3: The Savage Stranger
3: The Savage Stranger
The sunlight danced through leaves and boughs, the warm rays falling on two creatures strolling up the path through Mossflower Wood. One, a stout, rather short squirrel, carried a long, basket-hilted claymore at his side. His chocolate-brown tunic contrasted nicely with his red-brown fur. A feathered cap perched jauntily on his brow, and a honey-colored linen belt completed his outfit.
The creature beside him, also a squirrel, was almost a head taller. The sword at his side was shorter then his companion's claymore, but no weapon could ever amount to this sword's beauty and strength. It was a simple weapon, its only ornamentation being a red pommel stone set on the hilt's end. The hilt itself was wrapped with smooth, slightly worn black leather, and was joined flawlessly to the perfectly balanced blade, which legends said was made from a fallen star.
The squirrel himself looked every inch worthy to carry such a magnificent weapon. His head was carried high and his reddish fur was somewhat scuffed, but neat. His dark green tunic was belted with a white cord, and his head was bare.
Wild Doogy Plumm twirled his claymore idly. "Well, Tam, me bonny beastie, tis a braw day tae be strollin' through the woods, wi' a blade at your side. I do have tae say that this ol' claymore has served me well o'er the seasons. 'Twas kind o' ye tae give it tae me."
Rakkety Tam MacBurl grinned. "How many times do I have to tell ye? I never gave it to ye, Armel did! We've been having this argument for nineteen seasons, Doogy! Why aren't ye just lettin' me have my rightful property?"
Doggy chuckled. "Well, ye're the one wi' the sword of Martin the Warrior! But if'n ye really want yer claymore, ye have tae beat me in combat!"
Tam groaned; then he laughed. It was true that he carried Martin's sword, and had for nineteen seasons. Martin himself had chosen him, as revealed in a dream of the infirmary keeper, Armel.
The sword gave him an advantage concerning this little disagreement over the claymore. They had always finished this particular argument off with a sham fencing match. Tam had always won, and had always conceded Doogy could have the claymore. In fact, he had been perfectly happy with Armel's decision to give Doogy the claymore in the first place; but he pretended not to, as the two old friends loved to argue. Besides, it was good practice for real battle. "Very well, I accept yer challenge!"
Two swords flashed out, crashing together with mock savagery. They circled each other as they headed North up the path. The pair continued their friendly sparring as they approached the river Moss.
They had started out on their walk early that morning. Two warriors like the duo from the Northlands could easily cover the distance from Redwall Abbey to the river Moss in half a day. Now, as they continued their staged fight, Doogy stepped on something lying on the sand.
Doogy suddenly yelled with pain and surprise as claws were drawn across his footpaws. Two obsidian eyes stared defiantly up at him, as the claws lashed out again. He skipped to one side, and the claws sank deep into the sand.
Tam poked gently at the creature with his sword. The squirrelmaid flew to life, her muddled senses confusing her vision and hearing. She had no idea who or what was attacking her. All she knew was that she had heard the clash of metal, had been stepped on, and then had been prodded with something sharp. Fury coursed through her. In her rage she tried to stand, but her snapped leg gave out beneath her and she fell back to the ground, snarling.
Tam's anger was roused. He had seen several insane creatures in his time, and this raging squirrelmaid looked like one of them. Blood still seeped from her broken leg, mixing with sand and mud and crusting on her fur. Her teeth were flecked with foam, and deep down, her eyes glowed blood red.
With a sudden movement, the squirrelmaid lashed out. Rolling onto her side, she seized Tam's footpaw and pulled. Tam lost his footing and fell, dropping the Sword of Martin as he did. It fell some distance away, out of his immediate reach.
Tam instinctively kicked at the squirrelmaid. Instantly, she let out an awful shriek of pain and slumped down, out cold. Tam had unknowingly kicked the most tender part of her body; her snapped leg.
