Disclaimer: Redwall and the places surrounding it belong to Brian Jacques, the character and a few of the towns, however, are mine.
A/N: I wrote the earlier chapters in this story quite some time ago, 2005 I believe, so you might notice the writing style change. I'm rating it T for now for language, character death, graphic violence and self-injury, if anyone thinks I should rate it higher please notify me in a review and I will do so. I think T should be fine though. Now, without further ado, I give you Love or Something like It.
Chapter 1
A freezing wind blew through the Northlands. It stirred the snow that was blanketing the earth, causing it to fly into the air as a flurry of blinding whiteness. The long dead trees rattled in the bone-chilling wind creating a sound like that of a dieing creature's last breath. The sun's feeble attempts to shine had been smothered by the gray mass moving slowly, ominously across the icy sky. It was a penetrating, life-sucking cold.
In the midst of the numbing haze loomed a village, the Northland village of Yone. Formerly a peaceful town of mice, it was now in gory ruins. Bloody, mangled corpses littered the ground, staring, but not seeing, with their frozen, gazing eyes. Here and there a building blazed, a blackened timber fell, but the cold quickly put out most of the razed structures. Shops lay in shambles, their merchandise stolen, or thrown carelessly on bloodstained earth. Houses, no more than small huts, were in ruins: windows smashed, doors forced in, canvas and straw roofs punctured by large gaping holes that, like the mouths of demons, swallowed up the now nonexistent warmth that once came from the hovels.
The town center seemed to be the only place in this village of despair that wasn't harmed. In the cobble stone circle, a large brass bell hung between two sturdy, iron poles. It was a humble instrument, bearing only a small message that read, "I knell for the creatures of Yone. May war and wickedness never touch this land." The bell swayed slightly in the breeze, but did not sound, as if waiting for its ringer, who was destined never to gaily pull at the bell-rope again.
The bronze bell stood like a sentry over a magnificent sword resting on a stand. It was unlike any weapon ever seen before in the land. The blade was long and thin, with a blood channel no wider than a blade of grass. The sides were sharpened to edges so keen that, with the proper wielder, they could easily slice through fur, skin, muscle, and even bone. The cross-hilt was expertly made. Both sides elegantly curved down and weaved together in a basket-like shape around the main hilt to protect the fighter's paw from opposing blows. The pommel stone was awesome to behold. Carved into a deadly point at the bottom, it was a sapphire, held in place with an alloy of gold and steel coming from beneath the leather wrapped tightly around the hilt. It was a true warrior's weapon, but to the inhabitants of Yone it was not but a spiritual object used only as an idol to ask for guidance or to give thanks. But, the villagers of Yone also spoke of a legend. A legend that said that only one true of heart and pure of soul could wield it.
Suddenly, from near one of the houses, there came a scream that shattered the frozen air like a stone smashing glass. It was the sound of pain, intense pain coming directly from the very life-giving pit of a creature's soul. One might have thought somebeasts heart had been slashed into one thousand shrieking pieces, and one would not have been far from the truth.
The terrible sound come from a mouse, called Keemin Tae, lying, bleeding on the cold ground. He was scarcely fifteen or sixteen seasons old, too young for the horrors that had brought him to this moment. He had brilliant blue eyes, as bright and clear as a spring lake, but as powerful as a gale. Just below these wonderful eyes, supported by his left cheek, was a bloody gash. The fur and flesh was maimed and stained crimson around it.
The rest of his body was just as wounded. His homely green tunic was blood-soaked, and lay in tatters over his beaten body. Cuts, bruises, and other gruesome wounds covered him from head to tale. He was indeed a sorry sight to behold.
Another scream tore from the lips of the young mouse, "Jus' kill me now, damn ye! Ye've already killt the rest of my village!" he glanced over at his father, Likeam, who lay dead a few feet away. What was left of his life-blood was pouring out of an opening in his mutilated throat, slowly forming a gruesome red puddle around him. Likeam was another victim of the creature Keem was venting his rage upon.
