Abbot Humble was keen to hear more. “What did you do then?”
Jem sat back. “Nothin’, we did nothin’. We knew his name was Askor an’ that he was a wolverine, though we’d never heard o’ such a creature. That beast must’ve been mad with the pain his broken back was causin’ him, but it were more’n that. Askor wouldn’t talk to us anymore. He just lay there waitin’ for death to take him. Mutterin’ on about the one called Gulo an’ sayin’ how he’d never get his paws on the thing called Walkin’ Stone. So I asked him to tell me more about Gulo an’ the Walkin’ Stone. Askor went quiet for a bit, then he spoke.”
Sister Screeve dipped her quill pen into the ink. “Can you recall the wolverine’s words?”
Jem continued. “He said, ‘Gulo the Savage is my brother. Nobeast is more bloodthirsty and fierce than Gulo. We live in the lands of ice, beyond the great sea. Dramz, our father, ruled over all, even though he was growing sick and old. He was obeyed, as long as he owned the Walking Stone. It was his wish that, after his death, we would share the Walking Stone and rule together, but Gulo did not want this. He murdered our father and took the Walking Stone. It was I, Askor, who stole it from Gulo. The moment I did this, my life was in danger. Gulo had the white foxes and ermine on his side. I would be a deadbeast if I stayed in the lands of ice. But the Walking Stone was as much mine as his, so I stole a boat and sailed away. Gulo will come after me, as sure as night follows day. He would find where the Walking Stone is, then kill me and eat me. Not now, though—I will already be dead. Gulo the Savage will not find where I have hidden the Walking Stone. He cannot be ruler without it. Askor has won!’ ”
Jem paused. “So I asked him where he had hidden the Walking Stone. I never expected Askor t’tell me, an’ I’m not sure he did, but these were his exact words. Sister, ye’d best write this down while I can still remember.
“Where the sun falls from the sky,
and dances at a pebble’s drop,
where little leaves slay big leaves,
where wood meets earth I stop.
Safe from the savage son of Dramz,
here the secret lies alone,
the symbol of all power, the mighty Walking Stone.”
Jem glanced at the Abbot. “A riddle if ever I heard one—eh, cousin?”
Humble nodded slowly. “Aye, a very puzzling rhyme, Jem. Tell me, what happened then?”
Twirling dregs in his tanker, the old hedgehog quaffed the last of his ale. “ ’Twas a terrible thing to see. Askor reared up and shouted, ‘I defeated thee, Gulo. Me, Askor, I won! When next I see your face, I will laugh at you in the light of the fires at Hellgates.’ Then he gave a mighty roar and gripped the fallen trunk with all four paws. You should’ve seen the size o’ that log, but I swear he actually lifted it a fraction! Then he slumped back an’ fell dead, probably from the exertion an’ the strain o’ his broken back. We couldn’t get him out for buryin’, so me an’ Walt covered his body over with loam an’ dead leaves, leavin’ Askor where he lay. Then we set out for Redwall Abbey. Ole Walt, bein’ a rock o’ good sense, made sure we covered our tracks well. Nobeast could have followed us, ’cos Walt’s an expert at wipin’ out a trail.”
Sister Screeve, looking alarmed, put down her quill. “Do you think that the evil brother, this Gulo the Savage, will come here? Mayhaps he’ll think that you and Walt found the Walking Stone and have taken it with you.”
Skipper patted her back reassuringly. “Don’t fret, marm. Jem’n’Walt knows all the skills o’ woodcraft. I wager not even a hungry serpent could’ve followed ’em here. Ain’t that right, Father?”
Humble trusted the otter chieftain’s judgement. “Skipper’s right, Sister Screeve. No need for you or any other Redwaller to worry over such things. However, I’d be obliged if you didn’t go speaking of the incident to others. No need to concern them unduly.”
Foremole Bruffy held a big blunt digging claw to his mouth. “Hushee naow, zurrs’n’marms. Ole Jem bee’s falled to sleepin’.”
