A/N: Here it is! The final input of MATTHIAS. Caution-this is WITH the Authors' notes. Now- ready ………….. Set ………… ……………...READ!
Matthias
A/N: This story will be about two or three chapters, just to tell you. I really hope you like it, though.
Part one: Infant
"Goodnight, Matthias. Go to sleep, you ruffian!" a kind looking mousewife scolded the young mouse, bouncing around his small, cramped room.
"Bud I don' wanna, mummum!" the mouse shouted at the top of his lungs. "I wanna bounceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
The mousewife sighed with resignation. "Kent! I need your help here!"
Footpaws slapped up the wooden stairs. "I'm coming, Bluebell!" called the voice.
Finnaly, a strong looking brown mouse came into the view of the room. He saw the excited Dibbun, and instantly realized what the problem.
"Matthias trouble again, dear?" He whispered to Bluebell. In answer, she nodded.
Kent suddenly made a face, sticking out his tongue at his son. "Naya, betcha you can't get me!"
"Dady, I c'n getcha ezee!" he giggled, and ran at his father. He then swerved at the last moment, seeing his father unmoving, and recognizing the trick.
"I'll get you!" Kent ran at his son, but was too late. Matthias was very tricky and clever, though through all of that, he was very-
CRASH! BANG! BOOMBANGANG! KA-BOOM!
There was a huge calmor in the kitchen, as a few pots and pans fell to the hard-packed dirt floor. A small voice wafted upstairs.
"Sawy!"
The mousewife went to the wood walls and banged her head against the huge, rectangular slap of wood. Her husband caught her.
"Now, Bluebell, you might wreck the house." He teased. Bluebell shook her head.
"Not before Matthias does! He is, as you know, a born klutz."
He chuckled. "True, but he's smart. He is very quick at recognizing tricks he has seen before. Oh, is he quick."
The mousewife sighed. "Yes, he is, but he's been staying up later and later. I can't have him do that-harvest time is soon, and we need to preserve, pick, so many chores!" She turned to walk down the stairs. "I suppose I'll have to make a deal with him."
After she had gone, Kent looked around his son's shabby room, and sighed. If only he had a better place for his family, instead of this small, cramped hut that had taken a whole season to build. If only, if only……..
Voices floated up the stairs. Kent pricked his ears.
"Come on, Matthias, it's way past your bedtime!"
"Bu' mummum, I's not sleeps at alla! I awakey!"
"I know, I know. How about if you go to bed I'll sing you a song?"
"No song."
"What, then?" The voices were louder, and footpaws, one light and bouncy, the other heavy and dragging.
"I wanna toy! I don' gonna toy! Peese?"
Bluebell gave a small, sad sigh. "I'm sorry, but we don't have the time."
Kent heard a sobbing voice. "Yousa nevah 'ave time!"
Matthias came into the room, tears running down his small face. Kent's heart softened even more than it already was, as he picked him up. As he looked into the face, he had an idea.
"Son," he started slowly. "Would you like a story if you go to sleep?"
Matthias's face brightened. "Ya, Dady, I lika stowy. Bu' ony iv," he grinned "You maka mesa toy. An' I get to tell 'oo wha' t'make!"
His father sighed. "Okay. Would you like to hear of that legendary mouse, Martin the Warrior?"
Matthias clapped his tiny paws excitedly. "Maten! Ya, Ya!"
"That settles it then. Okay, here we go.
"Nobeast knows where Martin came from, or what his past was. The most beasts know about him is that he defeated the evil Wildcat queen of this castle, Kotir.
"The queen was called Tsarmania, and she bullied all goodbeasts. Soon, they all left, and created a force called the Corim.
"Martin defeated Tsarmania with the help of many beasts including one called Gonff, prince of Mousethieves. Now, matey," Kent winked at his son. "I'm no story teller, but your mother can tell it to you at a different time."
Matthias scowled. "Dat 'as no guud."
Kent tickled his sons' chin, making him giggle. "Ah, but you didn't say it had to be good. You just wanted any old story. Right?"
Mattias was quiet for a while, clearly struggling to find a loophole in the question. Finnaly, he sighed in resignation.
"Fin, Dady. Bu' now I tells 'oo what t' make." The young mouse took a deep breath.
"I wanna thord, peese."
Kent was surprised, and in his surprisement, nodded. Bluebell protested in a word.
"Kent!"
