Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Nightshade could see what had taken place, and artfully she soothed the Warlord’s bruised ego. ‘Nobeast could stand against the badger in his madness, Sire. You did well to escape him; besides, I know you want to take him alive so that you may have your revenge bit by bit, you always said that.’

  The ferret ceased pounding his mailed paw against the rocks, and looked hopefully at his seer. ‘You’ve got a plan, vixen, tell me!’

  ‘We’ll snare him like a fish in a net, Lord.’

  ‘Fool, where is there a net big enough to hold him? We don’t ’ave any such net.’

  ‘No, but we still have a few big tent canvases. . . .’

  The Warlord’s face split into a huge grin. ‘Of course! He can’t club ’is way through canvas. Once we bag the badger, those hares’ll fold like dead bark!’

  Sunflash was beset on all sides. He whirled and roared in a fury, unable to get at his attackers. The vermin kept their distance, slinging rocks and firing arrows. The heavily meshed mail tunic and iron war helmet were weighing the Badger Lord down, but he could not chance removing them. His paws sunk deep in the soft sand, and bellowing and howling he shook the big mace.

  ‘Eeulaliaaaaaa!’

  Rocks and shafts clanged and thudded against the enraged Badger Lord. The vermin circled like small vicious predators trying to bring down a big beast, hurling their missiles and keeping out of his range. Sand was in every crevice of his chainmail. The iron helmet, hot from the sun’s rays, caused sweat to trickle over Sunflash’s head, into his mouth, down his ears, blinding and stinging his maddened eyes. Nowhere through the small vizor slits could he see his enemy Swartt. He began floundering, and an arrow thudded deep into his unprotected paw. With a roar he tore the shaft out and, snapping it in two, he hurled it at his unseen tormentors. A spear raked his footpaw as he lifted it from the entrapping sand. Blundering and staggering, he tottered towards the rocks, not knowing in which direction he was moving.

  Then the canvases trapped him like a great fish in a net.

  Suddenly Sunflash felt the enveloping weight fall on him, driving him down on all fours into the sand. Everything went dark. As he fought blindly against the tough, unyielding canvas, he could vaguely hear Swartt’s voice.

  ‘Keep those blades away, I want him alive! Jump on that canvas, pile sand on it – we’ve got ’im!’

  Completely stifled and overburdened, the badger’s helmeted head hit the soft sand, his senses swimming as he fought for breath.

  * * *

  33

  It was an hour after dawn when Abbess Meriam discovered Bryony had left the Abbey. Sadly, she sat on the empty truckle bed, looking at the disarrayed sheets and touching the dented pillow where her friend’s head had lain.

  Meriam read again the note that Bryony had left. ‘Redwall will not be the same without our little flower,’ she whispered, and turned to see Bella standing in the doorway.

  ‘Alas, no, my heart will be heavy each time I see her empty place at table,’ said the ancient silver badger, as she sat beside Meriam on the bed. ‘Do you think she will ever return?’

  ‘Oh, yes. One day when Bryony is older and wiser we will see her walking back through our gates, of that I am sure.’ Then the Abbess’s paw clenched, and her voice became harsh. ‘Unless some bad fate befalls her as she follows Veil – trouble pursues that vermin like winter follows autumn. A young maid alone . . . we should send someone after her.’

  Bella rose slowly. ‘No, Meriam,’ she said gravely. ‘The path that Bryony follows was marked out for her by fate and seasons long ago. All we can do now is send our hearts and feelings out to her, wherever she is.’

  Bella leaned on Meriam’s paw, and the two friends quit the deserted room, which seemed emptier than it had ever been before.

  Grasshoppers chirruped their ceaseless dry cadence; somewhere high in the cloudless blue a skylark trilled; bees droned busily from kingcup to meadow saffron, and butterflies perched upon scabious flowers, their wings like small, still sails on the calm air. Bryony stopped awhile, enjoying the feel of dry curling grass underpaw as she got her bearings. The sun was still easterly and climbing towards high noon. She moved until it was against her right shoulder, striding off after Veil. She had overheard Skipperjo’s challenge to the ferret and knew that the great mountain lay somewhere due west.

