Categories > Books > Redwall > The Wicked Ground
The Hall was illuminated by an entirely different sort of brilliance from the sunset. Candles set up at all levels and angles throughout the room caught in the newly-cleaned stained glass windows and cast geometrical impressions of their jewel tones against the interior red sandstone. This light in turn dappled over a vast throng of festive life, catching in the folds of a wide satin skirt or off the beads in a flashy necklace, streaking a starched white frock with bands of pastel color, alighting in many an eye marked with merriment, and highlight the edge of many a piece of cutlery as the revelers shoved food into their mouths.
The tables were mostly cleared already, though with minimal assistance from volunteer helpers to that point. The hares in particular, their dress uniforms somewhat defiled by spots of gravy or errant vegetables, knew that if one were to get the freshest helping of the next batch, one would do well to bring the empty pans and dishes to the kitchen oneself. This exchange ground itself to a halt and the busbeasts began their work in earnest as a middle-aged female badger rose from the end of the table furthest from the main doors and climbed onto a stage that had been erected at the very end of the long room.
Andreas quietly slipped into an empty chair next to the badger's recently abandoned one and looked toward the stage, opening to his record book and poising the nib of his pen with practiced elegance.
Though she was officially more of a minister of external relations, everybeast still referred to Ruta as the Badger Mother of Redwall - just as the leader of internal life and policy was still an Abbot or an Abbess, regardless of the discrepancy in meaning with the origin of the term. And this was really not a stretch for Ruta in any regard. Her black and white stripes stood out regally against the deep green velvet curtains separating the contents of the stage from its audience, and her warmly protective contralto rang through the hall in a manner that seemed to pull all who listened into her guarding embrace.
But tonight was not a night to be guarded, and Ruta opened her solid paws wide. "Good evening, citizens of Mossflower! Good Nameday to you!"
Applause arose through the hall, mushed into a low rumble by the acoustics, the opposite of the almost pointillistic lighting. Ruta continued, "As you know, it has been our long tradition to provide only the most captivating shows for you on occasions such as these. Well, if I may be so bold, I venture to say that we have outdone ourselves this year!"
The applause rippled through the crowd for a second time, punctuated by the mildly-intoxicated jabbering protests of a performer from years past. Ruta lowered one paw as if clamping a lid on something heavy but fragile. "Those of you attuned to the arts will know these names, and those who have never heard of these creatures before should perhaps be even more pleasantly surprised by this evening's performance! As part of their seasonal tour, the Grand Opera has chosen to celebrate Nameday with us, presenting the latest work by Lascala and starring renowned soprano Crysantema and legendary tenor Enruso!"
Applause started to well up for a third time as Ruta left the stage, but it was cut short by the opening chords of a moderately-sized orchestra jammed into a notably-small space to the side of the stage. This music was soft and almost floral, evocative of a world unfathomably far away from and unlike Mossflower Country. Toward the end of the extended overture, the heavy green curtains parted with the slightly-too-loud clank of pulleys, revealing a set that no longer felt so exotic because the music had set it up so well in advance.
The stoat tenor Enruso portrayed a soldier stationed in a foreign land who aimed to profit off his post in as many ways of possible, from fine artworks to spices to women. Though the primo uomo's belly hung over his polished black uniform belt more than would be tolerated in the actual military service, the sheer carrying power and control he had with his brazen and unmistakable voice served to overcome any physical discrepancies between singer and role. The squirrel soprano Crysantema played opposite Enruso as his eventual bride, swathed in silks, her features exoticised by makeup, her clear fine voice perhaps a bit too refined to realistically suit somebeast the age of her character.
In the first act, the soldier chats with a fellow officer, played by a warm-toned rat baritone, about his aims. The officer regards these plans as a joking ambition until a foreign beast who identifies himself as a marriage arranger, hammed up by a spry otter tenor, shows up with specific prospects for the soldier. He says that he knows a young maiden with connections to the high court who is also quite taken with the soldiers culture. Despite the arranger's commission fee, the soldier readily agrees to the introduction. As is the way in such stories, the two leads fall in love instantaneously, despite warnings from a delightfully ominous mole bass as the girl's father. The first act culminates in a sublime and extended love duet, delicate and sensuous, which Enruso and Crysantema enacted with such perfectly nuanced interaction and blending that there were no doubts as to why Lascala had composed these roles with them in mind.
