat ship out to the west. Despite a fierce storm arising we set sail after the enemy. Heedless of the weather, we rushed headlong into the rising storm, which soon had us fighting for our very lives. The waves came at us like mountains, battering our ship about like a cork in the offshore waters. Out on the high seas, the wildcat vessel stood off, riding the gale and watching like a bird of prey. Our captain did not see the reef until we were right on it. A great jagged rock rose from between the waves before we had chance to steer clear of it. The side of our ship was stoved in, and we felt the keel crack beneath us. Waves as tall as big trees swamped our craft, trapping it fast on the reef like a wounded beast. Many a warrior was lost in the relentless avalanche of water.

“ ‘Then the wildcats came. They hung off the reef, put down boats and swarmed aboard our crippled vessel. There, in the midst of jagged reef and howling gale, they fell on us mercilessly and slaughtered the flower of the Wildlough clan. I remember standing alongside my brave sister until we both went down, battling furiously. I think the wildcats supposed I was dead and tossed me into the sea. It remains a total mystery to me how I came to be washed up on the shore, many leagues away from that reef, still holding on to my lance and my sister’s coronet. Whether she gave it to me before they slew her, or whether I seized it from her brow, I will never know.’

“That was his harrowing tale. I felt so sorry for Corriam—his terrible wounds, the haunted look in his eyes and the loss he must have felt. All his clan comrades lost, and his beautiful sister cruelly slain. Here he was in a strange land, with only me to care if he lived or died, far from his home, which he would never see again. I devoted my every living moment to his welfare and the task of getting him better.

“My father showed open dislike of Corriam. This brought us close together, setting my father and me further apart. So it was that I fell deeply in love with my injured warrior. When Corriam was fit enough to travel, we left the holt of my father and sought a new life together elsewhere.

“We found peace and a happy existence at Redwall, this beautiful Abbey, whose doors are always open to good creatures everywhere. There it was that I took Corriam’s name: I became Runa Wildlough, his wife. So we lived together, rearing a family throughout many joyous seasons, without fear or regret. Corriam took long, painstaking days repairing his lance. When he finished, it was a weapon of perfect balance, the envy of all who beheld it. I tested it myself—it was light and a joy to handle. The lance was also slightly longer, owing to Corriam joining it at the centre by fashioning a sleeve of solid silver into which he fitted both ends. It was perfectly symmetrical and truly straight from tip to tip.

“When the time comes for me to follow my beloved Corriam, I leave both the lance and coronet to the care of my dearest friend and companion, Sister Geminya. She assures me that the two treasures will stay together for some future generation of the Wildlough clan, who will be noble enough to need them for the good and well-being of her kinbeasts.

“Runa Wildlough.”

As Old Quelt finished reading, a sigh of dismay came from Sister Snowdrop. The ancient Recorder peered over his glasses at her.

“What seems to be the trouble, Sister?”

Snowdrop shook her head ruefully. “I thought Runa’s tale was going to tell us where the lance and the coronet could be found.”

Girry stuck out his lip sulkily. “Huh, that would’ve been too simple. That old otter granmum had to go and give them to the confounded Sister Geminya. Aye, and you know what that means?”

Brinty buried his face in both paws. “More blinking riddles and puzzles to solve!”

Tribsy put on a pitiful face. “Boohurr, wot’s ee pore choild t’do? Moi brains’ll be furr wored out boi all ee rigglin’n’ puzzerlen!”

Abbess Lycian looked over Quelt’s shoulder at the page he had been reading. She peered closely at it before exclaiming brightly, “Oh, cheer up friends. There’s some tiny scribbles at the bottom of this page. They may be our first clues from Sister Geminya.”

Old Quelt took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t see anything, Mother Abbess, my old eyes aren’t much good now. See if you can decipher them.”

He passed the book to Lycian, who read it easily. “ ‘C. the G.T. Chap. Seasons by seasons times seasons.’ That seems to be all it says.”

Molemum Burbee wrinkled her snout. “Boi okey, wot’n ee names o’ gudness bee’s that aposed t’mean?”

Quelt replied, “It’s obviously a clue, marm.”

Foremole Grudd gave his opinion. “Bain’t nothen obvious’bout et, zurr. If’n ee’ll excuse oi sayen, lukks gurtly ’ard to oi!”

