The Newcomer of Redwall

Book 1: The stranger (or Heaven, interrupted)

Chapter 6

--Matthias--

The mouse coughed. He sniffed miserably, wiping his paw at his dry and runny nosetip. "Dis id 'orrible," he muttered, taking out a folded piece of cloth and blowing his nose into it, making a sound something like a strangled duck. His eyes hurt, his brow burned, his legs felt like stone, and the inside of his head itched whenever he tried to do any serious thinking. So he stopped thinking about anything deeper than All this on the day of a feast!

He had taken up residence in the infirmary, in the same room as Cornflower, since, as the nurses had said, "You're both already as sick as you're going to get, might as well let the couple stay in the same room." Cornflower was much worse off than him. She looked terrible. Her nose was dry as sand and her eyes slowly leaked tears as she gave off soft, pained whimpers in her sleep. Her fur was starting to fall out in clumps, leaving ugly bald patches across her stomach, neck, and legs. Some of the patches had turned from pale pink to a sick, moldy greenish-black. And some of those were starting to literally rot, the skin turning to a thick gel that needed to be periodically drained away.

Matthias sat beside his wife's bed and stuck the handkerchief into his robes, taking up Cornflower's paw in his own and stroking his thumb over the soft flesh, murmuring soft, encouraging things to her. He coughed again, used his other paw to rub at his bleary eyes, and turned his attention back to Cornflower. She convulsed violently, crying out in what sounded close to agony, gripping his wrist in her delicate paw before quieting into a string of tiny whimpers.

--Simon Gilnom--

"That's it?" Simon asked, looking over the grounds from a shadowy corner of the Abbeybuilding's main spires.

Jess crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you mean, that's it?!" She exclaimed.

Simon shrugged. "Well, I mean…there were more people at the underground metal concerts in my hometown."

Jess furrowed her brows together in a tight knot. "A…concert implies a gathering of creatures to listen to music." She fumbled in her ropes and produced a knife. "This is metal. All it does is hum."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Metal is a type of music I...well, used to like, I guess, considering that I'll never hear it again."

Jess leaned forward a little. "Can you sing a little of it for me?"

Simon scooted back, further into the shadow, and raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Jess smiled. "Just sing a little of this metal thing, I'm rather intrigued." Simon coughed nervously, then hummed softly and said, "Alright." He sighed and sang in a deep bass voice that resonated through the corner and formed his normally deep, gruff voice into something comparable to silk, "One…desire, one…sexual being, running like a blade, to and through the heart; no conscience, one motive, cater to the Hollow One; screaming feed me here, fill me up again; temporarily, pacify you…" He let the lyric taper off into silence, his blush hidden by the shadows.

Jess smirked and said mockingly, "Oh, is that it?"

Simon snorted. "I suppose YOU enjoy something better?"

Laughing, the squirrel replied, "Nothing with such silly words as that, I assure you."

Simon reached over and gave her shoulder a gentle shove. "Quiet. My music is probably so much better than yours." He looked back down at the gathering of 'dwellers in the early afternoon sun. Some were bringing out plates of food, others were gathering wood for bonfires, and some were just goofing off with the little ones. He laid his head back against the stone wall and said, "What's going to happen tonight?"

Jess frowned. "Why do you ask?"

He laughed softly. "It sounds more sane if someone else says it."

"Alright," she replied, unsure, "Abbot Mortimer is going to introduce you to the Abbeydwellers tonight after the feast."

Simon chewed on his tongue nervously, and said, "I'm not sure. Maybe I should just take everything I've got and get while the gettin's good."

Jess crinkled her nose at him, "Nonsense!" Simon shook his head. "No, I'm serious. It doesn't feel right to stay here. I'm getting…some bad vibes." Jess peered at him quizzically, her gaze demanding extra information. "I mean," he continued, groping vainly for a better explanation, "Something really, really terrible is going to happen here, and it's going to happen soon, like maybe within a few days. And as much as a coward it makes me sound, I want to be as far out of here as I can when the fecal matter impacts the oscillating unit."

