CHAPTER 4

The beach upon which Salamandastron sat was a long, wide one, stretching far to the mouth of the River Moss where it emptied into the Great Western Sea. If a beast was to travel to its very northern end and cross the delta, it would find itself on a vast plain where a great farm stretched, owned by the badgers called Wytesword.

The territory of Wytefield Farm was bordered on its eastern edge by the Northfork Stream, over which had been built Grisso Bridge. The path away from the bridge led through Mossflower Woods, until it hit the long Cross-Woodland Path.

This path journeyed from the Broken Mountains in the far south, past the Cliffs of the Lord, forded the Matthias River, and then curved northward just before it reached Twin Bridges. Just after these two crossings was a fork – east to the small village of Elmlow on the shores of Lake Marl, and north towards Redwall Abbey.

The Cross-Woodland Path passed in front of the abbey's west-facing main gates, and then continued north to Furmo Bridge, crossing the River Moss. Shortly after this it encountered the road which gave access to Wytefield Farm.

Then the path continued north. It cut through the northern reaches of Mossflower Wood like a scythe, once again intersecting the Northfork Stream and this time the well-trodden road stumbled into a basic, beaten track. Now it was in new territory, beyond Mossflower Country.

Any traveller heading away from Mossflower would enjoy the scenery of the vast meadows, fields and rocky hills of the Lake Borough on their left: great, sloping mounts which rose erratically out of the landscape to hide wide tidal rivers and lakes amongst them. On their right would be the tall, dark trees of Northwoods, a land of pine which stumbled from the foothills of the Strigidan Mountains.

The path continued much like this for days, casually meandering to the pattern of the Northwoods' trees, until the Lake Borough buffeted its wandering and it was forced to pass through the Shorn Valley, named for the cliffs which loomed over it from the left and right, the ins and outs of one cliff face curiously matching its opposite, like some great thing had simply torn the landscape in twain.

Exiting the broken valley, the Cross-Woodland Path ended where it emerged into a paradisal land where gentle slopes gave way to a tumbling water flow, which persisted for about a mile before finally settling into the tidal part of the Noon River, and allowed the waterway to divide. Following the left-most, wider bend, the water slipped around an island which pointed it east, after which it re-joined its sister river which had veered right earlier.

Where the Noon River forked, should a traveller instead enter into the sharper bend on the right, they would pass through a dark forest which arched above them menacingly. Just when one might consider turning back, the trees opened wide, and turned into a welcoming avenue for a vibrant community.

Noonvale was an ancient settlement, nestled in a gorgeous valley pockmarked with wooden homes for its numerous and varied residents, though it was mainly inhabited by mice. It had long been under the watchful guidance of the Voh family, who claimed an ancestry which stretched further back in time than Redwall Abbey.

The Noon River went straight to the Eastern Sea from here, spilling out into the large body at the north end of a beach which widened the further south one went, before it hit high cliffs. Looking out over this beach was the remains of an old fortress.

The locals held no true history of the place except that it had been the site of a battle, which claimed the life of a Voh family member centuries before. Apart from that, little else of it had survived, except the timber which made it and the name.

Marshank.

Despite the mystery surrounding the building, it had been reclaimed more recently by a group of settlers who had embarked from Noonvale, which was growing too large to accommodate its population. With only a few improvements made to the old fortress and a few additional buildings, this small commune was still in its infancy. This was Noonmouth.

The river was considered a northern boundary – certainly for many in Mossflower Country, this was the furthest north they had ever ventured, and whatever lay beyond was something of a mystery. Even the town of Noonvale was too far north for even the otters or shrews to trade with, although some of Redwall Abbey's more restless creatures would sometimes endure the long trek. Not long after the coming of the Third Age, prospective abbots and abbesses had made the journey to visit the one-time home of the abbey's most prestigious founder, Martin the Warrior.

The hares were the ones who seemed to have the most knowledge of the Northlands, even though the Long Patrol's protection could only practically extend as far north as the southern reaches of the Lake Borough and the Strigidan Mountains. According to them, just a little way further, the Lake Borough became harder and colder, and if one could scale the Long Cliff which stretched from sea to sea, you would be in the Highlands. Legend told of a great mountain hare who ruled this far flung kingdom.

