A/N: This is a little experiment of mine, a random idea that popped into my head at some point or another and proceeded to mutate and grow. It's taken shape as, oddly enough, a sort of "partially fill in a canon-hole" fanfic. This takes place shortly after Taggerung; to be more precise, the spring after Rosabel narrated Deyna's story to the Abbey (her prologue/epilogue takes place in winter). Hopefully there are no serious anachronisms; I checked my copy of the book and the Redwall Wikia thoroughly for the relevant info.
More importantly, I own very few of these characters. You'll recognize many of them from canon, the Abbey cast of Taggerung in particular, as well as Russano the Wise and his children (mentioned in the prologue to Lord Brocktree). And one from somwhere else altogether, but I'm not at liberty to reveal that now. ;)
That being said, here's the prologue. Enjoy.
Truly they spoke of the "gates of hell." To be exact, they were made of iron, wrought into vicious spikes and the outlines of hideous figures, unimaginably strong and glowing red with the heat of the inferno. Through them only the damned could pass, and none had ever left.
Through the gates, that is.
Beyond the Hellgates the ground fell away; there was only a bottomless void, its rock walls flickering with the light of the flames and echoing with the screams of the tormented. It was an eternity of punishment by fire, of debts in evil repaid thousandfold in agony.
But on one of the many ledges cut into the stone, in a particular corner swathed in shadow, there was... escape. Hope for those who deserved none at all.
It was a mere hairline crack, nearly invisible under ordinary circumstances, made doubly so by the surrounding gloom, and the confusing play of firelight beyond that. But it was all that was needed; without the confines of a physical body, any space was enough.
The spirit discovered all this and more, much more. Beyond the crack was a tunnel: a tiny hole that led on and on, continually upwards, for what would have been several days, though it was less than the blink of an eye for him. He had lost any sense of time long, long ago. All he remembered was pain and fire; before that, a confusing blankness that now gnawed constantly at him; and now, the tunnel.
Then there was light and open air, and his memories returned to him; the glory of all he had been, the ignominy of his death. His wonder was tempered now with rage, and he knew, having escaped Hell, that his work on the earth was not yet done.
He felt a sudden, inexorable tug on all his senses, and knew there was a suitable vessel nearby. He would live again through another, beginning anew from infancy. This time, his plans would not fail.
For the first time in any of his forms of life, he obeyed an order. His spectral figure wavered and dissolved,s his essence borne on the rush of the wind towards the mortal frame in which it would soon be bound.
He could not believe the chance had come. The world would fear him again, and now even death could not stop him.
Soon. So soon...