High Rhulain

9

Brother Perant would not allow Tiria, Tribsy or Brinty back into his Infirmary, even though they pleaded with him. Standing in the doorway, he blocked the entrance, resisting all their efforts.

“No, no, ’tis out of the question, I’m afraid. Those two birds are under my care. I cannot risk you stirring up any more squabbles between them. Please go away!”

But the ottermaid continued trying to reason with him. “I promise you we won’t, Brother, really. It’s most important that I speak with them. If we can’t come in, then perhaps you could allow them to come out. You have my solemn word we’ll return them to you as soon as I have the information we require.”

The Infirmary Keeper could be rather stubborn when he had a mind to, a quality he viewed more as a virtue than a fault. “Allow them out? Certainly not, miss! The birds are both injured creatures. They need to recover under my care. That’s my final word. Now be off with you!”

Perant was about to slam the door when Abbess Lycian arrived upon the scene with the hogbabe Grumby in tow. The Dibbun hid behind her habit, sucking on his paw.

Lycian smiled disarmingly. “Ah, Brother Perant, have you a moment to spare for a wounded kitchen helper?”

The little hogbabe was still sucking lustily on his paw as the Abbess ushered him forward. “Tell Brother Perant what happened to you.”

Lycian removed the paw from Grumby’s mouth so he could speak. “I’m hurted meself, Bruvva, sticked me pore likkle paw onna ’ot h’oven an’ cookered it!”

The good Brother forgot his stubborness, softening instantly. “Oh lack a day and dearie me! Friar Bibble never told me we were having small cooked hogpaws for supper. Come in, young sir, let’s see what we can do about your poor paw!”

Grumby hung back reluctantly. “Baby Taggle say you gonna choppa off me paw wivva big knife. Then she say you choppa me tail off, too!”

Crouching down level with Grumby, the healer chuckled. “Don’t you take any notice of Dibbun Taggle, she’s a dreadful fibber. Wait until I see her . . . why, I’ll put nasty ointment on her tongue and bandage it up!”

Grumby giggled at the idea. “Tharra teach ’er to fib!”

Perant led him into the Infirmary. “I’ll tell you how I treat cooked paws. First, I bathe them in nice cool water. Then I apply some soothing salve and a dressing. While I’m doing this, you can use your good paw to help yourself to some candied chestnuts from my special jar. How does that sound to you, sir?”

Grumby rattled his spikes with pleasure. “Sounders fine t’me, Bruvva. . . . Yeek, the big birdies gonna h’eat me!”

He scooted out of the Infirmary, straight into Tiria’s paws. Recognising an opportunity, she smiled winningly at Perant. “I’m sure they wouldn’t, but he’s only a Dibbun, probably never seen a hawk or a goose close-up, Brother. Please, won’t you reconsider letting us take them off your paws for a while so you can attend to little Grumby?”

Though Lycian did not know exactly what was going on, she spoke up on behalf of Tiria and her friends. “The birds won’t come to any harm with these young ones, Brother. They’re almost fully grown-up now. I’ll keep an eye on them, too. What do you say, friend?”

Besides being stubborn, Perant was also highly conscious of Abbey protocol and courtesy. He bowed gravely. “If that is your wish, Mother Abbess!”

Afternoon tea was being served on the front lawn, not far from the gatehouse. Redwallers broke off momentarily, some of them showing apprehension at the arrival of an osprey and a barnacle goose. Lycian reassured them calmly.

“We’ve brought some friends to tea. This is Brantalis, and this is Pandion. They’re very well-mannered. Do make them welcome, please.”

Tribsy, like all the younger creatures, greatly admired the ease with which Lycian was able to deal with everybeast, even though many of the Abbey’s residents were older than their Abbess. “Burr, you’m surrpinkly gotten ee way abowt you’m, marm. H’ole Perant bee’d abowt to shoo us’n’s off, but you’m soon fixered ’im. Hurr hur, naow you’m a settlin’ h’eveybeast completeful to ease with ee gurt burds!”

Tiria and Lycian took the birds to the buffet table, allowing them to choose what they liked. Brantalis opted for soft cheese and watercress sandwiches, which he immersed in a bowl of pea and cabbage soup and gobbled down with evident relish. Pandion favoured preserved fruits and a leek and mushroom turnover, both of which he seemed to enjoy. The Redwallers dining nearby were amused by the barnacle goose’s quaint mode of speech.

“This good food, I am thinking it is very likeful. Soon I am thinking I will try some of that tireful!”

Brinty laughed. “That’s called trifle, not tireful. I’m sure you’ll like it. Maybe Pandion will, too.”

The great fish hawkpecked at his turnover pastry crust. “Kraaah! I will have the soup with watershrimps in it. Pandion likes watershrimp!”

Tiria interrupted politely. “It’s also a favourite among otters. Actually, all Redwall vittles are good. But first I must ask you some questions.”

