High Rhulain Read online

  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 Q
uelt 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?”

  6

  It was late night over Green Isle. The river flowed smoothly along toward the sea, reflecting a half-moon and the brief flash of a comet blazing its track across the dark sky vaults. Two figures stole silently through the undergrowth which fringed the bank. They halted as a nightjar called from the darkened shallows. One of the two otters, Whulky, cupped both paws around his mouth and croaked like a frog.

  A floating log materialised out of the shadows. Leatho Shellhound, who was poling it, jumped ashore and joined paws with the pair. “Sure I knew ye’d come. Y’weren’t followed, I trust?”

  Chab, Whulky’s companion, reassured him. “The guards are so stuffed with roasted birdflesh that they’re snorin’ at their posts!”

  The outlaw otter’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he drew in a short, angry breath. “A murderous an’ brutal affair, buckoes. All those pore birds killed to suit the whim of Riggu Felis. Ah well, hop on, an’ I’ll take ye to the gatherin’.”

  As they poled the log downriver, Whulky whispered, “Is it true Zillo the Bard will be there?”

  Keeping his eyes on the watercourse, the sea otter replied, “For sure ’tis. He’s been takin’ the enchanted slumber agin.’Twill be interestin’ to hear his ballad.”

  Tall stones protruded up from the scrubland behind the shore dunes. Berthing the log, the three otters headed for them. In the past, sea and stream otters had gathered at this time-honoured venue in the hundreds. However, owing to the regime of Riggu Felis, that night’s attendance was no more than twoscore in number.

  The site was screened by a ring of scrub bushes, with six sentries posted on watch. Leatho and his two friends waved to them and made their way to the fire at the centre of the tall stones. They were greeted by the others, who sat them down and served out bowls of burgoolla. This was a thick stew of seaweed and shellfish, seasoned with the most fiery of herbs and spices. A mere whiff of the burgoolla aroma, though delicious, could wring tears from a creature’s eyes with its sheer heat. Customarily, no words were spoken during the eating of this otter delicacy—except to either compliment or criticise its quality.

  Whulky fanned a paw across his mouth after the first taste. “Ah sure, an’ isn’t this a true drop of the grand stuff?”

  Many agreed with him. “Hoho, ’tis grand sure enough!”

  But there were always those who liked to disagree.

  “Arraway with ye. I’ve scraped better burgoolla off’n me ould granma’s pinny, so I have!”

  “Aye, the stuff tastes like a duck in a muddle.”

  There were many indignant defenders.

  “Ah, shut yore gob, sure ye’d complain if a fine, big trout cooked itself an’ jumped into yore big mouth, so ye would!”

  “Aye, lissen bhoyo, if’n ye could make better burgoolla than this, then put yore paws t’work an’ give yore fat lip a rest!”

  The good-natured banter was brought to a halt by the flat thump of a rudderdrum.

  Leatho stood then, calling out, “Be we well gathered, otters all. Do I see a Wildlough?”

  Whulky stood up. “Ye see a Wildlough, once one of the mightiest clans on river or stream!”

  Leatho continued with his roster. “Do I see a Galedeep?”

  A huge otter raised his paw. “Ye see a Galedeep of the mighty sea otter rovers!”

  “Do I see a Wavedog?”

  “Ye see a Wavedog of a clan that don’t know fear!”

  “Do I see a Streambattle?”

  “Aye, ye see a Streambattle whose clan know the scars o’ war well!”

  The list continued, with each clan representative answering proudly. When he had finished, Leatho waited until a voice called out to him, “An’ do we see a Shellhound?”

  The outlaw sea otter roared back, “Yore seein’ a Shellhound that never backed down from a foebeast! I’m the last o’ my clan, I have neither kith, kin nor family! But by the thunders I’m still here an’ fightin’!”

  Firelight gleamed from the outlaw’s eyes as he glared around the assembly. “Why, who is it that calls to me?”

  Two otters supported an older one to a seat by the fire. He was still a big beast, though he bore many scars. One of his legs had been replaced by a wooden peg, and his left eye wore a black musselshell patch. He held a round, flat rudderdrum, which he struck gently with his tail.

  Leatho strode across and embraced him fondly. “Ould Zillo the Bard o’ the Watermeadows, haven’t ye sunk with the sun beyond the westerin’ sea yet?”

  Zillo gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Ah no, me buckoe, I wouldn’t dream of it whilst there’s still one mangy catpaw print on our lovely Green Isle!”

  Leatho chuckled admiringly. “Ye ould battledog, what have ye been dreamin’ about then?”

  Zillo struck the rudderdrum a mighty clout. “The day of deliverance is comin’!”

