Ahaha! It's come back to meh! Here's the next installment of the tale, and a real game-changer! :D
Three Tales, One Story
In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels
Chapter 6:
The Storm Abates
Evening had fallen, and a chilly breeze swept over the hills and woodland groves above the grasslands. Martin sat huddled at the base of the great monolith, a ragged blanket about his shoulders. He had excused himself to take the air, and expressed that he really wasn't used to being indoors and needed a bit more space. The stars were beginning to come out, some muted and faded, others bright and blissful. There was nary a cloud to obscure them. Only the cold made the scene even slightly uncomfortable.
The mouse heard a rustle in some willowherb bushes nearby, and his eyes shot to the area with an intense glare. After a moment's wait he was relieved when a familiar face slowly peeked out from around the fronds.
"Doren," Martin whispered, trying hard to be both quiet and audible to the fox. "It's clear."
The fox approached at a crouch, watching the entrance to the stone hovel intently until he was safely in the shadow of the monolith on Martin's right side. He leaned over.
"So? What news?"
"... I'm not sure what to tell you," Martin answered. "The hare is the Bone-Collector, and he is ... mad."
"No surprise there," Doren sneered into the darkness, "But come, tell me more. What's the hare's name? What drives him to do these awful things? Could you defeat him? Did you see a weapon?"
The Warrior rubbed his neck and peered up towards the hole again. A faint light was emanating from within; it was the firelight. The mouse sighed.
"His name is Heaghan Light," he said, "From what he said and what I gathered... I believe some vermin creatures attacked his home and tortured him and his nurse when he was young. His motive then is some kind of sick vengeance..."
The fox nodded and looked around.
"But why? Half the beasts he attacks aren't rats, weasels or foxes or anything."
"He can't see that," Martin shook his head, "I'm surprised he could tell I was a mouse. I'm surprised he could speak. He's that maddened..!"
Doren half stood at Martin's rise in volume. Seating himself again, he picked at a sore tooth with a claw.
"Are you in danger stayin' around here then?" The fox peered over his shoulder, "Husken and I were thinking I could go and report this to Chief Audyl, while he stays to help you if you need it."
"Go ahead," Martin said, staring at a patch of pine tar on his pawpad, "For some reason this Bone-Collector doesn't seem disturbed in the least by me being here. He must think I'm his friend." The mouse forced the bile back. "I think I'll go along with this if he'll allow it."
"Good idea," the fox stood, preparing to slink back towards the woods to begin his errand, "But be careful. You never know with mad creatures. Give my brother a shout if anything seems suspicious."
"I will."
"Good luck," Doren took off, skittering through grass tussock and between treetrunks. Martin watched him go, then wondered where Husken had gone. He seemed the better tracker and more experienced camouflage expert of the two brothers. He was probably well dug-in somewhere at the edge of the woodlands, deep in shadow and invisible to even night birds. Martin lowered his head to his chest and feigned sleep.
There was the hope again that Heaghan would creep up, a blade in paw, and strike, giving the warriormouse a clean, honorable excuse to put an end to such a horrendous, yet pathetic, killer. But minutes rolled by, and the hope began to fade. It did not seem as if a turn-around in the hare's demeanor was likely. At least not tonight.
"Awaken old bob! Heheheh!"
Martin's paw shot to where his sword lay across his lap as he was thrust into wakefulness. He whipped around and spotted the hare hanging by his claws on the side of the rock, leaned back directly overhead with his head upside down.
"Good...morning Heaghan," Martin said, relaxing somewhat. More ridiculous antics in place of darkened babbles in the light of day. It seemed to be what the hare was made for. The switches were so smooth and subtle, it was hard to tell when he was about to make them.
"Care t' join me on a jaunt, ole thing?" Heaghan flipped backwards off the rock face and slid by his claws to the ground a step away from where Martin was standing up, "Not too far into the bush, y'know. Promise o' good tucker from me ole chum Jeggo squirrel."
Martin's head popped up at the mention of a name. He would not have thought that anybeast would befriend the madbeast without the intention of putting him out of his misery.
"Jeggo squirrel?"