Tam jumped up and grabbed the sword. He pointed it at the fallen squirrelmaid, expecting to see her leap towards him. When she didn't move, he relaxed slightly. However, when he paused to get a closer look at her, he was aghast at her torn back, chafed wrists, and most of all, her broken leg.
Doogy, too, had seen the terrible injuries. He gasped; then he murmured, "We have tae get her back tae the Abbey."
Tam took the sword into the woods to cut saplings, while Doogy gathered vines. They tied the saplings into a stretcher frame using vines as cord; then they took the remaining vines and wove them back and forth between the two long sides. The finished product of the hasty job was rather crude, but it would serve. Several bundles of dry leaves, abundant in the late autumn forest, made a rather good pad for the casualty.
With great caution, Tam and Doogy bent over the unconscious squirrelmaid. Tam reached out to touch the crusted blood near the torn leg. "I'm almost afraid to move her. We might damage her leg further."
Doogy gently placed his paw under her shoulders. "Well, we're goin' tae have to; the poor lassie."
They did manage, in the end, to slide the stretcher under the squirrelmaid. She was alarmingly lightweight; her hipbones and ribs were visible through the tears in the ragged garb. When they placed her on the stretcher, the bite on her shoulder became more prominent.
As they were about to pick up the stretcher, Tam had an idea. Picking up one of the squirrelmaid's limp paws, he examined the chain that was fastened around her chafed wrist. Her wrist had grown so thin that he was able to slip a broad twig twixt it and the chain. He called Doogy over, and asked him to hold the paw steady on the ground. Guessing what his friend was up to, Doogy obeyed.
Tam drew the sword and raised it over his head. As he brought it down, there was a metallic snap, and the chain fell loose on the ground. He repeated the process with the other paw; then he remarked, "She'll be a little more comfortable without those on." With an angry motion, he picked up the chains and threw them into the river. "There, let those symbols of cruelty rust away to nothing."
Doogy was surprised. Tam rarely spoke like that. He changed the subject. "Tam, let's get this lassie tae the Abbey as quickly as we can. She's looks as if she's apt tae die from her wounds."
Tam blinked and grasped the stretcher. Doggy gripped the other end, and they started off South toward Redwall Abbey, the place they called home.
††
A cold late-autumn sun was slipping over the horizon as Tam and Doogy rounded a slight bend in the path and came into full view of Redwall Abbey. The ancient sandstone walls were tinted a rose hue in the sun's last rays. The tower of the main building was visible over the walltop.
Tam couldn't help a sigh of happiness as they approached Redwall's main gate. He and Doogy had come to live at Redwall after the Seasons of the Savage. Armel, the infirmary keeper, had nursed Tam back to health after he was terribly wounded in battle. Once he was better, they were married and had a daughter named Melanda. Although they had wanted to have more children, they were content with their daughter, who became the recorder when she was older. She and Armel still held their old positions as infirmary keeper and recorder.
Tam himself was the Abbey champion. This position was never held by more then one creature at a time, and was always held by the one who carried the sword of Martin the Warrior. The greatest hero and founder of Redwall, Martin the Warrior had been the first carrier of his famous sword. He sometimes appeared to Redwallers to advise them, especially concerning the sword. Whoever carried the sword was picked by the warrior mouse. Sometimes they were instructed to be Redwall's champion, and sometimes they just felt a desire to pick up the sword and protect the Abbey, and any who might need help.
Tam was jerked out of his thoughts as the Abbey bells, the Matthias and the Methuselah, rang out through the evening twilight. A voice shouted down from the ramparts, "Ahoy! Is that you, Tam?"
Tam shouted back, "Aye, tis me, Skipper. Doogy and I have an injured creature here, so let us in!"
A moment later the large double gates opened, and Skipper of Otters hurried out. "Who was – in the name of seasons, what happened?!" he exclaimed, when he saw the stranger's injuries.
"We 'ave no idea who she is, or wot 'appened, Skip," replied Doogy. "Where's Armel? Tam and I can rest when the lassie's settled in the infirmary."
