Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

Big Kolun dispelled the idea with a snort. “No, never! My missus an’ the others wouldn’t have been taken without a fight. Look around, mate. D’ye see any slain or wounded beasts from either side layin’ about? There’s not even a trace o’ blood, the place is empty. Ahoy there, Shellhound, where are ye off to?”

Leatho had parted the trailing curtain and plunged into the mist-shrouded sea. He surfaced a short distance from the cave. “Yore right, mate. They weren’t ambushed, even though I noticed lots o’ cat signs outside by the land entrance. There’s a good chance yore families escaped. We’d best start a search for them. You Streamdivers an’ Wavedogs, come with me. Kolun, take the rest an’ follow along the coast. See if’n ye can pick up any trails.”

The clans of the Streamdivers and Wavedogs formed a spreadout phalanx behind the outlaw. They swam smoothly along the quiet coastal waters, watching for any signs of life. There was no letup in the dull early morn. Mist and drizzle persisted, limiting both sound and vision in the calm, waveless sea. Worries, doubts and fears for their families plagued the clanbeasts’ minds. Was Leatho right in his supposition, had their loved ones avoided the murderous wildcat? Leatho pressed on into the enveloping mist, listening keenly for the slightest hopeful sound.

The tall, ragged rocks of a headland loomed up out of the gloom. The clanbeasts swam in Leatho’s wake as he changed course seaward. There was a space of open water between the cape and a massive dark rock that stood apart from it.

Raising his voice, the outlaw yelled an otterclan cry: “Yaylaaahoooooooo!”

An echo bounced back from the rock. A moment’s silence followed, broken only by the lap of water against stone.

Then a booming call rang out. “Hawooooooom!”

Leaving his comrades behind, Leatho cut the water speedily. He headed for the rock and a hulking figure perched upon it. Once he could make out the nature of the creature, he returned its greeting. “Yaylaaahooo! Gawra Hom! Hawooooom!”

The grey bull seal, Gawra Hom, threw back his head and reared up. “Hawoooom! Glokglokglok!”

Just then, Kolun’s boat emerged from around the side of the rock. It was packed with little ones, all showing off what they had learned as they pulled the oars lustily.

Deedero, Kolun’s missus, was at the tiller. She waved to the grey seal. “Many thanks to ye, Gawra Hom!”

She turned to the outlaw, paws akimbo. “Well, Mister Shellhound, you took yore time gettin’ here! There’s pore weary families sittin’ in the rain on the other side o’ this rock. D’ye reckon y’might rescue ’em some time this season, or is that too much to ask, eh?”

Relief flooded through Leatho as he threw the sturdy ottermum a mock salute with his rudder. “Right ye are, marm. We’ll get ’em off there, marm!”

He gave another salute to Gawra Hom. “If’n I can ever help ye, mate, just give me a call. Yore a goodbeast, Gawra Hom.”

The big grey bull waved a flipper. “Hoooom wharraawoooooh !”

As the mist began thinning, Deedero spied Big Kolun and the clanbeast swimming out from the shore to the rock. She glared at him, calling to him dryly, “Ahoy there, ye great sloprudder! Are you goin’ to play about there all day, an’ leave yore family marooned? Or are ye thinkin’ about rescuin’ ’em?”

Cheerfully, the big Galedeep otter waved a meaty paw. “Ho, but it does me ’eart good t’see yore charmin’ face, me liddle thistleblossom. Rest yore dainty paws, we’ll soon have ye home’n’dry!”

It took some considerable time to get the families safely ashore. The elders and the very young were exhausted from their nighttime flight through the dark sea and the time they had spent clinging to the rock.

When the task was accomplished, Banya Streamdog asked the question that was uppermost in everybeast’s mind. “We can’t go back t’the caves or the tall stones anymore. So where do we hide all these families?”

Leatho was at a loss, but Ould Zillo the Bard had an answer. “Sure, an’ why not take ’em all to Holt Summerdell?”

Everybeast knew the name, Holt Summerdell, through an old song that was sung around the fires at night.

Deedero looked askance at the bard. “There ain’t no such place. Holt Summerdell’s only a nice song. It ain’t real, is it?”

Zillo tapped his nose knowingly. “Ah, but that’s where yore wrong, marm. I knows it’s a real place. My grandpa showed it t’me when I was only a liddle snip. But I remember exactly where it is. Y’see, Holt Summerdell was a holiday home of the clans afore the cats came to Green Isle. Aye, an’ a grand ould time they used to have there all summer long. But ’tis long forgotten now—except in the song. There’s only meself knows where ’tis, an’ I’m the bucko that can take ye there. It lies inland, beyond Deeplough in the highlands, a fair stretch o’ the paws. Though if’n we set out now, I could have ye there soon after dusk. Well, Shellhound, what d’ye think?”

Leatho picked up one of Kolun’s brood, a tiny ottermaid. He set her on his shoulders. “Don’t seem we’ve got much choice. Lead on, matey!”

They struck off inland, with the rain still drizzling, though the mist was breaking up into patches over the valleys and woodlands. Zillo kept their spirits up by tapping out the pace on his rudderdrum and singing the song about Holt Summerdell.

“All the long-ago seasons we loved high up there,

in those warm afternoons an’ the sweet evenin’ air,

alas though they’re past I remember it well,

that dear little spot we called Holt Summerdell.

When ye’d rise in the mornin’ the air was like wine,

through the curtain came stealin’ the golden sunshine,

with the twayblade the clubrush the burr an’ the sedge,

round the clear crystal waters that flow o’er the edge.

Ye could ride on the slide there or sport in the pool,

where trout roamed the deep reeds so green an’ so

cool,

on some flat mossy rock ye could lie there an’ bask, as

the ould ones would say, now wot more could ye ask?

But the times are all fled like a mayfly’s short day,

though sometimes within me a small voice will say

go follow yore dream to the place ye loved well,

that dear little spot we call Holt Summerdell.” ’

The otterbabe riding on Leatho’s shoulders whispered in his ear, “Uz gunner go ta H’old Suddermell? Soun’s ferry nice!”

The outlaw tickled the little one’s footpaw. “Aye, darlin’, I’m sure Mister Zillo will take us there.”

The old bard chuckled. “Sure I’ll take ye there, right enough. Wait’ll ye see it! Then ye’ll wonder how anybeast doubted me.”

The outlaw nodded. “I don’t doubt ye, Zillo. Tell me, though, how did ye manage to escape from the cave without Felis harmin’ or capturin’ anybeast?”

Ould Zillo shrugged. “ ’Twas all Deedero’s doin’. Ye recall how ye left me’n’her in charge afore ye went off? Huh, I didn’t have much say in the runnin’ o’ things at all. That big ottermum just took over. Aye, an’ ’tis just as well she did, mate. Let nobeast ever tell me that Deedero Galedeep ain’t got a head on her shoulders!”

Kolun tapped Zillo on the shoulder from behind. “Go on, tell us how my missus did it.”

The bard had to smile as he recalled the deeds of Deedero. “Sure, ’twas worth writin’ a ballad about. First thing she did was to get yore boat pulled up alongside the cave. Then she fed all the little ’uns an’ bedded ’em down in it so they were out o’ harm’s way. Then she split us into two groups. I was in charge of the gang who went out collectin’ seaweed an’ water-logged driftwood. We had to stack it all by the main cookin’ fire. Next thing she had us doin’ was pourin’ all o’ Birl Gully’s punch into the seafood stew, that an’ a jar o’ veggible oil an’ any other leftovers we could find. I tell ye, Kolun, that missus o’ yores should’ve been a warlord!”