Noonmouth, along with another village in Mossflower called Elmlow, were both a result of a long peace which had descended upon Mossflower and its surrounding regions in the past few centuries. The Third Age began after twenty years of no badger lord at Salamandastron, but the last badger family, the Urthlows, had ruled for six generations and not a one of them had had the need to take up arms.

With the winter having now abated, the residents, denizens and subjects of the Northlands, Mossflower Country and the Kingdom of Southsward were into the swing of the four hundred and thirty-sixth year of the Third Age, but it had been five hundred and eighty-five since the last conflict. For the first century it was known as the Great Peace, but now it was simply the way things were.

Noonmouth had therefore seen little reason to locate only within the old fortress of Marshank. It had been useful for their first winter, providing some shelter, but now homes had been built to accommodate their twenty-one families.

A large extended family of voles had built the windmill. The hedgehogs were adept farmers and were the only creatures who crossed the mouth of the River Noon to toil a vast wheat field they were carefully tending – the hope of all creatures being that it would one day create a surplus large enough to trade with. So far, they were relying on the goodwill of their friends in Noonvale, who did not have nearly as much flat, arable land to grow food on such a scale.

The mice – by far the largest demographic – had an assortment of roles across the town. From collecting fresh water and gathering herbs and small foodstuffs from the wood which lay between Noonmouth and Noonvale, to chopping down trees and cutting firewood for the town.

There were two unrelated families of squirrels. One ran the tailoring business, bringing in cotton from Noonvale to spin clothing. The other had two jobs, as the male was quite the carpenter and the female a healer, so whilst one engaged in the heavy construction of the town the other tended to the injuries sustained whilst doing so.

Noonmouth was a peaceful place, and one filled with hope for the future of goodbeasts.

The carpenter squirrel, Glenno, was taking a break from his current task. The hedgehogs had requested the construction of a grain store, and he had been happy to oblige. Whilst Noonmouth already boasted a storage barn for some of the food gathered and grown, it was not nearly large enough to accommodate the turnover expected of the new Winnifell Farm.

The store would also be located on the farm, on the north side of the Noon River. Winnifell, the matriarch of her large hedgehog brood, had grand plans to build a new farmhouse up here and connect the two sides of the river by a large bridge, but Glenno had managed to talk her out of such plans for the time being. They simply didn't have the paws or engineering prowess required to do something so adventurous, considering the width and depth of the river.

However, he did say he would mull over the idea of a farmhouse. Winnifell had borne five sons and daughters, and they had almost borne the same again, so Glenno was expecting the house to be something more akin to a manor.

The fields had yet to be planted for the new season, as the soil had just recovered from the winter passed. They would first need to turn the earth, and then start planting the seeds. The fields ran for a good mile or so in each direction, so it was just as well that Winnifell had a large family.

Between the coast and the fields ran a mud track, which itself ended at a gate in a cobblestone wall which formed the very outer edge of the farm. Just beyond this wall was a woodland, but no track through it.

Glenno did not open the gate, but as still a relatively young squirrel he was able to simply hop nimbly over it. A grassy mound rose up between the woodland and the rocky beach upon which the waves of the Eastern Sea gently lapped, and he wandered along it a way until he reached a large rock which protruded out of the ground, breaking the run of the mound, and pointed upward into the sky.

This was his place of solitude. Glenno enjoyed coming out here to relax. At the top of the boulder, he could look south and see the landscape of the farm tumble into the Noon River. He could even see the town, growing in stages in the shadow of the old fortress. Further south, he could make out the cliffs which cradled a vast sandy beach, and which rose high to a forest above. The entire southern view was set against a backdrop of the grey, misty and distant Strigidan Mountains.

To the north, the coast and woodland seemed to continue endlessly. That was until they passed out of sight and rearing above them were another mountain range, which appeared to run in a straight line east to west, though from this distance it was difficult to tell, and no one had thought to adventure further north to find out.

Glenno sat down at the top of the boulder and unshouldered the satchel he had been carrying, placing the bag down next to him. He opened it and took out the pie secreted inside, placing it on the boulder for a moment, allowing his lunch to be warmed a little by the unshielded sun high above him.

Whilst he was waiting, Glenno lay back and closed his eyes. There was complete silence up here. When his job entailed being around large crews and engaging in noisy woodwork, peace and quiet was to be prized.