By the second act, the solder has gone back to his own land and the bride has given birth to a child, an obvious blend of the two races and not looked upon well by either. For all these outcasting labels, though, the bride remains optimistic and eagerly awaits the return of her husband. She spends much of the act discussing what this means and how she will prepare for it with her loyal handmaiden, a role here sung by a fresh young mouse mezzo-soprano named Jacinth. The second act finishes out with a rarity in the operatic repertoire - a delicate duet between the two female roles, during which they decorate the whole scene with fresh flowers for the soldier's imminent return. Peerless though Crysantema was, the young mousemaid complimented her admirably, exhibiting a talent that, with further refinement, could have easily reached such heights as well. The duo further delighted the audience here by leaving the stage proper and weaving through the first few rows of audience, showering them with fresh-cut blooms from the new Mossflower spring.
The third act opens with the soldier reentering the scene with a female from his own country, an affair that is fully allowable within the marriage laws of the day. The exotic first bride is supposed to have a riveting and soul-straining aria about betrayal by an individual and by a trusted culture as a whole, but it never came that night. Instead, Jacinth, playing the ever-present though intendedly-silent handmaiden, erupted with a string of piercing shrieks, high enough in register to rival the climactic notes of any soprano aria.
At first, the audience in Redwall's Great Hall took it for part of the show and placed their attention all the more anxiously on the stage, but as the shrieking persisted, the music groaned to a halt and Crysantema, fire in her eyes and all characterization of the disadvantaged innocent bride gone, approached Jacinth and smacked her full in the face, changing the shrieking into a low keening.
"You'll never take my aria!" the squirrel sniped, flouncing huffily off the stage and toward the individual dressing areas down by Cavern Hole.
The audience began to murmur instantly about this highest degree of scandal, but their eyes and ears were brought back to the sage as the stricken mousemaid shook her head and sat up, staring unseeingly out at the crowd. "Fingers in the ground," she declared, voice a low tremor, transfixing all who listened. "Fingers in the ground, moving stretching, crumbling. Swords, the sword, falling, straight edge falling, cutting, cleaving scraping..." The speed of the mad utterances increased with each word. "Don't let them near me, don't let them touch me, don't let them cut me, don't let them shake me! No swords! No no no! No fingers in the ground!" With this last crescendoed flurry, Jacinth inhaled tempestuously and passed out cold on the stage.
With merciful efficiency, particularly considering the equally merciful lack of practice at such things, a male hedgehog, a male weasel, an older female mouse, and a female ferret just as young as the stricken singer bounded onto the stage and gently lifted the unconscious form between them, carrying her as fast as gentleness would allow to the Abbey's Infirmary.
All murmuring ceased, as eerie and unnatural of a silence as the lack of insect voices provided earlier. Enruso, who had through all of this been standing speechless at the back of the stage, stepped forward and surveyed the shocked crowd. The stoat then picked up a prop dagger from the bride's dressing table, showed it to the audience, replaced it, and burst unaccompanied into a high and mournful aria about how his young flower had so tragically cut her own stem at the freshest point in her life. He did not reach the epic high note, though, as Ruta and the conductor of the orchestra simultaneously leapt onto the stage and cut the tenor off.
Maestro Liedswelt was a small and bespectacled specimen of a marten, but he was still able to manhandle the hefty Enruso off the stage. Ruta therefore stood alone, the abandoned set behind her. The Badger Mother clasped her massive forepaws together and addressed the silent assembly as evenly as possible. "Well, we've had all the excitement and drama that opera can provide us and then some." She shook her head slowly. "It is quite evident that the show has reached as much of a conclusion as we're going to get tonight. I formally dismiss you from this evening's chaos and encourage you all to sleep long and soundly - the Nameday festivities will run as planned starting tomorrow!"
The scandalized murmuring and babbling rose up again as the crowd of creatures dispersed, some out the door to their homes or nearby guesthouses and hotels, others to prime rooms in the upper levels of Redwall itself. Ruta descended from the stge with one easy step, returned to the table, and lightly placed a paw on Andreas' shoulder. "You've quite a bit more to cover tonight than you accounted for, eh?"
The marten looked at the badger, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Absolutely." He gently shut the record volume and tucked it under his arm. "This may make it more important to record than merely another Nameday gala or another show on their tour, but I think it also means that more creatures will remember it without a need to consult any written records!"