The creature, an albino stoat, responded in a voice much colder than the frozen air, "Oh, no, no, no. A quick death would not do at all for the likes of you." He glanced down at his once pure white paw, now torn and bloody. It was tainted by an ugly cut that went all the way to the bone, the work of Keem. He grimaced as a fresh wave of pain shot through his nerves.
"No, that would not do at all for a brat like you," he repeated. "You will die a long, slow death at the mercy of the elements." He waved his uninjured paw carelessly at the dark, forbidding sky, and turned to walk away.
Suddenly, Keem let out a terrible, humorless laugh that sent a chill up the stoat's spine, causing the snow-white fur on the back of his neck to stand up strait. "Hahaha, Ye forsaken fool!" he spat, "I vow on my life that I shall slay ye, Radin! Aye, and the rest of yer crewl, honor less band!"
Radin shuttered, but never the less answered, "Ha! You slay me? If that is what you think, then you are more foolish than I! 'Twas was by luck that you damaged my paw, nothing more."
At that moment a weasel ran up to Radin and stammered out a report, "Master, me n' the Band 'ave took everythin' o' value."
"Very good, Fordle." Radin replied, "You are sure the village is completely looted?"
Here the weasel's eyes shifted to the side as he uncomfortably stammered out his reply," Y-yes Sire, W-we t-took everythin'."
"You are lying to me Fordle."
"N-n-no Sire, I'm n-"
"I do not like it when creatures lie to me."
The terrified weasel struggled to respond, but fear had grasped him too tightly, and he fell to the ground sobbing, in a pitiful heap.
Radin kicked the weasel in a disgusted manor an in a harsh tone of voice commanded, "Get up! I am not going to hurt you, yet. Now, what did you fail to retrieve?"
"I-it was a s-s-sword, Master. We t-tried, honest we did, but none of us could get it. P-please don' 'urt me Master!" He whimpered, shaking visibly.
Radin paid no attention to the cowering figure as he muttered reflectively to himself, "Hmm, a sword, eh? Mouse, do you know anything of this sword?"
"Aye, I do know of it. Only the pure o' soul an' true o' heart can wield it. It would ne'er respond to scum like you!"
"Silence, Mouse! Do you expect me to believe that rubbish? True of heart and pure of soul indeed! I'll bet it is a worthless object, nothing of value!"
"Nay, that's where ye're wrong, fer that is thee very weapon I'm gonna slay ye with, scum!"
"Enough! I am through talking. Goodbye pathetic mouse…forever! Come Fordle!"
Fury blazed in Keem's eyes as he tried to respond, but his breathing had become labored and all he managed to utter was a few painful groans as his mortal enemy walked away, fading into the snow-swept distance. And that was the last thing he saw before his mind faded into the merciful realms of unconsciousness.
It began to snow, lightly at first, but with increasing intensity. It blanketed the demolished village, as though trying to hide the destruction, but nothing could dim the presence of cruelty Radin and his band had bestowed upon Yone.
Radin's Band stood on the windswept plains outside Yone, huddling against the icy breeze. The numbered one thousand seventy-four in all, each one was a murderous fiend who would kill their own family for a bite to eat. Radin forcefully pushed through them until he stood at the head of his army, then turned to address them with the ritual victory call-and-response. " Who are you?" he roared.
"The Band of Radin!" A multitude of voices thundered the response.
"Why are you feared?"
"Because we were born with knives in our paws and murder in our eyes!"
"Whom do you serve?"
"Radin!" They screamed, "Radin, Leader of the Band, Player of the Song of Death!"
Radin waved a paw over the assembled vermin, hushing them into a deathly silence, then spoke in barely a whisper, yet every ear clung to his cold words. "Good, my Band. Good. No south to Baeown to play The Song for them."
At this announcement raucous, bloodthirsty cheers rent the air, screaming in cruel delight, "Radin, Radin, Player of the Song, Leader of the Band."