  It took Byrony some time to shake off the feeling of depression she had encountered when leaving Redwall. All morning she kept looking back at the Abbey, watching it diminish in size as she got further away. Finally she crossed a long rolling hill and Redwall was lost to sight. The mousemaid knew what she must do: find Veil and bring him back, even though he had been made Outcast and sent away. Bryony had been forming her own plans for both of them. Her Mossflower friends would help; together they would build a small dwelling in the woodland, close to Redwall. There she would live with Veil, teaching him to behave well and showing all at Redwall how he had changed for the good. Maybe, just maybe, Bella would one day regret her decision, and allow Veil to return to the Abbey. Cheered up by these thoughts and her resolute optimism, Bryony strode onward, singing an old Abbey ballad.

  ‘I search for the summer o’er fields far and still,

  Though seasons may take me wherever they will,

  Cross vale and o’er hill as the warm winds blow down,

  ’Twas there I found autumn gold, russet and brown.

  I wandered the lands ’neath a misty morn sky,

  ’Til the frost rimed a small icy tear from my eye.

  O winter, cold winter turns short days to night,

  And dresses the lea in a gown of pure white,

  So windswept and sad until yon comes the day,

  A pale morn of sunlight melts snowflakes away.

  See greenshoots a pushing to pierce the bare earth,

  Bringing fair coloured flowers to herald springbirth,

  As spinney and woodland grow leafier each day,

  Young birds sing that summer is soon on its way.

  I’ll find me the glade that my heart recalls best,

  In my soft summer dell I will lay down to rest.’

  It was mid-noon before Bryony decided to take a break and eat something. Choosing a shaded patch on the side of a broken hill she sat down and opened her haversack. Pouring pennycloud cordial into her beaker she selected a russet apple, and recalled helping to store the apples in dry straw, at the end of the previous autumn’s harvest. It was only when she took out one of Friar Bunfold’s home-baked oat scones from the pack that emotions overcame her. There was nobeast around to see, so the mousemaid gave full rein to her grief, weeping unashamedly as she drank cordial and ate her scone. Memories of Redwall flooded over her, like spring tide hitting a dry beach. Teardrops spattered onto the half-bitten apple and dampened her travelling habit.

  ‘Er, hrumm, hrumm, I’ll ’ave that if y’don’t like it, mouse!’

  She looked up to see a very fat robin watching her. It nodded at the scone. ‘Y’don’t ’ave to eat that if ’n it makes y’cry. Give it t’me, y’ll feel ’appier, I know y’will.’

  Bryony tried wiping her eyes on her sleeve, but the tears kept rolling down unchecked. She broke off a piece of the scone and tossed it to the robin. ‘H . . . h . . . here, n . . . now g . . . go ’way and leave m . . . m . . . me!’

  The robin pecked at the scone critically, bobbing its head. ‘Mmm, mm, very tasty very nice. Gone an’ give y’self hiccups now, haven’t you, should never whinge while eatin’, bad f’you!’

  Bryony turned her head away, still trying to stem the tears. ‘I’m n . . . not whingeing, j . . . just l . . . leave m . . . me alone p . . . please!’ She broke off another piece of scone and gave it to the nosey bird.

  Huffily he seized it and fluttered off slowly. ‘Chipp! Not very good company, are y’mouse?’

  Bryony got her hiccups under control and shouted after the bird, ‘You didn’t see a ferret pass this way, by any chance?’

  The robin flew sw
iftly back, eating his piece of scone before he ventured a reply. ‘Might ’ave. Give me the rest o’ that cake an’ I’ll tell you. Cake’s no good t’you, on’y makes y’cry.’

  Bryony passed over the remainder of the scone. The robin began pecking it thoughtfully, head on one side.

  ‘Got any more o’ these in that bag?’

  The mousemaid sniffled away the last of her tears angrily. ‘No, I have not. Now will you please tell me if you saw the ferret pass this way!’

  The robin nodded. ‘Yes, ferret passed this way las’ evenin’.’

  ‘Well, which way did he go, please?’

  One wing shot out pointing west and slightly south, the exact direction in which Bryony was travelling.

  ‘That way! Bye bye, crymouse!’

  He flew off fast with Bryony shouting after him, ‘And goodbye to you, greedybeak!’

  Suddenly the mousemaid felt drained and tired, exhausted by the long walk and her emotions. Curling up, she fell asleep in the twinkling of an eye.

