12

Night brought with it the rain, drizzling at first, then a distant rumble of thunder and a faraway lightning flash that illuminated the dark horizon. Grath Longfletch shook water from her eyes as the rain increased. Her little longboat rode the rollers bravely, tacking south down the coast. The otter sat astern, guiding the small tiller lightly, watching the prow plunge up and down as it met each wave’s onslaught. Easterly wind buffeted the boat’s single square sail, pasting its middle to the slender rowan mast then pulling it away, allowing the canvas to flap wetly, driving the frail vessel towards the rocky shores.

Knowing it was dangerous to be caught out in a storm on a coastline peppered with reefs, Grath steered for the shore, silently hoping that her boat would not encounter any hidden rocks. She leaned on the tiller and let the sail blow full out. Sideskipping the eastering wind, her longboat skimmed the floam-flecked wavetops, running for shore like a swift to its nest. Thunder boomed and in the lightning flash that followed Grath saw the cove – small, shingled and dead ahead. Rain-battered but exhilarated, the soaked otter clung tight to the tiller, sending her craft straight as one of her arrows, prow on into the cove and safety from the storm.

Leaping into the shallows Grath grabbed the headrope and began pulling her boat up the tideline, when a cheery voice rang out above the gale.

“Lend a paw there, y’slab-sided shellackers, give the seabeast some ’elp t’beach that craft!”

A lantern glimmered high in the cliff surrounding the cove, and ten or more small raggedy furred creatures with brightly colored headbands came dashing down and seized the headrope. With their aid Grath soon had the boat high and dry above the tideline. The small fat creature carrying the lantern approached her. He was obviously the leader; he carried a small rapier tucked into his waistband. He held out a paw to the otter.

“I’m Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim shrews!” he announced.

The paw was taken willingly. “Grath Longfletch, last of the Holt of Lutra!”

Log a Log set about gathering Grath’s few possessions from the boat. “Hah! You would’ve been naught but a drowned otter if ye stayed out at sea in that little lot, matey. Dabby, Curlo! Take this big bow atwixt ye afore it knocks me flat. Come on, Grath, ’tis no fit night for beast nor bird to be out in the open. Follow me.”

Halfway up the cliffs, sheltered from the sea by a protruding rockrift, Grath sat snug in a cave with her new-found friends. She drank shrewbeer which had had a red hot rapier thrust in to mull it, and the one called Dabby served her a bowl of seafood soup from a cauldron bubbling at the edge of a seacoal and brackenwood fire. Grath ate with an appetite that amazed the shrews, tearing off hunks of flat barleybread to dip in her broth. As she satisfied her hunger, the otter related her tale.

When she had finished, Log a Log patted her broad, scarred back, smiling. “Well, at least you lived through it, Grath, an’ you eat like you survived a seven-season famine, mate. Lucky we found you. We’re the Guosim shrews—stands for Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, though we’re a long way from that place up ’ere. Guosim like to wander, y’see. Every spring we come up to the coast an’ feed off its bounty. We fish a bit, gather seaweed an’ collect shellfish. Guosim are river shrews; our boats are back inland a piece, moored in a creek. Nobeast knows the rivers’n’streams like we do, eh, mates!”

An old shrew began tootling on a flute. Log a Log nudged the young female called Curlo. “C’mon, sleepychops, stop noddin’ off in front o’ that fire an’ sing a ditty fer our new pal Grath!”

Curlo had a lively gruff voice, and she sang out with a will.

The merry song was so catchy that Grath laughed aloud and asked Curlo to sing it again, which she did whilst two old shrews leapt up and gave the lie to their long seasons by dancing a merry jig to the tune.

Log a Log refilled Grath’s beaker, saying, “You’ve got a great laugh, friend. Y’should use it more often!”

The big otter stared into the fire. “There’s not been much to laugh about the last few seasons, matey.”

Curlo tugged at Grath’s big calloused paw. “Will you sing a song fer us, marm?” she asked.

The otter shook her head at the disappointed shrew-maid. “I’m not a very good singer, but I’ll do some magic for you.”

“Magic, what sort of magic?”

“With my bow, I’ll shoot a star for you!”

All eyes turned on Grath, who winked secretly at Log a Log.

The shrew Chieftain nodded sagely. “Aye, she looks like a magic otter t’me. Trimp, Dimple, fetch our friend her big bow an’ quiver.”

The shrews watched intently as Grath strung the great longbow and chose an arrow. Then she passed her paws over the bow, murmuring, “Magic arrow travel far, I will shoot a bright night star!”

Grath stepped outside onto the ledge in front of the cave, surrounded by curious shrews.

“Which star do you want me to shoot?” she asked Curlo. “Point it out.”

With a hearty gruff giggle, Curlo pointed. “That’n up there!”

“Which one, that bright twinkly one?”

“Aye, that’s the one, marm, but even a bigbeast like you with a great bow like that’n couldn’t shoot so far!”

With a mock serious face, Log a Log shook a paw at her. “I see you don’t believe friend Grath. Right, go on, mate, show ’er!”

Grath sighted on the star, and bent her bow full back, the arrow tight on the tautened string. Whipping the bow aloft, she loosed the green-feathered shaft, and in seconds it was speeding upward, lost in the vastness of the night sky.

“Quickly, everybeast inside!” Grath shouted.

The shrews dashed into the cave, with Grath behind them yelling, “Stand well back from the fire then look at it hard for a few seconds.”

After a short interval the otter called to them, “Close your eyes tightly, keep them closed and come outside!”

Doing as they were bidden, the shrews filed outside, clasping each other’s paws with their eyes screwed shut.

“Now, turn your faces to the place where the star was in the sky,” Grath announced in a loud, mysterious voice. “Open your eyes quickly and blink once!”

Roars of wonderment went up from the Guosim shrews.

“She did it! She did it!”

“The star burst in a great flash of light!”

“I can still see it bursting, there’s lights everywhere!”

One tiny shrew ran round shrieking, “I saw the arrow hit the star, miss! Grath is magic!”

Later the wind abated, and the thunder and lightning ceased. Outside the rain continued, but not so hard as before. Grath and Log a Log sat with their backs against the cave wall, watching the flickering firelight cast patterns over sleeping Guosim shrews and listening to the steady patter of raindrops on the rocks outside.

The shrew Chieftain yawned. “That was a good trick, Grath. Have you got any more magic t’stop this lot snorin’?”

The otter chuckled. “You want to try living in an otter holt sometime. It makes shrew snores sound like gentle music. They don’t bother me, friend.”

Log a Log closed his eyes, paws folded on his fat stomach. “Good! Then y’won’t mind me addin’ my snores to ’em, mate. Peace be upon your rest, Grath Longfletch!”

“Thanks for your hospitality, Log a Log. Peace be upon you also, and all of your Guosim this night!”

Grath closed her eyes and slept then. But peace would have been the last thing on her mind had she known that not half a league out to sea beyond the reefs, Waveworm, the corsair ship, was sailing parallel to the shrew’s cave, bound south. It passed in the night, leaving only a broad wake which was soon swallowed up, lost in sweeping rain and the eternally flowing seas.