He flung the rock upward and outward. It plummeted down, missing the sides of the slope, and hit the lough with a booming splash that echoed around the rim. Before the ripples had spread halfway over Deeplough, a monstrous black shape broke the surface, blew up a shower of spray, then plunged beneath the murky waters in pursuit of the rock, probably thinking it was something to eat.
“Blood’n’thunder, did ye see that?” Banya Streamdog leaned over the rim, wide-eyed with shock.
Roughly, Deedero hauled her back. “Come away, missy, an’ let’s be shut of this awful place!”
She gave Kolun a hard stare. “An’ you, ye great lump, wot did ye do that for, eh? Huh, just a tale somebeast made up . . . some tale!”
Even the normally jovial Kolun looked subdued. “Yore right, me ole buttercup, let’s git out of here!”
Darkness had fallen over the high country by the time the weary travellers made it into the woodlands. Ould Zillo guided them toward the sound of rushing water, warning everybeast to tread carefully. The watersounds increased in volume as the bard and his followers pressed on through the trees. Emerging onto a broad rockledge, Zillo waited until they had all joined him. Then he called out above the roar of the waterfall, “There she is, friends, Holt Summerdell!”
Even in the darkness they could see the magnificent valley. The woodlands were split by the falls, which flowed from the mountains above. Cascading down, the water fell into a pond, spilling over into a broad stream that meandered off down a gentler slope until it was lost amid the woodland trees.
Zillo had to shout to be heard. “Keep in a single file an’ follow me along this ledge. Stick close to the side an’ hold tight to yore little ’uns. We’ll be goin’ through the falls, but don’t worry, ’tis safe enough.”
He led them a short way along the ledge until it looked as though he could go no further because of the rushing waters of the falls. Turning, the bard grabbed the first two otters in the line. He pushed them straight into the waterfall, shouting, “Get through there. Go on now, keep goin’, nobeast ever died of a wet head! Come on, mates, who’s next? There’s a cave through there—it’s good an’ dry!”
The families pressed forward, shouting and yelling as they pushed through the noisy curtain of rushing water.
Leatho and the clan chieftains waited until everybeast was safe inside before entering the cave. It was dark but still and dry inside.
Zillo called through the gloom, “Sit down an’ wait where ye are. Banya, Birl Gully, Lorgo, bring flints an’ tinder. Come forward an’ see if’n ye can make it to the back wall!”
After a few moments, the chink of flint against steel set sparks flying in the darkness. Then a faint glow grew into a pale single flame, illuminating Zillo’s face.
“There’s kindlin’ over here—wood, dried grass an’ charcoal.”
His words created a burst of activity. Soon fires were flaring in all corners, and a large blaze was blossoming in the centre of what appeared to be a spacious and high-ceilinged cave. Deedero gave a cry of alarm as something dark brushed by her face. Zillo calmed her.
“Ah sure, ’tis only some friendly bats, marm. They won’t harm ye.”
The ottermum regained her composure speedily. “Friendly, eh? Well, if these little ’uns don’t get some hot vittles an’ soft beds soon, it won’t be friendly bats ye’ll have to watch out for. It’ll be me, an’ a lot of unfriendly mothers, so let’s see some action around this cave!”
A quick meal was cobbled together by willing paws. Soon there were flatcakes baking on hot stones, and a cauldron of thick soup, made from peas, lentils and carrots, bubbling over the main fire. An herbal tea was brewed, and warm cordial was prepared for the young ones. Though there was plenty for everybeast, most of the babes were too tired to eat much. Whulky, Chab and Big Kolun found moss and dead leaves piled by one wall. They spread them in an alcove, covering the lot with cloaks and some blankets. The young ones of the families snuggled up on this communal bed. It was dry, warm and, above all, safe.
Leatho sat by the main fire with Kolun, Banya and the clan chieftains, sipping tea and listening to an ottermum singing to the babes. The everflowing curtain of water outside cast a veined pattern of red-gold moving light, reflected from the fires, around the roughhewn rock walls of the cave.
Chab whispered proudly to nobeast in particular, “That’s my missus singin’. She’s castin’ a sleepin’ spell over the babes with that soft voice of hers.”