Matthias went on, oblivious to the conversation. "A weal thord. Made a' thteel an' all tha'."
The mouse father held up his paws. "Whoa, Mati. I can't make you a real sword, made of steel, though I can make you a stick-sword."
"Fin'."
"That's the spirit. Now, sleep-time." Kent turned, and heard his wife ask Matthias something.
"Would you like a song?"
A mumbled reply came, and after that the start of a song. Kent recognized the words, and almost fell asleep that instant.
"Go to sleep, dream of sunrise,
Dawn's not far away,
Dream of rolling hills bathed in sun light,
Covered in poppy……" Kent fell asleep on the stairs. After a few minutes, Bluebell came down, and smiled at the sprawled figure.
"Dibbuns, the both of them." She dragged Kent up the stairs and to their twin beds, where they slept, peacefully.
All of this, though, was about to change.
A/N: Like it? Love it? Really really hate it? TELL ME! Oops- sorry- please review. There's that pretty little blue button at the bottom and it is calling you….Press me. Press me………
A/N: I should like to thank my reviewers, Brocktree, Joanna, Sabrepaw,and finally, me, whoever that is. But, you four, thanks! Read on!
Part Two: Terror
Whack! Whack! Whack! C-c-crack!
The young mouse, barely out of Dibbunhood, stared in disbelief at the stick that had broken under the blows of his strikes against his practice tree.
"Pa!" he called out. "Please help me make another sword. Mine broke!" Kent sighed. His son had broken five stick-swords now-five!
"Matthias! We need the work on the farm done, and soon there won't be enough time to play or practice, due to the harvest."
"But-"
"Matthias!"
"Yes, Pa." the young mouse reluctantly laid his stick down, but hesitated, and picked it back up. He then hurried off into the unknown, despite his father calling after him.
"Matthias! Come back here right now! Matthiiiiiiiaaas!" Kent called. But with no avail. Grumbling about how his son was far better off when he was younger, the father trundled off.
()o()o()o()
Matthias felt as if he was free, no worries, no annoying fathers, no work to be done-well, maybe not. He had to bury his gleaming sword, as he imagined it, called Thunder. Passing through groves of thick forest trees, he made his way to the Graveyard of Swords.
The Graveyard of Swords was just a small clearing, with four small mounds of dirt with stone-pictures in the soft heaps of soil.
Matthias knew all of his sword's names by heart. There was Thunder, Lightning, Flame, Thyme, and most important of all, his first sword- Creation.
He liked the name Creation. So much growing around him, trees, birds, plants, so much. Creation was the beginning of all things. He had named the sword this by himself, though his father, so kind seeming then, had though up names like Basher and Slice, typical for a young male. But the Dibbun had seen a nest of small swallows, a young sapling, and thought of the word 'Ceathon', or, in other words, Creation. At that time, he had been enveloped by some sort of wisdom.
Matthias found his little wooden shovel, and dug a deep hole in the ground next to the last one- Lightning. Soon, though, the deed was done.
Following a daily ritual, the one that he had made up ever since Creator had been broken-by a kitchen knife, as Creator had been taken away from Matthias for awhile after he did something wrong and placed near the blades- and he had found this clearing and dug Creator's grave with his paws. The young mouse knelt by the mound and talked to his first sword.
"Hello, Creator. I have somehow broken another sword. I don't know, do you think that they don't like their names? Should I name them to be a bit more peace-like? Thyme did well for a while, three seasons, but I guess like all living things that she had to die. Flame went a few hours after he was born- killed by fire. Lightning was destroyed in two seconds flat, and Thunder lasted a while, two seasons, but- you lasted the most- four seasons. Creator-do you think that I should give up fighting and pick up the skills of farming? Because I really, really want to be a warriormouse like Martin the Warrior. Why shouldn't I? Father seems bent on having me be a farmer though, as he puts it 'My father's father's father was a farmer, my father's father, my father, me, we were all farmers. Son, you need to continue this tradition-lay down the life of a warrior, it's all misery.' But that's not true. Martin stood for kindness peace, and all of that. I wonder, though, if he did have a type of tragedy in his life. Before being a warrior, anyhow. Wel-" Matthias stopped as a low hum filled the forest, coming from where Creator lay.
"What is it? Creator?"
His first sword didn't answer, and just continued to hum some sort of message.
