A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed- Saraa Luna (who gets a special Special Thanks for helping me make sense out of this chapter... it was an even bigger mess when I asked her to look at it), ferretWARLORD, Quaver Ava, Free Thought, Cap'n Tassie, Cairn Destop, Professor-Evans, and Airan's Enigma. You guys rock and I actually feel sorry that you're going to have to read this chapter. Honestly, it was excruciatingly painful to write because I want to leave Redwall just as much as Miria does. You can sometimes tell how I feel about the chapters by looking at the titles sometimes, heh.
Well, without further ado, here it is.
The Small Fry
Miria Wildshore
"Our biggest problems arise from smaller ones." - Jeremy Caulfield
A flash of colors, splintered wood beneath my footpaws, the shaft of a spear grasped in my calloused paws. I stood planted to the spot while the stoat swung his spear in a downward arc. I rolled backwards, twirling my own weapon in the air before dealing another blow. The familiar vermin was older'n and slower, but he was bigger- much bigger.
He blocked the strike and shoved me two steps back before I sidestepped. He lunged past me, just a whisker's length away from m'nose. A quick spin later, I was hurdling my spear into a vicious circle that connected with his shield- the impact was sharp as a thunderclap. I heard it ringing in my ears, but I didn't lose momentum as I pulled my body into another heavy blow. My weapon shuddered at the impact against his and the tremor nearly numbed my arms.
He swung again, and I barely missed as the onlookers watched with awe. He jabbed and thrust while I twisted out of the way each time with barely a whisker's width between his blade and my flesh. Finally, his barrage broke pace and I put more distance between us.
I held my spear horizontally before whirling it in the air, sliding one paw over the other as I kept the rapid rhythm of movements. The stoat seemed unimpressed by my maneuvers. Amateur, his face said. I cleared my head and readied the killing move. My arms strained as I picked up speed; I began moving backwards as Flayburn the Destroyer drew his weapon over his ears and charged at me.
One step. Two steps. Three.
I readied my spear, holding it flat to the ground with my left paw. A swift downward chop of my right arm sent my weapon catapulting into the sky. The crowd gasped as it flicked mid-air before plunging back down.
I spun again, rotating in a full circle before catching the spear in my outstretched paws. One blink, and a beast would have missed it. I belched a barbaric roar as I lunged with the momentum. Hell, I didn't even miss a beat as I jabbed the cushioned endpoint against Flayburn's chest with all my strength.
The creature gave a choking sound as his body slowly caved in and crumpled onto the wooden deck. I stood over the creature, lightening the pressure on him while keeping my pose locked in a stance of strenuous force. Presentation was everything, after all.
Creatures were quiet as the stoat sputtered a bunch of nonsense cursing. He raised his head an inch off the ground for drama's sake before letting it fall against the platform with a dead thud. He reached into his pocket and flung the red bits of paper into the air. With one final, snarling choke, the beast was slain- dead in his own "blood."
I looked to the side of the stage and saw a lanky, brown ferret nod at me. The nod said, Not bad, but the smirk on his face added, ... for a sixteen-season old wench. Well, who cared what Grodd thought?
A good-enough applause followed as I relaxed my position and let Kilmar stand up. From the grimace on his face, I'd guess he was just seconds away from railing on 'bout being too old for this stuff. I did hit the geezer pretty hard. I didn't even get a chance to check up on him before the ringmaster shoveled us off of the stage.
"Ladies and gentlebeasts, lads'n'lasses, that concludes the epic of Vault the Northpoint and his triumph against Flayburn the Destroyer! Now, we go on to the awe-inspiring performance of a lifetime! From the island of volcanoes far to the East, I give you the fiery, fearless, ruthless, Grodd the Hot-pawed Juggler! Everybeast, enjoy!" The fat rat skittered off the stage as the ferret jumped out from behind the curtains and did his thing.
"C'mon, princess." Gruff paws grabbed my collar and tugged me two steps and through the farthest layer of moth-eaten curtains. Kilmar let go of me when we got backstage. Everybeast else was changing into their costumes; they were mostly vermin, and the pawful of woodlanders were as pleasant as sandpaper against fur.
