Going Home: The Oak and the Cliff: the Untold Stories, Book Two

By Gary L Henderson

There’s a lot going on. Sandy has never seen his family’s ancient home, but sets out to find it --- a mole, wandering the wide world.  Jeremiah, itinerant sailor, decides to help, and the adventure begins.

  A badger and a mole set out to explore the Old West, and arrive in the middle of a bank robbery.  Street

• Language: English
• Publisher: RNWC Media LLC DBA of Rivendell Systems LLC
• Release date: May 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781937975227

Book preview

Going Home

The Oak and the Cliff - The Untold Stories, Book Two

Gary L. Henderson

Contents

Chapter 1 What Would He Do?

Chapter 2 A Splinter in the Dust

Chapter 3 Sandy

Chapter 4 Jeremiah

Chapter 5 Where Would You Like to Go?

Chapter 6 Poison Darts

Chapter 7 He Said He Would Come

Chapter 8 Treachery

Chapter 9 Ask Rain Not to Fall

Chapter 10 Brockwilde

Chapter 11 Disaster

Chapter 12 Revenge

Chapter 13 Tales of Texas

Chapter 14 Death in the Night

Chapter 15 Rescuing Sarah

Chapter 16 Pico

Chapter 17 Tharyn

Chapter 18 Maybe I Can Show You

Chapter 19 Playing Games

Chapter 20 Overboard

Chapter 21 Torreón

Chapter 22 Let’s Make Friends

Chapter 23 Dancing in Russia

Chapter 24 Looking for Amy

Chapter 25 Get Some Help

Chapter 26 Clear the Woods

Chapter 27 Helping the Police

Chapter 28 Beauregard

Chapter 29 The Cliff

Chapter 30 The Oak

Chapter 31 You Promised

Chapter 32 Old Friends

Chapter 33 Pico Strikes

Chapter 34 Things People Say

Chapter 35 He Knew You Would Return

Chapter 36 Redwoods

PREFACE

Going Home

The Oak and the Cliff: The Untold Stories, Book Two

Cover illustration –

Copyright © 2016 Linée Baird,

www.lineepastels.com

Used by permission.

Text © 2016 Gary L. Henderson, all rights reserved.

Published by RNWC Media, LLC, PO Box 559, Pinehurst, TX 77362

Imprint: Young Reader’s Library

Print ISBN 978-1-937975-23-4

eBook ISBN 978-1-937975-22-7

RNWCMedia.com

TheOakAndTheCliff.com

GaryHenderson.com

DEDICATION

To the God who made us in His image and delights to see His creativity flow through our minds and hands.

To you, who have come to meet new friends and share new adventures. Thank you. I can’t wait for you to meet Sandy, Jeremiah, Tharyn, Simón, Sarah, and all the rest. I hope you will enjoy these stories as much as I do!

And to Marilyn, who makes it all worthwhile.

But before we begin …

This is Book Two.

You have read Book One, right?

The one called Barley?

In which Barley learns who he is, and how his family was driven from the Hold by their ancient enemy? And in which you learned about the Oak and the Cliff, and about Nibbles and Sam, and about how Barley met Blanca and the other cats from the blue house, and how he met the cats from Mexico, and the deer from the woods, and how he gathered them up to go fight the serpents that had taken over his home?

Great. I knew you had.

OK, let’s get started with Book Two!

Chapter 1

What Would He Do?

Barley sat without speaking, without moving. The hall was dark and silent. Johantz probably slept in the hidden chambers below the main level. Behind him a low tunnel went east, into the dining hall with its chandeliers and balconies. But the throne faced west, towards another tunnel and more chambers, more quarters, and the entrance that once looked out over the sea. Or, so they said.

The bell sat on the arm of the throne, as Johantz had promised. It was always here, for Barley to call Johantz when he arrived. For now, he let it sit, remembering the first time he saw this massive circular room with its embroidered carpets surrounding the raised mound in the center, surrounding the throne in which he now sat.

His throne. The thought still overwhelmed him. The moles were returning now, and accepted his leadership as simple fact. They had dispersed over the world after the last attack of the Enemy, and were now streaming back home as word of Barley’s victory, now simply referred to as the Battle, slowly reached them in the hundreds of places to which they had scattered. But it was not a simple fact to Barley. It astounded him, and left him feeling totally unprepared for his new role, overwhelmed by the responsibility. But for all that, it felt somehow right. As though he had been made for this, and simply did not know it until it happened.

