The present day.
After two days the small company of youngsters gathered at the Library of Redwall again, ready to spend another evening listening to the Recorder.
The old beast eyed them rather sternly, before opening his book:
"Now, my dears, I'm sure this will scare off none of you, but just to clean my conscience: if you think that the story I've told you so far was too dark, then perhaps you should leave now, for the darkest time is only beginning, and some things written down here parents do not tell their children, when remembering adventures of good old days. So, who is going to stay and listen?"
After listening to the enthusiastic chorus of predictable responses, the Recorder smiled:
"Then let me first tell you, what happened after the nine unlikely comrades left Ergaph…"
…what was written down in the Recorder's book continues here.
20. On the High Seas.
Sailing in a small boat is a pleasurable pastime in decent weather, when you have a welcoming berth and warm home awaiting you in the evening. It is a hard work, when you're on an actual voyage, leaving the land beyond the horizon. And when your boat is lashed by autumn winds and rains in the open sea, day after day, it is a borderline torment, as the small crew of escapees from Ergaph learned all too well. Seasickness was the smallest of the scourges. The longboat, not really built for open sea voyages, was a miserably wet craft. When sea spray failed to soak everybeast, rain – and then sleet – were quick to fix this. Even Selvathy, who, being an otter, saw no serious problem at first, had to rethink her position, upon finding that their supplies started dampening.
And wetness paved the way for the real danger – cold. Their voyage began in the last moon of autumn, and with each passing day winter drew closer. Seeing rime by morning became normal – and you were lucky, if it was on the mast and ropes, and not on your own fur. Days offered little respite, interior of the boat being open to all winds. For first couple of days, the crew tried to keep their distance – vermin from woodlanders and from each other. By third night that was forgotten, everybeast not busy rowing or controlling the boat huddling together in an attempt to preserve at least a bit of warmth.
But the luxury of rest was in short supply. They never encountered a truly severe storm, but facing high winds, capricious, ever-threatening to capsize the pitiful longboat with sudden powerful gusts and changes in direction, day after day and night after night, placed heavy strain on bodies and, particularly, minds. The seascape, with its dark waves, crowned by dirty-white foam, under dark, low-hanging rainclouds, or shrouded in thick mist, that obscured everything beyond a spit distance, whenever winds gave the seafarers a brief respite, without a single bright spot anywhere, added gloom to doom, fraying the nerves further.
As did the creeping suspicion that they are getting off course. As far as Rowanbloom and Selvathy could figure out, pooling their knowledge of the sea and the coast, to reach the general vicinity of Salamandastron they needed to set their course east and south. They were travelling east all right, but the wind was dragging the longboat further north instead. With only a single square sail and only a single remotely experienced sailor on board, they could not help it.
While the woodlander part of the crew was bearing the problems stoically, the same could not be said about the vermin, whose tempers were dangerously fraying. Kethra's heavy paw kept squabbles and bilious grumbling from escalating, yet Kethra herself seemed perpetually on the edge of biting somebeast, perhaps only holding together thanks to her responsibility.
So the first vermin to snap was the one who always was a bit apart from the rest, and from whom woodlanders expected that the least. And, as it often happens, his fortitude reached the limit at the time, when the small vessel was pushed to its limit as well.
Wind turned to gale that day, high, foamy waves, trying to swamp the boat, spray flying everywhere. Oars were useless, and the only thing the crew, barring Selvathy and Kethra, who clutched the tiller, could do, was bailing water out – or hugging the mast, in fear of being washed overboard, or making a wrong movement that can cause the boat to keel over.
Suran Longspear was doing the bailing at the moment, which only Ewalt noticed, and then only out of the corner of his eye. The moment when his self-control failed him, the moment when he tried to lift a bucket half-full of water with his left paw – and dropped it, as pain lanced again through his shoulder.
"Damn this all to the coldest abyss!" Suran sprang upright, straightening to his full height, heedless of the risk, roaring louder than any wind. "Thunder, plague and famine upon this Hellgates-bound voyage!"
For a moment everybeast but the maddened fox froze, not sure what to do, as Suran continued to swear and gesticulate wildly, as if tempting fates to struck him down.
Either something heard that, or having a hysterical fit in the middle of a storm was just not a smart move. The boat hove down, as a particularly powerful gust of wind struck it – and Suran, driving him out of balance. The fox teetered on the very tips of his paws, fury instantly replaced by fear, trying in vain to regain his footing, as an exceptionally large wave rose over the boat's bow.
"Hang on!" shouted Selvathy. If only Suran had anything to hang on to. Rowanbloom jumped to catch him by his tunic, but even though everything was happening in a flash, Suran realized with strange clarity that she would be dragged overboard with him, rather than drag him back into a safe position – his size and weight were simply far greater than hers. Then the wave struck.
For a few horrible seconds it seemed that the whole longboat is going down, as the beasts inside it were hammered by falling water. Then the wave was past, and the groaning vessel straightened up for a moment. Suran rolled, grabbing for a wooden bench to haul himself up, spitting out saltwater, surprised, that he was still in the boat, and Rowanbloom as well. Then he saw, who managed to save both of them at the last moment – to even greater surprise of his.
"That was stupid!" Ewalt gasped, as he let Rowanbloom go. Suran clenched his teeth, upon realizing, that the mouse is addressing Rowanbloom, not him, but said nothing. There was no time to bicker anyway.