"Aye, me mousey matey--Jeggo the squirrel. Master treewhiffler, expert vermin-tracker, and a damned good cooky too if I may add--" the hare clapped both paws over his mouth and drooped his ears at the utterance of the curse word, then exposed his yellowed teeth in a gleaming grin, "Ah, a darned good cooky, doncha know. Good fellow, most affable. Knows how t' put th' 'wheeze' in weasel and the 'fair' in filthy ferret, uh-huh!"
"... I see."
"Lives right yonder, past the pine groves and over a nice cool stream from the mountains east. Not far at all!"
"Very well." Martin slung his blade over his shoulder in its leather sheath, adjusting the straps over his tunic to make sure it was on securely, "I should like to meet this Jeggo creature. Have you been friends long?"
"Bless m' soul, has he?" Heaghan chuckled and clapped his paws to his knees, "Ole fella found me after the vermin scum were done with me. Raised me right."
Martin swallowed nervously, the darkest thoughts of what to expect from this mystery squirrel surfacing. The weight of his sword on his back reminded him of his duty, but he pushed it to the side. If the squirrel had reared the mad hare which had gone rotten inside, the squirrel responsible for allowing this couldn't be much less rotten. Somebeast was to blame for the vileness this poor insane creature was driven to commit each day and night. Perhaps he could find the conviction to end Heaghan's life by seeing who had made it impossible to tolerate...
Somebeast else had to be to blame. He wondered as he stepped lightly into the brush following the trail of Heaghan if maybe... The hare could have become a better beast if the Warriormouse had found him sooner.
Touras, the formerly Unstoppable, lay in the place the foxes of the plain called "The Hole". The name was a description fitting enough; his thirty pillagers lay with their paws bound behind their backs in a broad circular hole, no taller than the wildcat himself but sheer and impossible to climb out of with the restraints on. At least two sleek fox warriors stood sentry by the edges of The Hole night and day, armed with the long, barbed spears the tribe seemed to favor. The feline suppressed a growl, knowing it would draw attention from their jailors. Twice had members of his motley band been pelted with small stones or given a sound ribbing with the butts of warspears for crying out, cursing the foxes, or weeping too loudly.
Wriggling forward, Touras sought his strong right paw, a rat who was called Beol. Beol was easy to spot-he had no ears, by his own choice. They were too easy to tear or be shorn off in battle, so he had removed them himself. The same was true of his whiskers, and any place on his body which grew long patches of fur. He wore only light chainmail tunic and form-fitting leggings, more to keep the foe from grabbing on.
"Beol," the wildcat hissed towards the prone form before him. The rat did not stir, but the vermin leader knew him to be listening. "We must escape. Have you got a plan yet?"
"In a moment, Lord."
Touras was filled with fury. How dare his rat lackey ignore him! Before he could raised his head to give the rodent the last bite to the neck he'd ever feel there was a snapping sound.
"Much better." Beol rolled over to face the wildcat, whose mouth was still agape. The mangled rat's paws were free, "Now is the time for plans, Lord."
"How did you..." Touras stammered into quiet as Beol sat up and lightly tossed the frayed rawhide strips away. The rat looked on him very seriously, his golden eyes popping from his slate grey fur.
"Teeth," he answered. He bared them, yellowed and chipped as they were, but still capable of severing hide strips given enough time. The rat would have asked the wildcat why he had not thought of the same idea, but he remained silent. Wannabe Warlords were not the brightest of stars, but they were quite proud of what little mind they chose to exercise. "I think if we bide about here for a while yet, an opportunity to escape will come."
"An' how do you know that, earless?" Touras was no longer in his better moods, shifting where he lay in a dangerous fit, slitted eyes flicking.
"They're not killers, these foxes. They're simple craftsbeasts and foragers. Their warriors are their hunters. There's a world of difference between stalking birds and cutting foreign throats..."
Doren arrived back at his homeshare earlier than he had thought possible. Dog-like pants still straining his breath, he wandered into the quieted morning of the fox village. The sun was just beginning to rise, a carmine curtain over the hilly grasslands twixt North and Mossflower. The fox tracker stayed in the center of camp, on the hill peak surrounded by light-tipped hide tents, soaking in the beginnings of another hot day and the fantastic natural canvas before him.