A group of Dibbuns had formed a ring on the lawn. They flexed their tiny limbs, hopping about, as Sister Doral, the Abbey Beekeeper, tuned up her fiddle.

Once prepared, the jolly Sister called out, “Please take your places for the Bee Dance. Abbess Lycian and Hillyah, will you oblige us by singing the verses?” Without further ado, she struck up the lively introduction.

Brantalis began bobbing his head up and down in time with the tune. “Music is good! Tiria, I am thinking I will be answering your questions not now. Later!”

Pandion commenced tapping his talons upon a platter. “Dances, I like dances and song. Kreeeekyaaaaaarr!”

Tiria watched the pair, surprised that they wanted to watch and listen. She settled back with a sigh. “Be my guests, please. I’ll wait until it’s finished.”

Within moments, the ottermaid was tapping her rudder along with the infectious tune.

“Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for

me!

Fly o’er lawn and buzz o’er lea,

fetch that honey for my tea,

visit all your special flowers

blooming through the summer hours.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

Woodruff clover poppy thyme,

spurrey sorrel columbine,

dogrose heather harebell blue,

violet pansy speedwell too.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

From the blossom’s nectar sweet,

comes a hearty honey treat,

I can’t wait ’til you arrive,

at my table from your hive.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

Golden rich and gooey thick,

sticky likkle paws I lick,

scrumptious munchious gorgeous stuff,

Dibbuns just can’t get enough.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for

me!”

Abbess Lycian knew the song well, and she sang it prettily. Watching her Abbeybabes dance always gave her enormous pleasure. However, she also found it puzzling: The little ones were normally stumbling, bumbling toddlers, but the instant they heard music, they were completely transformed. Away they went in perfect rhythm, clapping, jigging, bowing, twirling and performing some artful high kicks and fancy paw-work. Some of them could actually somersault and cartwheel.

The applause from the Redwall audience was almost drowned out by the two big birds as they reared up, beating their outspread wings furiously. Brantalis honked, whilst Pandion threw back his head and skriked to the skies. Encouraged by the ovation, the Dibbuns threw themselves into the dance again as an encore. Tiria began wondering if she would ever get the chance to interview the two birds.

After a while, Sister Doral put the fiddle away and went to get her tea. Tiria was about to speak with Brantalis when her father and Brink came and joined them. Banjon sat on the lawn, enjoying some warm scones, damson preserve and hot mint tea.

“Ahoy, Tiria, me gel! Me’n Brink been out trollin’ the woodlands for yore water rats. We lost their trail in the nor’east woodlands, by the marshes borderin’ the watermeadows. I don’t think ye’ll be seein’ them again. Ain’t that right, Brink?”

The sturdy Cellarhog seated himself laboriously, trying to balance a trencher that was piled high with salad, pasties, soup, bread and cheese. He winked at the ottermaid. “Aye, beauty, those vermin are either sunk without trace, or they made it o’er the watermeadows an’ headed up north out o’ Mossflower. Are ye alright now, missy? That was a funny liddle turn ye took, back in the ditch earlier.”

Tiria decided to let them in on her dream experience. “I wasn’t ill at all. It was that I’d suddenly recalled a dream I had last night. If you’ve a moment to spare, I’ll tell you all about it.”

As the shadows began lengthening, Skipper Banjon listened avidly to his daughter’s narration of her vision and the subsequent events. When Tiria had finished, he stared oddly at her.

“Rip me rudder, gel, I always knowed you was fated for somethin’ other than Abbey life. Ever since we lost yore dear Ma, fates rest her memory. You was nought but a liddle furball then, but I sensed it in ye. Aye, the more ye’ve growed, the more certain of it I am. Tiria, yore different from the others. A true Wildlough, that’s wot ye are!”

Brink peered over the rim of his soup bowl. “Great seasons, if ye’ve been visited by Martin the Warrior, well that’s the proof. Just say the word, darlin’, an’ yore dad an’ me’ll help ye any way we can!”

The ottermaid clasped their paws gratefully. “Thank you both, especially you, Skip. I was worried as to how you’d take the news of me having to leave Redwall and seek out the Green Isle. Brantalis the goose knows the way, and our fish hawk was reared there. He should be able to tell us more about the place. I was just about to start questioning them, but now look!”

Both birds had joined the Dibbun circle, and Sister Doral had been persuaded to take up her fiddle again. She played a simple reel, whilst the Abbeybabes gave the osprey and the barnacle goose their first dancing lesson. Squirrelbabe Taggle and molebabe Groop were bossing them about severely.

“No, no, y’kick yore paws uppa like dis, Mista Panjon!”

“Hurr, naow do ee stop a-flappen yurr gurt wingers abowt, zurr, you’m nearly knockered oi snout o’er suppertoime!”

The two birds seemed slightly relieved when Banjon and Brink came to their rescue. “Avast there, mates. Come an’ talk to the maid wot saved yore lives. We’ll teach ye to dance proper tomorrow. Steer clear o’ these liddle rogues.”

