Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

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!”