Naagat-Yara: Chapter 24

          Despite the fact that they were still recovering from the recent scare in the marshy inlet, the Nevarrs picked themselves up admirably and prepared the vessel for its next obstacle with practiced ease. Deyna helped them lift a portion of the deck in the ketch’s center, and there Tikky drew out a long mast and hinged crossbeam that had been stowed straight down the middle of the keel. There was barely time to admire the strange collapsible design before it was lifted and locked into place, though the boom was kept upright and strapped to the mizzen. Grip leaned on the tiller and suspiciously eyed the canvas that was tied tight to the fastened crossbeam. “Surely you don’t expect a sail to do us any good over the rapids, do ya?”
          Tikky deftly tossed him a line before tying one around his own waist as a precaution, in case any of them was tossed overboard by the rocks or white water. “O’course not. But the mast will help us balance.” The shrew’s expression did not exhibit any sign of agreement. His muscles tensed as the brawny Nevarr approached and sat on the other side of the tiller readily. “Oy’ll steer us.”
          “Oh, no you don’t, you great daft sea-dog,” Grip snapped with his paws wrapped firmly around the handle. “I’ll steer us, thank’e very much!”
          Deyna ignored their bickering and yanking of the tiller back and forth, which he had gotten quite used to, and glanced up instead to where his only remaining companion was standing upright beside the mast. “Shouldn’t you be sitting down for this, Tumbol?”
          The she-otter gave him a brief glance before she went back to eyeing the bend in the waterway up ahead. She bared her fangs eagerly into what he realized was supposed to be a grin, but it looked rather frightening thanks to the scar that kept the left side of her mouth stretched into perpetual grimace. “No, mite. You should be standin’ up.” She reached out and helped him rise to his footpaws, then patted the mast. “Hang on to this, and lean where-evvah you want the ketch to go.”
          Deyna mimicked her stance and took hold of the mizzen, but as the vessel rounded the turn in the broadstream, he grew less and less confident in his friend’s strange advice. Up ahead, several glistening moss-covered boulders jutted out of the water and marked the beginning of a downhill slope. The speeding current smashed into the rocks and split around them in cascades of wild foamy spray, and then tumbled headlong into a maze of more waves and white-water rapids that danced and leapt over networks of jutting stones. The Taggerung planted his legs and tried to get a firm footing on the wooden deck. A glance over his shoulder told him that Tikky and Grip had grudgingly agreed to steer the vessel together — though they still shot playful elbows into one another’s ribs as the ketch drifted swiftly towards the rushing torrents. The roar of the deluge was nearly deafening. Deyna’s ears fell flat upon his head as the prow came towards the edge. Closer, and closer, and closer… and then they shot out past it. For one horrible moment their vessel was suspended over the downpour, with its stern still in the river while the bow hung suspended in mid-air! Then it dropped.
          Though his claws were wrapped around the mast and his footpaws hadn’t left the deck, the Redwall warrior felt his stomach fly into his mouth as they fell downwards and forwards. “SPLASH!” Their keel hit the raging flood, and they shot forward through a cloud of frigid misty droplets. The landing would have been jarring for Tumbol and Deyna if they hadn’t been bracing their legs for it, but Grip and Tikky — who had very nearly flown from their seats in the stern — both winced when their backsides smacked down hard on the wooden benches. However, there wasn’t any time for them to cry out in pain; a massive boulder was already planted squarely in their path. The shrew and the sea otter had spotted it just before the ketch was launched over the edge of the rapids, so they were both already heaving the tiller hard to port when the prow first sliced into the icy current upon landing. The vessel had barely bobbed back up from the initial impact when the rudder’s guidance swung it hard past the right side of the glistening stone. Then they tipped forwards and dove down the next gap in the rapids.
          Tikky and Grip pumped the tiller back and forth furiously, veering the boat side to side in a frenzy as it pitched up and down along the sloping river; fortunately, the raging waters were slipping along the same path with practiced ease, and they seemed to guide the Lily on its course almost as much as the rudder itself. For the first few dives that the ketch took, Deyna could barely do more than clutch at the mizzen and wince at every jarring leap that the vessel made. He had to squint as the prow kicked up splash after splash of freezing droplets into his face, soaking through his clothes and fur until his claws started to grow numb. Then, to his surprise, he heard a wild howl of delight.
          Beside him, Tumbol was leaning out over the starboard gunwale with only her grip on the mast keeping her from falling backwards into the frigid tumult. Whenever the Lily shot out past a ledge and dipped forward, she would lean back and pull on the mizzen as if trying to will the vessel into landing on its keel. Whenever they came dangerously close to a boulder or even scraped it with the edge of the hull, she would hang off a line in the opposite direction as if to guide the ship away from danger. Her wild mood was contagious, too. After shaking off a wave of mist that hit his face, Grip whooped and bared his teeth in defiance of the wild river. Tikky’s work with the tiller grew smoother as he planted his footpaws beneath the bench and started to lean with the vessel’s movements.