Jem’s head had dropped back upon the cushions. A combination of food, ale and warmth had lulled him into a peaceful slumber. Removing the empty tankard from Jem’s grasp, the Abbot lowered his voice. “Poor weary travellers, they both look worn out. Leave them to their rest, friends. Let’s go and see what mischief those Dibbuns are up to.”
Silently, the Redwallers tippawed from Cavern Hole. Skipper and Abbot Humble were last to leave. The otter chieftain latched the door gently, murmuring to Humble, “No more fires on the walltops for a while, Father. I’ll tell the wallguards to stay alert during the night, an’ keep a weather eye peeled for anythin’ unusual. No sense invitin’ trouble by bein’ unprepared.”
The Abbot patted Skipper’s brawny paw. “A good idea, my friend. I’ll leave the arrangements to you.”
After breakfasting late, the Dibbuns had stampeded out into the snow again. Inside, the Abbey was relatively quiet. The dishes had been cleared away from Great Hall tables, and most of the elders had gone outdoors. Humble knew that they went on the pretext of watching the Abbeybabes, though mainly they wanted to join in the fun.
Humble wandered over the worn floorstones, stopping at the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. He it was who had fought to free Mossflower Country, and helped to build the Abbey, in the dim, countless seasons of long ago. Martin was the very essence and spirit of Redwall. Now his marvellous sword was displayed between two brackets over the tapestry. Humble gazed up at the figure of the heroic mouse whose likeness was woven lovingly into the huge ancient tapestry. His features were strong and resolute; his eyes—friendly, gallant and caring—seemed to follow wherever one went.
From outside, the Abbot could hear the distant merriment where everybeast was playing on the Abbey pond. It was a sound very dear to the old Cellarhog who had risen to be Father Abbot of Redwall. He whispered to Martin, “Don’t let any ill fortune disturb the peace and happiness of our home—I beg you, Martin.”
Lanterns flickered on each side of the tapestry, which rippled slightly in an errant breeze from the open door. But the figure of Martin the Warrior did not stir. He stood steadfastly, guarding his beloved Abbey throughout the winter, as he had through time immemorial.
4
The territory of Squirrelking Araltum and Idga Drayqueen consisted of a sizeable grove of beech, hazelnut and various conifers that grew near the clifftops and shoreline, some two leagues south of Salamandastron. It was not far from where Walt and Jem had found Askor’s wrecked boat.
Araltum was a fat, pompous and vain creature whose title, “King,” was one of his own making. He had also conferred the name “Drayqueen” on his haughty and ill-mannered wife, Idga. They were, indeed, a well-matched pair. It was some twelve seasons since they had arrived and had enforced their authority over the tree groves. Araltum did this by hiring mercenary squirrel warriors, travelling pawloose fighters who pledged their swords in exchange for position and the benefits of life amid the fertile groves of fruit and nut trees which abounded in the Squirrelking’s domain. It was no mean achievement for the royal couple to have established their rule. Their home and court was in the terraces at the centre of the groves. Araltum and Idga revelled in the setting of petty ceremonies, laws, acts and penalties, which were rigidly enforced by their officers.
One morning Idga Drayqueen awoke to witness the arrival of spring, a welcome event after the harsh, dark days of winter. The last snows melted and slid from bended boughs under a warm, beaming sun. Birdsong echoed through the trees, backed by the rippling music of streams freed from their icy covers. The earth was renewing itself once more. With the new season came the initiation of a new ceremony, the Marking of the Marches! This was something which Araltum and Idga had planned throughout the tedious days and evenings of wintertide. It was to be a grand parade of the royal couple’s boundaries, starting at the court, then spreading forth to circle the groves which marked their lands, and culminating back at the court with a grand feast. The entire affair would be punctuated with music, song and many high-flown speeches which the Squirrelking and his Drayqueen had written for themselves. This was designed to impress upon their subjects the power and magnificence of the royal pair. Idga and her servants had spent long winter nights making a banner, a large, florid thing. Truly a triumphal set piece, it was yellow, with blue chevrons on one side to denote the sea. Six green trees represented the land at the other side. Its centre was dominated by two huge, bushy tails, the symbols of king and queen.