Big Kolun blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Aye, mate, she’s got a pretty way with a tune. I think yore missus’s spell is workin’ on me.”
Soon they were all dozing off to the ottermum’s lullaby.
“Oh you sun now run away, run away,
little stars come out to play, out to play,
baby mine come close your eyes,
sleep until the new dawnrise,
I will sing thee lullabies, through this peaceful night.
All the earth is standing still, standing still,
darkness blankets field and hill, field and hill,
birds do slumber in the nest,
busy bees have gone to rest,
all good mothers know what’s best, for the babes they
love.
When tomorrow comes anew, comes anew,
there’ll be lots of things to do, things to do,
’neath a summer sky of blue,
roses blooming just for you,
birds will sing so sweetly, too, for my own dear one.”
Warmed by the fireglow, Leatho Shellhound allowed his leaden eyelids to fall for the first time in two days. He dreamed of a mouse warrior who carried a wondrous sword. The visitor from the kingdom of dreams had little to say, but the outlaw sea otter dwelt on his every word:
“Masters who lack slaves cannot serve themselves well, and an empty compound is a trap without bait.”
Dawn was casting its rosy tendrils over the hidden valley when Deedero stirred Big Kolun and Leatho from the edge of the whitened embers.
“Rise’n’shine, you two, make way for a workin’ otter. Come on, shift yoreselves from under me paws, I’ve got to liven this fire up t’cook brekkist. Outside with ye both!”
It was not wise to argue with Big Kolun’s missus, so they roused themselves fully by breaking through the curtaining waterfall, out onto the ledge. Shaking and stretching, Leatho took stock of their new surroundings. Birdsong in harmony with the sound of the falls echoed around the valley.
Kolun sat on the rim of the ledge, dangling his footpaws over the drop to the pool below. He nodded admiringly. “Ould Zillo picked a prime spot here, mate. Just lookit those veggibles growin’ over yonder, an’ fruit, too!”
Leatho sat down beside him. “Aye, the stuff’s growin’ wild now, but I can see it was once laid out in terraces by the clans of long ago. I’ll wager some of our mates could knock it back into shape, like it used t’be. There must be fish an’ freshwater shrimp in that pool an’ the stream below it.”
Kolun stood up. “No wonder otters loved Holt Summerdell. Wot d’ye say me’n’you go an’ gather some vittles for brekkist? That’ll put a smile on my Deedero’s face.”
The outlaw had to smile at his big friend’s enthusiasm. “Aye, let’s do that, matey, but I can’t hang around here all day, no matter how nice it is.”
The big otter shrugged. “Fair enough. Where are we off to?” Leatho winked. “Just followin’ a dream.”
Between them, Leatho and Kolun carried a heap of produce they had gathered. Deedero sorted through it. “Apples, pears, leeks, mushrooms an’ damsons, too. You mean we’ve got a damson tree out there?”
Kolun threw his paws wide. “There’s more growin’ on those terraces than ye could shake a stick at, me ole petal. The damsons ain’t quite ripe yet, but there’s plums an’ all manner o’ berries out there. I even seen some ramson an’ hotroot bloomin’ among the herbs.”
Whulky and Chab entered the cave, carrying a woven reed net they h
ad made.
“We did a spot o’ fishin’ down in that pond, an’ look at wot we got!”
“Freshwater shrimp, the water’s swarmin’ with ’em, ain’t it, Chab?”
“Aye, nobeast’s fished ’em for a long time. Did I hear ye mention hotroot, Kolun?”
Lorgo rubbed his paws together gleefully. “I’ll go an’ get some right now. Er, Deedero, d’ye think there might be some shrimp’n’hotroot soup for brekkist?”
The ottermum wagged a ladle at him. “I might think about it after I’ve made vittles for the little ’uns, but ye’ll have to wait.”
Birl Gully shoved Lorgo toward the water curtain. “Come on, mate, I’ll help ye gather the hotroot. Kolun, Leatho, are ye comin’ with us?”
The outlaw declined Birl’s offer. “No, we’ve got other business today. But while yore out there gatherin’ hotroot, see if there’s any ingredients that’ll help ye to brew up some o’ yore Gullyplug Punch.”
