Naagat-Yara: Chapter 4

         Skipper and many creatures within the search party clutched at their weapons immediately. Deyna, however, cocked his head to one side and perked an ear into the air at the surprisingly-familiar voice. His keen eyes caught the faint outline of a distant shape, round and bulking, as it ambled towards them through the downpour. The warrior’s face broke into a broad grin. “Could that be Jurkin Dillypin, Champion Spike-Tussler of all Mossflower that I see?”
         The distant hedgehog threw back his head and cackled in delight. “Hohohoho! Is that th’voice o’Tagg the Tattooed Terror I hear? Brace yer spikes, y’great lollopin’ streamdog!”
         The two creatures roared and charged each other with their heads lowered: the Taggerung had one palm planted against his forehead with his claws spread like quills. His friends all gave horrified shouts as he and Jurkin crashed together like a pair of boulders. Their skulls locked and they heaved and scrabbled in the mud, each trying to knock his opponent off his feet in the traditional manner of wrestling hedgehogs. Deyna knew that he could easily roll into a somersault and send the Dillypin chieftain sprawling, but instead he jostled his friend playfully. “Is it just me, or have you gotten bigger, spike-dog?”
         The great hedgehog laughed heartily along with him, and after one final shove they separated and stood upright. “I’ll take that as a compliment, bucko!” Jurkin panted. “Season o’spikes, Tagg, in th’dark a beast can ‘ardly see them big tattoos on yer! Y’practically look like a civilized creature!”
         The Taggerung seized the Dillypin’s paw and pumped it up and down heartily until the hog’s headspikes rattled. “I had them removed, mate! The name’s Deyna now. I found Redwall Abbey after all!”
         “Aye,” Skipper grunted as he approached. He sized the newcomer up approvingly. “He ain’t a Tattooed Terror no more. So you’re the chieftain of the Dillypins, eh? Deyna speaks right highly of you.”
         “As well he should,” Jurkin snorted smugly, turning to cup both paws around his mouth and holler over his shoulder: “Ahoy, Dillypins! ’Tis Tagg, and a load of abbeybeasts! Step to it, now!”
         Delighted squeals and cheers came out of the woodlands, then countless shadows burst through the torrents of rain and came scrambling after their leader in a frenzy. Deyna was nearly bowled over by three hogbabes that charged him at once and clung to his legs and rudder. Some of the Dillypins came hurtling on so fast that when they tried to stop, their footpaws skidded through the mud and they went crashing into Drogg in a tidal wave of rainwater, spikes, and sludge. The abbey cellarhog rolled into a ball just before they reached him, and the impact sent his prickly form rolling into a gooseberry bush. Jurkin cackled at the sight Drogg made when he sat up; dripping red berries were impaled all over his head and back like a pincushion. “Hohohoho! You look fit t’be the centerpiece at an abbey feast, matey!”
         “Jurkin Dillypin,” Drogg chuckled as he climbed shakily upright. “I should’ve known to brace myself with your tribe about! You wreaked absolute havoc last time you visited Redwall — and I remember, though you may not; you were barely more than a dibbun at the time.”
         “Why, sure I remember!” the hedgehog chieftain cried in delight, clapping a paw to his forehead. “Me ol’ second brother’s first cousin twice removed! Or is it a first brother’s second cousin, er… Drogg, isn’t it? What brings y’out into Mossflower at this time o’night, me great fat cellarhog?”
         “I was fixin’ to ask you the same question,” Skipper cut in, his voice growing serious. “Don’t you Dillypins usually stick to the rivers?”
         “Aye, that we do,” Jurkin’s wife admitted as she pried her babes from Deyna’s legs. “But a few of our friends ‘ave gone missin’ roundabouts… even Jurkin’s best ‘og, Nibbit.”
         The lead hedgehog visibly sobered at the mention of his lost kin. “An’ it ain’t just Dillypins, mates,” he added grimly. “Bank voles, vermin, even an ol’ red kite that’s been givin’ us trouble near the sou’eastern fork. All vanishin’ like snow on a spring afternoon. Finally I says to me family, ‘Best get somewhere safe, and what’s safer hereabouts than Redwall,’ says I? We’ve young’uns to think about a’fore we go out and look fer trouble proper-like. Once me darlin’s are safe, I’d like to get m’paws nice and tight around the throat o’whatever creature’s been causin’ this grief,” he growled.