Girry was staring at the page intently, as if he were beginning to understand. He traced a paw along the scribbled letters. “Maybe not, sir. I’m thinking of what we’ve learned so far from studying Sister Geminya’s puzzles. Now, the first letter is a C. That’s a letter like Y, and I and U, it says a sound. So C becomes the word ‘see.’ ”

Sister Snowdrop nodded eagerly. “Well done, Girry! See, then it says ‘G.T.’ Remember we were searching not long ago for ‘T.O.A.L.’ This book, Tales of Ancient Life. ‘G.T.’ could be the name of a book!”

“Ho aye, loike ee Geminya Tome.”

Quelt stared at Tribsy. “How did you know that?”

The young mole wriggled his snout. “Oi aspeck oi guessed it, zurr!”

Brinty was already dashing down the wallsteps. “The Geminya Tome, we left it by the pond!”

Abbess Lycian, by far the best runner, reached the pond ahead of Brinty. Groop the molebabe and her accomplice, Grumby the hogbabe, were about to launch the tome into the water. Lycian snatched it from the two indignant Dibbuns.

“Give me that book this very instant!”

The infant molemaid protested. “We’m only a goin’ for ee sail onna pond h’Abbess.”

Lycian stamped her footpaw down forcefully. “Not today or any other day, missy. The very idea of it, sailing a precious tome on the water. Really!”

Hogbabe Grumby was the picture of dejection. “It bee’d a gudd h’idea, us was makin’ a boat.”

The tome was carried to the orchard, where it would be much safer. Old Quelt took charge of the proceedings once more.

“Right, what have we got so far? ‘See the Geminya Tome.’ What comes next, Sister?”

Snowdrop uttered a single word. “Chap.”

Girry scoffed. “Huh, ‘Chap.’ is for ‘chapter,’ even I know that!”

The Abbess patted his paw fondly. “Which shows that you’re making progress as a scholar. Bet you can’t solve the last bit, though. It says ‘Seasons by seasons times seasons.’ ”

Girry scuffed the grass with his footpaws. “No, Mother Abbess, I haven’t a clue what it means.”

The kindly Abbess smiled at his embarrassment. “Not to worry, young ’un, neither have I. Does anybeast know?” She scanned the circle of blank faces.

Molemum Burbee raised a paw. “May’ aps usn’s be thinken better arter dinner.”

Lycian hugged her old friend. “Where would we be without mole logic? What a good idea, Burbee! Brinty, Girry, bring those two books along. We don’t want them ending up as boats for the Dibbuns.”

Skipper Banjon and Brink Greyspoke arrived back from their journey to the coast neatly in time for dinner. They were inundated with questions about their trip and Tiria’s departure. Brink was thankful when Brother Perant called silence for the Abbess’s grace. Lycian’s gentle tones echoed clearly through Great Hall. Skipper gazed around at the faces of his friends, tinged by soft pastel lights flooding down through the tall stained-glass windows. It was good to be home again. He hoped someday his daughter would return to the beloved Abbey, where she could sit with him and listen to the evening grace which the Mother Abbess intoned calmly.

“Mother Nature bountiful, we thank thee one and all, for good food the summer yields, to creatures at Redwall.

May our Abbey prosper, through seasons yet to be, helped by those who tended the earth, in harmony with thee.”

The Redwallers fell to with a will. Bowls and plates clattered as the various delicacies were shared among young and old—summer salads, new-baked breads, cordials, teas and October Ale.

The Skipper smiled gratefully as Friar Bibble lifted the lid from a steaming tureen. “Aharr, good ole freshwater shrimp’n’hotroot soup. How did ye guess I’d arrive in time for it, mate?”

Bibble chuckled. “Indeed to goodness, I only had to open one o’ my kitchen windows wide an’ let the aroma waft out. There, I said to myself, anybeast within a league of that ain’t worthy of the name otter if’n he don’t come runnin’, an’ here ye are, Banjon Wildlough!”

Skipper winked cheerfully at Lycian. “Our Bibble’s a wonder, ain’t he, Mother Abbess?”

Lycian commented wryly, as she sliced into a sweet chestnut flan. “Oh, he has his uses, even though he doesn’t know what seasons by seasons times seasons is. Eh, Bibble?”

The good Friar pulled a long face. “Look you, marm, neither does any other creature, yourself included. Seasons times silly seasons, huh!”

