Hey, look! I'm not dead! I've decided to post this because I haven't posted anything for a while, and this has been sitting around in my documents folder for a while. Some of you may have seen this before, as I submitted this for the Terrouge (www(dot)terrouge(dot)com) June 2009 issue, and to my great surprise, was accepted. Seeing as I left it as a bit of a cliffhanger, I'm making it into a full story, with this as the prologue. Please enjoy.
To the casual observer, it appeared as though a shadow had flitted across the path, possibly as a result of a bird flying overhead, or a tree branch moving in the wind, which was of course, wrong. This is one of the many reasons that casual observation is usually considered an inadequate method for making assumptions about things. The "shadow" was, in reality a gray-furred ferret by the name of Smoke, who was currently wishing he was actually a shadow. Shadows weren't being hunted by a pack of bloodthirsty Redwallers.
"Five seasons," he muttered under his breath, "five bloody seasons. I suppose I should be flattered they'd chase me this long, but it gets annoyin' after a while, all this. Always hidin', with half th' Abbey on my tail, never stopping to think about what they're doin'. That's their problem. They never look at th' big picture; never understand th' scope of things. If they stopped and thought for a minute, they'd see th' truth, but instead they chase an innocent beast 'round Mossflower fer five seasons." Smoke carried on like this for a while, in a hushed voice so not to draw attention to the low-hanging beech limb where he had situated himself. He often talked to himself during these rare, quiet moments, when he was not on lookout, or sleeping fitfully, worried that he would wake up with a sword in his chest.
The ferret eventually tired of this one-sided conversation, instead allowing his mind to wander back to that day, the feast of the Winter of the Early Snows.
A younger and much more heavily garbed version of Smoke trotted up the center of the path, heading east, where he could hear the bells tolling. He knew it must be for the feast, as it was too early to be calling dinner, but far too late for lunch. The only other viable option was that somebeast had died, but in these peaceful times, he doubted it. There had been no vermin threats of any kind for many a season now.
Presently, he came upon the Abbey of Redwall, the large gate rising up above him, almost mountainous in scale. The hedgehog on wall guard duty waved at him cheerily. "Hello, Smoke! I can guess you've come for the feast. How'd you know that we were having it now?" Smoke exhaled, the unusually chilly weather causing his breath to turn to a cloud of steam when it left his mouth. "Hellsteeth, Tril, I'd be more likely to tell ya if ya were to let me outta this bloody cold!"
Tril Quillback grinned to himself as he unbarred the gate. Smoke was well known around the Abbey as a traveler who brought news of happenings outside their range of knowledge. He had done nothing thus far to brand him as a particularly malicious beast, and was relatively amicable once you got to know him.
The ferret stepped past Tril, and into the Abbey lawn; his eyes turned upward, his expression one of awe. He never failed to be impressed by the massive structure, and this visit was no exception. Angling his glance slightly downward, he noticed that the orchard trees were unusually bare, and there were patches of white everywhere. Having been out of Mossflower for most of the season, he had not witnessed the oddly early first snowfall over a month beforepaw, and apparently the weather had remained cold enough to preserve part of it here.
As he entered the main Abbey building, he was met by Abbot Oak, a venerable squirrel who had his best seasons far behind him.
Oak shook Smoke's paw warmly. "Greetings, my son, I take it you have arrived for the feast. We have been expecting you."
Looking back on the incident, the ferret realized that this should have been the first sign of trouble. He had come to several Redwall feasts before, yes, but not consistently enough to be considered an expected visitor.
Unfortunately, instead of choosing the more logical option of running far, far away and never coming back, Smoke returned the Abbot's grin. "Aye, wouldn't miss it, 'specially what with the weather now."
Taking a sharp left, the ferret entered Great Hall, where preparations for the banquet were nearing completion. Smoke licked his lips at the large amount of food already there, with more coming out of the kitchen and being laid on the large main table. He amused himself for a while trying to name all the dishes in front of him (blackberry crumble, cherry tart, shrimp 'n hotroot soup…), but soon gave up.
Presently, a jovial-looking otter plopped into the seat to the right of him, and a younger mouse on the left. They talked and joked with each other for a short while, but Smoke did not join in. He never was one for talking just for the sake of it. After about ten minutes of this, Abbot Oak hoppled into the room, and rang a small bell, signaling that it was time for the grace.
"We thank thee, Mother Nature,
For allowing us to harvest your gracious bounty,
To provide for us hungry creatures,
The food which graces this table."
This was followed by a loud "Amen."
Smoke was starting on a bowl of shrimp 'n hotroot soup when he noticed Abbot Oak leaving through a small side door, unnoticed in the general chaos of the room. More curious than hungry, he followed, glancing furtively around to make sure he was not being followed. As he gently pushed open the door, he heard voices. "And remember; make it look like it was him who did it. We don't want anybeast sticking their nose in too far, they might find something important."
Smoke stiffened. That voice was the Abbot's. Before this surprising revelation could fully sink in, a gruffer voice replied, chuckling; "Shure boss. Huh, huh, dat stoopid ferret an' does dumb Abbeybeast won' suspec' a ting."
Smoke lurched away from the door, appalled at what he had just heard. Unfortunately, in the act of lurching, his right footpaw struck the door, opening it. Inside, he managed to catch a glimpse of the Abbot talking with a dirty-looking, well-armed rat before the rat swung a club at his head.
Then all was darkness.
The first thing he was aware of was a splitting headache. Then a voice, "Hello, it appears we have a visitor. I do hope my comrade did not damage you too badly. We need you intact, you see."
Smoke became slowly, painfully, aware of his surroundings. Oak was standing over him, and the brutish rat was nowhere to be seen. "For wh-what?" he managed to croak out.
"For what? Ah, but you fail to understand the scope of things here. Too long we Redwallers have had to live under the shadow of those called "vermin," always having to defend against them, never destroying their horrid blight!" at this, the squirrel shook violently, but clamed himself down, "My plan is quite brilliant, you see. It all hinged on that you were to be in the area, which my various sources confirmed that you were. Now imagine this: Redwall invites a vermin, a ferret to be exact, to their feast in good faith, but he then murders a respected member of the Abbey, and makes off with the famed tapestry of Martin the Warrior. How do you think they would react?"
Smoke glared daggers at the beast he had once respected as Abbot, "They'd never believe that. They'd have no evidence it was me."
Oak grinned a sickening grin, "You think I never considered that? When I shook your hand earlier, I removed a clump of your distinctive gray fur. My large friend took it with him when he left a few minutes ago to kill old Darius the Recorder, who did not come to the feast as a result of a stomachache that was a result of a little something I slipped into his drink. I expect he's dead by now, with a clump of gray fur in his claws, as if he tried to fend the attacker who also stole the Tapestry. My friend is ruthlessly efficient, you see. Now, all that is left to do is ensure that you are seen trying to slink away when they find the body…."
He got no further, as Smoke had managed to unobtrusively free the small dagger he kept in his boot for emergencies. Leaping up, he plunging it into the crazed squirrel's throat, ending his life instantly. The ferret stood over the prone body, mentally running through possible scenarios in his mind. None of them ended well, which meant he had one option. Run.
Five minutes later, he was running away from the Abbey of Redwall, faster than he had ever run before. He never looked back, never saw the Abbeybeast's shocked reaction to the deaths, never saw the tearstained faces and cracked voices which swore death upon him.
Jolted back to the present by voices coming up the path, Smoke the gray ferret dashed back into the forest, away from prying eyes that would tell of him, away from what was certain death.
Running, always running.