literature

Naagat-Yara: Chapter 5

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         Deyna's eyes shot open in the darkness. He looked quickly over the contents of his bedchamber — neat and orderly, holding a bare minimum of his possessions — illuminated by clear shafts of moonlight cascading through the open window on his left.  He always kept that window ajar. Even in the winter season, it was all the burly otter could do to keep from going mad if he stayed within an enclosed space for too long. As it was, the approach of summer was keeping the nights warmer and he had been only too eager to soak in the change in the air. However, this year, summer came with a pang of guilt, and the memories of spending nearly a whole season searching for the abbey’s lost Foremole without any luck at all.
         Deyna kept his ears pricked uneasily; he was almost certain that he had been woken up by some sound. Not the noise of any restless dibbuns or snoring moles - which he had come to recognize in no time flat - but rather a different noise. Whatever it was, it had come from outside on the abbey grounds. Perhaps it had something to do with the creatures vanishing around the depths of Mossflower… something to do with Foremole Brull.
         “TONK. TONK. TONK.”
         Deyna slipped silently from his bed and peered out the window into the orchard, which was empty and quiet except for the whispering of leaves as a faint breeze blew through the branches of the nearby forest. It sounded like a creature was trying to knock at the front gate with a heavy spear butt.
         Without a noise Deyna crept from his chamber into the hall, proud that he had always kept the hinges to his door well-oiled and silent. He made his way quickly through the labyrinth of corridors to the tapestry of Martin the Warrior, and after a respectful nod to the woven comrade, he removed the mouse's legendary blade from its place on the wall.
         “TONK. TONK. TONK.”
         Within moments Deyna was emerging into the open night air, feeling the faint wind ruffling his dark fur. He wondered how long the traveler had been knocking; it was all-too obvious that no other beast in Redwall was awakened by the ruckus - not even Hoarg, the gatekeeper himself. Then again, little could rouse old Hoarg once he started snoring in his armchair.
         Thankful for the moon lighting up the abbey grounds, Deyna could see almost as easily as if it were day as he made his way towards the front archway.
         “TONK. TONK. TONK.”
         This time the knocking came from the east wickergate. Deyna paused on his way towards the ramparts and pricked his ears, hearing the sound of rattling as the night-time lurker tried to take his frustration out on the locked door. Soft voices could be heard as the noise died down, and Deyna even picked up the faint sound of pawsteps in the forest brush.
         “Locked. Bet they're all loike that,” grumbled the first voice. It was a male speaking, and his words had a strange round drawl. Deyna hadn’t heard a beast speak exactly like that before, but the accent did remind him of a few southern mercenary corsairs that had briefly joined the Juskarath for a few seasons when he was young. It made his fur stand on end to think of it.
         “Oy’ll find a tree to cloimb,” was the reply. A female, albeit with a deep throaty voice and the same strange dialect. There was a faint scraping noise, like claws digging into wood and bark. “These bandy-coots are lucky we ain't vermin, eh?”
         “If anyone lives in there. Place moight be deserted,” said the male. Deyna slipped into the shadows around the corner of the Abbey building, keeping his eyes on the branches of one particularly tall elm with leaves that had started to rustle.
         “Nah, it's too well-kept for that,” the maiden whispered. “No place like this'd stay empty for long. Make a good fo'tress. Besoides, Russano said the abbeybeasts still live in it.” Deyna could see her dark shadow over the ramparts now, edging along carefully under the shadow of the tree's heavy branches.
         Her companion snorted. “Three months ago, 'e said it. Sleepy lil' bandy-coots, ain't they?” There was a crack from one of the limbs the female was gripping. “Watch it, now. Don't fall.”
         “You're supposed to catch me if Oy do, Tikky,” the female hissed, her silhouette shaking slightly as she edged further and further out on a branch close to the top of the sandstone wall. “That's why you're down there.”
         “You’d squish me inta jelly, ya fat lump. Catch yesself!”
         “Shh!”
         The elm branches were vibrating very violently now as the figure fought to keep her balance: Deyna was impressed that the rustling of the leaves didn't wake up the entire abbey. The stranger over the wall was much too sturdy and heavy to be a mouse or a squirrel, if the shaking tree hadn't proven that much already. Judging by the long limbs and the thick neck, it was probably a ferret or stoat. Once the creature came full into the moonlight, it would be easier to tell.
         Deyna could tell that the beast was about to jump when the violent rustling suddenly came to a head, then his eyes caught a dark shape suspended in the air for just a moment. The leap was well done, but still not quite high enough to clear the outside border of the ramparts. The figure's chest slammed into the top of the wall with a muffled “oof,” and Deyna could glimpse a head with two arms holding on over the wall for dear life. The creature began to growl and pull herself up.
