I'M ALIVE! Yes, contrary to popular belief, I have not died and Brian Jacques did not come to my funeral. I just really needed a break! School exams were this week, and softball season started, and book reports and projects and ARGH when will it all end!
The Red is on hiatus. I just got too bored with it and suffered from a bout of writer's block the size of the Empire State Building. Hopefully, I'll be able to start it up again this summer when I have more time.
So, I started this one. It's only going to be a three-shot,so I'll be finishing it. Don't expect updates to be close and constant however, my schedule currently only allows time for writing every couple of days. It's another sappy fic that dwells on Martin's suffering and explains another way he could have died. The first chapter takes place after Triss. WARNING: Triss Spoiler!
Enjoy.
Chapter 1 – Discovery
A steady rain fall pelted the windows of the gatehouse. The water trickled down the glass, creating strange patterns in the lantern light. A single raindrop, larger than the rest, barreled its way across the surface. It seemed to split the window in two like an earthquake creating a giant crack in the ground
Trisscar Swordmaid sat in the separated building, watching the sudden storm take its course. The water trickling down the soaked glass reminded her of something. Another liquid, albeit a darker, richer one. One that was rarer than the fluid falling from the sky, and perhaps more valuable. One that contained all aspects of life in a single drop.
Blood.
The way it spread out, the way it formed into shapes of lighting bolts across the glass. Triss had seen copious amounts of bloodshed during her lifetime, and she was always fascinated by the way it separated into different paths. It was much like the way the rainwater fell against the window. The red rivers always seemed to captivate her, to hold her attention and set in her some sort of trance. Shogg, her good otter friend who had entered the Gates of Dark Forest a few seasons before, had noticed this. He said it was a strange form of the Bloodwrath. Triss had never thought much about it.
Oh, how she missed Shogg! Triss sat in the gatehouse, daydreaming about her friend. They had been through everything together, and now she couldn't even remember his face clearly. A lump began to rise in her throat. The young squirrel stood up, willing herself not to cry. She had shed too many tears over Shogg already.
Triss looked around the gatehouse, completely and utterly bored. She finished all of her daily chores. She couldn't practice with her blade indoors, and she didn't want to stay outdoors in the rain for more than two minutes. The rest of the Abbey dwellers were bursy entertaining the Dibbuns. Although she loved the babes, Triss just wasn't in the mood to deal with them at the moment. The swordmaid looked around. She had absolutely nothing to do.
Triss wandered around the gatehouse, gazing at the many old and dusty volumes littering the shelves and listening to the constant patter of the rain. She had never bothered to look at the Abbey records. Churk, the ottermaid, was the recorder after all. But, for some reason, Triss was strangely drawn to the shelves that night. She walked over and started looking at the bindings of the old volumes. They all had very strange titles, like Winter of the Deepest Snow, and Spring of the Lesser Periwinkle. The squirrel skimmed over the rows and rows of dusty records until she found one that rang a bell. The Summer of the Late Rose.
Unexplainably, Triss was extremely interested in it. "I'm sure Churk won't mind if I have a look," she said to herself. Gently wrapping her fingers around the spine of the book, the squirrel pulled it out amidst an explosion of dust.
After rubbing her eyes a bit, Triss looked back into the now empty space on the shelf to make sure she hadn't damaged the other volumes. That's when she noticed a small, round knob at the back of the shelf.
Ever, the curious one, Triss set down the book and reached into the shelf. She grasped the wooden knob and gave a short tug. Nothing happened. Triss furrowed her brow. "How strange," she thought to herself. "Why would there be a knob in the wall if it wasn't part of a drawer?" She tugged a bit harder, and the knob seemed to extend. It indeed was a drawer, for Triss could see its outline now. Obviously, it had stayed secret and shut for many seasons.
Gritting her teeth in determination, the strong and slender squirrel tugged on the drawer one last time. It opened with a pop and Triss was thrown backwards onto the floor. The drawer had been pulled completely open and sailed over her head. It landed with a thud on the gatehouse floor.