Chieftain Audyl was likely not awake yet, and when he did waken, he would likely also need several minutes to compose himself from the throbbing that oft afflicted his temples. Doren snickered to himself, leaning casually upon a rack constructed of long bird femurs, used to hang up cooking pans to dry after they'd been washed. He was oblivious that what hung there was not pots and kettles, but daggers and axes.
A silver-furred sentry yawned nearby, ignoring the youngster in favor of sipping at warming brandy. It was nearing the end of a long shift guarding the unsavory types imprisoned in The Hole just to Doren's right, and he was beginning to abandon his task in favor of spying behind him for a much-needed replacement.
The sentry did not notice until too late the earless rat creeping up the side of The Hole's rim, holding a thong of leather and rising behind Doren...
Keemo and Koffera were seated on the very edge of their mother's lap, ogling wide-eyed at the vixen healer and clinging to folds of Twinflower's gown.
"What th' matter? Why you stop?" They protested, quivering whiskers. Sitra raised a paw and craned her head to the entrance of the fissure, ears bolt upright and motionless.
"Hush, small ones." She rose. Euren blinked in sleeplessness and blundered upright, but struck his head against a rocky outcrop.
"Damn, blood, fire, murder, aggggh!" He grabbed hold of either side of the cavern to keep himself from tumbling straight into the laps of the mice, "Thunder..! Thievery..! Blast..! Stinkin'...! Ran outta curses..!"
"Forgot 'Hellsteeth' an' 'by th' fang'..." Kellos smirked. The fox Chieftain smiled with his full set of pointed fangs.
"Right. Thank you. I needed that help, y'know."
The bickering was ceased by a harsh shout and a strangled shriek from outside the cavern. This time Euran judged the height of the ceiling correctly and went crashing out, unarmed but still quite large and intimidating. Kellos bounded out next, almost abreast with Ioran, with Tigand following. In the exit the woodmouse turned back to his whimpering young ones and alarmed wife.
"I'll be right back, dear ones." Swift as shadows passing he slipped out the passage.
Outside sounds of chaos reigned, only marginally muffled by the thick coating of snow the storm had put on. The sun at greatest winter height beamed down upon the strange scene. Sitra had a hedgehog twice her weight in a headlock, his spines beginning to shred the lapel edges of her fur parka as he wriggled to get free. She was continually having to spin the beast about, keeping his massive body between her and a highly irate otter. The otter was the only creature who was armed; she carried a sling which she was continually swinging and aiming, but having to stop herself from firing as the vixen shimmied her hostage into the space she was aiming for.
Euren came bolting down the humped hillside, sliding down the snow-slippery embankment and into the even glade where the battle was unfolding. He could tell that some more violent passage had gone through the same way--Deep scores and ruts already marked the snow as he came to it, and a few snapped-off spines littered the ground. Kellos shaded his eyes from the high sun and spied a group of even more beasts rushing to the hedgehog and otter's aid. They looked mostly small, like mice, but with a few tall creatures as well. And there were certainly enough of them to subdue three unarmed foxes.
"Stop!" The squirrel tucked and rolled down the hill, coming to rest on his stomach with his brush full of flurries, "Stop! Stop, goodbeasts! Th' foxes are friendly!"
Timing was not Euren's strong suit, but he couldn't really be blamed as he was barreling on course for the first beast that entered to glade to help the attackers before Kellos's shouts had even begun. Lowering his shoulder he struck a fat vole dead-on, launching the much smaller beast over his ginger back until he crashed down with a whumph in a drift. The Chieftain turned on the otter, reaching out for her sling paw and snarling to the pink and black gums.
The otter retaliated by swishing her rudder tail high at the vulpine's lowered face, slapping him straight across the snout and eyes. He staggered backwards until his left footpaw found an uneven patch of ground, then keeled over into the powder. The otter turned with a fierce scowl to her downed adversary, raising the sling again.
