Three Tales, One Story
In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels
Chapter 5:
Sad Bad Mad
The hills, wooded by ash, oak, pine and spruce, went on and on as if forever. Martin the Warrior kept lightly touching the pommel of his blade, as if to reassure himself that it was still there. The hare leading him on was not silent; no, not at all silent. But it was hard to tell what, or who, the beast was even addressing.
"'Tis a capital morn for a bit of a run, wot?" the hare turned around and began loping along backwards. The mouse watched his feet as they somehow evaded every branch and leaf drift. He never once tripped or stumbled. "Though I'd be a bit more partial to a pair o' pasties, whaddya say, eh, milord Martin mouse?"
"Well, haven't had lunch yet," the warrior shrugged, eying the hare and trying to determine if he was even armed. He had yet to see a weapon, though surely he had a blade, if tails were taken from his terrified victims.
"Oh, but I have had a luncheon or two, laddie!" the hare winked. Were it not for the knowledge he had on the devious creature, Martin would have thought him just like any other hare in that moment. The very thought of what the goodbeast victims must have felt as the creature revealed his intentions to them made his stomach go into knots.
"Then why have a third?" Martin carried on with the disarming banter. There it was again, something wrong with the hare's physique. Was it that he was just too skinny? Martin squinted. No, the flaw, though he still couldn't place it, wasn't so obvious from where he was standing. He shook his head, reasoning that the perceived deformity was just a trick of his mind, twisting the hare's visage into a form he could stomach slaughtering.
"'Cuz it's jolly good, scoff!" he leaped atop a partially downed log, impressing the mouse with his althelic capabilities, "Th' old feedbag! Bally tea! Th' whole lot of it! If y' can eat it, must be bloody good, that's what I say, wot!"
Revulsion ran through the mouse's skin. He gamely forced a sickening image out of his mind. He forced himself to grin at the same time.
"Aye."
"Nothin' bad t' be said about an' old beaker of nutbrown ale!"
"Aye, that's true."
"Or a great whackin' load o' salad, sprinkled with white almond cheese!"
"Aye."
"I say," Heaghan turned to him strangely, leaning in unexpectedly close and startling the warrior, "You're bein' pretty bally silent. Y' hear somethin'?"
The mouse's mind raced. If he said no, what would happen? Especially if he said it too quickly. Now that was something that could rouse suspicion. But if he said yes... There was a real chance of the hare Heaghan hearing something, perhaps his two companions' movements in the brush.
Though if the hare did try to harm the two foxes, Martin would have no choice but to fight back. And though fighting for the sake of active defense was what he was taught was honorable, it did indeed seem to be safer to do it Cyndernose's way.
Feigning an indifferent shrug, Martin dodged the hypothetical arrow and took option three.
"I dunno. Did you?"
The hare smiled; Martin could tell even through the bandanna by those dimples forming again. Seemingly on a random burst of energy, Heaghan Light performed a stunning backflip from his standing position and upon landing bellowed loudly with laughter.
"Hahahahaha! I hear all sorts o' noise, doncha know!" he grinned broadly, showing all his blunt teeth, "Say, did you hear that just now? Like a flower being crushed in a paw?" he frowned deeply all of a sudden, "I hear that all th' time. Rather sad sound. Like a screamin' bird, or a rock hittin' somebeast up the head..."
Martin drew back. Sure, he had always thought the hare Bone-Collector was mad, but this show neatly snapped his idea of madness in half. How such a beast could have that in his head, day in and day out, and continue to live was shocking. Even in his times of furious Bloodwrath Martin was not so unconscious of reality.
As quick as the spell had descended on Heaghan, it lifted. He perked his ears up and waggled a paw in one.
"Well, that's done an' over with. C'mon then, to pasties we go! No laggin', or y' might not get any tuck!"
Dazed, Martin followed, this time forgetting to even touch paw to sword hilt for confirmation that it was there if he needed it.