          As the ketch bucked and veered about, Deyna started to glimpse their pathway through the waters and anticipated the winding bends as they approached. He felt the mast sway like it had a life of its own, and as they came up on a sharp port turn, he wrapped his paws more firmly around it and heaved. He felt Tumbol’s weight and his own sway the vessel, if only minutely, and they sliced  past the nearest stone like a shooting arrow. The ketch tossed up and down as it constantly dove from one patch of rapids to the next, and the passengers were soon bracing themselves with ease and letting their paws absorb each impact while their bodies reeled and undulated with momentum. The wind rushed through their ears and the current heaved them along faster and faster. Waves of icy spray were strewn across the bows and formed puddles on the deck, which then got washed out of the lurching boat almost as soon as they were formed. Just as the river ahead seemed to finally grow smooth again, they careened down a patch of falling water so fast that the ketch actually slid straight off the next ledge and into the air. The group of friends all leaned back hard, their eyes wide and mouths bellowing with a mixture of anxiety and delight, before the hull split the waves below and they landed with a resounding “FOOM!” that sent a wall of white foam scattering in all directions.
          Deyna let his mouth hang open as his chest heaved and he gasped for air as desperately as if he had been holding his breath — though he had been whooping and cheering along with the others just moments earlier. Tumbol tentatively detached herself from the mast with shaking claws, but shot him a broad grin. “Glad ya stood?”
          The Redwall warrior chuckled. He was still giddy with exhilaration, and he was not the only one. Grip trembled by the tiller and flopped down onto his back with a laugh. “That was some o’the wildest water I’ve ever been on!”
          “Oy, an’ me rump won’t forget it for a long time,” Tikky moaned as he rubbed his sore backside, which had hit his wooden seat countless times as the vessel had pitched and bounced down the rapids.
          Tumbol shook herself wildly and sent a shower of droplets on them all, then started to twist gobs of water from her loose shirt and the sash around her waist. “Sure worked up an appetite. Did the fish make it?”
          Grip held up the soaking meal on the spit, which he had placed under a section of the gunwale to keep it dry. However, his plans had not seemed to expect the wild waves to wash into the ketch and drench every inch of it. “Well, mates, it’s back to being a proper fish now: cold and wet and everything.”
          Deyna laughed raucously. He and his friends dried off as best they could, and then hung their dripping clothes on the crossbeam that Tikky unlocked from the rest of the mast. A chilling breeze off the broadstream rustled their fur and made them shiver at first, but soon the steady glow of the spring sun had warmed them all down to the bones. Without any land to stretch their legs upon, their dinner was a less-grand affair than they had planned. The cold fish was passed around and nibbled on, and some oat farls with dandelion and rosehip cordial were also unpacked from the Nevarr’s special sailing bags: Grip was delighted to see that the strange tanned sacking had actually kept most of the supplies completely dry. He kept remarking upon how the Guosim ought to have packaging like it, and didn’t stop for a long time until his gaze caught something far away to the north. He squinted, then stood up. “Talk about travelin’ fast; we’re nearly to the sea already. That distant peak is Salamandastron.”
          Deyna sat up rigid and strained eagerly to see the famed mountain of legend. Though the river was low and the horizon was blocked by many hills and marshlands, a solitary grey peak loomed over the land like a sleeping giant. The sheer size of it took his breath away. “Fine place,” Tikky murmured. “Shame we’ll sail right past it wi’vvout a visit. Oy’m sure Lord Russano would wanna hear about the Kobarra.”
          “He’d send the Long Patrol out, you know ‘e would,” Tumbol reminded him. “Who knows how many hares would go to their deaths.”
          “Even so, I do wish it was to the south of us instead of to the north, so that we could visit along our journey,” Deyna sighed as he looked on. “I’ve heard so many grand stories about that place.”
          “We’ll be passin’ plenty o’places by,” Tikky reminded him. “South at breakneck speed… why, Tumbol an’ Oy can’t even stop by home.”
          Deyna glanced at them in surprise. “We’ll be sailing by your home?”
          Tumbol nodded. “Aftah we hit the sea and sail south for two days, nearabouts. But even then, it’s four days journey inland, on footpaws. Too fah off-course.”
          “We can still stop at the Thundah-Holt, though,” Tikky added brightly. “That’s as straight south as you please!”
          Grip scratched his head in surprise. “I didn’t realize the two of you lived so close. I’d have thought from yer accents that you’re from much further away.”
          The two Nevarrs cackled together as if at some secret joke. Tumbol tried to bat her eyelashes and make a prim sort of face, pursing her lips and speaking in a nearly-flawless warbling voice that was devoid of her usual broad slang. “Tis the fault of our father dearest, I’m afraid,” she cooed, making an effort to sound nearly as posh as a hare. “We adopted his dialect when we were no more than young whippersnappers, don’cha know. And of course he took us to the Thunder-Holt so often during our youth that most of us are really incurable now, eh, wot!”
        “To be sure, an’ our poor, beloved mother tried to raise such good beasts, she did,” Tikky sighed with the trilling of a water vole. “But she wound up with wretched heathens instead!” The two siblings guffawed at one another again. Then Tikky sat up straighter and tapped his claws upon the gunwale, passing a wink to his sister. The two began warbling together, with the mellow accent of mice and hedgehogs that came from the southern woodlands. Before long Deyna and Grip were laughing at the comical ditty, especially because the Nevarrs somehow managed to play both characters at once; their voices fluctuated flawlessly, sometimes singing in a deep steady baritone, and then in high warbling soprano.