Triss got up at once and ran over to the secret drawer. Luckily, it didn't look as if it was damaged. She lifted it up and peered inside.
A very old book, encrusted in dust, lay in the wood drawer. Sitting undisturbed for many seasons, it was in almost perfect condition. Triss grabbed a rag from a box on the table, wrapped it around her paws, and carefully lifted the aged volume. She blew gently on the cover to remove some of the dust and set it on the table.
For several minutes, Triss sat staring at the book. There was nothing attractive about it, nothing creative and it had no visible eye candy. But, much like the blood from a fallen enemy, it had the squirrel's undivided attention.
The two covers and spine were a dull and lifeless brown. A simply calligraphied M was painted in the center of the front cover. Turning it over, Triss saw a very small sketch in the back. It was done in ink and shaped to look similarly like a rose. Unlike all the other records in the gatehouse, there was no title. And the name of the recorder who scribed it was nowhere to be seen.
The pages weren't stained and crinkled like most of the pages in the other old books. They were a slightly fading tan, lighter on the corners than the middle. Triss turned them gently.
The first few pages were blank. But, once Triss got to the fifth page, something unexpected happened. Four, pressed rose petals fell out of the book and onto the floor. The squirrel leaned over and picked them up. They were a bright, blood red and perfectly flat from being in the book so long. They were dead, but still had a silky feeling to them. Triss held them in her paw, wondering why the roses had so much to do with the aging volume.
Triss noticed a small piece of paper resembling a note you would leave for somebeast if the left the home unexpectedly. Peeling it away from the binding, she held it closer to the lantern light. A note to the reader, scrawled untidily in black ink, was exactly what it was.
To the Recorder of Redwall Abbey, or whomever may be reading this,
Triss read. She could barely make out the writing. There were too many splotches of ink on it; it must have been written in a hurry. She continued.
You have uncovered the secret journal of Martin the Warrior. First of all, congratulations, matey! Not just anybeast could follow those clues!
Triss stopped again. She didn't follow any clues; she just stumbled upon he hidden drawer. Somebeast must have found the book before and re-hid it.
Now, please continue reading this note. The following contains all the emotions kept locked up inside Martin's heart. There are many tales and heartfelt poems that made my own tough self break down in tears. Martin was me matey, and I wish he could have told me what he was feeling.
Please treat this book with care and never let it fall into the paws of the enemy. Don't let it get ruined. And, me matey, don't show it to anyone except your own good self. The spirit of Martin will tell you when it is time to reveal it to others. Until then, keep it locked up in the place you found it.
And, most important of all, let what's in this journal touch your heart.
Gonff Mousethief
Triss stood staring at the note. She had found Martin the Warrior's journal!
She had heard many tales of the legendary Martin the Warrior. He had defeated that nasty wildcat and helped build Redwall Abbey along with his friends, Gonff, Dinny, Bella and Abbess Germaine. She had helped clear out Brockhall, the secret dwelling of Martin and his friends before the fall of Kotir, just a few seasons before. She even had been visited by Martin's apparition in her sleep several times.
And now she had his every thought and emotion in the palm of her paw.
Triss immediately began skimming through the journal, looking at poems, dedications, songs and just random rambling. Martin the Warrior proved to have a very creative side behind his strong and knowledgeable image.
Triss stopped at a page that caught her eye. It was a letter written by Martin himself, directed to someone by the name of Laterose.
"Laterose," Triss repeated the name to herself. She remembered hearing about Laterose. She was the fabled mouse of Martin's past; the one true love of his life. Triss has listened to Malbun Grimp recite the ancient tale of Martin's younger days many a time in Cavern Hole.
The squirrel sat down in the big, cushiony armchair and started to read. It was then, on that stormy night in the gatehouse, that Trisscar Swordmaid sttled in the lantern light and dived into the mind of the legendary Martin the Warrior.
A/N: Horrible I know. Please Read and Review! Note that I'll only be finishing this fic if enough people want me to.