Have I displeased you? You did not call.

Johantz stood before him, appearing suddenly in the midst of Barley’s memories. Leaning on his intricately carved walking stick, the ancient mole, keeper of the Hold when all else fled, waited. His whiskers reached the floor, but his clear, expectant gaze showed no sign of the weight of the years he had seen. A settled peace, mixed with newfound hope, looked out at Barley, and an amused twinkle seemed to be there as well.

Good evening, Johantz. My apologies for disturbing you so late. How did you know I was here?

I am old, your Majesty, and sleep more lightly than I used to. Did you bring anyone with you?

No.

««»»

Johantz waited. This young leader had grown up in exile, with no instruction as to his role, his family, the history of his community. Yet upon arriving home and discovering the condition of the ancestral Hold, he had immediately decided to attack the Enemy from which his people had always fled. In the resulting conflict, centuries of oppression were ended.

What would he do next? How would he rule? Where would he live? What did he really care about? Johantz could only wait. So far, the young ruler delighted him, and he expected the adventures had only just begun.

Johantz …

Yes, sire?

Would you like to see my home?

Johantz paused. Did he not know?

It would be a great honor, Sire, and a pleasure indeed. But by law, I cannot leave the Hold.

Barley nodded, and there was a long moment of silence. Even at the request of your king?

Johantz laughed, and the thought of it brought back some wonderful memories. I believe I could, at your command. My apologies, that had not crossed my mind. Yes, I think I could … but that would be the only way.

Then let us go. But I will warn you … it’s a bumpy ride! ««»»

Nibbles eased out of bed, wrapped a favorite shawl over her shoulders, moved down the bedroom tunnel to the kitchen, and lit a small candle. Mulberry, she thought. Sometimes she couldn’t tell.

Must be an hour or so before dawn. Soon it would be time for everyone to be stirring so they could work the morning lawn for a few hours before the sun warmed it up and made them sleepy.

Putting some water in the coffee pot, she hung it over the candle and got out the frying pan. Some caterpillar grease in the pan, another candle for cooking, and a few stir-fried grubs would soon fill the tunnels with the smells of breakfast.

Suddenly there were sounds in the living room. Was Samuel already up? He was still breathing deeply and slowly when she left their bed.

Taking the candle from under the coffee, she carried it into the next room. Barley stood there, with an arm around Johantz, still a little unsteady from the trip.

Well she remembered the first time Barley had jumped with her. The lurch that leaves your stomach in your throat, the unexpected sensation of falling as your surroundings vanish, the sudden landing, and the unsettling appearance of an entirely new location around you as you arrive. With whatever is going on there, as you step into the middle of it. Very strange, and quite unnerving.

Johantz blinked at her, trying to adjust his eyes from the soft glow of the candles in the throne room to the pitch black of Barley’s pre-dawn living room, and then to the single candle entering that blackness. At last he focused enough to recognize her.

Ah, Nibbles, how fine to see you again. Young Barley invited me to visit your home. I trust we are not intruding?

Nibs glanced down at how she was dressed, decided not to care, and shrugged.

Welcome, Johantz. Your first visit to my home, I would have preferred to have been ready to greet you more appropriately. But, welcome. You are always welcome. Did you … enjoy the trip?

You could have warned me, she chided Barley with a glance. He nodded, silently acknowledging the indiscretion.

It was, umm, interesting. Yes. Interesting. I may be a bit too old to do it often, if you don’t mind. She understood.

It occurred to me, said Barley, after I awakened him in the middle of the night … that he had not seen our home, and might be interested to do so. I suspect he has not left the Hold in … a very long time!

Ahh, said Johantz. You are right, of course, and certainly not in that fashion. Usually. Nibbles’ eyebrows rose.

And it would seem we are in time for breakfast?

««»»

After breakfast and some Daffodil tea, Johantz was quite settled and talkative. They took him to the surface, under the azaleas, just before dawn. Blanca, the larger white cat, was sleeping on the porch rail, but woke instantly as Barley reached out to her in his mind.

Blanca, we have a visitor.