Then, in a great mass they started south to the Borderland town of Baeown, trampling the newly fallen snow in their rush to cause more destruction. And in front of them ran Radin, Leader of the Band of Murder, Player of the Song of Death.
Keem painfully struggled back into the world of reality several hours later. He attempted to rise, but with a gasp of pain, collapsed back into the half-melted snow. Then, like a thunderbolt, a flood of the last night's events rushed into his brain in an unorthodox jumble: He and his father, Likeam eating dinner, the town bell ringing out a desperate warning, Likeam grabbing his rusting dirk and charging outside, a scream, Likeam lying dead, intense fury, and finally, pain. Horrible pain. The pain currently blazing, like white-hot knives, throughout his battered body. So much pain. Too much pain… His thoughts trailed off as his vision blurred and darkened into the shadowy kingdom of death. Suddenly, a new thought seared through his dieing mind, as bright and bold as the morning sun, No! I will not die! I will not give up! I shall avenge my father and my village!
And as he was awakened by this thought he raised his head a fraction of an inch and was confronted by a miraculous image. A mouse was standing in front of him, but it was no ordinary mouse, beams of light radiated from his body, blinding to the eye, but to wonderful not to gaze in sheer awe at. The mouse himself was suited in armor, so silver and pure, it blazed like metallic fire. He held a sword so bright and awesome that it seemed to dim the armor. His very being promoted a feeling of safety that was increased when one looked at the calm expression on his bold face.
He spoke then to Keem in a voice that sounded like bells, ringing triumphantly on a Midsummer Day, "Keemin Tae, do you know who I am?"
Keem gasped, for when the mouse had spoken his lips had not moved a fraction. Nevertheless he responded, "No, Sir."
"I am a friend. That is all you need to know for now."
Keem could only nod in reply.
The mouse continued, "Keem, when you awaken go to the sword, and speak the word 'Lædanwerreour'. Only you can retrieve the sword from its resting place, but this word will assure the spirits that it was I who sent you. Go now and retrieve the blade!"
He nodded and said, "I'll git the sword righta way."
The mouse smiled at his highland accent and spoke one word, "Good."
The mouse extended his paw and Keemin grasped it. The next second, Keem found himself on his paws, blinking in the mourning sunlight. There was no sign of the mouse.
Keem ran swiftly to the town center, marveling at the fact that his wounds no longer ached. In fact they had healed almost fully. Only long jagged scars remained, glistening dully in the mourning sun. Only one wound had not changed, a cut in the shape of an X on his cheek. This was in the first place Radin had opened his flesh. He touched the cut gingerly, and with anguish, remembered how he had received it. When he had seen his father fall he had rushed at Radin with not but his Sgian Dhu. Radin had parried quickly, but was not fast enough and had received a deep wound on his paw. He had delivered a counter-blow to Keemin's face, the wound currently oozing blood. From then on it had been a one-sided battle, with Keem fighting desperately to protect himself and Radin inflicting minor injuries upon him with skillful ease.
Keem snapped out of his reverie and skidded to a halt. In front of him was the bell, swaying in the soft breeze, the sun shining brightly on its noble message. The bell's beauty was lost on Keem, for his attention was fully focused on one thing, the sword. Like a creature in a dream, he slowly walked toward it, oblivious to everything around him, his mind consumed completely by the marvelous weapon, which now seemed to have a faint glow to it. As he approached the implement of destruction, the light around it intensified and grew brighter until it shown like white fire. Slowly, Keem stretched out his paw and grasped the hilt of the sword. A feeling one hundred times stronger than any he had ever known rushed through his veins, cleansing him of evil, purifying his heart. Keem gasped as the energy rushed into his very soul, entering it, and then combining itself with his being. He and the sword were one! Then, in a voice as strong as a gale he spoke the word the spectral mouse had taught him, "Lædanwerreour!"
More A/N: Well, what did you think? Review and tell me, please. I'll try to post a new chapter every two days or so.