Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

“ ‘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.