         “Come on, Tumbol,” Tikky encouraged hoarsely. “Come on, you’ve got it! Almost there!”
         Straining mightily with exertion, the poor beast finally managed after a moment or two to prop herself up on her elbows and lean over the top of the wall, able at last to look inside at the grounds and the giant abbey building. Hooking a hind leg over the sandstone brick, she came into a sitting position, straddling the wall and gasping for breath. Tikky was delighted.
         “Attaway, Tumbol! Attagell! Go on, then!”
         Breathing heavily but straightening up with pride, the figure slipped onto the ramparts and looked about. Now lit up by the full moon, Deyna could see a glint of gold in one of her ears: most likely a tribal or sea-beast’s mark, and that meant it was no local. A thick crimson cowl was wrapped about her shoulders to fight off the cold of the spring night, but underneath she wore the loose garb of a sailor who was used to warmer climates. A broad tail flicked about behind her, but was hidden beneath the folds of the cloak; until he got a closer look, Deyna still wouldn't be able to tell what sort of beast she might be. But be she vermin or not, the beast was first and foremost a trespasser, and Deyna resolved not to allow her to let in her friends until he was sure that they could be trusted.
         “Go back to the front,” Tumbol whispered over the wall to Tikky. “Oy’ll let you an' Rick in togethah.”
         “Hold on - catch this, first.”
         A long, thin rod suddenly shot up over the ramparts like a javelin, and Tumbol caught it with ease. She twirled it for a moment — it was a wooden quarterstaff, blunt at both ends — then swaggered confidently along the top of the wall and laid the rod nonchalantly across her shoulders like a rack. Her paw-steps were nearly silent on the red sandstone as she reached the steps and started to descend. Deyna adjusted his grip on the handle of the abbey sword and crept forward. When she came at last to the front gate, Tumbol knocked the butt of her staff against the giant wooden doors with a resounding “TONK”. “G’dai, bandy-coots. What's the password?”
         There was a loud smack against the other side of the gate. Another tired voice, similar to Tikky's, came through the blocked entrance in the midst of a deep yawn. “Aw, shut it, Tumbol.”
         “Open up,” Tikky added.
         “That ain't the password,” Tumbol replied sternly.
         There was a loud, irritated sigh from the other side of the wall. “…PLEASE.”
         “Good lads,” the maiden muttered with satisfaction, examining the large crossbar carefully and crouching down to push up on it.
         Deyna, creeping out into the moonlight, chose this moment to act. Weighing the sword of Martin the Warrior carefully in his one paw, he swung his arm in a wide arch and sent the blade hurtling deep into the dark wood of the gates above the crossbar with a loud “THUNK.”
         Tumbol leapt back at the loud noise and the sight of the gleaming sword buried deep in the abbey gate. She snatched up her staff and whirled around to face her potential attacker. However, as soon as she saw Deyna, she straightened up again and pulled her staff back with a friendly wave of her paw. “Oh. Evenin’, mite.”
         “I’m not so sure you’re any mate of mine,” Deyna replied evenly. His long years of training had given him full control over how much of his emotions he put into his words: he was keeping his cool at the moment, and spoke with little animosity since the creature before him didn’t seem to desire a fight any more than he did. Still, his remarks were curt and to the point; the beasts were still trespassing, after all.
         “Easy, now, we don't want no trouble.” She reached up and pulled her hood away, revealing a sea otter's bright-eyed face, all whiskered and speckled. The left side of her jaw was crisscrossed by a pale scar that pulled the corner of her mouth into somewhat of a permanent sneer. The mark was still scabbed in several places and even in the moonlight seemed rather gruesome-looking. “Though iffin’ we did, you’d hafta aim bettah than that.”
         Deyna stood on his guard a few meters away, unarmed but no less dangerous than if he had been holding a weapon. He bared his teeth. “I missed on purpose. You're lucky that wasn't your head.”
         Tumbol let out a dry laugh and placed her paw on her hip, leaning casually on her quarterstaff. A thick rudder-like tail swished out from under her cape. The way she was standing, there were nearly fifteen ways he could have disarmed her in a flash: either she had no concern about the danger of her situation, or she had no knowledge of how to stand ready in case of a fight. She was so confident, it could have been either. “Ha! You're lucky we knocked first.”
         A few more loud whacks from the other side of the gate seemed to prove her point. “Oy! What's goin' on, then?”
         Deyna crossed his arms, still glaring and not letting his guard down. “Stay where you are,” he called over the wall as he heard pawsteps leaving for the east wall again. There was a long pause. Then the faint sound started up again. “I mean it,” Deyna snapped. “Stay on the road at the front gate. I’ll know if you try to sneak off.”