The jolly old otter slapped his rudder down heartily. “Stan’ on me whiskers, Shellhound. That’s a great idea! I’ll brew a big barrel o’ Gullyplug to celebrate our new home. C’mon Whulky, Chab, lend a paw. You, too, Zillo, an’ you, young Banya.”
They splashed through the water curtain, laughing and shouting, all except Banya. Kolun waved his oar at her.
“Ain’t you goin’ with ’em, young ’un?”
The tough ottermaid winked knowingly at him. “No, I’m goin’ with you an’ Leatho. You two are up to somethin’, so I’m comin’ along with ye.”
Leatho whispered in her ear, “Then ye’d best tread wary, an’ come armed, Banya Streamdog, ’cos we ain’t goin’ pickin’ hotroots.”
Smiling grimly, Banya patted her sling and stone pouch. “Somehow I didn’t think ye were!”
The day was fine and the going was easy. By midmorning they were skirting the rim of Deeplough, with the dark, still waters far beneath them. Striding along either side of Leatho, his two friends listened as he outlined their mission.
“We’re bound for the slave compound behind the fortress. We’ve got to find a way to free the slaves. Once we’ve got ’em away from Felis, we’ll be able to take the offensive against him without worryin’ what that villain would do by takin’ reprisals an’ punishin’ our friends.”
They marched onward, discussing their plans, unaware that they were being closely watched.
It was Scorecat Fleng and eight surviving catguards of his command. After being vanquished by the otterclans, they had dashed off willy-nilly into the night, expecting to be pursued and slain. Fleng had pushed his guards hard, not stopping until after dawn. They hid amid some rocks, exhausted, defeated and totally lost. Even when his guards were fit to travel again, Fleng feared returning to the fortress to face Riggu Felis. Despite the fact that the wildcat had deserted him and his patrol, Fleng knew that the warlord would punish him for his failure to stay and do battle with the enemy. So they wandered hither and thither, scavenging for food, uncertain what to do next. They were camped by a stream which ran through a small copse when Fleng suddenly realised where he was. Glancing upward, he recognised the high slopes of the hillside which led up to Deeplough. He was about to remark to his guards about this when he spied the three otters leaving the rim and descending the slope toward them.
Immediately he hissed out an urgent command. “Quickly, hide! Get down an’ lay low, all of ye!”
Fleng’s thoughts were racing furiously as he whispered further orders. “Don’t let the otters see ye, let them pass by us!”
Following their leader’s command, the catguards secreted themselves amid the bankside bushes, scarcely daring to draw breath, as Leatho and his friends forded the stream and pressed on through the copse.
When it was safe to speak, Fleng heaved a sigh of relief. He turned to the eight guards, smiling craftily. “Well, mates, there goes our ticket back home. I’ll wager those three are headed for the fortress, so here’s what we do. Keep silently on their trail until they’re close to the fortress. Then when I give the word, we cut loose an’ raise the alarm. Mark my words, we can come out o’ this as heroes. It’s our lucky day, did ye see who one of those otters was? The outlaw Shellhound! Hah, Lord Felis an’ Weilmark Scaut’ll be pleased to get their claws on that ’un. An’ I’ll tell ’em we was the ones who chased the otters into the trap. Right, up on your paws an’ follow me!”
18
Noontide sun warmed the worn wallsteps of Redwall Abbey. Old Quelt’s audience sat entranced, listening to him reading from the book which had lain hidden under the gatehouse bed for countless seasons: Tales of Ancient Life, by Minegay (yet another alias of the devious Sister Geminya). The Recorder read aloud to his attentive friends. The archive took the form of a story related to Geminya by a very old otter granmum:“I am Runa Wildlough, daughter of Alem Mossguard, Skipper and Chieftain of the Norwest otters, and wife of Corriam Wildlough. This is my tale. The weight of age upon my grey head tells me that I will not see many more seasons, but that is the way of all living things. My time at Redwall has been long and happy. I have sons and daughters whose offspring now care for families of their own. In short, I am surrounded by kinbeasts who wish to care for me. However, since last winter, when I lost my husband, Corriam, the light has faded from my life. My only wish now is to join him by the still waters which flow through the quiet places of eternal summer.