Ruta laughed softly and bid Andreas a good evening, and the two creatures departed for their quarters.
-----
Jacinth came to in an infirmary bed and was immediately jolted by the unfamiliar surroundings. The mousemaid let out a squeak of surprise and a young ferret named Aetantim, one of the four beasts who had helped to carry Jacinth to the Infirmary, rushed to her bedside. "You're awake!"
Jacinth tried to pull herself into a seated position, but Aetantim motioned for her to remain lying down. "I am."
"You sang beautifully tonight," the ferret complimented comfortingly. "I've fancied myself to be somebeast who could carry a tune, but I can barely even do that compared to what you do!"
"But what happened then?" Jacinth cut in, too worn to properly accept the compliment.
Aetantim shook her head and felt the mousemaid's forehead. "You started saying things that made no sense, and then you fainted."
"What about the shaking?"
"Shaking?"
"I don't recall saying a word, but there was shaking, everywhere around me." Jacinth shut her eyes. "It was only me?"
"Only you," Aetantim confirmed. She assumed it was some sort of seizure, but figured this would not be heartening news for the mousemaid and therefore did not voice this diagnosis. "I think it would be best if you slept properly."
Jacinth let out a soft murmur and rolled onto her side. Aetantim nodded, her own head aching with stress and exhaustion. A dim pulse of electric luminescence flashed out the infirmary window and the ferret's eyes diverted. She squinted into the renewed blackness for a moment, trying to see where it came from or even to be certain that it had happened at all. But then she caught herself and shook her head, reminding herself that one should not be making diversions when lives were possibly hanging in the balance.
-----
Down by Cavern Hole, Crysantema was engaging in her own form of hysterics. The squirrel soprano bawled in a mixture of disappointment and rage, the occasional remark about that stupid little mezzo sabotaging one of the most important shows of her career slipping out between the more unintelligible noises. The marten Maestro Liedswelt, eyes rimmed with exhaustion behind his spectacles, tried his best to assuage the prima donna's hysteria, but his energy had already been depleted by an evening of conducting and he was not gaining much ground. Enruso's remarks about how Crysantema was only going to hurt her precious voice by wailing so persistently were not helping things, regardless of how correct he was. It was not until far later in the night that these sounds subsided as well, leaving Mossflower in one of the clearest and most silent nights it had ever experienced.
The tables were mostly cleared already, though with minimal assistance from volunteer helpers to that point. The hares in particular, their dress uniforms somewhat defiled by spots of gravy or errant vegetables, knew that if one were to get the freshest helping of the next batch, one would do well to bring the empty pans and dishes to the kitchen oneself. This exchange ground itself to a halt and the busbeasts began their work in earnest as a middle-aged female badger rose from the end of the table furthest from the main doors and climbed onto a stage that had been erected at the very end of the long room.
Andreas quietly slipped into an empty chair next to the badger's recently abandoned one and looked toward the stage, opening to his record book and poising the nib of his pen with practiced elegance.
Though she was officially more of a minister of external relations, everybeast still referred to Ruta as the Badger Mother of Redwall - just as the leader of internal life and policy was still an Abbot or an Abbess, regardless of the discrepancy in meaning with the origin of the term. And this was really not a stretch for Ruta in any regard. Her black and white stripes stood out regally against the deep green velvet curtains separating the contents of the stage from its audience, and her warmly protective contralto rang through the hall in a manner that seemed to pull all who listened into her guarding embrace.
But tonight was not a night to be guarded, and Ruta opened her solid paws wide. "Good evening, citizens of Mossflower! Good Nameday to you!"
Applause arose through the hall, mushed into a low rumble by the acoustics, the opposite of the almost pointillistic lighting. Ruta continued, "As you know, it has been our long tradition to provide only the most captivating shows for you on occasions such as these. Well, if I may be so bold, I venture to say that we have outdone ourselves this year!"
The applause rippled through the crowd for a second time, punctuated by the mildly-intoxicated jabbering protests of a performer from years past. Ruta lowered one paw as if clamping a lid on something heavy but fragile. "Those of you attuned to the arts will know these names, and those who have never heard of these creatures before should perhaps be even more pleasantly surprised by this evening's performance! As part of their seasonal tour, the Grand Opera has chosen to celebrate Nameday with us, presenting the latest work by Lascala and starring renowned soprano Crysantema and legendary tenor Enruso!"