Behind a nearby clump of elder bushes, Husken and Doren exchanged looks and simultaneously suppressed a shiver. The elder ran a paw through his headfur and watched the figure of the mouse receding into the distance of the woods.
"Well," he said, "That just rips th' reason an' coolness right out of ya."
"You said it," Doren agreed, readying himself to crawl forward again. "Should one of us go an' report back? We can find each other's trails easily enough."
"Uh-uh..." Husken drew his dagger and stared hard at it for nicks and blemishes, "Too risky. Best stay with ol' Martin. He might need us in the next little while if things go nasty..."
Doren opened his mouth, but then shut it and scuttled forward. Husken watched his brother for a moment, then peered up over the cover of the bushes and scanned the area for watchers. There were none. Silently the chain of followers continued on their way.
"Get to the fun part, why don't you," Euren rolled his eyes and sipped the strong drink that was making him feel flushed and warm. Sitra stopped, interrupted slightly, and looked over to her Chief.
"My Lord... Please allow me to continue myself," she asked in a soft voice. The fox Chief blinked at her, the alcohol dulling his temper a bit, then a waved an apathetic paw.
"Ahhh, doesn't matter. You'll get around to it."
"Not wise t' drink spirits in this cold of weather," the squirrel grumbled. The fox didn't hear him, but his son did.
"Heheheh, but he's going to anyhow, so there!" he imitated his father's voice with near perfection. Unfortunately, that drew the big vulpine's ire.
"Don't you cheek me, Ioren," he growled, turning sharply and laying his ears down flat. "I'll tan your rump if I hear it again."
Slumping dejectedly, Ioren hid partially behind Kellos and the mousemaid curled up tightly under his arm. Tigand shook his head, feeling his numbed paws gaining new life for the first time in days. Not a few hours, perhaps a night, earlier and the two bands of creatures had been at each other's throats.
Now it was like the communion felt at Redwall Abbey, where the woodmouse was raised from orphanhood by the kind Abbeybeasts. Surely there were differences, but their attitudes were about the same. Even the gruff Chieftan of these Waterfoxes.
And "Waterfoxes". He had never heard of that tribe before. Not even in passing mentions by visiting Guosim or woodland otter holts. Tigand was not sure what that meant, but it gave him hope that perhaps they'd run into the vermin the lessons at Abbey School had failed to teach him about: The good ones.
"When's it get fun, eh? When's the mouse going to slay that hare?" Euran was persistant in his tipsy ramblings. Sitra put a calming paw on his knee.
"Soon, Chief Euran, very soon. Just allow me to tell the story and you'll hear the ending soon enough."
Twinflower craned her neck toward the entrance as the vixen carried on, listening for storm noise. It was almost unnoticable now. Smiling, the mousewife settled again beside her husband and two young boys.
Chieftain Audyl stood atop a high crest of a hill, the wind buffeting his silver cloak about. Zima stood stooped by his side, and together they were surrounded by a small gang of the fox's hunters, all armed with either spears or shoulder bows, swords and daggers at their waists. The sooty-nosed fox narrowed his eyes down the slope, staring at the rag-tag band that matched his look.
The creatures had come not an hour ago, a mixed crowd of weasels, stoats, rats, ferrets and a few foxes. They were led by a great tawny cat, a wildcat it looked, though he may have had the blood of some of the southern felines of the deserts and scrubs. There were fewer than thirty in their number, but they looked perilous anyhow. Cyndernose bet an acorn to roasted dove that they weren't a lot to be trifled with.
Or a lot you could trust to turn your back to.
However, a few of the rats and stoats in the band appeared to be missing tails. That roused the curiosity of the fox Chieftain, and though it sickened him to be within a few spearlengths of such barbarian rogues, he had to for the sake of information.
"Speak, intruders," Audyl drew himself up to his full height, and though it wasn't much it still looked quite impressive as he was on the hilltop, framed by the billowing cape, "How dare you trespass on my lands? What business have ya here?"
The wildcat stepped forward, glaring at the fox coolly and with a paw clenching and unclenching a roundhead staff, showing off the fearsome retractable claws.
