The friendly
otter nodded readily and winked. "Aye, marm, I'll be back with 'im inna
jiff. Snow's so deep, tho, I might 'afta plunk the ole bloke on me back
an' swim through it!"
After wading slowly
through the waist-deep snow blanketing the Abbey grounds, Blatt found Sumin
standing outside at the large, oaken double doors. Pity welled up in his
heart at the sight of the lonely old squirrel freezing in the unmerciful
weather.
"C'mon there,
old mate," Blatt called over the bone-chilling dirge of the wind. "Abbess
wants yeh inside afore y'catch yer death o' cold out 'ere."
But Sumin held
up a paw, put one of his failing ears to the gates and croaked, "There's
somebeast outside there, young riverdog. Unbar these doors 'ere so I can
let the poor creatures in."
Blatt sighed
and shook his head. The old codger had been doing this ever since the first
winter chills had taken his best friend, Barlom, the old recorder mouse.
Always thought there was another woodlander freezing to death outside,
even though the last of them had come weeks ago, bedraggled and beaten
by the elements.
Moving as quickly
as he could in the encumbering snowbanks, the burly otter heaved the heavy
wooden beam out of its slots and rolled it aside so that Sumin could pull
the gate open. Blatt stuck his head out, too, as the elderly squirrel peered
around, holding a lantern retrieved from the gatehouse.
Satisfied with
a brief scan, Blatt carefully patted Sumin's shoulder. "Now, see, there's
nobeast fool enough t'be outside in this storm, mate - exceptin' us, o'
course. 'Twas just the wind wantin' t'get in so's it could chill our poor
bones." And, with a demonstrative shiver, Blatt turned around to replace
the bar.
"I say, riverdog!
You just come out 'ere an' I'll show you your wind!"
"Seasons o' famine,
what's that crotchety ole kook think 'e's d-" Blatt stopped short mid-grumble
as he sighted two cloak-wrapped figures outside the gates at the edge of
the lantern light.
"Kind surs,"
said the bigger one with an oddly slurred northern accent. "Would ya have
et en yur gudd 'earts t'sheltur two poor ould travelurs, or if y've no
room en yur gudd 'oome, t'tell us whur we might take refuge from thes turrible
storm?"
Blatt was thunderstruck.
"Uh, uh o'course w-we can take y'in, mate. Great seasons! Yew two must
be 'alf frozen solid comin' in from that! Uh, Sumin, sir, take these poor
gentlebeasts to the Abbess while I get the gates barred up agin."
"Humph. Now
the young rip treats me with due respect, not like I'm some old fogey lost
'is marbles. 'S what I always told Barlom, young 'uns don't have enough
respect these days....This way, please, good creatures, we'll follow the
trail that young dunderhead riverdog plowed through this miserable snow."
"My goodness,
Sumin! Don't tell me these two gentlebeasts came from out of that frightful
storm outside?"
Sumin put his
lantern down and shook the snow from his grayed fur. "Alright, marm, I
won't tell you they did...but they did!"
"Aye, that they
did, marm," Blatt echoed increduously, following close behind Sumin. "Didn't
b'lieve it meself 'til I saw 'em there outside the gate's, large as life."
"You mean until
I
had to point the poor freezing creatures out t'you before you'd believe
the words of your elder, y'daft riverdog," huffed the old squirrel.
"Now now, Sumin...."
Bryony began, rising from her chair with the mousebabe in her arms.
"Come back here
you rogues! You're supposed to be asleep!"
Three of the
Abbey's Dibbuns were chased into Cavern Hole by Brund the dormouse. A trundling
molebabe was trying to hold two large bowls of leek and mushroom soup steady,
while two little fieldmice scampered along with half a loaf of nutbread
between them. On their way to hiding behind the Abbess's skirts, they managed
to wake most of the slumbering occupants, stepping on tails and spilling
drops of hot soup on noses.
"Hurr, you'm
tellum us'n's bringin' bread an' zoop turr 'ee guests, Mizz," said the
mole to Bryony, holding up the wobbling bowls as high as he could.
Flashing a forgiving
smile at the flustered Brund, Bryony bent down and placed the bowls on
the floor by the fire. "That's very nice of you, Gurdo. After they've eaten,
though, I'm sure our guests will want to rest, so it's off to bed with
you three."
"Beggen yur pardon,
Mother Abbess," said the larger of the strangers, both still hidden in
their draping cloaks. "These fine young gentlebeasts wur gudd enough t'bring
me end my compan'in a warm meal. Et's my thought they shudd be 'llowed
t'stay up end visit with us." From the heavy folds of cloth a gnarled black
paw reached out and patted Grundo softly on the head.
Something wasn't
sitting right with Blatt about the strangers. The bigger one was nearly
bigger than he was, and certainly not an otter. And the way they tried
to hide their faces and bodies with their cloaks....