Kilmar pulled his fake armor off and tossed it to me before putting on a ridiculous black robe. I shuffled over to his trunk and dumped it in, wrinkling my nose at the sour stench of sweat and grog. We never washed our costumes much. We just let it wear and tear so that the ringmaster would get us new ones faster.
"Did good out there, kid." A weasel ruffled my headfur too roughly, but I didn't show it. I was too busy doin' my job and arranging all the costumes out on the racks. I didn't even get a drink before Kilmar left, armed with his sour face and a belt full o' knives. I ditched my duties and dogged after him, gaining snickers from our troupe as we got closer to the stage.
"Get outta here, princess," he growled. "Watch any longer'n Growbait's gonna start chargin' you."
"Let 'im do what he wants," I pestered, keeping in stride with him even with my sweat-heavy costume. "I was supposed t'learn knife throwing ages ago."
"Puh! After your act back there? I'd like it better if you learned t'cook better. But knowin' you, we'd probably be better off eatin' rocks." I hung back as he pushed through the curtains and on his way on stage. Grodd was bowing on the platform, bouncing around with a grin while the audience gave a stale applause. I clawed at the itchy turtle-neck collar of my bright blue costume and wished that I at least had some buttons to undo; but buttons cost more money and Growbait, like every ringmaster, was a real Copper-pincher. The fact that he was a rat didn't help with that either.
I sat and sulked as I heard him announce Kilmar's arrival onstage.
Clink!
I turned and saw some of our troupe weaving in and out of the crowd. They were all trussed up in hideous colors that were bright enough to light the way for a blindbeast. In their paws were tin pans that they shook every now and then, rattling the coins inside as they scanned for offerin's. After a performance like mine, we should've had a bit more coin. Selfish snots.
Plink!
A father lifted his brat up so that he could be tall enough to put something in the offering pan. Clink!
The sound of a dull impact made the crowd jostle with excitement. Kilmar probably hit the target. Big surprise.
Clack Clack!
More coins fell into the offering pan.
CLACK!
The beasts cheered as Kilmar flicked a knife outta his sleeve. The day seemed unnaturally bright and orange blossoms rained from the surrounding trees. Nice day, but nothing lasts long. But quick as a wink, the air suddenly turned and I smelled a hint of a storm.
"Miria," somebeast called. He sounded like he was standin' next to me and everywhere at once. "Miria," repeated the familiar voice.
"Keetch?" I whispered, whirling around in search of him.
"Miria." I turned around and saw the fox in the middle of the cluster. His spotless white pelt stood out from the crowd and his amber eyes seemed to glow. I wanted to run to him, but there was another creature there.
The middle-aged mouse was dressed in Redwall's ugly green robes. He was also Keetch's height, though he was broader built and seemed the type to be used to fightin'. I didn't exactly have to look at his body to know that. You could just look in his eyes and know that he was somebeast to stay outta the way of; they had an intense stare to 'em, like he was constantly training an arrow on beasts.
"Maid of the wild shore," he said with a deep voice. He was so far away, but he didn't have to yell to be heard. "Miria, I have been waiting for you."
I shook my head and looked to Kilmar on the stage, but it was empty. The entire plaza was empty except for the two figures, and everything was cold and quiet. My sixteen-season self was stupid and useless. All I could do was hug my arms and back 'way as the clear sky crumbled into night.
BOOOONG! rumbled some distant thunder.
"Where's Kilmar?" I demanded.
"Not here," said Keetch. His black robes swirled around him as he came closer. The mouse followed close behind and I saw a red-jeweled hilt peeking over his shoulder.
"Stay back," I warned, still looking for a spear, daggers, a sword, Kilmar... anything to help.
"We just want to talk," said the mouse.
BOOOONG!
"Get lost," I barked. Keetch was already upon me, his cloaks and shadows circling about his legs like tentacles. I stood my ground, not like there was anywhere to run.
"You're supposed t'be helping me," I growled at him. "You're supposed to be on my side."
He opened his mouth to say somethin' stupid when the mouse spoke up. "Miria, you must talk to the abbey champion and he will point you the way. Talk to him. Find him."
BOOOONG! Whatever was making that sound was a lot closer. Winds swooped on us, tearing away at my fur and buffeting my ears.
"You must find Brink before it's too late." The fox's voice was high and urgent, his tail all frazzled. He kept glancin' back and forth between me and the mouse. "Find him before they find the beast kissed by the sun."
