I apologize for the long wait. I wrote a little bit of it a while ago (A month or so), and then I scrapped the near-done chapter. The story was going far too slow.
I wrote a page and a half a couple of weeks ago. Then I wrote the rest of the six or so whoppin' pages today. Be thankful I had a willing muse today.
Anyhow, enough of my babbling. Thank you. (You're going to have more reason to hate that squirrel in this chapter)
Chapter 6:
Martin was jerked awake by the pounding of a log, frantic and loud, accompanied by frenzied shouting.
"Vermin at the gates! Vermin at the gates!"
Swiftly, Martin snapped the covers back, and rolled out of the bed. He grabbed the small sword that had replaced his own, star-steel heirloom, and was out of the room.
Redwall was in understandable chaos, and Martin had to jump and twist to avoid being knocked to the ground. He reached the battlement stairs, and began to ascend them when a large paw held him back.
"Steady, Martin," Bella softly spoke. "Let the Abbot speak to them. They do not yet know of the Warrior inside these walls, I think."
The mouse struggled to push the warrior rising up down, who was trying to tinge the world red, when a smaller paw clasped his shoulder. He looked at the beast, and was held by Rose's eyes.
"Peace, Martin. You don't need to rush into battle just yet." She smiled a little.
Immediately, he was scolding her, mind turned away from the vermin at the gates. Bella nodded, pleased, and calmly ascended the stairs. "Ro-Teralose! You're supposed to be in the infirmary! You had a severe beating, and you should be resting!"
Rose shook her head, and whispered, "I don't want to pretend, Martin. No more Teralose, I am Rose. Laterose, Rose."
"No. You have to stay secret here; how would I explain you? They wouldn't believe the truth."
"Fine, Martin. But I want to be Rose, when we're alone." She smiled a little again, and then, before Martin could stop her, she went up the steps.
She stood beside Bella, looking down at the vermin messengers carrying a white flag of parley. It was a small party of five, consisting of a huge, indiscernible cloaked creature at the head, with a medium-sized brown-dappled white weasel holding the parley flag. Behind those two was a tan fox, a silver ferret, and a light-brown rat.
"Is this the Abbey of Redwall?" the weasel called up to the Abbot and the others on the battlements.
"Yes, it is. What may we do for you? Do you require food, drink, or healing of any kind?"
Rose felt Bella stifle a snort. These beasts would want the Abbey, naturally. Wasn't that what usually happened?
"We have come to seek the possibility of we, the Higherbeasts, ruling this magnificent structure and you, the Lowerbeasts, living beneath us here."
"In other words," Bella murmured to Rose, who was still crouching below the battlements. "They want to take over the Abbey and have the creatures of Redwall be here for the sole purpose of our slaving away for them."
Rose nodded slightly, and grimaced. Why did the danger have to come so soon? Why not later?
"I am sorry, my sons, but we may not give up the Abbey to you. Do you require temporary bedding or rest? We can do that for you, but nothing like what you are asking."
The weasel stood higher. "You, the Lowerbeasts, were destined to be Toilbeasts for His Excellency, the Great Ruler of the Northlands, the Kind Lord over the Army of the First, and the Generous Master of the Toilbeasts within his giving service."
Gonff had snuck his way up onto the battlements. "So why doesn't your High-And-Mighty Ruler speak to us himself? The cloaked one?"
"You are unfit to look upon the grace and beauty of His Lordship's features, or hear the wonderous peals of his voice! You, mouse, need to be shown your place!"
Gonff's only reply was to stick out his tongue childishly, stick his thumb-claws right in front of his ears, and waggle the rest.
The weasel's eyes narrowed, and he hissed some odd word in a strange language Rose didn't recognize. Archers jumped out of the bushes, aiming their drawn arrows at Gonff's chest. This was too much.
Rose slowly stood, and looked down on them. "To draw weapons and act as though to harm the opposing army is against the laws of the parley, is it not?"
The weasel looked slightly stunned for a minute, but the emotion ceased immediately, replaced by an ugly snarl. "Do not recite the laws of the Parley to me, Lowerbeast."
"Then abide by them, and you won't be lectured." Rose straightened up further. "I'm sorry, but I believe you do have your answer. We will not give up Redwall, not for anything in Mossflower or the lands beyond!"
She heard a snort behind her, and immediately knew it was the squirrel youngster, grumbling away about her being a threat to the Abbey. She ignored him.