         “Easy lads, Oy can handle it,” the otter maid added. At this, her comrade could be heard returning. Trudging, likely. Neither raucous male seemed too keen on being left out.
         Deyna turned to look on the stranger before him. “You know, for somebeast that claims to be friendly, you sure don’t seem to understand the proper way to pay a visit,” he said. “Haven't you ever heard the saying that anyone who doesn't enter by a gate is a thief?”
         Tumbol snorted at the remark and scratched her chin — she didn’t seem to notice when one of the scabs broke beneath her claws and started bleeding. “Like Oy said, you're lucky we ain't vermin comin' to steal from ya. Thieves don't knock.”
         “Oy,” one of the other travelers barked from outside again, still banging his fist against the doors. “Let us in, eh! We’h knockin’ alright!”
         “Keep away from our sistah!”
         “Redwall Abbey is a place of peace,” Deyna asserted grimly. “You won't be allowed to wear any weapons so long as you remain within these walls.”
         “Oy can see that,” Tumbol chuckled, patting the red pommel stone on the hilt of Martin’s sword. “This is your toothpick then, eh?”
         The hairs on the back of Deyna's neck bristled angrily. “I’m charged to protect Redwall, marm. From trespassers as well as vermin.” Tumbol didn't seem to like that answer too much, but if she was nervous she didn't show it. Her brothers, on the other hand, were becoming frustrated.
         “Should’a opened the door when we knocked then, ya bandy!”
         “We ain't no scraggy vermin! Oy know Tumbol’s a fright to look at, but we ain’t!”
         The otter maiden kicked the gate venomously, since the brother who had made the remark was out of her reach. However, she seemed determined to win Deyna's favor through arrogant casualties, so she leaned her staff back against the wall and attempted to pull his sword from the gate. It took her three tries before the blade finally came unstuck. Trying not to stumble, the Tumbol gripped the weapon by the top of the hit and held it out to Deyna, blade pointing downwards. “We're just travelahs, mite,” she assured him confidently. “Friends o’ Russano the Wise. Thought the place might be deserted when nobody answered, tha'sall.”
          Deyna accepted the blade slowly. “You’re not seeking refuge?”
         “From what?” Tumbol snorted. “Tain’t nothin’ out there for miles, ‘cept the moon an’ stahs.”
         Deyna nodded absently. He was still secretly berating himself for not hearing the knocking earlier, and while these strangers didn't seem as suspicious as before, that was no reason to become too friendly too fast. “What's your name?”
          As if she had been waiting for this moment, the she-otter drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders proudly. “Tumbol Nevahh,” she announced.
          “Yeah,” one of her brothers called, pounding on the gate roughly. “You cross us, and you cross the whole clan o’tha Thundah-Holt!”
          Deyna's eyes narrowed at the threat. “Where are you from?”
          Tumbol opened her mouth, then her features grew wide with surprise, as if she had expected a different question to be asked. “Ain't you evvah heard o’the Thundah-Holt?” she asked incredulously. “Oy thought we'd be furthah from the coast 'afore meetin' an ottah what don't know the name Nevahh.” Not waiting for an answer, she turned her head and hollered back over the wall. “Oy, lads! This stream-dog don't know the name Nevahh!”
          This was met with great hilarity by the two Nevarr brothers standing outside the gate: they could be heard cackling and barking raucously. “Hohoho! Raised undah a rock, were you, Bandy-coot?”
          “Just you wait 'til the folks he’ah this wan back home, ha ha!”
          “Nevvah heard the name Nevahh!”
          “Must'a been raised by a bunch’a moles!”
          Tumbol picked up her staff and twirled it, looking at Deyna curiously out of the corner of her eye. Though her companions were clearly amused by this new turn of events, a hint of apprehension seemed to flicker through her features now… as if the Redwall warrior’s indifference to her family name was a sudden crack in her defenses that made her feel less-protected than before. “You Redwall ottahs come to the Hullabaloo every dozen seasons, don’cha? No ottah at the Hullabaloo don’t know the name Nevahh.”
          Deyna straightened up slowly. “I grew up far from here. I haven’t been to a Hullabaloo just yet.”
          Tumbol shrugged. “Makes sense, then, aye— ”
          Suddenly a loud crash echoed from back within the abbey building. Deyna whirled around in surprise, his warrior adrenaline starting up again. The trespassers had only been a diversion!
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AstarGoldenwing's avatar
I love how you raised the suspense in this chapter, since we don't know who the trespassers were or even whether they were vermin or woodlanders. :) And nice one with Deyna throwing his sword! :D