"I don't even know what that means!" I shouted past the gales.
"Miria, find the abbey champion," ordered the warrior mouse. As hard as it was to hear my own thoughts, I heard him clear as crystal. The strange creature gave Keetch a nod that, wind or not, made the vermin's fur lie flat again. "The abbey champion, Miria. Find the beast who will wield my blade and then he will point you the way. Talk to Rall."
BOOOONNG! BOOOONG! BOOOONNG!
I opened my eyes to the glaring light and instantly regretted it. BOOOONG! My upper body sprang up as if it had a life of its own. The room spun against my whirling vision and I felt like I was gonna lose my breakfa... On second thought, what was the last thing I ate? BOOOOOONG! The taste in my mouth was bitter and musty-sweet... A taste I knew well.
Cripes! I flopped back onto my bed and shoved the heels of my palms against my eyes. I was sweating up a storm and I knew I had some crazy dream. Problem was, I couldn't remember. How much did I drink? ... And where the hell am I?
BOOOONG!
The bell was more'n happy to remind me. Redwall Abbey.
But then I found myself wonderin' what happened the night before. I looked 'round and saw a high, slanting ceiling with triangle wooden rafters. To my right were rows of fresh beds and opened windows where the white curtains billowed in the breeze.
BOOOONG!
To my left, same thing 'cept there was an open door over there. Somewhere where m'ears met my skull, I felt like something in my head was gonna burst.
BOOOONG!
Well it was no wonder why everybeast in Mossflower was insane. A beast would go nutters just listening to that thing all day!
BOOOONG! agreed the bells.
I peeled myself off the bedsheets and stood up slowly. The ground kept moving and, for a second, I thought I was a'sea. I put a paw on a windowsill and peered out the open window. If I thought the feast last night looked crowded, this was even worse. Beasts of all sorts sat in rows and columns and faced towards the West side of the giant courtyard where an empty podium waited with stacks of flowers cut from their stems. Inlo stuck out like a duck's bum. He took two seats to himself and he seemed to bulge the entire row.
A very long ribbon of red carpet blanketed the aiselway and ribbons were littered everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. On beasts' dresses, on the floor, on tables, on chairs, on flowers, wrists, rolls of silverware, vases, scrolls, doorknobs, candlesticks, cups, wine bottles... Oh, wine...
I winced and put a paw on my head when I remembered smashing a bottle against the ground. I remembered being angry, but I was always an angry drunk. What else? It felt like something cold was growing in my head, squeezing up against my brains and pushing past my skull. I groaned and cursed the skies for my misery. And then I remembered that the hares were in the feast. I probably went on a drunken rant with them around. Ceeee-ripes! Hangovers and hares were the worst possible combination for me.
I pushed myself away from the wall and walked through the door and down some stairs where beasts were running around. I just wanted the washroom, but it was too big and confusing. What kind of lout designed this damn hellhole? Passages here, stairwells there, and bedrooms everywhere. I once even stumbled into a nursery where the infants screamed their flipping lungs out. Should've cuffed 'em, but that meant that I'd have to take ten extra steps just to give one concussion.
And then I finally found myself in Great Hall again. Besides size, there was nothing great about it- great waste of time, maybe, but nothing else. I was gonna turn right back around when I noticed a familiar, smirking mouse hangin' on the wall. I took a step closer and realized where I'd seen him before.
I felt like a giant bell rang off somewhere between my ears and I winced at the wash of fevery memories. There was Kilmar, the plaza, Keetch, and that damned mouse. He said something. It was fuzzy... Like snippets of a drunken night. I could barely remember what he said... something about a champion and pointing or something. I stared at his smug image to jog my memory.
Didn't help a bit, but it was the one thing in the abbey interestin' to stare at- a life-sized mess of stitches put on some ugly old blanket. Here and there, vermin and a giant wildcat scampered away with their tails between their legs while he leaned his elbow on his sword. From far away, the tablecloth looked so average- like it was only put there to cover up a giant hole in the wall. But if I stepped closer and ignored the eerie way the eyes followed beasts, it was actually not too shabby.