Applause started to well up for a third time as Ruta left the stage, but it was cut short by the opening chords of a moderately-sized orchestra jammed into a notably-small space to the side of the stage. This music was soft and almost floral, evocative of a world unfathomably far away from and unlike Mossflower Country. Toward the end of the extended overture, the heavy green curtains parted with the slightly-too-loud clank of pulleys, revealing a set that no longer felt so exotic because the music had set it up so well in advance.
The stoat tenor Enruso portrayed a soldier stationed in a foreign land who aimed to profit off his post in as many ways of possible, from fine artworks to spices to women. Though the primo uomo's belly hung over his polished black uniform belt more than would be tolerated in the actual military service, the sheer carrying power and control he had with his brazen and unmistakable voice served to overcome any physical discrepancies between singer and role. The squirrel soprano Crysantema played opposite Enruso as his eventual bride, swathed in silks, her features exoticised by makeup, her clear fine voice perhaps a bit too refined to realistically suit somebeast the age of her character.
In the first act, the soldier chats with a fellow officer, played by a warm-toned rat baritone, about his aims. The officer regards these plans as a joking ambition until a foreign beast who identifies himself as a marriage arranger, hammed up by a spry otter tenor, shows up with specific prospects for the soldier. He says that he knows a young maiden with connections to the high court who is also quite taken with the soldiers culture. Despite the arranger's commission fee, the soldier readily agrees to the introduction. As is the way in such stories, the two leads fall in love instantaneously, despite warnings from a delightfully ominous mole bass as the girl's father. The first act culminates in a sublime and extended love duet, delicate and sensuous, which Enruso and Crysantema enacted with such perfectly nuanced interaction and blending that there were no doubts as to why Lascala had composed these roles with them in mind.
By the second act, the solder has gone back to his own land and the bride has given birth to a child, an obvious blend of the two races and not looked upon well by either. For all these outcasting labels, though, the bride remains optimistic and eagerly awaits the return of her husband. She spends much of the act discussing what this means and how she will prepare for it with her loyal handmaiden, a role here sung by a fresh young mouse mezzo-soprano named Jacinth. The second act finishes out with a rarity in the operatic repertoire - a delicate duet between the two female roles, during which they decorate the whole scene with fresh flowers for the soldier's imminent return. Peerless though Crysantema was, the young mousemaid complimented her admirably, exhibiting a talent that, with further refinement, could have easily reached such heights as well. The duo further delighted the audience here by leaving the stage proper and weaving through the first few rows of audience, showering them with fresh-cut blooms from the new Mossflower spring.
The third act opens with the soldier reentering the scene with a female from his own country, an affair that is fully allowable within the marriage laws of the day. The exotic first bride is supposed to have a riveting and soul-straining aria about betrayal by an individual and by a trusted culture as a whole, but it never came that night. Instead, Jacinth, playing the ever-present though intendedly-silent handmaiden, erupted with a string of piercing shrieks, high enough in register to rival the climactic notes of any soprano aria.
At first, the audience in Redwall's Great Hall took it for part of the show and placed their attention all the more anxiously on the stage, but as the shrieking persisted, the music groaned to a halt and Crysantema, fire in her eyes and all characterization of the disadvantaged innocent bride gone, approached Jacinth and smacked her full in the face, changing the shrieking into a low keening.
"You'll never take my aria!" the squirrel sniped, flouncing huffily off the stage and toward the individual dressing areas down by Cavern Hole.
The audience began to murmur instantly about this highest degree of scandal, but their eyes and ears were brought back to the sage as the stricken mousemaid shook her head and sat up, staring unseeingly out at the crowd. "Fingers in the ground," she declared, voice a low tremor, transfixing all who listened. "Fingers in the ground, moving stretching, crumbling. Swords, the sword, falling, straight edge falling, cutting, cleaving scraping..." The speed of the mad utterances increased with each word. "Don't let them near me, don't let them touch me, don't let them cut me, don't let them shake me! No swords! No no no! No fingers in the ground!" With this last crescendoed flurry, Jacinth inhaled tempestuously and passed out cold on the stage.