"I am called Touras, the Unstoppable," he barked in a deep, fierce voice, "I come and go where I please, and do what I please while I'm there! What say you, fox, you challenge me?"
Audyl rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, slumping in a relaxed manner. His hunters gave him a few glances but trusted that Cyndernose knew what he was doing.
"What, challenge you? For what?" the fox said with a smirk, "This land is already mine, I have more than enough fighters to cut you all down, and furthermore, your type bores me." The fox toyed with the handle of his long axe, "So I'd suggest ya follow along with my demands, or find yoreself in a world of pain."
"Grrraah!" the wildcat spat and spun his weighted staff. The rabble behind him all moved into a battle formation, spear-wielders in the front and swords and axes following. Just as they were about to rush the hill, Audyl put a paw in his mouth and gave three sharp whistle blasts.
The rest of the tribe's warriors, all armed with either bows or slings, rose from their hidden positions behind Touras's band, bowstrings drawn and taunt and slings whirling. The wildcat started as he turned, then hastily gave the signal to stand down. Cyndernose cackled and yawned, taking a few steps down the hill flanked by two spearbeasts.
"Now then, let's get to business." The fox took out his dagger and flipped it about in his paw, not needing to take his eyes off the feline to do so, "I notice some of yore stoat and ratty types have run into a bit of trouble. Any chance a big rabbit or a hare is to blame?"
One stoat who was near the front took a step back and put a paw to his rear embarrassedly. Cyndernose pointed to him with a deft claw.
"Oh? How 'bout you? Yore tail been chopped off by a madbeast?"
"Aye," the stoat mumbled, trying desperately to disappear into the band of vermin. Cyndernose nodded his head sagely.
"Ah, so this happened when?" Touras snarled and opened his mouth to answer, "Not you, ya great stinkin' tabby whelp. I was talkin' to the stoat, mind. Sit down!"
The vermin raiders where shocked as the fox whipped out his axe and thudded the haft into the wildcat's shoulder, forcing him to sit on the ground. Touras's stunned look said it all; never before had anybeast defied him, and now that it had happened he was at a loss for what to do.
"Talk to me, stoat," he turned to the beast with his tone much softer and forgiving, "When'd the hare do this to ya?"
"L-last night, Chief," the stoat said, dropping his cutlass in fear as the sooty-nosed creature leaned in towards him, "Honest, it was. He made off t' th' south o' where we was, but th' tracks stopped at th' gorge o'er yonder..."
Audyl turned swiftly, his brush slapping the stoat in the face and causing him to stumble backwards.
"Good boy," the fox sneered. He turned to one of the largest of the fox warriors, a huge gray-furred male, "Bind these blaggards' paws an' muzzles. If they resist, ya know where to send 'em. Put the ones that cooperate in th' hole until we can sort 'em out."
"Aye, my Lord," the huge gray beast winked and grinned at a couple of rats. The rodents were forced to drop the knives from their shaky paws as he stomped up, holding nooses for trussing them up. Audyl crested the hill, lending a paw to Zima as she struggled along as well, then looked back on the new prisoners.
"Hmph, snotfaced landpirates," he growled. "If they're telling the truth, Martin and our two foxes are sure to have run aground of the Bone-Collector by now."
"But... then what?" Zima wrung her paws, "They left this morning, and 'tis after noontide now. Do you think that maybe... the evil one has found them out..?"
"Nonsense, good elder," Cyndernose laughed softly, "Martin may seem a bit of a berserker, but he's got a brain. It may take him a while yet, but he'll get that villain. I trust that mouse." He drew his cloak about him against a cooling breeze, "That's a rare thing to say about anybeast."
Martin gasped as he pushed past thick, low-hanging wild grape vines into a clearing. At its center a gargantuan monolith stood, a vast piece of granite jutting up from the redtop grass and evening primrose, as if it had just fallen from the side of a mountain. The only problem was that any mountain was nowhere in sight. The warrior shaded his eyes with a paw against the lowering sun, spying a nook in the rock near the top half.