          “Oh once there was a gentle fish
          A cook by trade, a cook by trade
          He could make any tasty dish
          And each was a feast worth havin’

          He met a lovely lady friend
          A warrior maid, a warrior maid
          Whose appetite did have no end
          Who wielded staves and a javelin

          She said to him, ‘We cannot wed.
          ‘Oh go away, oh go away!
          ‘A drop of blood you’ve never shed
          ‘To halt a foebeast’s advances!’

          He cried to her, ‘It matters not.
          ‘I beg you stay, I beg you stay.’
          She left, but he was not forgot
          And still received furtive glances

          Then lo, behold, a pike came down
          To dine that night, to dine that night
          He swaggered straight into the town
          To have the cook for his dinner!

          But then between them stood the maid
          Her eyes alight, her eyes alight
          She came to her beloved’s aid
          And soon emerged as the winner!

          She told the cook, ‘I’m greatly starved,
          ‘Please cook for me, do cook for me.’
          And soon the pike was roast and carved,
          A testament to her courage

          And now they’re off to quite a start
          As you can see, as you can see
          For he’s in love with her brave heart,
          And she’s in love with his porridge!”

          The jovial bouncing tune had kept smiles on everyone’s faces throughout its duration, and so when they reached the end of it, the friends all fell about laughing and clapping their paws at the silly tale. At Grip’s urging, the Nevarrs sang it again two times over, and he learned the whole of it very quickly. “Ah, just wait until the rest of the Guosim hear that one,” the little shrew chuckled as he leaned against the bulwark. “We only have so many songs and poems amongst us, you know. ’Tis a grand old thing to hear something new!”
          “Aye, wherever did it come from?” Deyna added. It was his turn at the rudder, and he was savoring the feel of the wooden handle as it strained to and fro from the current, but still guided the ship under his firm direction. He winked at Tumbol playfully. “You actually sounded like a civilized beast for a moment!” She chuckled wryly and kicked at his tail, which was the closest she could get without having to move from her spot beneath the shade of the sail and crossbeam.
          “It’s an old rhyme from the lower edges o’ Southsward,” Tikky sighed as he lounged with his paws stretched up behind his head. “That’s where we grew up. Papa Migg found a lake halfway twixt his home and Ma’s. Beautiful place, that… but too fah to visit if we’re in a rush.”
          “And in a rush we are, I’m afraid,” Deyna admitted, though he felt sorry for the siblings to pass so close to their childhood stomping grounds without halting. He wondered how many other wondrous lands and mysterious isles would go untouched on their journey. If Martin hadn’t warned him to travel quickly, a part of him would have been perfectly content to explore the furthest reaches beyond the map; an undertaking that could easily take up ten lifetimes. But now, wherever he went, he felt a silver thread gently tugging his heart back northwards. More than a compass, more than a rudder. If Redwall was in trouble, then there would be no detours.