Jess reached over and grabbed his wrist. "C'mon, grumpy. Let's sneak you something to eat." She pulled him to his feet and through the window they had come through.

--Anine--

The otter's ears perked and swiveled about, focusing on the source of the noise. Night had begun to wrap its shroud around the edges of the sky, fading them to a light, dusty pink. He stood in the shallow stream, looking at the area where the noise had come from. Anine had been sent to the stream to collect various plants, roots, herbs, and small sea life for the feast, as the cooks only preferred either fresh or aged.

Anine frowned suspiciously, and then kneeled back into the bank, his quick and agile fingers poking and prodding through the shallows of the water, plucking small crabs and plants from the gritty murk with practiced ease. The light faded about him as the otter became wholly involved in his task, not noticing the flashes of gray in the trees, nor the glints of silver in the red sunlight, or even the wafting scent of rot and disease.

He yelped in surprise, raising his paw to look at the small crab that had bitten its claw into the webbing between the otter's fingers. Anine winced and chuckled, saying, "Oy! Cheeky little bum, aren't you? Alright, for your valiant efforts, you may live." Anine shook his paw and flung the tiny crab off the sensitive membrane, out into the dense woods that ringed the clearing he was in.

Only then did he realize that something was terribly wrong. The crab's leg's and claws flailed as it tumbled through the forest…and spontaneously split in two halves in midair. Anine stood up again and smelled the air, finally catching the sick, green scent. His paw dived into his robes and drew a long, curved scimitar. He twirled it briefly, gaining comfort from the strong, solid, REAL feeling of the handle in his paw.

The wound from the crab pulsed, registering as a dull stinging pain. He raised his blade and (not forgetting his original task) scooped up the basket and started to back away from where the crab's two halves lay twitching convulsively.

Anine stopped, dipped his paw into the basket, drew another crab out by its leg, leaned forward and threw it. As he bent, he saw a glint of…something. It waived in the air like a stray hair from some creature, and he briefly dismissed it. He felt the hair alight on his nose, then a sharp, searing pain across his muzzle. He yelped again in shock and pain, dropping both basket and scimitar, his paws grabbing his freely bleeding nose. His trembling fingers probed the nostril and found the twin openings, a clear line of split flesh. If it's only a little cut, why is it bleeding so badly? he thought, before his fingers accedently slipped under the flesh and peeled the tissue away from his bone. It came off easily, blocking most of his vision.

Anine didn't yelp; he screamed, stumbling blindly and tripping. He fell on his side heavily, his own elbow betraying him and crunching hard into the side of his ribs, knocking the wind from him. He looked over and saw his foot, still quite vertical and rather unattached to his body, severed cleanly at the ankle.

He saw the glint again, and realized that it wasn't hair but some sort of metal. He saw another glint of the stuff near his left eye. Shock was starting to set in, so instead of screaming, he reached over with his right paw and lightly, barely applying any pressure, touched the thing. The webbing split his skin and muscle up to the bone before he stopped, holding his paw completely still. He bled from his muzzle and both his legs, but he stared at the single drop of blood that formed from the cut.

"Do you like it?"

The soft voice came from above him and to the right. If he could still utilize smell, the stink of rot would have nearly overpowered him. Anine turned his head weakly and rolled onto his back, staring up at the wolf that was crouched next to him, continuing with the soft, droning voice of his.

"It's like a web, wasn't that your example? And to answer your earlier question, your muzzle is bleeding so profusely because my strands have cut through the bone of your muzzle, severing the vessels that supplied blood to your sinuses. But I suppose you don't care about that right now, do you?"