As if on cue, a squirrelmum came hurrying up. "Sister Mimsie told me that you two had found a wounded creature. May I take a look?"
Tam winked at his wife. "I'd say yes and let ye look right here, but we've been carrying this stretcher since midday, and this squirrelmaid has been jounced about far too much for my liking. She needs to rest in the infirmary."
Armel nodded understandingly. She hurried ahead to prepare a bed while Skipper accompanied the two warriors across the abbey grounds and into the main building.
As the trio crossed Great Hall, Tam thought he heard somebeast call his name. He glanced about to locate the source of the sound, and his eye fell on the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. This piece of amazing artwork was as old as the legacy of the warrior himself. It had been made after his death, and was prized by Redwallers as the heart of the Abbey.
Tam heard the voice again, faint, but distinct. Where had he heard that voice before? It didn't belong to any Redwaller.
He had no time to think any more, for they had reached the stairs to the infirmary. A moment later, Armel was gently easing the strange squirrelmaid off the makeshift stretcher onto a bed that she had just fixed up. Skipper left once she was settled, but Tam and Doogy stayed to hear the results. Doogy, exhausted from the day's goings-on, kept dozing off and finally went to bed.
Tam, who wasn't sleepy, helped Armel clean, dress, and bandage the bite on the squirrelmaid's shoulder. The break on her leg was a different matter; Tam, not having the training necessary to tend to such an injury, had to sit nearby and watch. Armel had her assistant, Sister Mimsie, who had been making salve out of meadowsweet, bring a strait, smooth ash splint from the woodpile. While she was doing that, Armel began to clean the leg wound.
The bone was snapped through, but it was a clean break and would heal in time. The bleeding had stopped, but there was so much dried mud and crusted blood matted in the fur that Armel picked up a small knife to cut away the tangle.
A paw sent the knife flying through the air, the point burying itself in the window frame. The squirrelmaid, who had woken several minutes before without anybeast noticing, lunged at Armel, who leaped away from the unexpected attack. The maid snarled viciously but didn't make any attempt to move further.
Tam had jumped up when the squirrelmaid struck at Armel. He now rushed forward, drawing the sword as he did. He pointed it at the squirrelmaid, growling, "Why did you strike at Armel?"
The squirrelmaid replied in a voice that defied her scraggly appearance. Her tone brooked no nonsense, her voice rich, level, and smooth. "I strike anybeast who draws a weapon against the daughter of Vura Hon and Mittreya. Lower your sword; lest you wish to receive greater injuries then I bear now!"
Armel gently placed a paw on Tam's arm. "She is right; drop your sword." She turned to the squirrelmaid. "You are in the infirmary at Redwall Abbey. You are safe here. I am Armel McBurl, the infirmary keeper."
Tam sheathed his sword. "My name is Rakkety Tam McBurl, Rewall's champion. My friend Doogy and I were the ones who found you."
The squirrelmaid had no intention of letting down her guard, but she relaxed slightly. "What was she doing with a knife?" she questioned, nodding at Armel.
The squirrelmum replied quickly. "I was trying to clean your leg, but your fur is so matted that I'm going to have to cut it off in that area. I'm sorry I upset you."
At that moment, Melanda, a spirited young adult squirrel, came hastening into the room. "Mother, Dad, I heard the news. What happened?" She saw the squirrelmaid sitting propped up with a pillow. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. What's going on?"
"We were just getting acquainted," replied Tam. "The squirrelmaid still hasn't told us her name, however. What are you called, young 'un?"
"Lindenton Tarenta, daughter of the chief of the Tarentian squirrels, Vura Hon Tarenta; and Mittreya Tarenta, his wife." The squirrelmaid had a hint of sorrow behind her proud air.
Armel picked up the knife again. "Do you go by a nickname?"
The squirrelmaid nodded. "Aye, I am usually called Lin by my friends and family."