I'd seen a lot of this sort of stuff in markets before- bigger things, fancier things. The Cardinals of the Western isles was a popular topic: Vault the Northpoint, Anders the Eastwatch, Guilford the Southshield, and Piers the Westhold, and all that fluff. But in all of their tapestries and drawings, you couldn't see one dot of their expressions. Sure, you could tell who they were by their weapons and stuff, but they never looked real; the Redwall mouse, though, looked exactly like he did in my dreams. Every weather-beaten line on his face, the cut of his jaw, the sparkle of his deadset eyes... blahdy blah.
But real as it looked, it didn't help an ounce with my memory. I looked up and rubbed the back of my head as if it could cleanse my grogginess.
And that stupid skipper lied about weapons. "No weapons in the abbey," he'd sniveled. Well, what did they call that thing hanging above a tapestry? A firepoker? Well if it was, it was one hell of a fancy firepoker. It was sheathed in a leather scabbard and the pawhold of its hilt was black, leatherbound, and worn shiny with use. The crosshilt was metal and nothing out of the ordinary... In fact, the entire thing was ordinary enough to make a rock look interesting. Even the red pommelstone on its hilt was boring. All dull and pale compared to that sparkling gem in my dream; it was just a collector of dust that had less bite than an earthworm.
"You'z been harving a loikel bit of trubble there, mizzuz?" I whirled and looked down at a mole. Ugly giant raisin with limbs and a pointy dunce-cap of a snout. And it was wearing a dress to pretend to be pretty... Might as well add food dye to mud.
"Where's the washroom?" I asked.
"Yurs marm!" she saluted with her trowel-paws. I didn't ask a yes-no question, but I wasn't sure if moles had ears either. "One in evurry hall. Jurst you fullowz me! Cairn't get lost with good ol' Bintloam 'round. No zur-ree!" The thing about moles is that they can't talk. Fill a kid's mouth with cotton, and you'll have a better conversation outta him.
And another thing- they are as slow as Inlo's brain. I followed beside her as she waddled up the stairs and around corners while she chatted away with her swollen tongue. I couldn't really understand and I really didn't want to. I just kept quiet while she did all the talking. We stopped when she led me back to the exact same room that I woke up in.
"This is where I started," I said to the dimwit.
She smiled and pointed at the door beside the bedroom. How did I walk right past it? I asked myself. Damn Redwallers ought to put signs up. How's a beast supposed t' navigate this maze?
I felt a hundred times better when I washed my face, and a thousand times better when I slipped into a bathtub. When I got into the washroom, the bathwater was already drawn up, though it was cool. It didn't matter, though. It was much better than riverwater, and there was soap. Nasty-smelling, flowery soap, but that was something I'd missed for a while.
My drunken memory came back in patches. I remembered the abbess asking me all sorts of useless questions. Asking where I came from, what my home was like, things that I didn't answer. I was too busy guzzling down the elderberry wine. And then she asked me nonsense questions- things like if I lived by the shores and whether or not it was wild.
She got even more excited when I told her my full name. She grabbed her son's sleeve so hard that I thought it was gonna rip right off. And he... the Rall otter, he looked like he'd swallowed a rock. He didn't talk to his brother or the bride-to-be after that. He was all quiet while his mother kept whispering in his ear. No idea what that was about, but I was gonna stay outta the way.
I remembered emptying a bottle... maybe two. Goblets were for beasts who shared drinks, and I never used a goblet. Straight out of the bottles I chugged until it they were gone. At that time, I remember seeing the hares and keeping it low. I didn't want any trouble, but I somehow managed to yell something to get their attention. After that... a breaking bottle and nothing else.
By the time I got outdoors, I had missed the exchanging of vows and the kiss. It was perfect timing. I stood under the shade of the abbey and leaned a shoulder against the walls while I watched the scene. The new husband was holding the bride by the waist, laughing and whirling her over beasts' heads while she giggled and whooped. It was an excellent way for the idiot to show off his wife's undergarments.
The abbess was there also, shaking paws and hugging family and laughing. It was a lot more lively than my wedding, I gave it that. I levered my elbow against the wall to bring me back completely upright. It was time I left the place. It was getting a little too cheery for my liking and all. That, and I wanted to stay away from those hares. No tellin' what I said to them, but I didn't want to explain myself- especially to that swooning abbess.