A gray-furred paw lashed the kelp-weave weapon from her paw from behind. The otter turned, snapping, but stopped when she saw that it was not another fox but a tall squirrel that had disarmed her. She put a paw up to her neck and gaped.
"How many times I gotta scream it, riverbonce?" Kellos was oblivious to the ottermaid's sudden change of attitude, advancing on her and shaking the paw clenched around her sling, "I said th' foxes were with us! What gives ye th' right to go poundin' on ole healer vixens in midwinter hardness any'ow?"
"A...Excuse me?" The otter was over her budding feelings of romance, "We weren't poundin' on nobeast! That sly vixen crept out of th' rocks right next to us! We were defendin' ourselfs!"
"Grrrn, right, missy! Hrrrrrngh, summone get dis foxy offa me afore I chokes!"
Sitra, knowing that peace between the vermin and goodbeast clades was often a dangerous balancing act, released the hedgehog voluntarily. The creature crawled away on all four paws, massaging his throat. Kellos threw up his paws.
"Done! See, she ain't attackin' you lot no more. An' he ain't either." The squirrel pointed out Euren, just getting to his footpaws and shaking snow from his ruddy mane, "Ain't that right, big Chief?"
Euren bayed out a low growl to himself and glared at the small ottermaid that had trounced him, but put up his paws in a show of peace. At that time, Tigand and Ioran came skidding down the hill.
"What in Hellgates..." Ioran began, earning a soft glare from his father for swearing. Tigand came over to his friend the squirrel and brushed some snow from his tailbrush.
"Who're these beasts? And why were they attacking Sitra?"
"Cos it attacked--Uuumph!"
The ottermaid had slapped her paw hard over the hedgehog's snout, sighing.
"No she didn't, oatbrains. They already kind of explained that."
Kellos blinked. He did not remember explaining anything except that the foxes were their companions. Ioran padded up to the tubby vole whose legs were still visible through the deep snow banks, wriggling in the air. Seizing them, he yanked hard and the vole popped free.
"Gwwaah!" The creature scrambled backwards halfway into the drift again, "Wot in... I say! Wot 'appened?"
"Attacked by stinkin' foxe--Nnnnph!"
"No! We attacked them, I'm afraid. We made a bit of a mistake. We'd 'ave never thought the vixen was up to no good if we'd seen one o' you two good creatures with 'er..."
Euren snorted and held a pawful of snow to his closed left eye, still throbbing from the rudder smacking.
"Sorry, eh." Kellos stood by, hefty arms crossed, "I s'ppose we could let it slide. Who're you lot by the way?"
"We won't answer til them foxes--Gnnrrph!"
"Sorry 'bout 'im... Bit opinionated, ya know..." The vole waddled forward, lifting from the churned snows a light pair of crystal spectacles and plopping them low on his snout, "We are a traveling band of entertainers, no more. We're called the Wondering Wanderers, tehheehee, oh, never mind, not funny." He waved a paw to the hedgehog and ottermaiden, "These two are Draunco and Calla, two o' me leading beasts. And I am Pinn. Just Pinn, thankee. Ah, and I see the rest of our merry band, er... charging to meet us... I'll just pop over an' see to it they don't carves th' lot of yew up..."
The fat creature was phenomenally fast on the snow, neatly scurrying atop it with hardly a dimple left. Tigand breathed a sigh of relief and exchanged glances with Sitra and then Euren. Euren breathed a congested snort of disgust.
"Fair nice reception, huh..."
"Where you lot bound to? There ain't many places 'ereabouts for a band of performers..." Kellos asked the ottermaid. She stared at him as if he had sprouted lilies.
"Redwall Abbey, seven leagues to the south, where else?"
Exhuberant, the squirrel whispered the news to Tigand, who brightened and hustled back up the slope to gather his family. Ioran made a pouting face.
"Does that mean we can't finish the story..?"
Sitra patted his shoulder fondly and handed him the last of their fruit-studded biscuits.
"We shall continue it at the Abbey, methinks..."
Whooo! On to the really good parts, eh? The pith and marrow of the tale! XD
