Chapter Thirty-Six
Victory at Sea
Exhaustion, total, complete, and absolute: those words described her condition. Even as she awoke, she did not feel the refreshment sleep accorded most creatures. She wanted to greet the day feeling rejuvenated, and ready for whatever life hands you. It would not happen today or anytime soon.
She kept her eyes closed, but her reality needed no vision. The constant motion of the ship, not just fore and aft, but a rolling action from side to side, left her stomach queasy after the latest storm. A putrid stench from overflowing slop-buckets competed with the sickly sweet smell of her fellow captives. The snores of those sleeping, the moans of the injured, the creaking of the ship, and the whimpering of the sick added another item to her long list of discomforts.
Much as she would like to deny this terrifying reality, she had no choice but to accept it. She rested below deck in what the crew called the holding pen. She remembered her former existence. She took great pride in her duties, and spent a lifetime of faithful service to her masters. Yet one mistake negated everything. Now bound to this ship, she pondered if death held more appeal than rowing another day.
Light penetrated her dark world, so she closed her eyes in the vain hope it might disappear. The sound of wood striking metal could mean but one thing. She opened her eyes, confirming her suspicion. Silhouetted by the light, she made out the outline of some crew beast standing at the bottom of the stairway. The repetition of the sounds heralded the arrival of a second sailor.
At the far end, two shadowy beasts move down the central aisle. As they proceeded aft, they examined the sleeping slaves. Though neither one touched the sleeping creatures, the two would examine a clipboard, mutter awhile, and then continue their inspection. Eventually they drew close enough that their words became distinguishable.
"What about … number one thirty-eight?" a male voice inquired.
"With a large shipment of slaves expected in another three days, we can afford to let this lady otter rest. Maybe she'll get over her illness by then. If not, we'll have something in our stew other than fish." The way the female accented the words left little doubt as to the otter's fate.
The iron lattice hatch covering the aft section squealed in protest as another unseen crew beast lifted it. A lantern threw a beam of light into the hellish blackness illuminating a second ladder. The opening of the second hatch had her moaning.
The female crew beast rustled a sheet of paper. She relayed a series of numbers to her companion who moved up and down the aisle checking ankle tags. As she called out a number, the male roused the corresponding beast. A less than gentle kick stirred the selected slave who stood. The crew beast pointed aft and the slave made his or her way to the ladder. Each time two beasts exited the hold, another two entered from the bow. The slaves going off duty found an open spot and soon fell asleep in spite of the lantern's light.
"Number one twenty-two," the female said. "Never mind, I'm standing right next to her."
The female ferret stood over her, pointing to the stern. With a groan, she shuffled over to the ladder. She took a deep breath at the base while gazing upward. By the time she climbed the five steps, she no longer squinted from the brightness of the light.
Unlike the hold, the lower rowing deck remained bright. A stoat sat idle by his drum near the aft hatchway. Woodlander slaves occupied a series of benches to port and starboard. Each side held sixty oars and each oar had two creatures attached to it, something she confirmed the first time she rowed. Three sea rats patrolled the middle aisle, each armed with a coiled whip.
A young slave hedgehog delivered rations. He served her a soup full of half-rotten vegetables, some raw fish, and a portion of stale bread. She bolted down the meager meal knowing it had to last until her relief in another six hours. By the time the next slave received his portion, she handed the hedgehog her tray licked clean of any scraps.
One of the guards carried a ring of keys down the central aisle. Locating the appropriate ones, the guard unlocked the chains fastening one set of slaves to their oar. The two rowers moved to the bow where another slave handed them their final rations. While the guards prodded her and a male woodchuck towards the vacated bench, those relieved entered the holding pen.
The routine never changed. The crew first fastened a short chain around her wrist that kept her paws close to the oar. The sailor did the same to her partner. Before the sailor withdrew, he strung a heavy chain through their ankle shackles and attached it to a ring embedded in the deck. Once secured, the guards repeated the process with the next set of replacements.