She stretched, dropped down to the porch, stretched again, and walked slowly enough to the lawn to not attract any attention. Other cats were still asleep along the porch and flowerbeds. She stopped a few feet before reaching the group, and quietly settled to the ground.

Barley waited, knowing that Johantz – in fact, all of them – were standing against a natural inclination to flee in terror at her approach. When he felt everyone had relaxed a bit, he continued. You remember Johantz, of course.

Welcome, Johantz. How was the ride?

They all laughed, knowing full well the answer. He grimaced.

Well worth it, my lady, to see you again. How do you fare?

Quite well, sir. Are the moles returning to the Hold in the numbers you had hoped for?

Indeed, and the repairs are in full progress. Tapestries are being restored, the walls are being cleaned from the filth of the enemy and recoated, and the old tunnels are being rebuilt. You must come visit.

Not without us! Strider and Jasmine, two of the cats that had participated in the Battle, joined them.

The one that heals! Johantz exclaimed. It is an honor.

Jasmine ducked her head. I had forgotten the gift, she murmured, but I have been reminded!

And one of the warriors, as I recall.

Strider probably felt he had been one of the rescued, more than a warrior, but they had all done what they could, and it had opened their eyes to a rougher side of life than they had known before.

You are too kind.

Perhaps we shall, Johantz, said Blanca. Come visit, that is. Although I suspect your people would be … nervous. Having cats come to call would unsettle more than a few, would it not?

Without doubt, my lady, without doubt. I can hardly believe I am speaking to you myself, and … I am actually terrified, at this very moment, just below my hopefully calm and deceiving surface! Perhaps, when you visit, you could come … in small numbers?

They all laughed.

Chapter 2

A Splinter in the Dust

Simón lay on the windowsill, looking out over the dusty street baked in the blistering, late afternoon Torreón heat. The family dog lay panting on the tiled living room floor below him.

Maybe Blanca will come visit. That would give us something to do.

The dog growled. Simón was sure the dog had not known it was a female cat that struck him that day in the washroom, and the embarrassment still rankled. He could almost hear the thoughts running through the dog’s mind.

I only have Simón’s word for it. Can I really trust what a cat tells me? Sure, he’s a Savannah Cat, handsome as cats go, with a pedigree, but … but he is still … can we say it? A cat. And cats cannot be … well, never mind. The whole story is just too weird. Moles, deer, a stag that was really a cat that was really a … never mind. Just too weird.

Simón smiled, thinking of Blanca. She had stolen his heart at the first glance, and since the Stag let that simple fact be known, his gang gave him no peace about it.

A youngster ran down the street, running a little too fast for play, and with a look on his face that was a little too scared to be just running from playmates. He looked familiar, maybe from a street or two away? Barefoot, with no shirt, he looked like any other young boy might look in the barrio, but something was wrong. Suddenly the boy stumbled, staggered on for a step or two, fell, twisted for a moment in the dirt, and lay still.

Simón jumped down, bolted through the house, and pushed his way through the door flap at the back entrance. Running to the front of the yard, he jumped to the top of the concrete wall and down into the front patio. Through the bars of the front gate, he ran to the child.

Still the boy lay in the dust and did not move. Putting his nose up close to the boy’s face, Simón could not smell the child’s breath. In fact, he was not breathing at all. Walking around him, Simón smelled something odd, and looked closer. He noticed a little splinter in his back, a barb, perhaps a cactus spine. He smelled it, and recoiled. Something strong, a biting smell, a sour smell. He sniffed it again. The smell was less now. It was fading, and soon would be gone.

Across the street, a woman screamed. People began running to the boy. Simón smelled the splinter one more time, then backed away to let the people gather around. A man ran up, and turned the boy over, brushing his hand against the splinter and knocking it into the dust.

Was that on purpose?

Simón looked at him, trying to learn his face before the crowd shielded him from view. They gathered the boy up and hurried down the street to the doctor out on the main road. From the sound of the cries, Simón thought at least some of them knew he was dead.

As the crowd left, Simón saw his friend Paco, a big, battle-scarred cat with half an ear missing, on the porch of a nearby house, watching the events.

Paco, help me! Paco shook himself and drifted out to the street, looking around.

What’s going on?

Help me find a splinter here in the dust. Smells sour, somehow.

They worked the dust for a minute, and suddenly Paco jerked his head back.

¡Qué cosa! Is this it?

Simón