"Stop gawking and haul tails, ye landlubbers." Selvathy's shout reminded them, that they were far from being out of danger. The otter tried to sound confident, but Kethra, who was the closest to her, felt her heart sinking, when she noticed how the otter's eyes widened with terror. "Splash the water out to bloody sea, 'afore the sea gets us all!"
Only much later, and only once Selvathy admitted, that she did not expect the longboat and its crew to weather that storm. Yet somehow they did. By evening the wind died down almost completely, as if expending all of its daily rage in half a day. Icy fog covered the sea once again, and dark mood descended on the exhausted and battered beasts with it. Sure, they survived one storm, but how many were still in store for them? Suran's breakdown was fresh on everybeast's mind too, and while some of the beasts on board simply got their mistrust reaffirmed, other wondered gloomily, who is going to fly off the handle next. The fox himself tried to act as if nothing happened, without much success.
Kethra was not stupid enough to misread the atmosphere. What would Marroch do in such situation? She turned to Rowanbloom:
"I can't sleep. Tell us a story. You know a lot of them, right? Tell us a good one, of the voyages and battles of old."
That caught the squirrel off-guard. She was quick to grasp Kethra's idea – a heroic tale might raise the despondent spirits. But while she certainly knew a lot of tales, retold or recorded in Redwall, there was one slight problem: all of them were about battles between woodlander and vermin. Not exactly a suitable inspiration for the bunch of reluctant beasts that surrounded her. The squirrel racked her brain, trying to remember something, anything that could push this crew towards working together, and not in the exact opposite direction. Then she suddenly remembered her own words, said not so long ago:
"A good story can only shine brighter from a small exaggeration."
Rowanbloom had a sinking feeling deep in her gut, that the changes she will have to introduce on the fly will be neither small, nor merely "exaggerations", when she started:
"Well, that is true, I remember many tales, and legends, and fables of the great Abbey that is my birthplace, and I guess I know a story that you all would like to hear, a story of uncommon valor and a cursed treasure, of sea voyages and friends found in unexpected place. Once upon a time there was another pine marten tyrant, and one much more powerful than Kunas, claiming the whole ocean as his domain, all corsairs, freebooters and searats as his subjects. In his greed, vanity and cruelty, he made many foes, not only among woodlanders, but his own corsairs too. Let me tell you, how these foes, beasts of different species and origins, rallied against the tyrant, for their different reasons, and brought his rule to an end…"
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Another vessel was slowly moving through the misty darkness just a few dozens of miles behind the stolen longboat. It did not took too much time for the Starscatter otters to load their meager valuables and themselves on the Wavecrest, only a little bit longer to get her to open water safely. Now the schooner was heading to the High North Coast. At least, that was the idea. Not all of the otters on board were enjoying, it, though.
"If ye ask me, I'd still say the Green Isle is a better place for us." Scrimmo said, when he brought a pot boiled fish from cook-galley to Groundswell, who was the bow lookout that evening.
"Hey, bigrudder, ye really should say that to Torbit, not poor old me."
Scrimmo shrugged. He was in talkative mood today. "Mayhap. If he ever forgives me for failing my watch, he might even listen, someday. Afraid that'll be too late."
"Too bad." Groundswell sniffed the hot stew, and aimed at the best piece of fish with her wooden spoon, clearly showing more interest in food than in conversation.
"I'm telling that to ye honestly, Groundswell, my old crewmate."
The female otter swallowed the fish, licked her lips and the spoon, before answering:
"I hope so. But, with these winds we won't get to the Green Isle any time soon anyway. No use crying over fish that already got off the hook, right?"
"I guess. Torbit might be right, too." Scrimmo's voice was full of doubt. "The Green Isle is crowded enough already, I heard, no good land or fisheries for cousins seven times removed. And Axehound otters of the High North Coast accept any and all of our kind."
"Because they're always in need of warriors."
Scrimmo shrugged again, and rubbed his healing paw. "Yes."
"Hah. Don't let Torbit hear ye sounding tired of fightin', or he'll surely never talk to ye again."
"It's not that…" Scrimmo turned his head, looking forward into the misty dark. "Ye see, I now wonder why Ilmo never spoke much about the High North Coast, when telling us, youngsters, tales of his old voyages…"
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Rowanbloom's retelling of the hunt for the Tears of All Oceans, and all that resulted from it, took parts of several days, resuming whenever weather allowed. By the end, she was practically glad that she didn't remember half the story. Making things up was a bit easier to justify that way. The Redwall squirrel could see that the crew really liked her narration, liked enough to not dwell on their present-day worries and misery as much. But this success had a bitter taste.
"…and I don't know what became of Romsca, after Abbot Durral and the rest of Redwallers said their farewells, for no more visitors or news from Sampetra reached our Abbey. Maybe with all the other strong captains dead, she became the Queen of the island and the new, nobler and fairer ruler of the southern seas, until death claimed her, who can tell now?"
"I once heard that in the ancient days, before my ancestors settled on Ergaph, there was a great ferret corsair Queen, and one of her grandgrandgranddaughters married into our clan," answered Kethra to Rowabloom's utter astonishment. "But, for the life of me, I cannot remember her name. Our storyteller was just not as good as you, only Marroch ever liked listening to that doddering fool. Wonder if he just made up his stories, though."
Rowanbloom froze in fear, trying her best to avoid showing it, but if Kethra was not simply musing aloud, she did not press the issue. Instead, the ferret yawned and stretched:
"Weeeell, a great story you told us. I can only hope for our own story to end like it!"