The otter whimpered softly, the blood that flowed from his muzzle over his cheeks and the back of his head mixing with a few tears of hopelessness. The wolf smiled down at him and stroked the otter's ears back, his paw coming back sticky with blood. He lapped some of the blood from his paw, then looked back down to Anine. "Relax," he said, "There's nothing you can do anymore—just lay back and die."

Anine watched as the wolf took a strand of silvery fur in his grasp and pulled. Instead of coming cleanly out of his skin, the hair lenghtened. The wolf wrapped the glistening hair around one finger, then gave a yank. The hair pulled out of his skin cleanly. He wrapped the other end in a similar fashion around his opposite finger and made two fists. "You're bleeding pretty badly. But don't worry, you've still got enough left in you to sustain me for a day or two." His eyes grew cold. "I don't kill for sport, you know. I kill out of necessity."

With that, the wolf positioned his fists on either side of Anine's neck, the strand of metal pulled taught over the otter's throat. Anine saw what was about to happen and gurgled something as his eyes widened. The wolf shook his head. "I apologize, but this is the way the world works. Don't fight the inevitable." With that, he brought the razor-hair down on Anine's neck, severing his head cleanly.

Later, morning would find the clearing devoid of otter, wolf, scimitar, and basket, just as if the previous evening had not happened.

--Mortimer--

As Anine was uttering his pleas for mercy to the wolf, Mortimer sat at the head of the main table and wiped the weariness from his eyes, gazing around at the tables set up for the feast. It was finally here, finally time. The Abbey (at least, all the Abbey that was not sick) had been feasting since late afternoon, and the celebration was going on at full steam. He smiled to himself. Sickness, human, and personal lack of sleep aside, the traditional feast had still been held. However, he knew that this feast would have anything but a traditional ending to it.

The Abbot sighed heavily, and decided that now was as good a time as any. He called over one of the little ones, a young hedgehog. She smiled up at him as she trundled over, saying naively, "Yes, Abbot?"

He gave her a candied apple and said, "Could you get Auma for me? Here's something for the trouble." The hedgehog squeaked with youthful glee and scampered off, nibbling at the treat.

Mortimer sat back into his chair and closed his eyes. He listened to the music and the crackle of the bonfire, to the talk of the eldest mouse and the squeal of the youngest mole, to the merriment around him.

"Sir?" Auma said as she approached him.

Mortimer opened his eyes and sat up straighter, stifling a yawn. "Auma, could you please go get Simon?"

The badger nodded and walked off towards the ramparts. Mortimer stood up in his chair and surveyed the scene of jovial chaos laid out before him, and called out, "ABBEYDWELLERS!"

In response, all the creatures quieted, looking to their leader. Mortimer continued, "There are two important thins to discuss tonight. One is the naming of this season. I believe we can hold that off until the very end of the feast. The other is the newcomer to our Abbey."

Mortimer paused to gauge his Abbey's reaction, of which there was little more than a confused murmur that swept through the crowd. He inhaled deeply and said, "This newcomer is of greater importance than the naming of the season," Mortimer continued, explaining as much as he could about Simon without actually introducing him.

--Auma--

Auma climbed the stairs to the top of the Abbey's outer walls in brooding silence. Simon was crouched one the northwest corner of the wall, staring out to the moonlit forest. Auma stood near him and said, "What are you looking at?"

Simon hopped backwards off the edge of the wall and took a step back, putting his left hand on her back and pushing her spine so that it bent, leaving her head on the same level as his as he pointed with his other hand to a spot in the forest. "Right there. Something's happening right there."

Auma smiled awkwardly, straightening. "Let's go, Simon. It's time for the Abbey to get to know you."

Simon walked by her side, conveying his nervousness to her. She did her best to comfort him as they neared the feast. Mortimer's voice was surprisingly powerful as they approached behind his chair, in shadows due to the angle of the fire. The Abbot glanced over his shoulder and said to the Abbeydwellers, "And here he is."

The mouse stepped down as Simon stepped out of the shadows and into the firelight, into full view of the entire Abbey.