()o()o()o()
A/N: It's going to be three, very short chapters. Believe me, I DID work hard on this. Really. Like the cliffie? You know that blue button down there? Just place the arrow on the screen on that, and with your mouse, push the forward-left side of that. There! Now, type in some letters that form words, and using pretty much the same technique, click that long button that says 'send…..'. There! You've just sent me a review! Wasn't that easy?
A/N: THIS IS LOOONG! Well, longer then the other two parts, anyhow. ENJOY!
Part three: Future warrior.
Matthias ran.
He had finally understood Creations' message: Danger was here. The only problem was that he had no weapon.
Matthias ran.
The young mouse ran farther and faster than he had ever ran. A terrible feeling clutched at his stomach.
Matthias ran.
He skidded to a stop, and picked up a rough stick, about as long as Thyme, and while he was at it, a few stones for a last resort. He picked up the pace, and ran.
Matthias ran.
Why, oh why did this have to happen? He promised himself that if his father lived, and his mother, and even if they didn't, he would lay down thought of being a warrior, his dream, and take up farming. Or at least he would try.
Matthias ran.
()o()o()o()
Kent shook his head slowly as his son ran off, broken stick in paw. When would that mouse get some sense into his head? Slowly, he picked up his paw-plow and began to sift the rich earth.
Fwift, fwift, clunk.
Kent removed the stone in the way of the paw-plow, and continued silently, though he breathed lightly.
Fwift, fwift, fwift………
He was enveloped in the soothing tone of the earth's voice, as it welcomed him to plant his winter crops.
Fwift, fwift, fwift, fwift………
And then, the earth shook lightly.
Fwift, pause, fwift, pause…..
Kent slowed, his ears now focused for anything else. No sound came.
Fwift,
But then,
Fwift,
A few seconds later,
Fwift,
Came a scream.
The mouse stood up swiftly, the echoes ringing in his ear. They sounded so familiar…….
He knew.
Bluebell.
()o()o()o()
A small group of vermin had cornered the mousewife, who had just uttered a short scream of fright, in the kitchen, leering at her, drawing weapons menacingly. A rat with a scarred face spoke first, he and his gang a few yards away from her.
"Where are th' vittles, me pretty?" He grinned, revealing two rows of crooked, yellow and brown teeth. Any lesser creature would have quaked, but this trait was not in Bluebell.
The rat squealed as he was shoved out of the way. In his place stood a large, muddy-yellow furred stoat, obviously the leader of the ruffians.
His chest was bare, and he wore a kilt-like skirt of pounded bark, secured to his waist by a thin, though sturdy rope. He smiled assuringly at the mousewife.
"I am truly sorry for his bad behavior, madam. Please, we are but a small group of travelers, and we have no provisions left. Though we are vermin, we, or at least I, am an honest beast. So please, lend us a small sack each, or at least a basket to hold things that we can forage food along the way." His voice was honey-sweet, and it dripped invisible sugar. Bluebell would've been fooled by this speech, had it no have been from the cleverly hidden dagger, and the length of mouse fur pasted to it with pine sap. She smiled, and replied.
"I am sorry, dear fellow, but all of the food we have is stored away by a good friend of mine, and the baskets with them. So sir, please go to another home; perhaps to my neighbors a mile away, the closest here."
The stoat snarled abruptly. "Capture her, dead or alive!" The other seven vermin hurled themselves at her. Bluebell flung her paw behind her, and swung the object that she had grabbed at the nearest.
BOOOONNNNNNG!
The pan hit the rat squarely on the head, and he flopped down, unconscious. The remaining six halted their attack, only to be prodded on by the stoat.
"Go on, scum! Can't you see that she is alone, with only a frying pan as a weapon? Attack!"
Again, the vermin continued, but were once more stopped, yet this time by a yell.
"LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!" they swiveled around to see a mouse charging down the small hill, wielding a sharp-looking paw-plow.
A short battle followed, husband and wife fighting side by side, brandishing pan and plow, striking blows left and right. It would have been a humorous scene, but for the fact that Bluebell and Kent were in a battle for their lives.
()o()o()o()
Matthias soon heard the dim clatter of battle, coming from the direction he had dreaded it to come from.
Home.
His paws, already beating a fast pace, pumped harder than before. They were almost a blur, as he ran swiftly, even more speedily than before.
The clangs grew louder, accompanied by shouts.
"Oooh- the mousey got me foot!"