"Welcome to me humble abode, ol' Martin chap!" Heaghan sprung forward and bowed with a flourish. Martin tapped a claw on his sword's pommel and looked about skeptically.
"You live... on a rock?"
Heaghan Light burst out laughing, literally rolling about in the long grasses as he hooted like a tickled owl.
"Wahahah! Not on a rock, in a rock, ol' thing!" He popped upright swiftly, grinning from ear to flopping ear, "See that little whatchamacallit hole thingie up yonder, where the bit juts out? Flippin' hollow in the bally stone, wot. Can't recall how it got there or how I came t' find it, but it suits me all the same!"
"It reminds me of... Never mind." Martin almost said. The hare's ears stood on end.
"Ooh... Don't tell me, I've got it...You've had friends with homes in the rocks?" Martin gave Heaghan a strong look.
"I used to live in one." he answered curtly, "That was a long time ago."
The hare ignored him, still chuckling endlessly, as he strolled up to the rockface. Tapping a paw on the side, the hare smirked as Martin gazed in awe as small rock slats rather like a flight of stairs slid out. Deftly and lightly as a squirrel treewhiffler, the mad hare ascended the small spiral of stone stairs and hopped into the small opening. Mouth gaping, Martin watched as Heaghan's shrouded face popped back out.
"Well, come on then," the hare called down to him, "No tuck if y' wait around out there!"
Reluctantly, Martin approached the obelisk and put wary paws on the stone slats. There was no doubting his ability to climb it, but he was unsure if there would be enough room up at the top to fight the Bone-Collector if he was forced to. He had a long sword, not a dagger. Was the space inside the rock even large enough for that? Scowling to himself, he began his ascent, paw over paw, not too speedily but sure-footed all the same. Whether there was space for his blade or not, he had to go. He had made a promise to Chief Audyl to at least try, and if there was one thing he father would not have allowed him to do, it was give up. He would fight the evil one bare-pawed if he had to.
Doren slowly stood from the shady space under a small willow tree after the Warriormouse had disappeared into the stone crevice. He looked down to see that his paws were shaking. Husken stood upright across the way and waved a paw to him. Doren waved back, then indicated with two claws raised, pointing them to the hole in the rock. Husken nodded, understanding the sign. Padding out into the clearing, he shaded his eyes with a paw and squinted westward through the trees.
"What d'ya see?" Doren whispered, coming to his older brother's side. Husken put a paw roughly on his snout, shushing him.
"D-don't talk out loud near the rock!" he hissed, pushing him to the low end of the clearing, near the trees. "I looked out there a ways. D'you know, I thought I could make out th' tribe hill on the horizon. Scary, eh?"
"So he was never more than half a day away?!" Doren shuddered. Husken took a quick look around in the woodlands, sniffing. "Ugh!"
"That ain't all I seen," Husken lowered his voice, "I coulda swore I saw a dust cloud headin' straight for home."
"Dust cloud? Like a herd of hoofbeasts movin' through?"
"Nah, not that big of one," Husken sat down in the concealing treeshade, a downed log between him and the great stone, "More like a band of creatures more our size. Funny, merchants don't come through here often..."
"What about armies..?" Doren chewed a hangclaw. Husken shrugged.
"Dunno. Th' last time that happened, Ole Cyndernose put 'em to flight right quick. I suspect th' thieves and brigands only stay around where the merchants go."
Doren sat beside his brother, uncorking a waterskin and taking a long pull. He stared over towards the bloom of one of the numerous wildflowers.
"I hope it's not foebeasts." Doren coughed on his water, "Gack! We've already got a Bone-Collector to deal with."
Inside the stonetop dwelling it was not very spacious, but there was enough room for Martin to seat himself a comfortable distance from the cavorting hare as he lifted a copper kettle from a cunningly carved hearth at the rear of the place. The mouse warrior cast about, his posture stiff and uneasy. There did seem to be just barely enough space to swing a blade, just. The walls were adorned with an odd collection of items, some of which the mouse could not even tell what they were. Among them were bones, of course, but strangely, near the hearth, was a painting of a slab of slate. On closer inspection, Martin could make out the beautifully rendered face of a haremaid, portly older hare, and a hedgehog wetnurse holding a bundle.