'Hello my friend!'

Glenno sat up straight with the speed of a hare who had just smelt dinner. His head shot around violently, looking for where the voice had come from.

'Er, down here.'

The squirrel peered over the edge of the boulder. Below him, dressed in a thick winter coat, carrying a large rucksack and hefting a carved hiking stick in one hand, was a ferret. Not one to judge, Glenno buried his prejudices, and returned the greeting.

'Hullo?'

'Beautivul day, is it not?' said the ferret, who raised his free paw to shield his eyes from the sun, which he was almost looking straight up at.

'Aye, 'tis,' agreed Glenno, though with a tinge of confusion.

The awkward silence then had to be broken again by the ferret.

'My name is Yallen.'

Again, Glenno, agog, was unsure how to respond. He had never met a ferret before – in fact, he had never met any vermin before.

'Er… my name is Glenno,' he finally introduced himself.

'Pleased to meet you, Glenno!' Yallen responded. 'Please accept my apologies for intruding, but vould you mind if I joined you?'

It was at this point Glenno noticed that Yallen spoke with a slight accent, but it was hardly noticeable and still understandable. Glenno could think of no reason why not to allow the ferret to join him, so he did.

Yallen climbed up the boulder, though not nearly as easily as Glenno had done. Once the ferret had taken a seat beside him, the squirrel could see the ferret was more advanced in his years, probably just over middle-aged. Still lithe and capable, but just past his prime.

Glenno retrieved his pie from the rock and Yallen took its place beside him. He put his hiking stick down and unbuckled the large rucksack.

Not wanting to be rude, Glenno held out the pie.

'Are you hungry?'

'Oh, starving!' Yallen chuckled, but waved away the offering. 'Zough I have some stormbread myself, vich is enough to keep me going.'

He opened a pocket in his rucksack and withdrew a loaf of some stale-looking bread.

'That hardly looks fit for consumption,' Glenno remarked.

'Stormbread is very hardy,' Yallen explained. 'It may look a little sad, but it is still good. Vould you like to try some?'

Glenno stared grimly at the loaf. 'Thank you, but I shall stick with my pie.'

Yallen laughed. 'Zat is vair! Not many of ze creatures I have met on my travels have been particularly impressed wiz ze stormbread.'

He tore off a chunk of the loaf, and Glenno was able to see beyond the crust to see that Yallen was quite right – the bread still bore a light, fluffy texture within. Nevertheless, Glenno decided he would indeed stick to his rather more varied carrot, leek and potato pie, and he bit cleanly into the pastry, crumbs flying everywhere.

Some landed on Yallen, and when he noticed that they had fallen onto his coat, Glenno quickly swallowed that first bite to apologise.

'Sorry about that,' he said, 'I am rather more used to eating it alone.'

Yallen did not seem fussed – he simply brushed the crumbs away. 'Ov course,' he replied.

'Have you been travelling?' Glenno asked, though his question bore an obvious answer considering the winter coat, hiking stick and rucksack.

'Yes. From ze norz.'

'The north?' Glenno repeated to clarify, and Yallen nodded.

'Vell, not exactly ze norz,' Yallen rephrased his answer. 'I come from across ze Eastern Sea, to ze norz vest.'

Again, Glenno felt the need to check, 'the north west?'

Yallen chuckled. 'Ja! Please mind me, uesprak is not my virst language.'

'The what?'

'Uesprak,' Yallen repeated. 'It is vat my people call ze language you speak.'

'Oh.' Glenno just now realised that there were other languages, although he knew he should really have known that already. 'I just always called it the common tongue.'

'Ah!' Yallen exclaimed knowingly. 'I suppose you vould.'

Glenno was instantly curious in the creature sat beside him. A stranger from a land where the common tongue was not commonly spoken; who had travelled from a north Glenno had never visited; and a ferret, who spoke to him like an old friend.

'So, you came from across the Eastern Sea? What is the land like there?'

Yallen's demeanour became sullen, and a rather more contemplative side took hold. 'Cold,' he finally said simply, 'and dark. Not a place one vould vish to visit.'

'Did you come here looking for a place to live?'