But first I needed my things. Never mind about provisions; I could just cram those into my rucksack when they were busy feasting. The first step was to find Skipper Rosco, and that was hard enough with the entire crowd milling 'round aimlessly.
"Miss Wildshore?" I turned and saw that Rall otter standin' in front of me. The otter's pupils darted around like trapped fish and his fists were clenched tight as a clam. He was all trussed up in the most ridiculous poofy outfit- white long-sleeve shirt, black neckerchief bib-thing, a red rose pinned over his heart, and little frilly lacy stuff on the ends of his sleeves. And I thought the outfits in Growbait's performin' troupe looked painful.
"Is it 'bout last night? Because I'm not gonna apologize for somethin' I don't remember," I snorted.
"No no no," he shook his head. "Ahhh..." His fish-eyes circled to the upper corner and then back at me. "No. Not at all. It would be nice if you apologized for pouring wine on Colonel Mayston, but there's... ahhh..." He puffed his cheeks with a frustrated breath and released it slowly. I was beginning to wonder if he was actually tryin' to look like a fish. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I need to talk to you in private."
"I talked to your loony mother," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now I want to get the blazes outta here. So where's your dimwit uncle?"
"Don't talk about them that way," he snapped, fish eyes disappearing as he frowned. "It's not like you sound any better, runnin' off like that without any direction."
"Listen, guppy." I grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him an inch closer. He gulped and his pretty green fish eyes came back all white with worry. I wanted to jab them out with my claw. "I'm leaving this dump and I'll find that damn Brink, with or without leads."
"But Martin said-"
I shoved him backwards and spat an inch away from his toes. "Never cared what anybeast said."
"But he said I was supposed t' find you." He spoke stern enough, but his face made him look cheated, like a little sore-loser sitting on his bum and wailing to the skies. "As the abbey champion, I'm supposed to help you on a journey."
Another imaginary abbey bell exploded in my head and the rest of the dream bubbled back to me. "Oh." Oh. What a stupid thing to say - Oh! Even the guppy seemed to think so, because he just stared at me as if I was supposed to say more. The abbey warrior- him?! Even without the demeaning uniform, he barely looked like he could handle a toothpick. A beast bumbled into my knees, so I made sure to punt his rump as a warning. The Dib-thing tottered off yelping while beasts frowned and gaped at me.
The guppy stared after the brat, his face was screwed as if in agony. Then he drew himself up and said, "Miria, you can't do that to Dibbuns. At Redwall, we-"
"Dibbuns. Stupid name to call 'em." Then I changed subjects. "And Martin is...?" I led up.
"Martin is the protector of Redwall," he explained while recovering his grimace. "The great warrior mouse who founded the abbey."
"Thought the abbey was ancient- a season older than yer mamee."
"You don't have room to talk, hag." It's not every day that a beast sees a scowling, glaring minnow. I really should'a slammed the door on his head when I had the chance.
"And you don't have room t'bark, brat." He wasn't a tyke, but he was younger'n me. Green as a stripling, really, but he was 'bout twenty seasons.
His fishy eyes rolled up as he took a gulp of breath and muttered, "Martin help me." Then he said, "If you would please just listen, you will know that Martin wants me t'help you on your quest. He told me which direction to go and I've traveled a bit, so I know the lay o' the land."
"Told you which direction to go? Why can't he just tell me?"
The so-called abbey warrior gave me another eye-roll. "Oh, I dunno. Here!" He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped a paw against his head. "I'll find the answer with my psychic powers!"
"Sarcasm," I whistled. "Cute."
He was serious again. "Well, I'm supposed to go with you on this travelin' bit. I know it sounds crazy to ya, but I saw Martin in my dreams and he told me where to go. And right now, matey, you need direction." Matey, matey, matey. Every idiot otter seemed to love that word.
"I don't believe this tripe."
"Well, believe it," he insisted, stretchin' up to his full height like it would make him look smarter. "Martin visits us in our dreams when we need guidance. Keetch saw 'im, and he won the war for us. I saw him, which means that lives are at stake." He nodded gravely. "Innocent ones."
"I don't want your stink travelin' with me."
"Listen," he said, holding his paws in the air like he was offerin' an invisible bowl instead of an idea. I still couldn't get over the lace-bits on his sleeves. "I know that you like to do things alone, and I can respect that. But I am gonna travel with ya or at least on the same path as ya. Those are Martin's orders and I mean t' carry 'em out."
