High Rhulain

“Ah, shut yore gob, sure ye’d complain if a fine, big trout cooked itself an’ jumped into yore big mouth, so ye would!”

“Aye, lissen bhoyo, if’n ye could make better burgoolla than this, then put yore paws t’work an’ give yore fat lip a rest!”

The good-natured banter was brought to a halt by the flat thump of a rudderdrum.

Leatho stood then, calling out, “Be we well gathered, otters all. Do I see a Wildlough?”

Whulky stood up. “Ye see a Wildlough, once one of the mightiest clans on river or stream!”

Leatho continued with his roster. “Do I see a Galedeep?”

A huge otter raised his paw. “Ye see a Galedeep of the mighty sea otter rovers!”

“Do I see a Wavedog?”

“Ye see a Wavedog of a clan that don’t know fear!”

“Do I see a Streambattle?”

“Aye, ye see a Streambattle whose clan know the scars o’ war well!”

The list continued, with each clan representative answering proudly. When he had finished, Leatho waited until a voice called out to him, “An’ do we see a Shellhound?”

The outlaw sea otter roared back, “Yore seein’ a Shellhound that never backed down from a foebeast! I’m the last o’ my clan, I have neither kith, kin nor family! But by the thunders I’m still here an’ fightin’!”

Firelight gleamed from the outlaw’s eyes as he glared around the assembly. “Why, who is it that calls to me?”

Two otters supported an older one to a seat by the fire. He was still a big beast, though he bore many scars. One of his legs had been replaced by a wooden peg, and his left eye wore a black musselshell patch. He held a round, flat rudderdrum, which he struck gently with his tail.

Leatho strode across and embraced him fondly. “Ould Zillo the Bard o’ the Watermeadows, haven’t ye sunk with the sun beyond the westerin’ sea yet?”

Zillo gave him a gap-toothed grin. “Ah no, me buckoe, I wouldn’t dream of it whilst there’s still one mangy catpaw print on our lovely Green Isle!”

Leatho chuckled admiringly. “Ye ould battledog, what have ye been dreamin’ about then?”

Zillo struck the rudderdrum a mighty clout. “The day of deliverance is comin’!”

A roar of joy came from every otter present. Leatho held up a paw for silence. “Whisht now, Zillo has the floor!”

A hush fell over them as the bard sat staring into the fire. His rudder began beating the drum slowly. Then he began to sing his story in true bardic fashion.

“On the night that the great storm was ragin’ apace,

sweepin’ in o’er the high seas to batter this isle,

I heard that a wildcat had lost half his face,

Ah, isn’t that grand now, I said with a smile!”

Two otters joined in with flute and banjotta, an odd stringed instrument that was very popular among the clans. Zillo let them play a short stanza before continuing.

“ ’Twas then by me fire I fell into a dream,

with the wild winds a-keenin’ an’ wailin’ outside,

sure a wisdom came floatin’ o’er some magic stream,

that the days of our vengeance were soon to arrive.

’Twas a mouse in bright armour, he spake loud an’

clear,

an’ he carried a sword that was wondrous to see.

‘Ould Zillo the Bard,’ he said, ‘Never you fear,

for ’tis writ in the stars that the clans will run free.

From the seas an’ the oceans, from river an’ stream,

rise up all ye warriors, arm every paw.

A leader is comin’ to fulfill yore dreams,

one who’ll stand at your head as ye march off to war.

Ye’ll rise like the red dawn, all in a great band,

like a brave surgin’ tide such as never was seen,

as ye thunder her title all over this land:

All hail to the Rhulain! The High Otterqueen!’ ”

The otters leapt up, bellowing and cheering, roaring and chanting. “Rhulain! Rhulain! Ee aye eeeeeh!”

Leatho could not stem the noisy jubilation, but the blood was pounding through his body. He took Zillo the Bard by the shoulders, shouting in his ear above the din. “Are ye sure High Rhulain is comin’ back to Green Isle, or was yore dream just a desire to rouse the clans?”

Zillo raised his voice in reply. “My dreams have never lied, Shellhound. ’Tis certain I am!”

Leatho battered for a long time on the rudderdrum before order was finally restored. His voice rang out like steel. “We’ll get nothin’ done, howlin’ an’ jiggin’ about like a rabble o’ wildbeasts!”

Zillo backed him up. “Sure the Shellhound’s right. Hold still now like goodbeasts an’ lissen to him.”

The outlaw sea otter began outlining his campaign. “We need to work together now, buckoes, but our watchword must be secrecy. Don’t breathe a word yet of what ye’ve heard here tonight to anybeast!”

Chab held up his paw. “Not even to our families?”

Leatho shook his head vehemently. “Especially not yore families, mate. Little ’uns will repeat wot they’ve heard to anybeast, an’ old ’uns can’t resist gossipin’. If Riggu Felis an’ those cats caught wind of ought, they’d soon pry it out of familybeasts. They’re good at that, as ye know. When the time’s right, I’ll let ye know, then ye can tell yore kin.”

Zillo added his own warning. “Holdin’ yore silence will stop many an otter bein’ weighted with rocks an’ tossed into Deeplough for Slothunog to feed off.”