"Ahoy, mates,"
he said, making his voice as friendly as he could. "Those bedsheets y'got
on are soakin' wet wi' snow. Why don'tcha lemme hang 'em up for ya an'
warm up by the fire while y'sup yore soup?"
After a moment's
hesitation, the larger visitor took a shuffling step back from the gathering
of Abbeydwellers and spoke in a low tone, striving to remove the harsh
accent from his voice. "I know you're kind-'earted creatures 'ere at thes
Abbey...." As the stranger turned his head towards her, Abbess Bryony could
see two yellow eyes shining in the blackness of his hood. "We'll r'move
our cloaks if you'll but promess not t'judge us by th'way we look." With
that, he slowly raised two slender paws with blunt, worn claws and pulled
the hood back from his long snout and big, pointed ears. There in Cavern
Hole stood the aged figure of a gray fox with his uncloaked companion,
a small, wiry black rat.
"Vermin!" The
cry went up immediately among the Abbey creatures.
"Get those Dibbuns
away from the fox!"
"Bo urr, Oi'm
knew oi smelled a ratter, hurr!"
"Oh, they're
rotten thieves! Waitin' for us to let down our guard so's they can murder
us in our beds!"
"Sumin, you old
fool! You've brought vermin into the Abbey!"
"Quiet!
All of you, quiet!"
A hush fell over
the room at Abbess Bryony's sharp command, save for the whimpering of the
frightened mousebabe she clutched in her arms.
"Now before you
all condemn these ver...creatures, and throw them out into the snow, let's
act as proper Sisters and Brothers of Redwall should and hear what they
have to say." She calmly strode over to the two, who were hunched against
the far wall, away from the semicircle of woodlanders that surrounded them.
"You, fox, tell me truly. Who are you and why have you come to this Abbey?"
Motioning the
rat to be easy, the fox lowered himself into a sitting position before
answering with a sigh, "Ai, th'creatures in thes lend are gudd-natured,
but they nevur lessen. Ded I not esk ya t'not judge us fur whet we are,
gudd Mother? My compan'in end I are th'last from a ship of explorurs. My
name es Byarn, end he's kelled Yulan. Our dear leadur end frind wes taken
by th'wintur coold b'fur we reached yur Abbey. We've 'eard such grand tales
of et, we wented t'see th'legend of Redwall fur ourselves."
"Hmm....Byarn,
Yulan. Those are strange-sounding names to me. You also have a peculiar
accent. Are you from the Far North?"
Byarn smiled
warmly, a grandfatherly expression that seemed quite odd on the face of
what Bryony had always considered as a verminbeast. Deep down, she was
beginning to feel she could trust him. "Me end Yulan 'ere are from a lend
much further then whetchya kell yur Far Nurth. Ooh, we sailed th'seas from
our 'oome end lended thur seasons ehgo, but thet's a long stury thet'd
take meny coold wintur nights like thes t'tell."
Bryony shocked
everybeast present with her next statement. "Well then, Byarn, I invite
you and Yulan to stay as guests of Redwall Abbey until the telling is done.
I would very much like to hear your story."
Blatt took a
tentative step forward. "Er, Abbess marm, with all due respect t'yerself
an' these two 'ere-"
"Abbess, they're
vermin!" yelled somebeast from the back of the crowd.
Gurdo the molebabe
waddled resolutely through the mass of Abbeybeasts, carrying one of the
soup bowls from the fire. Setting it down before Byarn and clambering
into the fox's lap, the little mole called out in a gruff bass, "Yurr,
B'arn b'ain't no vurmint! 'E'm be a foxer, hurr, a noice foxer. 'Ere be
yurr zoop, zurr B'arn. Ett it all oop, zurr, thun you'm be tellin' oi yurr
story."
The old rat,
who had been silent throughout the whole matter, now cracked a small smile
and said in a surprisingly soft voice, "Byarn's a wonderful creature with
young 'uns."
More apprehensive
and wondering stares followed the two young fieldmouse friends of Gurdo's,
one struggling to keep her balance while tottering over with the half loaf
of nutbread, the other pulling the second bowl of soup behind him. Both
were placed in front of Yulan before the two Dibbuns began a curious inspection
of him, each climbing on one of his knees, staring and tracing over his
tattered ears and the scars on his face, taking up his furless tail and
stroking it until they finally coaxed another smile out of him and giggled
in satisfaction.
Byarn grinned
between spoonfuls of soup. "Ya know ya've always hed a soft spot fur th'lettle
'uns, too, Yulan."
The approval
of their children seemed to allay the Redwallers' fears, although a few
still kept a cautious eye on the two even after their ancient rusted weapons
were taken and put someplace safe until the time of their departure. Food
and drink were brought from the kitchens for all who wanted them, and as
the mood grew lighter, friendly banter began to be exchanged along with
food. Pasties, scones with snowcream and vegetable flans left over from
dinner, honeyed autumn apples and candied nuts brought up from the cellars,
along with flasks of elderberry wine, raspberry cordial, and goats milk
for the little ones.