"Do the same thing to the ghostie mouse that I'm doin' now- saying no."
"I know we got off on the wrong footpaw and all, but-"
My laugh was raspy from the rancid wine taste in my throat, but I still got the point across. "Trust me, guppy. If we got off on the wrong footpaw, you'd be missin' it."
He took a while to understand my meaning before he said cautiously, "So this means tha' you like me 'nough that I can join you?"
A drawling "Noooooope" rolled off my tongue.
Again, he looked at the skies and shook his head. "It looks like I can't reason with you this way," he said. "But how's about this- I just travel with ya. I'll give ya food and clothing and-"
"I want your sword."
The minnow blinked his eyes like he was testing to make sure his eyelids still worked. "What?"
"That pretty red-gemmed firepoker hanging above the blanket in Great Hall. I want it."
"But-"
"Give me that, my weapons, and provisions, and I'll let you tag along."
"But-"
"And clothes, too. But not your ugly burlap robes. Real clothes."
"W-wait a second," he sputtered. "I can just follow you if I want. It's a free road and I can track just as well as anybeast."
"Yeah?" I sneered. "It's a free road, but not a clear one. Believe me, I've lived on my own long enough t'know a thing or two about false trails and how to not be seen. Tracking like 'anybeast' just isn't gonna cut it, guppy."
At a dead end, he did the only thing he could say in his defense: "Stop calling me that."
I cocked my head and smiled a cat-like sorta smile. "So after this pretty wedding, I get myself a pretty new sword. Aw, now now. Don't pout! You don't wanna disappoint your ghostie mouse!"
It looked like he was tryin' to swallow a wad of cotton down his throat. "I-I'll have to talk to the abbess." He turned around as if his joints had rust, and he took a few steps to lead me to her.
Sure, beasts had conquered the abbey before. Little doubt of that, seein' how one mean word would send beasts quibbling back to cry in their beds. Rall stopped suddenly and the bastard turned back to me with a knowin' smirk.
"Thing is, Miss Wildshore," he said with an upward tilt to his chin. Then he cocked his head to the side. "I can't just trust you with t'tromp around with the sword of Martin the Warrior, but I can't just let you run off on your own. True," he shrugged, "I might not be able to track you if you try slippin' off, but I know a nose that can."
"What?"
He grinned a devil's grin and knocked his head to the side. My eyes followed the gesture and saw Inlo on his knees, sloshing his face in a tub of water like it was the bottom of a mop. Around him, a ring of brats hovered and cheered when he reared up his big ugly head, and displayed the row of apples snagged in his jaws.
I repeated flatly, "What about the runt?"
"Got ya outsmarted," Rall bragged. I've seen beasts get completely turned around once they've caught wind of a sure victory. Rall was one of 'em. "Sure can dodge out of my tracking, but you can never beat a wolf's nose. And believe me, sweetheart," and then he winked, "I'm thinkin' he's in love, 'cause he was tellin' us last night that he'd follow ya to the ends of the world. Ha!"
I nearly bit my tongue clean off.
A/N: Not my best chapter, but it was a necessary one to make. Redwall is like a necessary checkpoint in every Redwall Fanfic out there and it's a very boring checkpoint (as exhibited here). It is like at Disney World, where you have to take a picture with Mickey Mouse; you might not want to stand in line for hours to meet a guy in a giant black rodent costume (unless you're into that sort of stuff... no judgement), but it is almost like a requirement for all who go to Disney World. Yes, Redwall is the Mickey Mouse of Mossflower.
The good thing is that I can highly empathize with Miria, since I want to leave the abbey just as much as she does. The other good thing is that the next chapter was much, much easier and more fun to write and will be done with more confidence than this one.
Also please note that Miria is an unreliable narrator. Her descriptions and recollections are essentially exaggerated to the point where everyone sounds like an absolute moron. To those of you who thought that some of her characters sound particularly whiny or stupid, this is the reason. It's more of a stylistic choice, since I wanted her narrations to be in character, but I just wanted to make you guys aware of this thing.
So please, review away if you think this chapter was worth it. Thanks for reading this chapter and I'll see you next week. :)