The ferret's warm smile returned. 'No. I decided zat I vanted to travel ze vorld, so here I am! I have dedicated myself to a life of adventure. You see, vere I come from, zere is little knowledge of ze outside vorld. So I plan to discover it for myself. Here.'

Yallen rummaged around again in his rucksack, and withdrew a small tube fashioned from thin strips of a light-wooded tree. On each end a cap had been attached, but one of them could be easily removed, and so Yallen did so, revealing the hollow interior which contained a series of parchments.

The ferret pulled the innermost parchment and rolled it out on the boulder so that Glenno could get a good look at it.

It was a map. Unfinished, but still very much the work of an amateur cartographer. Whilst the bottom half of the parchment was completely empty, the top half was divided roughly into two by a line running down it, clearly an indication of the eastern coastline. At different points to the left of the scrawled line, dots, circles and triangles had been marked with various labels, but he could not read them as they were written in another language.

'Zere,' Yallen pointed to a cross which had been marked on the coastline near the top of the parchment. 'Zat is vere I landed. I have been travelling zis coastline for ze past zvirty days.'

'Thirty?'

'Haha! Yes, exactly. Ven I approached, I saw ze mountain range, and decided to land souz of ze range, as I suspect norz of it is just as cold as ze place I came from. However, ze climate appears more temperate zan I expected. Perhaps my bearings were slightly off crossing ze sea, and I was drifting souz. Anyway, I have been following and mapping ze coastline.'

Glenno was impressed. He had never considered just how populated and vibrant a seemingly vast and otherwise boring woodland could be, considering how much Yallen had managed to mark his map. He did notice a few dots breaking out into the sea, which had been labelled "Odelag Steini". Although the squirrel could not understand the label, he did at least know to what it was referring. About a half day's casual walk north of the boulder on which he was sitting was a small headland, from which several large shards of rock pierced out of the water.

'I suppose I can add a new label,' Yallen pondered, finding a small writing device, which was a finely chiselled piece of charcoal wrapped in some more of the fine wood he had used to craft his tube. 'Vat shall I call zis rock? Vell, Glenno's Rock, of course!'

As he bent over to make the marking, he continued the conversation.

'Do you live nearby? It vould be good to know in case I double back zis vay.'

This amused Glenno, as it was obvious Yallen had thus far neglected to turn his head to look south down the coastline.

'If you walk further on, you won't be able to miss it.'

'Hmm?' Yallen hummed curiously, and then snapped his head to look behind him. His shoulders dropped, and then he stood, clearly admiring the small community.

Glenno too got up from his seat and stood as closely as he could next to Yallen – there was not much space atop the boulder.

'It is called Noonmouth,' Glenno explained. 'We are a fairly new town, but growing.'

'Very impressive,' Yallen told him, and the squirrel's chest swelled with pride.

'Come on,' said Glenno. 'I'll show you to the town.'

Yallen busied himself with gathering up his things, and then hefted the heavy rucksack across his shoulders and followed Glenno off the boulder. As they went, Glenno asked to hear all about his adventures in the north, and Yallen was happy to tell the stories.

Shortly after he had landed, he had been accosted by a mad hare who demanded food in exchange for keeping him alive. Yallen had fought the hare off with his hiking stick and was then able to outrun the crazed beast by heading into the woodland.

In his efforts to return to the shoreline he encountered a trio of grass snakes, which captured him and then spent so long debating which of them should consume what part of Yallen's appendages that he was eventually able to free himself and escape.

He also came across the ruins of an old castle. It had mostly crumbled into the ground and the woodland overtaken it, but parts of the keep still stood and he was able to investigate. Within, he found a number of wildcat skeletons – some of which were still sat at the high table, pawbones wrapped lightly around empty tankards. He found out later that the old Sylvestra Castle had once been the northernmost fort, and later capital, of a long-forgotten wildcat kingdom.

Yallen had been told that by a mole called Sugder, who lived nearby with his family and conducted a lot of excavation work on the ruins, as he had a keen interest in history and was quite taken with the practise of digging things up to discover more about their past.

There had been many other experiences, but the ferret had only been able to convey those three by the time their boat beached, and they had arrived at Noonmouth. Yallen helped Glenno drag the small craft to a safe place away from the tide, and then they wandered over to the collection of buildings which made up the town.