She flinched as her leg was stirred slightly. Armel placed a paw on Melanda's shoulder. "Run down to the kitchen and have the Friar make Sister Sedge's vegetable broth – he'll know what I mean. Tell him to add dried mint leaves, ground marigold seed, and half a pinch of thyme. Bring a beaker of watered-down rosehip tea when you come back, please."
After Melanda had left, Armel went back to the task of cleaning Lin's leg. Sister Mimsie returned from the woodpile with a perfect ash splint; she had been instructed to take her time in the choosing. Armel asked her to continue with the meadowsweet salve as she sliced through the fur around the break. When that was finished, she went over to a cupboard and drew out several rolls of linen bandages.
Lin gasped with pain as Armel straitened out the bone and coated the open wound liberally with the meadowsweet salve. With some help from Mimsie, the ash splint was put in place, and the bandages wrapped firmly round it.
Lin grumbled when she saw the finished result. Tam gently patted her uninjured shoulder. "I understand. I had similar injuries a long time ago."
Melanda came in bearing a tray with a steaming bowl of thick broth and a beaker of a strange-colored liquid. Armel thanked her and brought the food over to the bed. "This is a thick vegetable broth with garden herbs added to it. Try it; I think you'll enjoy it."
Lin needed no second bidding. After weeks of starvation rations, she finally had solid food. The thick broth was indeed delicious, strong, and hot; just the right thing for an invalid. Lin tackled it with enthusiasm. She didn't wolf it down, but the food was gone in an amazingly short amount of time.
As she was sipping the rosehip tea, Lin's eyelids began to droop. A contentment that she had not known for three seasons filled her body. Sleep enveloped her in its peaceful folds.
The remaining creatures in the room followed Lin's example and retired for the night soon afterwards. Tam and Armel slept in their snug chamber just off the infirmary. Armel had a peaceful night, but her husband tossed and turned in nightmares.
††
Tam was drifting through the dark mists of sleep when he heard a voice calling him; the same voice that he'd heard earlier in Great Hall. An armored figure came towards him. Martin the Warrior, guardian spirit of Redwall, approached Tam and took his paw. His strong voice rang through Tam's mind.
"Come; I want to show you something."
Tam followed the mouse through the mist for seemingly hours. Then, suddenly the mist cleared and Tam found himself gazing at a terrible scene.
A battle was raging across a field, which was dotted with buildings. Vermin and squirrels were fighting it out between these buildings. However, among the huge crowd, one stood out to Tam.
A squirrel, its teeth bared and its weapon flailing, was battling its way through the pack. Tam could feel every blow that struck the squirrel, could see what it could see, could hear what it could hear, and could even sense its thoughts. They were thoughts of anger and hatred, love and revenge, and, above it all, thoughts of all its loved ones.
The squirrel suddenly stopped with a jolt as a sly, evil voice called out, "Drop your weapons, woodlanders, or this 'un's a deadbeast!"
Tam saw a huge vermin, its huge blade pointed at the throat of a squirrel lying on the ground, who was apparently dazed from a blow. The vermin put pressure on the blade, and a drop of blood squeezed out of the puncture.
Then the squirrel who's every movement Tam was following leaped forward, cannoning into the vermin. The two locked in a terrible duel, each wounding the other terribly. The clash of metal was loud in Tam's ears.
Then, the vermin snatched a spear from the ground nearby, and with it tripped up the squirrel. It fell on its back, and through its eyes, Tam saw the vermin's weapon come flashing down. He felt it tear the skin, felt it slicing down toward the heart . . .
Tam sat up panting. Sweat moistened his brow, and his paw felt for his sword. A sigh escaped him as he realized that it had only been a dream.
But what a dream! And why had Martin the Warrior shown him this battle?
As if in answer, a voice spoke in his mind.
"You must be there, Warrior; you must raise your sword against the enemy, and your life-friend must do as well. I place the black diamond in your care."
Tam shook his head as he felt the mists of sleep engulfing him. One question built itself up in his mind.
What did this all mean?