Stormy weather kept the oars idle as the ship rode out the rough seas. She slept. A tube whistle sounded and she awoke to the sudden disturbance. Near the bow, the drummer placed his ear close to the speaker tube. After he replaced it, the drummer issued a brisk command. In unison, the oars slid outward. Every slave kept pace with the rhythm the drummer set.
One moment, everyone pulled on the oars. The next, the ship gave a mighty heave pitching the portside rowers askew. Screams overpowered the sound of splintering oars. The breaking oars lifted many of the slaves off their benches. Chains pulled taut. Rowers cradled arms or held legs broken by the violent movement of their ship, their howling adding to the confusion.
"A warship, I can see another warship" shouted one rower. A second later, the unknown rower's panicky voice screamed a second time. "It's going to ram us!"
Some slaves abandoned their oars as they tried yanking shackles off wrists or ankles. Others wailed. The smell of blood, panic, and fear filled the deck.
High above the deck, alarm bells rang insistently. The distinctive sound of metal meeting metal filled the air. Battle cries echoed throughout the upper decks. Injured slaves howling added to the din; the sound of combat grew ever closer.
The drummer's body flew into the bulkhead when the ship collided with the other warship. The drummer's head splattered like over ripened fruit dropped from a great height when it hit the side of the ship. She and her oar partner finished their stroke without thinking. Her mind could not comprehend the chaos erupting around them. Without the strokes of the drum setting the pace, she observed the events unfolding around her as if she existed outside this reality.
The female ferret carrying the keys fell into the lap of a male hedgehog five rows in front of her. The slave fastened his paws about her neck. Though lacking the leverage to make her death a quick one, he strangled the struggling ferret. Her claws raked his arm and face, but he did not react. The sea rat guards unlimbered their whips and began flaying the hedgehog. It did not affect the relentless pressure applied by the hedgehog's paws.
One row behind the vermin floggers, a male vole slid the shattered oar shaft off his wrist chains. He swung the freed shaft and crushed the skull of one tormentor. In a matter of seconds, a dozen slaves followed suit and clubbed the sea rats into a bloody pulp. When the hedgehog dropped the dead ferret, the rowers roared in celebration.
Such insanity broke her out of her catatonic state. She understood the danger a second warship represented. If their ship sank, they died. Her voice overpowered their jubilation.
"Somebody get the keys. We have a chance at freedom. Let's take it before that other warship rams us."
Slaves passed the ferret's key ring from paw to paw until a female mole in the front row held them. She stretched as far forward as possible. The slaves hushed in breathless silence, watching. The mole maneuvered the key in the hatch lock and it turned. Their cheers turned into panic when an arrow shaft nailed the mole to the deck. A second shaft followed and her reverberating shrieks gained volume. A third arrow struck and her voice faded into silence.
Somewhere behind the rowers came the distinctive twang of a bowstring. Another slave sounded his final defiance. The slaves still chained to the oars could do nothing to avoid the archer's arrows. On the side with the shattered oar shafts, the slaves cowered beneath the benches. The bow beast launched a bloody slaughter. The archer's shafts struck the slaves one by one. One slave pleaded first for mercy, and then a quick death. He received neither.
Unable to do anything but sit, she tried rallying those still hiding within the hold. She knew they had no chains encumbering them. Six slaves answered her call. They rushed their tormentor armed with tooth and claw. Three died and a fourth fell to the deck. For a moment, she held onto hope. An arrow pierced her back, its bloody warhead exiting from her chest.
Four more stormed the bow. An oar slave closest to the drummer gave a mighty cheer. One by one, the slaves turned the right keys that released them from their restraints. Armed with the splintered shafts of their oars, several rushed to help their comrades. Others rallied those still cowering in the holding pen. Several braver ones scrambled out. Their faces reflected a strong determination to earn their freedom or die trying.