The weasel stuck the forked branch in the ground, and consulted with the large, hooded beast. After a few minutes of silence, he shouted up, "The Master of All is willing to give you three days to pack and leave, stay to serve him, or give him a half-score servants. If you give him the servants, he will leave you be for four seasons, then ask for another half-score. He will use a fortress to command your Abbey, and you will live in servitude, as indentured Lowerbeasts instead of Toilbeasts. The servants you give him will be released from the Toilbeast occupation and take up the title of indentured Lowerbeasts. Within three days, you must give you your choice."
Gonff was visibly purple from trying to contain a tirade of insults, Bella was slightly tense, and the Abbot was quiet, serene. But on the inside, she thought, she could feel that there was turmoil roiling around.
Rose heard the squirrel behind her growl suddenly, and she was aware of an impending danger. Just as she turned around, he gave a push and, unable to right herself, she fell over the battlements, falling to the ground, cushioned only by a thick mat of grass, where sudden darkness overcame her. She didn't scream.
Boar snarled, his clenched paw itching to strangle the squirrel as he pushed her off. The traitorous, idiotic, stupid little fiend! The…the…
No words would accurately describe him. How the squirrel got up there undetected, he didn't know. He was focused on Rose, and the other creatures were focused on the vermin below. Martin was most likely pacing the walls on the ground, and the squirrel…the idiotic, head-strong, temperamental, want-to-crush-his-head squirrel… had found a way up and had abruptly seized his chance to get rid of this 'danger' to Redwall.
Idiot.
Barely containing his anger and trying to destroy the rock, now a swirling of opalescent colors, growled out, "Martin. Redwall Abbey."
Martin paced back and forth, back and forth, listening to the conversation from the walls. Seething, he heard the proposition that the 'All-Knowing One' was giving. If that over-grown son of Hellgates was thinking he could destroy them, and press them into his service, he hadn't reckoned with Martin the Warrior, slayer of Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes, being here.
Suddenly, he realized that that trouble-making squirrel wasn't there anymore. He was on the grounds just a little bit ago. Terror thudding in his heart, he began to make his way up to the battlements, when he heard Gonff's astonished cry, accompanied by a shout.
"Ye can take her, you slimy, slitherin' snails! She's bad enough to be with your kind!"
Upon hearing these words, Martin threw himself up the stairs, colliding with the temperamental squirrel. Immediately, he held him tight, never minding the scratching claws that flew against him in an effort to escape.
"Lemme go, lemme go!"
But the warrior was deaf to all pleas, descending the stairs where Columbine came running towards the commotion.
His Rose…gone…gone again…
He had made an oath to protect her at Marshank. He had failed.
And even when he had another chance, he had failed. He was a failure, a complete and utter failure. He couldn't protect her even in the walls of his home.
Dimly, he heard Columbing asking him, "What's wrong? What's wrong, Martin?"
Slowly, still holding the struggling squirrel in a vice-like grip, he spoke slowly and softly. "I'm a failure."
Columbine was joined by Durry, who carried a thin, long rope. The mole was silent, and tied the squirrel's struggling forepaws together. Martin let go of the squirrel, and, dazedly, walked into the orchard.
The words echoed in his head, a steady mantra as he walked, ignoring the worried questions and the confused pleading of Dibbuns as he shuffled into the grove.
I'm a failure.
Boar groaned. That was all he needed; Martin being struck dumb because of Rose's fall. He sighed. "Gonff, Redwall Abbey."
Gonff let out an astonished cry as Rose was pushed over, plummeting to the ground. He stared in shock as the mousemaid, resurrected, fell from the battlements. All because of a treacherous squirrel with a twisted mind.
His shock turned into anger as the weasel sent the silver ferret to retrieve the mousemaid. Swiftly, he ran down the battlements, jumping the last few steps in Mousethief style. He unbolted the Gates, and slammed out of the Abbey, sprinting to where the mousemaid was, but stopped short as one of the otters of the Abbey caught up with him and held him back.
"Leave it, matey. Rick gave her up to them; they named the agreements. They'll believe that she was given freely, and that you coming to take her back would be going against the rules of the parley."
Gonff strained, but the otter held him back. He feared that Martin would charge out of the gates at any minute, or be overcome by grief.
He quit struggling, and let his train of thought continue. Martin would be broken again by this, if Rose was dead. Killed again. It would tear him to bits…
And, of course, the warrior would blame himself for not being there with Rose to stop her fall. He would wallow in misery and mourning, saying that it was all his fault, and that he failed.