         “Aye, we’re lookin’ for one of our own as well,” Skipper murmured. “Haven’t found any traces of anybeast, have ye?”
         “Not s’much as a bruised leaf, me bucko.”
         “I’ve been wondering if it could be the work of a Juska clan,” Deyna admitted grudgingly. “The Juskabor may have been banished to the southlands, but they weren’t the only tribe in Mossflower.”
         “I don’t see what good there would be in killing off your own kind,” Brother Hoarg reminded him with a scratch of his graying whiskers. “You might know the ways of vermin better than I, Deyna, but somehow I can’t fathom that they could be behind this. Not if other thieves and vagabonds just like them are going missing. Yowch!” The old mouse clapped a paw to his face, where a sizable chunk of ice had smacked off the end of his snout. Beside him, Blekker yelped as another frozen missile pelted the top of her skull. “Hailstones,” Skipper yelled with a wave of his arm. “We’ll talk later, mates. Back to Redwall, double-quick!”
         The abbeybeasts and Dillypins darted through the trees together and staggered along through the muddy slopes of Mossflower, barking in pain whenever frigid marbles of ice clacked off their heads or clattered down their backs. The hedgehogs had it the easiest; their thick layers of spikes made them almost immune to the downpour of frozen raindrops. Amongst them, Deyna made his way closer to Skipper without hardly batting an eyelash at the barrage as it pelted him from nose to tailtip. “This is going to make tracking Brull completely impossible tomorrow,” he protested. “Any broken twigs or crushed leaves that she left behind will be gone. Her pawmarks have already erased by the rain… let me stay back and see how much further the trail goes. Maybe I can find her before the hailstones cover everything — I don’t mind the weather, you know.”
         But thee otter leader merely shook his head. “Sorry, Deyna, but yer sister would tan my hide iffen’ I let you,” he sighed apologetically. “Truth be told, I don’t like the idea much, either. If Brull didn’t go missing by herself, then the last thing I want to do is leave the son of me old mate Rillflag out in the woodlands alone. Taggerung or no.”

- - -

         The Dillypins and the last of the search parties arrived at Redwall Abbey looking far less like warriors or travelers, and far more like strange, mystical beasts that had come to life in the midst of the rainstorm. Their tunics, cloaks, and fur were splattered with mud all over, which streaked down their arms and tails at different thicknesses where rainwater had formed interwoven trails along their bodies. Many of the hedgehogs had prickles so filled with twigs, fallen leaves, and even a few small branches that it looked as if they had sprouted antlers. Trey, Wummple, and all of the abbeybeasts that had returned early from the search were waiting for them at the gate. Under the protective shadow of the high sandstone ramparts, Mhera had arranged for several torches and lanterns to be lit as everyone watched the empty wilderness with anxious murmurs. However, at the sight of the crowd of beasts on the path, Gundil and a few of his friends ambled eagerly out into the hail to meet them. “Hurr, did’ee find any sign’ovurr, Skip?”
         The tall otter’s face was an open book for them to read, and some of the bright black eyes of the moles started to glitter with tears that mingled with the rain. “We went as far as we possibly could,” Skipper murmured, looking more his age than he ever had before. The act of bearing the bad news to others over and over seemed to weigh on his heart and add years to his whiskers. “But t’ain’t safe fer us to try and go further in this weather. If Brull’s out there, let’s hope she’s made herself a good dry burrow.”
         The party reached the massive doorway and sighed with relief as they stepped under the archway to escape the rain and pounding hailstones. Many of the abbeybeasts shook their head in amazement at the number of hedgehogs that were pouring in and shaking mud off their headspikes… then one loud voice called out over the din, “Well if it isn’t Jurkin Dillypin, y’great snot-nosed, addlebrained excuse for a spikedog! Never thought I’d see you quit your life o’rovin’ an’ raftin’!”