Like a nightmarish apparition, a huge creature forced its way through the aft bulkhead. It stood taller than any beast, and displayed a muscular body. His white face had a black stripe that ran from his nose, along his muzzle and widened to encompass a third of his head. Even from her seat halfway back, she saw the glowing fire burning within his eyes. Blood and gore dripped off his huge double-sided war axe.
"Drop your weapons, we're here to save you," the monster roared.
"He lies," she answered. "We either become his slaves, or die here."
Once more, she rallied her fellow captives. Six attacked the huge beast. The monster swung his weapon sideways. All six slaves fell to the deck moaning. Others stood ready to take their place, a few brandished broken oar shafts like clubs. The monster repeated his order. The slaves shouted their defiance.
A recent memory surfaced. She was home, seated near a low campfire while a squirrel told a tale of brave souls facing impossible odds. Like her friends, she remained mesmerized by Firecrown's tale. His eyes burned with passion as he spoke. His words resounded in her mind.
"When all hope is lost, when your enemy is at his strongest, those who fight for a just cause will know what to do. Shout the word that will frighten your enemies. Challenge your foe with the power of . . . ."
With all the strength she could muster, she screamed out that last word. "Redwall."
It proved miraculous. The huge creature lowered his weapon. He leaned on the hilt, staring at her. The slaves hesitated, unsure what they should do. Behind her, the battle ebbed. She maintained her litany, fearing the power of that word would flee like a windblown leaf if she ever stopped.
"What creature calls out for Redwall?"
The monster blocking the aft bulkhead pointed at her. All of the slaves turned in her direction. In the eerie silence, she heard somebody approach. He came into her line of sight. Then a sense of euphoric relief washed over her. She paused in awe, whispering a name she thought only existed in legends, "Martin."
The mouse strode down the central aisle dressed in a chain mail shirt and hood. In his paw, he held a mighty sword. Its golden hilt displayed a red gemstone embedded in the pommel. Their eyes met. His appeared cold and merciless. As he came nearer, they softened. He stood in his armor next to her, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"I thought I knew all that lived around Redwall, but you I don't remember."
She stammered. "I know why you are here, Martin. You seek two stolen from your Abbey, a squirrel named Firecrown, and a mouse named Kurella. They are captives in the Tamagoran Archipelagos. I knew one, and he often spoke of the other."
The mouse shouted for a healer before sitting by her side. "Yes, I search for them, and I thank you, dear lady. Tell me your name, and all of Redwall shall speak it with great reverence. Your bravery shall live forever."
She gazed at the arrow's warhead jutting from her chest. Her eyes tracked the blood trail that pooled beneath her on the deck. The gates to eternity started to open and she knew no force could shut them. Looking into the warrior's eyes, she summoned up enough energy to answer his question before entering the realm of DarkForest.
"My … name … is … Splin … ters."
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Cradling the lifeless vole, the mouse murmured. "Forgive me for not telling you my name. If thinking me Martin the Warrior pleased you, than I am glad. I will keep my promise, Splinters. Your name will live forever in our chronicles, this I swear."
He gently lowered the body of the vole and kept a vigil until a group of hares arrived. After removing the arrow, he helped the hares place the fallen hero onto a canvas sheet. None of the uninjured slaves left the deck as they watched the hare medics treat their fellow oar slaves. As the warrior mouse stood, the woodchuck that shared Splinter's bench reached out his paw.
"What is to become of us? We have never known life without a master commanding us."
"King Meles will do all in his power to help you start new lives as free beasts."
"And what of you, sir? We know nothing of you but a name of some fabled warrior."
He faced the gathered slaves, "My name is Jazzin, champion warrior of Redwall Abbey. When our ship returns to FieryMountain, we shall assemble a great fleet for the final war against those who dare enslave others. I pledge my life to freeing every slave held within the Tamagoran Archipelagos. Will any of you join me?"
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