And was a failure.
Gonff was going to kill him.
Boar grumbled a little. At least Gonff had come to his senses. He really should check on Silence.
"Silence, Ouside of Redwall Abbey."
The ferret gingerly picked her up, much to the distress of the mouse who had burst out of the Abbey. He put a paw right over the mousemaid's mouth, and was amazed to find there was still breath in the maid.
Softly, he crept towards the party, trying not to jar the mousemaid. She had a couple of broken ribs, it felt like, and there would be bruises all over her body. There was also another reason he didn't walk as he usually did.
She seemed to…glow.
There seemed to be this odd aura around her, light and bright. She also resembled the mousemaid who was an accomplice to the ferretmaid Goddess. This was…odd…
He finally reached the group, and took his place on the outside left, listening to the words of the weasel in front of him. Cymmatop, or in the Lowerbeast language, Adder. He knew the rules of the parley, and so was taken along.
"We thank you for your gift of the mousemaid so soon after our asking. We will take this mousemaid and not bother you for a week, when we expect our answer. But if the mousemaid is dead, we come back within three days. The parley is adjourned."
As one, they swiveled and marched back to the edge of the woods. Silence crept, though, wanting not to hurt the Lowerbeast with the pretty voice and the face of that who helped Peace.
When they were a considerable distance into the forest, Cymmatop turned to Silence. "Is the Lowerbeast alright?"
On impulse, Silence checked both her heart rate and her breathing. She was breathing, yes, but there was emptiness where her heartbeat should be…
Wait. There was a pulse. Strong, but uncommon. Once every minute, perhaps. That was odd.
Many odd things about this one.
"Sire, she breathes, but her heartbeat…is…well…it beats about once per minute." He was hesitant in his answer, but the Master suddenly intervened, feeling the pulse for a long time.
Perhaps five minutes passed, and the Master finally withdrew his paw. "It beat but four times. And the breath…" he put his paw above the mousemaid's mouth, "Is regular, but is oddly cold." He looked at Silence. "Put her in my tent, and get the healer. This one needs to live, for it is a strange one. And I believe," the Master glanced at the fox and rat, whom immediately stuffed moss in their ears and held their paws over them. "That this one has come back from the dead."
Silence sucked in his breath, his eyes wide. The dead? From the Dark Forest, where, even though he was but a vermin, he wished to go when he died? Returning?
"Sire…why?" Cymmatop, practical as always, asked.
"Perhaps to tell the Lowerbeasts in the Sandstone Walls of our coming. Of the honor they could have to serve as my Toilbeasts, or Servantbeasts. Or perhaps the Great God Fate or Hell sent her to serve me. Nevertheless, she is here now. Treat her with the utmost care. Silence, go."
Without a word, the silver ferret took the mousemaid away, the two other soldiers following, but the presence lingered, watching the Master and Cymmatop converse in low tones.
"Master, about Silence…"
"I know, he is odd. He is unique, for a special reason that none knows but myself."
"He seemed to be in awe of the mousemaid, and took care not to hurt her, even though she be a Lowerbeast."
"Does she remind you of somebeast?"
"No, sire. A pretty voice, and a nice face, but nobea…" He trailed off. "I suppose she looks familiar, Master."
"And who is she like?"
Cymmatop lowered his voice further. "She looks like that mousemaid, that Lowerbeast, depicted as being with the Goddess Peace."
The Master nodded. "From there, you can draw your own conclusions about Silence."
They both went off, unaware of the presence that sighed, and went away, and a pair of mortal eyes staring from the treetops.
Lady Amber shook her head, digesting what she had just heard, and bounded off, ready to relay the odd information about this Teralose figure.
Boar yawned, and pondered what he just heard. The Master knew, Cymmatop knew, and now Silence knew. This was not his day.
Rose wasn't supposed to be pushed from the wall, Martin wasn't suppsosed to break down, Silence wasn't supposed to be with the group going to parley with Redwall. Rose wasn't even supposed to be on the Wall; that was supposed to be Martin!
Everything seemed to be going wrong. He didn't like this job, and he didn't think he could bear it if the Master won. He would've failed, and would be dismissed from the Council. He was supposed to make sure that things didn't go wrong.
He cursed. Fates, he growled in his mind. Angrily, he shut the stone off and placed it in his pocket, exiting the room. Things were so much simpler when he could just be swinging his sword at searats.