With merciful efficiency, particularly considering the equally merciful lack of practice at such things, a male hedgehog, a male weasel, an older female mouse, and a female ferret just as young as the stricken singer bounded onto the stage and gently lifted the unconscious form between them, carrying her as fast as gentleness would allow to the Abbey's Infirmary.
All murmuring ceased, as eerie and unnatural of a silence as the lack of insect voices provided earlier. Enruso, who had through all of this been standing speechless at the back of the stage, stepped forward and surveyed the shocked crowd. The stoat then picked up a prop dagger from the bride's dressing table, showed it to the audience, replaced it, and burst unaccompanied into a high and mournful aria about how his young flower had so tragically cut her own stem at the freshest point in her life. He did not reach the epic high note, though, as Ruta and the conductor of the orchestra simultaneously leapt onto the stage and cut the tenor off.
Maestro Liedswelt was a small and bespectacled specimen of a marten, but he was still able to manhandle the hefty Enruso off the stage. Ruta therefore stood alone, the abandoned set behind her. The Badger Mother clasped her massive forepaws together and addressed the silent assembly as evenly as possible. "Well, we've had all the excitement and drama that opera can provide us and then some." She shook her head slowly. "It is quite evident that the show has reached as much of a conclusion as we're going to get tonight. I formally dismiss you from this evening's chaos and encourage you all to sleep long and soundly - the Nameday festivities will run as planned starting tomorrow!"
The scandalized murmuring and babbling rose up again as the crowd of creatures dispersed, some out the door to their homes or nearby guesthouses and hotels, others to prime rooms in the upper levels of Redwall itself. Ruta descended from the stge with one easy step, returned to the table, and lightly placed a paw on Andreas' shoulder. "You've quite a bit more to cover tonight than you accounted for, eh?"
The marten looked at the badger, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Absolutely." He gently shut the record volume and tucked it under his arm. "This may make it more important to record than merely another Nameday gala or another show on their tour, but I think it also means that more creatures will remember it without a need to consult any written records!"
Ruta laughed softly and bid Andreas a good evening, and the two creatures departed for their quarters.
-----
Jacinth came to in an infirmary bed and was immediately jolted by the unfamiliar surroundings. The mousemaid let out a squeak of surprise and a young ferret named Aetantim, one of the four beasts who had helped to carry Jacinth to the Infirmary, rushed to her bedside. "You're awake!"
Jacinth tried to pull herself into a seated position, but Aetantim motioned for her to remain lying down. "I am."
"You sang beautifully tonight," the ferret complimented comfortingly. "I've fancied myself to be somebeast who could carry a tune, but I can barely even do that compared to what you do!"
"But what happened then?" Jacinth cut in, too worn to properly accept the compliment.
Aetantim shook her head and felt the mousemaid's forehead. "You started saying things that made no sense, and then you fainted."
"What about the shaking?"
"Shaking?"
"I don't recall saying a word, but there was shaking, everywhere around me." Jacinth shut her eyes. "It was only me?"
"Only you," Aetantim confirmed. She assumed it was some sort of seizure, but figured this would not be heartening news for the mousemaid and therefore did not voice this diagnosis. "I think it would be best if you slept properly."
Jacinth let out a soft murmur and rolled onto her side. Aetantim nodded, her own head aching with stress and exhaustion. A dim pulse of electric luminescence flashed out the infirmary window and the ferret's eyes diverted. She squinted into the renewed blackness for a moment, trying to see where it came from or even to be certain that it had happened at all. But then she caught herself and shook her head, reminding herself that one should not be making diversions when lives were possibly hanging in the balance.
-----
Down by Cavern Hole, Crysantema was engaging in her own form of hysterics. The squirrel soprano bawled in a mixture of disappointment and rage, the occasional remark about that stupid little mezzo sabotaging one of the most important shows of her career slipping out between the more unintelligible noises. The marten Maestro Liedswelt, eyes rimmed with exhaustion behind his spectacles, tried his best to assuage the prima donna's hysteria, but his energy had already been depleted by an evening of conducting and he was not gaining much ground. Enruso's remarks about how Crysantema was only going to hurt her precious voice by wailing so persistently were not helping things, regardless of how correct he was. It was not until far later in the night that these sounds subsided as well, leaving Mossflower in one of the clearest and most silent nights it had ever experienced.
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