There was nobeast around the gatehouse wallsteps, so they took their food and adjourned there.

Tiria started immediately with Brantalis. “Listen, my friend. I know I can’t fly like you, but I must find the way to Green Isle. Are you willing to help?”

The barnacle goose clacked his beak resolutely. “I am thinking that I will help you, Tiria, after all your kindness to me. Here is the way Skyfurrows always take to Green Isle. Every autumn season we are flying down from the far northlands. Always we fly south, aye, fly south and follow the coast, until we are reaching the old mountain, home of the longears and great stripedog lords. Know you of it?”

Skipper Banjon did. “Aye, that’d be Salamandastron, where the fightin’ hares an’ Badger Lords dwell. I’ve heard of it but never been there meself. ’Tis a mighty trek from Redwall to that mountain, I can tell ye!”

Brantalis nodded sagely. “A mighty trek, indeed, for earthcrawlers such as you. But I am thinking, there is a better route. If Brantalis could not fly, he would use the River Moss, north of here. I could speak the way to you, whilst you mark it down. The creatures of the Red Walls are good at marking ways down I am thinking.”

Tiria thumped the wallsteps with her rudder. “Of course, a map! It would make things a lot simpler if I had a map to guide me!”

Brink raised his spiky eyebrows. “Oh, lots easier, missy, but ye forgot to mention that ye’ll need a boat to make yore journey in. No otter could swim o’er the Great Western Sea alone. ’Tis impossible!”

Banjon merely winked at his Cellarhog friend. “Don’t ye fret, matey. If’n my Tiria needs a boat, ye can wager she’ll soon git one, won’t ye, gel?”

Tiria shrugged, as though the matter were no great concern. “Aye, I’ll get a boat, one way or another. Now, after supper we’ll ask Sister Snowdrop to draw up the map, exactly the way in which Brantalis describes it to her. Good, that’s that settled! So, Pandion my friend, tell me about your home. What’s it like on Green Isle?”

The osprey regarded her with his savage golden eyes. “Kaharr! If I knew the way to my home, I would fly there this day. Green Isle is a place of great beauty, with soft morning mists, mountains, loughs and rivers full of fine fish. Kraak! But it is also an island of much evil and danger. Cats rule there—big, cruel, warlike beasts. One called Riggu Felis is their warlord. He it was whom I wounded badly, when he and his two sons tried to kill me for sport. There are also seadogs there, and riverdogs, just like you, Tiria. But, alas, they live under the cat’s paw, they are slaves, and runaways, outlaws. There is a big timber fortress at the head of a lake. The cats have ruled there since back into the mists of time. You will not be welcome on Green Isle. It belongs now to Riggu Felis and his warriors!”

Tribsy gave forth a deep mole growl. “Hurrrrr! Us’n’s not a-feared o’ ee catters. We’m bee’s gurt Redwall wurriers!”

Brinty clenched his paws truculently. “Aye, and we’re great fighters, too. Those water rats soon found that out when we whacked them with our staves!”

Tiria shook her head. “I’m sorry, mates, but you won’t be going. I couldn’t risk your lives. Since the dream was mine, I feel I must fulfill it alone.”

Skipper placed his paws around the crestfallen pair. “She’s right, buckoes. Ye’ve always been good friends t’my Tiria, young Girry, too, an’ I thank ye kindly. But ’twould be too perilous to risk yore lives, far from yore Abbey in a strange land. Besides, there was no mention or sign in Tiria’s dream commandin’ anybeast to go but her.”

Brink suddenly came up with a practical idea. “Why don’t ye take the big fish ’awk with ye, miss? Granted, ’e don’t know the way, but I wager Pandion would be of service to ye when ye get to the isle, eh?”

Brantalis favoured Brink’s scheme. “I am thinking this is a good idea, yes! I cannot go until when the autumn leaves fall, when my skein comes down the coast from the north. I will know when the time is. Then I will be flying to the shores to meet them. Skyfurrows always fly together. So I am thinking, it will be many moons before I join my family. The hookbeak should go with you, Tiria!”

Pandion Piketalon hopped up onto the battlements. Spreading his wings, he stared regally down his lethal beak at Brantalis. “Karralah! I go to Green Isle with my friend Tiria. Let that waddling flatbeak linger here until he ventures forth to meet with his kind. Pandions do not fear flying alone. I need no gaggle around me!”

The barnacle goose flared up, beating his heavy wings aggressively. “Brantalis is thinking he was not named flatbeak. Beware, fish eater! A Skyfurrow’s wings can break bones!”

Tiria was forced to come between the big birds. “Don’t start again, you two! There’s no cause for all this disagreement and wing flapping. Either make your peace or begone from here. It is against our laws to battle within the walls of this Abbey!”

An instant later, the touchy situation was forgotten. Girry came hurtling across the lawn, leaping over flower beds and shouting frantically. “Quick, quick! Come to the attic above the library. Sister Snowdrop’s found something which you must see!”