High Rhulain

The ottermaid felt an immediate trust of and kinship to the lithe, regal apparition. She stood staring at her in the sunny dream landscape, not knowing what to say but yearning to talk to the otter lady. Turning to Martin, she found herself equally dumbfounded. Though Martin the Warrior had no need of speech, his kind eyes widened expressively. He merely smiled at Tiria, pointing to the otter as an indication that she should listen to what the strange vision had to say. Then, in clear, measured tones, the otter lady spoke:

“Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew,

to set the downtrodden free.

A warriormaid with Wildlough blood

must cross the Western Sea.

She who looks ever through windows

at the signs which feathers make,

seek the Green Isle through her knowledge,

for all thy kinbeasts’ sake.”

Then both Martin and his companion glided on past Tiria. She yearned to follow them but felt rooted to the spot. As the bright noon of her dreams darkened, desolation overcame the ottermaid. She felt them fade into the mists, and she was left alone, standing on the deserted lakeshore amid the sighing breeze, with the otter’s words echoing throughout the corridors of her mind. Tiria did not sleep peacefully for the remainder of that night. She tossed and turned fitfully, imbued with a restless energy.

5

Tiria was up with the dawn the next morning with a sense of unfulfilled purpose that she could not name. Dressing hastily, she hurried downstairs. Her normally healthy appetite usually took her to the kitchens; instead, she avoided them and went straight outdoors. It was a fresh summer morn, the grass underpaw heavy with dew. Lawn borders were patches of pastel colours, with daisy, milkwort, rockrose and pasque flower in profusion. She paused at the northwest Abbey gable, catching the sweet chirrup of ascending larksong from the flatlands beyond the west ramparts. The sound blended melodiously with the cooing of woodpigeon from the woodland on the far side of the east wall.

The poignant moment was broken by the interruption of two gruff voices singing raucously. Tiria knew it was her father and Brink, coming up from the Abbey pond after their night fishing. She also realized that a meeting with the jolly pair would result in being questioned. What was she doing outdoors so early, couldn’t she sleep, had she eaten a good breakfast yet? Avoiding the tiresome interview, the ottermaid stepped behind a protruding buttress and waited for them to go indoors. However, the happy pair were in no hurry.

Carrying a splendid grayling between them in a net, Brink and Banjon sang away lustily.

“O I knew a worm who turned to his tail,

an’ this is wot he said,

I wish that you’d stop followin’ me,

as though we both were wed.

Said the tail to the head stop pullin’ me,

’cos I’ve no wish to go,

besides, I think yore really a tail,

an’ I’m the head you know!

This caused the worm some great concern,

he said, I’m sure yore wrong,

an’ they both began to bicker about,

to whom did the stomach belong?

Both tempers did boil, while disputin’ a coil,

they fell into an awful fight,

they wriggled an’ squirmed an’ waggled an’ turned,

for worms as ye know can’t bite.

Then a big blackbird, who’d heard every word,

came flutterin’ out of a tree,

I’ll oblige ye both, the blackbird quoth,

an’ he ate them both for tea.

So that was that, he settled their spat,

an’ I’ll bid ye all good day,

for it’s head to tails when reasonin’ fails,

a worm should crawl away!”

They finished the song, but Tiria had to wait whilst they performed a little jig on the Abbey steps, shaking paws and patting each other’s backs triumphantly. The slam of the Abbey door told the ottermaid that they had gone inside. She came out of hiding and continued her rambling walk.

With no real purpose, Tiria made her way up the wallsteps to the northwest corner of the ramparts, where she stood staring out over the flatlands. Across these plains, she had been told, were hills, mountains and the shores which bordered the Western Sea. Like many Redwallers, she had never traversed that far, but being an otter, Tiria knew that someday she would. Oblivious to the sounds of Abbeydwellers commencing their day’s activities behind her, she remained, caught in a reverie of unknown problems.

At first, she did not notice that the dark shape was coming toward her. Only when it got closer did Tiria see that it was a bird—a large barnacle goose, much bulkier than an osprey. She wondered why it was flying so low, and alone, too. Geese usually flew very high in a V-shaped gaggle known as a skein. It soared straight in over the battlements, landing on Tiria in an ungainly heap.