  A breeze, or an insect, or something tickling her whiskers, brought Bryony back to wakefulness. Slowy, she opened one eye. Immediately she closed it, fear making her lie very still. There in front of her eye, she had seen a huge flat paw with big blunt claws.

  ‘Wake ee oop, missie, et be only oi!’

  Pushing the footpaw away from within a hairsbreadth of her face she sat bolt upright, crying, ‘Togget! What are you doing here?’

  The mole wrinkled his button nose and shrugged. ‘Watchen ee sleepen, yurr, you’m an orful snoarer, Broinee.’

  Bryony stood up, brushing herself off indignantly. ‘I do not snore!’

  Togget put down his haversack, chuckling, ‘Ahurrhurrhurr, that’s ’cos ee never be’d awake to ’ear eeself, ’ow you’m knowen if’n you’m snoar if’n ee be asleepen?’

  The mousemaid stamped her footpaw. ‘Never mind whether I snore or not. I asked you what, pray, are you doing out here? Why did you leave the Abbey?’

  Togget took her paw. ‘You’m moi gudd friend, missie, Togget wuddent leave ee to go off a surchin’ for ee maister Veil all alone, burr no!’

  Bryony seized Togget and hugged him. ‘You’re a true friend, Togget, a good loyal companion, thank you!’

  Togget covered his face with his great digging paws, as moles will do when embarrassed by anything. ‘Hurr, oi’ll go straightways back to ee h’abbey if’n you’m goin’ to be a squeezin’ an’ ’uggin’ oi!’

  Bryony understood, and without another word the two friends set off together travelling southwest.

  It was evening, still light, but getting on to dusk, and Veil was hungry. The ferret had only eaten a few young dandelion shoots and some edible roots all day. Sucking a flat pebble to ward off thirst he carried on across the darkening landscape. After a while he noticed a faint glow from some hills to the north of his route and, overcome by curiosity, he sneaked silently over. As he drew nearer the hill he could tell the glow was being made by a fire in a small hollow at the hill’s base. Flattening himself belly down against the grass, the ferret wriggled forward quietly. When he was close enough, he lifted his head and looked.

  It was an old male dormouse with two little ones, sitting around the fire roasting apples. To one side lay a homely looking cottage loaf and a big wedge of dark yellow cheese. Veil noted that the old dormouse carried a knife, which he used to cut the bread, and that there was also a stout walking staff at his side. Veil walked into the firelight with both paws spread wide and a disarming smile upon his face.

  ‘Pray, friends, don’t alarm yourselves,’ he said, keeping his voice soft and low. ‘I come in peace.’

  The old dormouse inspected him critically. ‘In peace, aye, an’ in hunger too by the looks of ye. Sit ye down, there ain’t much, but yore welcome t’share supper with me’n’the grandmice. Last bad winter took their parents, an’ I’m the only one left to look after ’em, pore mites. We’re travellers, livin’ where we can, starvin’ when we have to.’

  Veil sat opposite the oldster, accepting a slice of cheese, a hunk of the loaf, a roasted apple and a large seashell filled with water from a flask. He ate gratefully, improvising a pack of lies to the kind dormouse.

  ‘My name’s Bunfold, I’m the same as your little ones, lost my mother an’ father, aye, an’ a sister, too, last winter. I’ve been on my own ever since, wanderin’ field an’ forest.’

  The old dormouse stared into the flames. ‘The babes are called Hoffy an’ Brund, same as their parents. I’m Ole Hoffy. Arr, Bunfold, ’tis a hard life for porebeasts without a dwellin’ place. See the little ones are asleep already, wore out, just like their paws, from trekkin’ an’ livin’ rough. Here, young un, cover y’self with this against the night chills.’

  He dug out a ragged blanket from a bark carrier and tossed it to Veil. The ferret wrapped himself up and snuggled down, saying, ‘Sleep well, Ole Hoffy. Who knows, mayhap tomorrow’ll bring us all good fortune an’ a bit o’ luck, eh?’

  The dormouse threw some twigs on the fire before settling. ‘We could certainly do with it. G’night, Bunfold!’

  Veil lay with his eyes half closed, listening to the crackle of the fire and waiting his chance.

  Togget was awake before Bryony the next day, unpacking food for them both from the haversack he had made up before leaving the Abbey. Picking a kingcup, he placed it gently between the mousemaid’s folded paws.

