Chapter 13 - Chapter 12

By the time that Morgan had finished her story, Penny was sitting around her, her arm around the otter's shoulder. A tear trickled down the haremaid's face. “I think that going through all that would have killed a lesser beast, Morgan. I can't possibly imagine…”

Morgan sighed, putting her arm around Penny. “It feels good to get it out Penn. I've never told another creature before.” She looked at her. “I still have the schiavona ya know.”

“The what?”

“The sword, Graylin's sword.” Morgan reached under her cloak, unbuckling the sword from her belt. She unsheathed it. It was a beautiful sword, perfectly balanced from its shining silver blade to its decorative silver handle. She handed it to Pennybrite, who held it up, letting the sunlight hit it. She looked closely at the handle.

“What's this?” She ran her finger over an engraving along the scrolling handle guard, where words were engraved. “There's something written here, but I can't read it.” She handed the sword to Morgan who looked closely at it.

“This is the language of the Moonsparrows. It's called Ethenliel, which means `the toungue of the shining star'. The inscription reads:



If this sword should fail me,

May my spirit lead me,

To the one place I belong,

The Valley of Ciran.”



Penny smiled. “That's beautiful. I wonder why I've never heard of that language before.”

Morgan sheathed the sword, strapping it back to her belt. “My da taught it to me when I was young. Fascinated with the old lore, he was. He used to tell me stories about the valley, of far off times when warriors of the North united under the Mossflower name.”

Penny looked thoughtful. “The Valley of Ciran. You ever been there Morgan?”

The ottermaid shook her head. “ `Fraid not, though I've dreamt of the homeland all my life. I was born and raised in Holt Sparrow, lived there all my life until…you know…”

Penny nodded. “Perhaps we'll see it for ourselves someday, hmm?”



……………………………..



It was nearly noon by the time Jhekel arrived back to where they were camped. He was soaking wet, angry, and doing his best to hold on to a large perch he had caught. The fish still wriggled violently in his arms. Morgan and Penny tried their best not to burst out laughing. Morgan composed herself and strode up to him. “Ah, Jhekel matey! Nice to see you back. Caught us lunch `ave you?” She suppressed a laugh and relieved him of the fish, whacking it hard against a rock until it went still. “I'll take it from here. You get yourself warmed up by the fire.”

Jhekel muttered something under his breath and sat down by the fire, trying to dry off. “Took me for a ride that one did. Nearly pulled me downstream! Huh, to Dark Forest with fish, that's what I say…”

Morgan soon had the fish cooked and served. The three companions sat around the fire, enjoying the meal. When they had finished, Penny turned to Jhekel. “We were just talking about the Valley of Ciran before you arrived. Have you ever been there?”

Jhekel smiled and his face softened. “Aye, I have. `Tis a beautiful place, surrounded by high snow-capped mountains. Trees grow taller there, and the moss grows thick, carpeting the ground. A clear river, the river Lennah, runs from the highest peak straight through the heart of the valley, winding through its dense pine forests. I've sat on its bank many a time, pondering the world outside. Now I wish I'd never left.” He looked into the fire, recalling a song his mother used to sing to him when he was little. Jhekel began to sing softly. Surprisingly, he had a very good voice, that didn't seem to match his serious features.



“Through the mountains,

In the deep have I wandered,

With a heart that is lighter,

Then the dew of the morn.



Her heather-clad mountains,

And clear crystal fountains,

Delightful to view,

By the light of the dawn.



I see her green hills,

And swift running stream lands,

Eternally flowing, right on to the sea.

By her side I lie down on a bank of blue violets,

And its murmuring and gurgling,

Are music to me.



In far foreign lands,

Off do her sons wander,

By the coasts of the ocean,

Or Mossflower woods.

Where nature is seen,

Both majestic and savage,

But their hearts are at home,

In their dear native land.



They long to return to the banks of the Lennah,

The valley and it's mountains on every side,

And it's there I'll find peace,

In times of danger,

When evil will rise up,

To make me its slave.



Her daughters are fierce,

And her sons they are warriors,

They scorn the tyrant,

And free the slave.

Their freedom they kept,

In the battle of Ciran,

With an arm that was strong,

And a heart that is brave.



In a valley not far from the woodlands of Mossflower,

Their spirit hovers over that once much loved soil,

And it's there I'll find peace,

In times of danger,

When evil would rise up to make me its slave.



Long may she prosper,

`Neath her sheltering mountains,

Elúlien andar y le luné mendié.

From calamity and famine,

May she be defended,

And grant us contentment,

In the Valley of Ciran.”



The last note of his song hung in the air as he looked back down to the fire, not saying anything. He thought of his family, his father who had taught him to use a bow, his mother who had cared for him. His face grew hard as he though of how his family had left the valley to visit Redwall, and how vermin killed them before they had even come close to reaching the abbey. In the dead of winter, even his father had been too weak to fight back. He shook his head. “We best be moving on if we're gonna make any progress today.”

Morgan and Penny looked at one another. “What was that all about?” Morgan asked her.

Pennybrite shrugged. “Who knows?”

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