“I was nought but a young ottermaid when I first met Corriam Wildlough, many long seasons ago. My friends and I were gathering shells and driftwood on the shores south of the River Moss when we came across him. He was lying amid the debris of the tideline, covered in sand and long kelp. We all took him to be dead. The others ran off, fearful to go near him, but I was not afraid. I went to him and began cleaning him off. He was a tall, handsome otter, older than me by some six seasons. Clutched tightly in his paws was a magnificent lance, which was snapped at its centre, and a coronet. This was a narrow band of beaten gold set with a wonderful green stone, an object of rare beauty. I tried to release his grip on the lance and coronet. Imagine my feelings when he grasped them tighter and then let out a groan—he was still alive! My friends had all fled, so I took it on myself to care for him and to get him back to my father’s holt, though this was no easy journey. As best as I could, I half carried, half dragged his sorely wounded body back to where our tribe dwelt, where the River Moss joined the woodlands.
“Alem, my father, was not too pleased. He said that the daughter of a Mossguard chieftain had better things to do in life than nurse some half-dead beast washed up by the tide. This made me only more determined to care for my mysterious otter (I was rather headstrong, as most young ones are at that certain age). Looking back, I think my disobedience drove a wedge between me and my father, but I continued to care for my patient. I fed and cleaned him for many days, during which he never uttered a single word. Then one evening he suddenly began to talk. He told me that his name was Corriam Wildlough, younger brother to the High Queen Rhulain, ruler of a place far across the Great Sea called Green Isle.
“I asked him how he came to be lying on the shore, wounded and close to death. He had been sailing the seas in a great ship, he told me, together with his sister, the Rhulain, and a crew of Wildlough clan warriors. They were pursuing a vessel full of wildcat raiders who had been attacking the coasts of Green Isle. The wildcats were believed to have come from beyond the great seas to the south. They were ruthless beasts who hungered for the conquest of other lands. But the High Queen Rhulain was a great warrior in her own right and the equal of any wildcat conquerors.
“ ‘Our ship chased after the wildcat vessel,’ he said, ‘ranging far across the Great Sea. Unfortunately, she gave us the slip one foggy night. Next day we saw land, a great mountain called Salamandastron, where a Badger Lord named Urthwyte—a huge, silver-furred beast—made us welcome and provisioned our ship with food and fresh water. We stopped at the mountain for three days. On the fourth dawn, we sighted the wildcat ship out to the we
st. Despite a fierce storm arising we set sail after the enemy. Heedless of the weather, we rushed headlong into the rising storm, which soon had us fighting for our very lives. The waves came at us like mountains, battering our ship about like a cork in the offshore waters. Out on the high seas, the wildcat vessel stood off, riding the gale and watching like a bird of prey. Our captain did not see the reef until we were right on it. A great jagged rock rose from between the waves before we had chance to steer clear of it. The side of our ship was stoved in, and we felt the keel crack beneath us. Waves as tall as big trees swamped our craft, trapping it fast on the reef like a wounded beast. Many a warrior was lost in the relentless avalanche of water.
“ ‘Then the wildcats came. They hung off the reef, put down boats and swarmed aboard our crippled vessel. There, in the midst of jagged reef and howling gale, they fell on us mercilessly and slaughtered the flower of the Wildlough clan. I remember standing alongside my brave sister until we both went down, battling furiously. I think the wildcats supposed I was dead and tossed me into the sea. It remains a total mystery to me how I came to be washed up on the shore, many leagues away from that reef, still holding on to my lance and my sister’s coronet. Whether she gave it to me before they slew her, or whether I seized it from her brow, I will never know.’
“That was his harrowing tale. I felt so sorry for Corriam—his terrible wounds, the haunted look in his eyes and the loss he must have felt. All his clan comrades lost, and his beautiful sister cruelly slain. Here he was in a strange land, with only me to care if he lived or died, far from his home, which he would never see again. I devoted my every living moment to his welfare and the task of getting him better.