"Here y' go, Martin me matey!" the hare smiled cheerfully, hopping over the clutter between him and the Warriormouse and handing him a fired clay bowl filled with a dubious steaming soup. "Good, jolly good stuff! Made it meself, of course, with just a bit of th' fruit o' nature dear!"
Martin sniffed the contents of the bowl. It was oddly sweet, but also had a note of leek and cabbage. The mouse waited until Heaghan had his own bowl of stuff and had sat down by the hearthfire. Only after the Bone-Collector had taken a sip and licked his lips foolishly did Martin taste the concoction.
It definitely had damson plums in it, which with cabbage and leek was an alarming sensation. Martin politely took a second hasty drink and put the bowl down.
"So..." the mouse's eye was drawn to the slate portrait again. "How on earth did you come to live inside a stone, Heaghan?" He accepted a beaker of warmed amber liquid and held it in his paws, put did not drink just yet. "It's an odd way to live."
"Oh, yes indeed," the hare chugged about half of his drink, and Martin sniffed it. Taking a reluctant sip, he was relieved to find that it had no secret ingredient. It was plain honest dandelion beer. "Well, me ol' nurse used to sing an odd song t' me whenever we walked in the country, just to keep th' paws marchin', y'know. 'Home In The Rock' was th' name of it..."
The hare seemed to doze off, but then snapped out of it and ran a paw lovingly over the nearby slate. "Ah, yes... Dear ol' Dorma... How I miss th' ol' gel..."
"What happened to her..?" Martin sat transfixed, an odd cold feeling running up his spine and back down his chest. He felt that he would definitely not like what Heaghan was about to say.
"Oh, y'know... The ol' deal," Heaghan sniffed. "Pater was a bally Long Patrol Captain, doncha know. Mater made th' best crumbly apple crisp in th' middle country, an' Dorma... She were the sweetest beast ever t' be born." He grinned, "Taught me a flippin' load of songs, verses, rhymes. And how to make ales an' cordials. Always wanted to be a cellarhare. Must be why I live in a hole, wot wot?"
"Must be." Martin kept his tone level, only speaking to humor the creature and keep the information rolling. He was not sure why he wanted to know more. He was not really thinking to hard at the moment, keeping his paw near the hilt of his sword. But the cave, the old nurse... Something was living in the back of his head, nagging at him and persuading him to listen further to the mad one's words.
"Well, some seasons ago th' thing happened. Pater always knew it would. Bleedin' vermin came in from the south and east, put fire to the fort an' sacked us, foxes, aye. 'Twas only ma, pa, Dorma, meself an' a few chambermaids. Pater died doin' what he did best--layin' down th' law to vermin scum. Dunno what happened to mum. Maids all got captured, prob'ly took away to be slaves someplace. An' poor Dorma, her lot was worst of all...!"
Martin felt sick suddenly. Looking the hare back over, he could now tell exactly what was marring the figure of the Bone-Collector. Heaghan seemed to notice, and with a crooked grin, turned his hindquarters slightly so that the horrified warrior could see it better.
"Yes, yes." the hare's eye sunk back into the sockets slightly as he lowered his chin but kept his gaze centered on Martin, "Poor Dorma, those blighters took her tail away. But I'll find it. I'll find it, they're hiding it." Heaghan Light stroked the furless patch where the limb had once been.
"I'll find it, you'll see. The vermin are hiding her tail an' I'll get it back for her. Some are in disguise though. Have you seen them? Think they can fool me, dressing up like a mole or an otter. But I'll find it, sure I will. One day, I'll get it back, and then Dorma will come back to me!"
O.O Oh dear. I've made a paranoid schizophrenic in the most terrifying form possible: Giant anthro-rabbit. Um... reviews?