  ‘Wake ee oop, ’tis a bran’ new day,

  Or oi’ll eat all ee vittles an’ run away!’

  Bryony sat up staring at the flower. ‘Where did this come from?’

  Togget busied himself slicing cold deeper’n’ever pie. ‘’Ow shudd oi know, missie, et be thoi own biznuss if you’m want to roam roun’ all noight a picken flowers, hurr aye!’

  Bryony curtsied prettily to her molefriend. ‘Thank you, sir. Ooh! Deeper’n’ever pie with dandelion and burdock cordial, what a good breakfast!’

  They dallied awhile after the meal, enjoying the bright summer morn. Then, packing their gear, Bryony and Togget set off still trekking southwest. About mid-morn they reached the top of a high grassy hill and stopped momentarily to enjoy the breeze.

  The mousemaid looked around. ‘You know, if this hill were any higher I’ll bet I could see the tip of Redwall Abbey from here. It’s not that far away really, only just over a day’s journey.’

  Togget was looking the other way. Shading his eyes against the sun he peered southwest before scanning all the land around. ‘Yurr, missie, lookit, thurr be somebeasts a wanderin’ o’er yon!’

  Bryony looked hard in the direction he was pointing; she could make out a huddle of dark shapes. ‘Well, I don’t think it could be Veil, he’d be travelling the wrong way. Can you make out how many of them there are?’

  Togget had exceptionally good eyes for a mole. ‘Lukks loik two, nay three, aye, et be three. Yurr, wot if’n they be foebeasts or villyuns?’

  Bryony decided that they should lie flat, so that the otherbeasts could not easily see them. Stretched out on the hilltop, they watched until the trio drew closer. Bryony stood up. ‘They’re mice, looks like two of them are only small. Come on, Togget, they won’t harm us. Let’s find out what they’re doing in this country.’

  The two little dormice were weeping piteously, clinging to the blanket draped about Ole Hoffy’s shoulders. He had a wound on his head, crusted with dried blood around a swelling lump. Staggering crazily towards Bryony and Togget he fell, pushing the babes from him as he toppled over.

  Bryony was at his side in an instant. ‘Oh, you poor thing! What happened?’ she cried. Damping a cloth she bathed the dormouse’s head as he relayed a halting account of the previous night.

  ‘Ferret, said his name was Bunfold, camped with us, gave him supper an’ a blanket to sleep. Must’ve rolled over an’ burnt my paw in th’ fire embers, woke me up this mornin’, head achin’, food gone, knife an’ staff gone too. Huh, ferret gone an’ all!’

  Bryony looked at Togg
et and shook her head. ‘Bunfold! That could only be Veil. Build a fire and take care of the babes, Togget. I’ll see what I can do for this old fellow. Hmm, he’s not badly injured, he should be all right.’

  Togget issued the little dormice with a slice of deeper’n’ever pie apiece and some dandelion and burdock cordial. He also dug out a packet of candied chestnuts for them. They had not eaten since the previous night, and both fell gratefully upon the food.

  The mole patted their heads. ‘B’ain’t much wrong wi’ these two gurt rascals, they’m a vittlin’ oop loik a pair o’ ’arebeasts!’

  Bryony soon had Ole Hoffy feeling better; she cleaned and dressed his wound and fed him. He told her of his life so far and the hard times he had experienced with the two babes. And the mousemaid came up with a solution that would solve all the dormouse’s problems.

  ‘You must carry on walking east for a day, or a bit more, and then you will see a path. Once on that path you will be close to Redwall Abbey – go there with your babes. Tell the Mother Abbess Meriam that Bryony sent you. Redwall Abbey is a place where all goodbeasts are welcome; you may live there in peace and plenty. The babes will be brought up well, never again knowing hunger or want. You will all find the love of good friends there. Have a safe journey, and fortune attend you and your grandmice, Ole Hoffy.’

  The dormouse did a little jig, surprising for one of his long seasons, then he bowed to the two friends as he took the babes’ paws. ‘Good comes out o’ bad, some say. Last night that villain wished me good fortune an’ luck on the morrow. Who’d have thought that a bad ferret’s wish brought me’n’the babes good!’

  Calling loud farewells they went their separate ways, but not before Bryony and Togget had donated one of their food haversacks to the dormice, more than enough to see them to the Abbey.