Villainous as
they may have appeared, the old fox and rat were quite amiable, Byarn doing
most of the chatting and joking with Yulan throwing in some comments on
the side. When the refreshments were gone and the night was beginning to
get on, Abbess Bryony politely suggested that their guests may wish to
get some sleep, which also mean bedtime for the all the little ones bunched
around the two.
"Hurr, but Zurr
B'arn still gotten be tellin' oi 'eem story, h'Abbess, marm. Cain't oi
stay oop jus' ee liddle bit more?"
All the youngsters
echoed Gurdo's plea. "Can't we stay up jus' a liddle bit more, Abbess,
marm?"
"Ken we please
stay up jes' a lettle bet mure, Abbess?" Byarn implored Bryony in comical
imitation. "Yulan 'n I'd love t'tell 'em th'farst pert of our stury, marm.
Ken we please stay up?"
Bryony brought
a paw to her mouth and pretended to cough in order to hide a smile at the
good-natured fox's antics. Putting on her sternest face, she slowly swept
her gaze over the eager crowd.
"Oh, very well,"
she said with mock severity. "And I suppose I should allow you all to sleep
in tomorrow and have a geat big brunch with our guests as well, hm?"
A resounding
hooray went up from the Abbeydwellers, and the children hastily claimed
their front row seats as everybeast gathered close to hear the strange
creatures' tale.
Taking a sip
of cordial and clearing his throat, Byarn began, "I ken well understend
yur startled react'en when y'farst saw whet menner of creatures me end
Yulan are. Thes lend of yurs, th'Far Nurth, end all en b'tween are crawlen
weth 'oorrible, cruel beasts thet certainly deserve th' name vurmen. Our
'oome esn't much defferent en thet respect, but whur we come from, thur's
mure guddbeasts whom y'southurnurs'd be kellen vurmen then thur es ectual
vurmenbeasts. Ai, foxes, ratses, all menner of creatures leven en peaceful
settlements, often enough weth woodlendurs sech es yurselves."
A wondering murmur
spread through the gathering. Foxes and ferrets living with mice and moles?
It was a thing unheard of, indeed a thing that seemed, to the creatures
of Mossflower, altogether impossible.
"Yes," continued
Byarn, "survivel essa vury surious business en thes lend of tundra end
mountains. Th'oonly way creatures survive es by wurken t'gethur, soo thet's
whet they do. Now I cuddn't tell ya our stury wethout begennen from th'begennen.
Et all started weth a young wurrior maiden, who's prolly now long been
a herooine beck en hur lend, end shudd rightly be en yur Far Nurth, for
she saved et from a terreble, wild wurlord...a great mountain wolf!" Byarn
was a good storyteller, jumping up with claws raised as he told of the
warlord. Naturally, his audience recoiled fearfully, but more from the
idea than the gesture. A wolf! Nobeast in Mossflower Country or beyond
had ever told of actually seeing such a beast, but it was said they were
so fierce that even a Badger Lord would be scared to fight one. "Yes, th'maiden
kept thes wolf from taken oover th'nurthurn lends 'ere, end ensodoin' freed
'er oown 'oomelend, th'vury same es ours. She wes a marten creature, end
th-"
"Burr, you'm
mean she wurra vurminmaid?" interrupted an old mole in the front.
Byarn settled
down comfortably and nodded. "I s'pose y'cudd say thet, Sur. Ai, a marten
she wes, a vurmenmaid, end thes es 'er stury es much es ours...."
Far across the
storm-blown Eastern Sea, far to the north, in a land of seacoast and mountains,
a wolf mother lay with her litter of puppies. They rested far back in a
mountain cave on one of the highest of the crags that stretched down the
great mass of land, separating the western coastline from the eastern forests
and the rest of the inland continent beyond them.
The puppies were
mere days old, weak and sightless, their downy fur just beginning to show
their mottled patterns. Their mother, white as the snow that fell in big
puffy clumps outside, kept them close against her thick, warm coat. Her
crimson eyes drifted back time and again to two puppies, the largest and
the smallest. Her little Fenrir wasn't scrawny or sickly at all; she could
tell he would live through the cold, unforgiving winter, and she would
make sure he stayed strong. Her mate's biggest son, one of the three he
had named, pawed and nudged at his brothers, pushing for the warmest spot
between them and his mother. This tiny, whimpering wolf pup finally settled
down to sleep, and to dream. To dream of being bigger, of being stronger,
of being wilder. To dream of being the terror that stalked all the northern
lands and their creatures, of running, of hunting, of killing. To dream
a dream that would haunt him all his young seasons until his father would
teach him better, a dream of a northern creature far fiercer than he, of
the cold bite of that creature's steel, of the chilling pain far worse
than all the winter's snow and ice that battered the land of seacoast and
mountains.
Outside, the
snow grew heavier.