Brink looked up from a deeper’n’ever turnip’n’ tater’n’beetroot pie that he was sharing with Foremole Grudd. “Dearie me, an’ I thought you was all cleverbeasts. Hah, ye don’t know wot seasons by seasons times seasons is?”

Lycian paused with her slice of flan halfway to her mouth. “Oh, and I suppose that you do, Mr. Brink Greyspoke?”

The stout Cellarhog could not resist grinning smugly. “Oh, indeed I do, Miz Mother Abbess Lycian. I’ve knowed that ’un since I was only a liddle pincushion of a Dibbun!”

Silence fell over the diners at this revelation.

Old Quelt treated Brink to a jaundiced glare. “So you know? Well, are you going to sit there, grinning like a duck with two tails, or are you going to tell us?”

Brink dug into his plate of deeper’n’ever pie decisively. “No, sir, I ain’t goin’ to tell ye, not when you asks in that manner I ain’t!”

Sister Snowdrop tried a more friendly approach. “Pray tell us, O Wise Keeper of our fine Abbey Cellars, how would you like us to ask you?”

Brink munched away as he considered the question. “Hmm, in a polite an’ helpful manner, Sister. I can be coaxed, y’know.”

Skipper poured a foaming tankard of ale for his friend. “May’ ap a nice drop o’ prime October brew’d move ye, sir?”

He winked at the others, who soon caught on. They began bribing Brink with all manner of tidbits.

“Give that good hog a bowlful o’ woodland trifle.”

“Aye, an’ pour lots o’ meadowcream on it!”

“Here, Mr. Greyspoke, take my mushroom an’ gravy pastie.”

“Maybe ye’d like a warm scone with some comb honey?”

The Cellarhog was graciously accepting all blandishments, when squirrelbabe Taggle rapped his paw with a spoon. “Gurr! You tellum, or I choppa tail off wiv a big knife!”

Brink threw up his paws in mock terror. “Sixty-four, the answer’s sixty-four!”

Tribsy scratched his tail. “How did you work that out, sir?”

Brink shrugged. “Well, there’s four seasons, ain’t there? So, four seasons by four seasons is sixteen. Times that by another four, an’ it adds up to sixty-four. I was always good at figurin’ when I was a liddle ’un, still am.”

As soon as dinner was finished, the Geminya Tome was sent for. Amid great excitement, Old Quelt opened it to chapter sixty-four and started reading.

“Twixt supper and breakfast find me,

In a place I was weary to be,

Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.

It holds up what blocks out the night,

And can open to let in the light.

For a third of a lifetime one says,

Looking up I could see it sideways.

Tell me what we call coward (in at)

Then when you have worked out that,

You’ll find your heart’s desire,

By adding a backward liar.

Ever together the two have been set,

Since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet.”

An awed silence followed the reading of the riddle. Then Skipper asked airily, “Is that all there is to it?”

The glasses dropped off Quelt’s nose as he spluttered, “Is that all! Don’t you think that’s quite enough, sir?”

Banjon held up a placatory paw. “Now don’t go gettin’ yoreself in a tizzy, old ’un, I was only jestin’. Though I’ll tell ye this, on me affydavit. I never, in all me seasons, heard a puzzle or a riddle that even comes close to bein’ as hard as that ’un!”

Little Sister Snowdrop’s voice rose into a tirade. “That Sister Geminya! Oooohh, the bottle-nosed, twidgetty-tailed, prinky-pawed, mumbledy-toothed old busybody! What right did she have, thinking up brain-bending puzzles like that? It’s a confounded . . . oooh, it’s a . . .”

“Why, it’s an enigma, just like her name, and it will do no good getting upset like that, Sister.” Abbess Lycian patted Snowdrop’s paw soothingly. “I for one am not going to be defeated by Geminya’s riddle. You were right, Snowdrop, she’s all you said she was, and more. The barrel-bottomed, flinkyeyed, twoggly-eared old nuisance! There, that feels a lot better. What d’you say, friends, are we going to solve the riddle of Corriam’s lance and Rhulain’s coronet? Who’s with me?”

Skipper grasped Lycian’s paw. “I am, marm, if the solvin’ will help that lovely gel o’ mine. Wot d’ye say, mates?”

The roar of approval that followed bounced off the hallowed walls of Great Hall several times. Molemum Burbee removed both paws from her ears when the din had passed.

“Oi’ll make ee tea furst, then us’ll get a-started.”

Mother Abbess Lycian shook her head in admiration. “Who could say better than that?”