"Get 'em!"
"Go away, vermin, or you'll taste my pan!"
There was a loud clang, and a long tremor shivered through the air, accompanied by a harsh yelp of pain.
"OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW! Ye'll get a whiff o' me dagger, sweety!"
"Over my dead body!" Matthias recognized his fathers' yell, and a triumphant yell.
"I got 'im! I killed the mouse!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A shriek echoed through the sky. And then, Matthias was at the top of the hill.
The fight had moved to the outdoors, and he saw his mother valiantly protecting his father's still body. Two vermin lay dead on the ground, and one unconscious.
He froze in fright. And then, remembered those smooth, smooth stones from his flight.
Shakily, he grasped a rock in a paw, and drew his arm back. After that….
He let it soar.
The stone whistled softly through the air, gathering momentum as it fell, soon, the whistling grew to a shrill shriek, causing the battlers to look up in astonishment, including his mother.
And the stone smacked right into the head of an unfortunate ferret, killing him outright.
Already, Matthias had drawn another stone, and hurtled it at the attackers.
Another life was spent, wiped out by the falling stone. Four were left against one, and Matthias had two stones left before he had to plunge into battle.
And those two ended two lives, leaving three of the original eight alive, one in no condition for battle.
Matthias charged at the conscious rat, wielding a sword of wood. He struck him down, unconscious. Now, only the stoat was left.
As the young mouse turned to face the leader, he saw a wicked grin playing on the vermins' face. And before Matthias could figure out why, the stoat drew his weapon, and threw it.
Matthias saw it all in slow motion. The knife twirled slowly, traveling unhurriedly, aimed right at his mothers' heart.
"MOTHER!" He screamed in anguish. No, no, he couldn't lose her as well. NO!
His mother saw the dagger coming, but could only move a fraction out of the way before the dagger plunged deep into her skin. All that Matthias could see was a red nightmare, a growing blot that covered his vision. He hurled himself at the surprised vermin leader as his mother fell with faintly clouded eyes, wide with a pleading look.
Matthias didn't regard the fact that the stoat was bigger, stronger, and rougher than him. The young mouse fought with tooth and claw, digging deep into his opponents' bare chest.
Near the heart.
()o()o()o()
Again, Matthias ran, gasping for breath. He recalled the vision of the stoat leader, dead, and Matthias himself, with blood on his teeth, over his claws, and in his fur. He recalled his mothers' last pleading: To find Redwall Abbey, and follow his dreams, wherever they may lead him.
A coarse yell echoed behind him, causing him to remember why exactly he was running.
"I'll get ye! I'll make ye pay fur killin' me leader! I'll hunt ye down t' 'ellgates myself!"
Matthias had washed the blood out of his fur earlier in a stream nearby before running. Now, he had to get to Redwall Abbey before the avenging rat caught up with him.
()o()o()o()
Methuselah, the ancient gatekeeper, looked through scrolls of the past, and, as if caught by instinct, looked out of his window. The sun was already rising, a pink and yellow glow to the east.
"Goodness!" he murmured. "Well, It's past time for bed, but as its' already morning, why should I snooze?" he chuckled to himself. He absentmindedly dusted himself off-and heard a faint knock.
Tap knock, tap knock. Tap knock, tap knock.
Methuselah hurried out of the door into the chilly morning air. Again, the knock sounded, only louder, and quicker.
Tap KNOCK, tap KNOCK. KNOCKAKNOCKAKNOCK.
The elderly mouse opened the gate, and saw a frightened looking youngster peering up at him.
"What's the matter, young'n?" At this, the mouse looked fearfully over his shoulder.
"C-can I come in?"
"Why, of course. At least 'till the Abbot is up. Where've you been?"
He shook his head solemnly. "I can't tell. I just can't." a flash of pain lanced across his face, and Methuselah knew to dig no deeper.
"Well then," he ventured. "What is your name?"
"Matthias."
And so he was led in, accepted into the Order, and from the bumbling shell he created for himself, became the warrior that allbeasts know him as:
Matthias, of the Twin Bells.
A/N: Whew! This is the twelfth page, you know. And- this isn't the end! I am going to do an ALL CHAPTER/PART after this. Shortly after this, in fact. And I will always do that.
May.
You.
Please.
Review.
NOW!
Thank you.
A/N: That was easy. Now, Since this is done, I NEED to go.
GOODBYE!