  A roar of joy came from every otter present. Leatho held up a paw for silence. “Whisht now, Zillo has the floor!”

  A hush fell over them as the bard sat staring into the fire. His rudder began beating the drum slowly. Then he began to sing his story in true bardic fashion.

  “On the night that the great storm was ragin’ apace,

  sweepin’ in o’er the high seas to batter this isle,

  I heard that a wildcat had lost half his face,

  Ah, isn’t that grand now, I said with a smile!”

  Two otters joined in with flute and banjotta, an odd stringed instrument that was very popular among the clans. Zillo let them play a short stanza before continuing.

  “ ’Twas then by me fire I fell into a dream,

  with the wild winds a-keenin’ an’ wailin’ outside,

  sure a wisdom came floatin’ o’er some magic stream,

  that the days of our vengeance were soon to arrive.

  ’Twas a mouse in bright armour, he spake loud an’

  clear,

  an’ he carried a sword that was wondrous to see.

  ‘Ould Zillo the Bard,’ he said, ‘Never you fear,

  for ’tis writ in the stars that the clans will run free.

  From the seas an’ the oceans, from river an’ stream,

  rise up all ye warriors, arm every paw.

  A leader is comin’ to fulfill yore dreams,

  one who’ll stand at your head as ye march off to war.

  Ye’ll rise like the red dawn, all in a great band,

  like a brave surgin’ tide such as never was seen,

  as ye thunder her title all over this land:

  All hail to the Rhulain! The High Otterqueen!’ ”

  The otters leapt up, bellowing and cheering, roaring and chanting. “Rhulain! Rhulain! Ee aye eeeeeh!”

  Leatho could not stem the noisy jubilation, but the blood was pounding through his body. He took Zillo the Bard by the shoulders, shouting in his ear above the din. “Are ye sure High Rhulain is comin’ back to Green Isle, or was yore dream just a desire to rouse the clans?”

  Zillo raised his voice in reply. “My dreams have never lied, Shellhound. ’Tis certain I am!”

  Leatho battered for a long time on the rudderdrum before order was finally restored. His voice rang out like steel. “We’ll get nothin’ done, howlin’ an’ jiggin’ about like a rabble o’ wildbeasts!”

  Zillo backed him up. “Sure the Shellhound’s right. Hold still now like goodbeasts an’ lissen to him.”

  The outlaw sea otter began outlining his campaign.
“We need to work together now, buckoes, but our watchword must be secrecy. Don’t breathe a word yet of what ye’ve heard here tonight to anybeast!”

  Chab held up his paw. “Not even to our families?”

  Leatho shook his head vehemently. “Especially not yore families, mate. Little ’uns will repeat wot they’ve heard to anybeast, an’ old ’uns can’t resist gossipin’. If Riggu Felis an’ those cats caught wind of ought, they’d soon pry it out of familybeasts. They’re good at that, as ye know. When the time’s right, I’ll let ye know, then ye can tell yore kin.”

  Zillo added his own warning. “Holdin’ yore silence will stop many an otter bein’ weighted with rocks an’ tossed into Deeplough for Slothunog to feed off.”

  The very mention of Deeplough’s monster brought gasps of fear from many. Leatho let the message sink in before carrying on with his plans.

  “Right, here’s wot we need. Secrecy, or our plans will be ruined. Organisation an’ obedience, if we’re to see this through together. An’ weapons! When the time comes, bare paws’ll be useless against Felis’s murderers. Last, an’ most important, we need our Rhulain, a High Queen that this isle hasn’t seen since seasons out o’ memory!”

  One of the Wavedog clan called out, “How’ll we know the Rhulain when we see her?”

  Leatho, at a loss to answer, turned to Zillo. “Can you tell us, mate?”

  The bard pondered a while. “All I can tell ye is wot I know from the poems an’ ballads passed down through my forefathers. One thing is certain, though, she’ll be of the Wildlough blood. I’ve heard old paeans an’ lays that tell of a warriormaid, tall an’ swift. Fearless in battle, an’ more deadly with sling’n’stone than any livin’ beast. ’Tis said that she wore a gold coronet set with a greenstone, and also that she wore a surcoat of armour from neck to waist, embossed with a gold star. That’s about as much as I can tell ye.”

  There was a hesitant silence over the meeting. Then Big Kolun, Skipper of the Galedeep sea otters, boomed out in his loud, jolly voice, “Well that’ll do for us Galedeeps. Ye couldn’t’ave painted High Rhulain clearer, Zillo. Sounds like the kind o’ queen I’d foller to Hellgates an’ back. Right, buckoes?”