         “Hohoho, Nimbalo, me ol’ messmate! I’d wondered where I’d find ya! Knew y’couldn’t be far, not with yore ol’ friend Ta— er, Deyna about! Suppose I can’t blame yeh for hidin’ from me, I am a dreadful frightenin’ beast after all!”
         The boisterous harvest mouse traded mocking punches with the Dillypin chieftain and his kin, carefully avoiding the touch of their prickles and guiding them towards the main abbey building with the storm overhead nearly forgotten. “Ha! Me, scared? Me ol’ grandma was more frightenin’ than you, mate! Creatures used to take one look at her and then beg me to slay ‘em! That’s how I first got my name, you know!”
         Mhera shook her head in mock horror as Nimbalo’s voice trailed away into the distance. “Oh, that dreadful fibber! Those Dillypins are only going to make his tales taller than ever, I suspect.”
         Not far away, Deyna stood out in the torrential downpour, wringing out his kilt and brushing the mud down his fur as the rain slowly washed it away onto the abbey lawn. His little friend’s jovial mood hadn’t been enough to bring a smile back to his face this time. “They came looking for sanctuary,” he explained sadly. “Brull isn’t the only beast to have gone missing in Mossflower.”
         Mhera’s eyes widened. “Do you think it could be a pack of vermin?”
         The Taggerung stepped back under the ramparts and violently shook the moisture off his coat before donning one of the dry cloaks that the abbess and her followers had brought for the party of searchers. “That’s just it — there are vermin that have gone missing, too. I think we’d better be extra careful about letting any abbeybeasts outside of Redwall… especially alone.”
         Mhera nodded and hugged her brother tight before straightening up and resuming her stately role before the other beasts under the archway. Many of them, who had been murmuring amongst themselves, grew quiet as their eyes fell on her. “Tomorrow morning, we will ring the abbey bells as an alert to all of Mossflower Wood,” the otter maiden announced. “Any beast seeking safety from this unknown danger can be lodged here until it is discovered, and stopped.”
         “Aye, marm,” Skipper added with a curt nod. “Me and my crew will be out at dawn again, lookin’ for fresh tracks.”
         “I will, too,” Deyna agreed with a palm on the hilt of his sword.
         Beside him, Mhera’s face drew up into a pained smile and she held out a paw towards her dearest friend. “Gundil? Come here.” Brushing away a threatening tear with his digging claws, the young mole trundled over to the abbess and tugged on his nose respectfully. The otter maiden crouched down and placed both of her paws onto his shoulders. “We musn’t give up hope that Foremole Brull is alive out there,” she began carefully. She pursed her lips to try and keep her emotions in check. “But in her absence, you and the other abbey moles should elect an acting leader… We wouldn’t want Brull to come back and find her work on the gardens or the cellars abandoned.”
         “No’m, mizz,” Gundul admitted diligently. “We’m down’t, burr aye.”
         Behind him, the passel of moles began elbowing one another and whispering hurriedly in their quaint form of molespeech. All of the creatures beneath the gateway stared at them in confusion until one of them caught Mhera’s curious eye and stood forward. It was Durby, who rocked back and forth on his footpaws like a shy dibbun asked to recite poetry in front of guests. His cheeks flushed bright pink. “Hurr, we’m, um… th’tis… we’m mowles’ve already v’hoted, we ’ave” he mumbled bashfully. “We’m bees gurtly grateful iffen’ Gundil’d do et.”
         If Durby was blushing before, it was nothing to the bright red color that Gundil turned: the young mole hid his face in his smock at the flattery of his fellows, and couldn’t be persuaded to lift his head for several minutes. Even when the entire party started walking back to the abbey building together, Mhera had to steer him towards the steps before he nearly crashed into the pink sandstone walls, because he refused to take his thick digging claws down. “We’ll tell the rest of the Redwallers in the morning,” she told them all. “I’m sure Gundil will do us proud as our acting Foremole… and I’m sure our brave searchers will find Brull in no time tomorrow, too!”
         But the searchers didn’t find Brull the next day. Or the day after. In fact, they would find no trace of her for a long, long time.