Like Glenno, the other goodbeasts of Noonmouth had never seen vermin before, and so were shocked to see one walking in tandem with their friend the builder. Every time Yallen smiled and waved to them, they stopped what they were doing and nervously waved back – though some were so dumbstruck that they did nothing, and simply stood staring at the sight.

Glenno tried to ignore the odd looks that they were getting from his friends but was rather concerned by how Yallen must have been feeling. As a traveller in a new land, this might not have been the welcome he was looking for.

The squirrel led the ferret to the communal hall which had been established at the foot of the small hill on which Marshank stood. It was the largest structure in the town itself, big enough to cater for and potentially house the entire population, should it be called for in an emergency. Large slabs served as the floor, covered by a thatched roof which was supported by heavy beams embedded into the walls, though five columns ran down the centre of the hall to support the very top of the V-shaped roof.

At each end, cobbled stones had been secured my mortar into tall chimneys, and within in a fireplace had been established, though with the weather changing they had not been lit. Between these two fireplaces four long tables were planted between the wooden beam columns.

Glenno closed the doors once they were inside and sighed.

'That must have been a bit uncomfortable for you,' he told Yallen.

'Oh, not at all,' said the ferret. 'I noticed zat zere are no ferrets in your community, it must be strange to see a new species.'

'Hmm,' Glenno chose to accept that conclusion. 'Well, they are still good creatures and will welcome you once they have overcome the shock.'

'I'm sure,' Yallen nodded sagely in agreement.

'Please, take a seat,' Glenno pointed to one of the benches running parallel to the tables. 'I'll get us some cordial, and we can talk further about your adventures.'

Yallen walked over to the bench and unshouldered his rucksack, placing it against one of the wooden pillars holding up the roof. Whilst Glenno fetched a flagon of redcurrant cordial, he admired the building in which he was sitting.

The door creaked open, which caused Yallen to turn to see who was joining them. It opened only enough to allow for a mousebabe's head to poke its way in, staring inquisitively at the visitor.

'Hello. My name is Yallen.'

The young creature did not say anything at first. She stepped cautiously inside, and then introduced herself.

'I'm Dareen.'

'Vell, hello Dareen.'

Glenno was heading back over to the bench where Yallen was sat but paused when he heard and saw the exchange. He decided he would stay back and see what happened.

'Are you a ferret?'

'I don't know. What do you zink?'

Dareen thought about this for a moment. Eventually, and with a humorous certainty, answered her own question.

'Yes.'

'Very vell zen,' Yallen said excitedly. 'A ferret I shall be!'

Dareen smiled.

'Vat are you?'

'A mouse.'

'No,' Yallen shook his head comically. 'You are var too big to be a mouse! I vould say you are a… badger!'

'No!' giggled Dareen. 'I am a mouse.'

'A fox zen!'

'No!'

'A vildcat?'

'No! A mouse!'

'No… I've got it! You must be a hare!'

'No!' Dareen, now more comfortable with the creature, moved towards the bench and hauled herself up onto it.

'I zink I vill have to keep guessing.'

'I'm a mouse!'

'Today maybe,' Yallen wagged a claw. 'Tomorrow zo… who knows?'

'I'm pretty sure I'll still be a mouse.'

The door creaked again, and all three heads turned in its direction. Soon, in poured the rest of the town's youth. Mice, voles, squirrels and hedgehogs… it seemed the very young, exercising the curiosity of their generation, were to be the first to properly meet their guest.

'This is Yallen,' Dareen told them, inviting them in with a waving of her arm.

They all filtered in and gathered around the ferret, who seemed a little overwhelmed by their presence. At this point, Glenno decided to step in and rescue him.

'OK, maybe give the poor creature some space,' he told them. 'He's travelled a long way, and is very tired.'

'Vell, yes!' said Yallen, accepting a beaker from Glenno and letting him poor some of the rich red liquid into it.

'Do you have any stories Mister Yallen?' asked one of the hedgehogs.

Glenno addressed the hoglet. 'Now Pollo, what did I just say?'

'No, no, please,' said Yallen. 'I vould be happy to tell a story! Here, everybody sit.'

Apart from Dareen, who retained her place on the bench next to the ferret, all of the young creatures plonked themselves firmly onto the stone floor of the communal hall, ready to hear a tale.

'Let me tell you of ze story… of ze Mad Hare!'