The Fallen Star

A Tale of Redwall

{6}

The morning sun shone over Redwall like a lovely beacon, causing the red sandstone to glow with a rosy hue of daybreak. As Abbot Brian watched the sunrise, he could not help but marvel at how lovely nature seemed to be this year. His wall top reflections did not go unnoticed; indeed, he was not alone, as Bellringer Grenwick approached him and stood alongside, gazing out at the sunrise.

"Marvelous day, ain't it, Father Abbot?" the Vole asked.

"Indeed it is, Grenwick," Abbot Brian replied, "A wonderful day, and one that heralds the second day that our young Adrian has come of age. To think; he is at least 16 seasons old. Hard to believe, isn't it, how fast he's grown?"

"Aye, Father," Grenwick replied, "As me ol' mother used to say, 'a child born of stars and carefully tended shall grow strong like the ash trees.'"

"Your mother was a sound Vole, then, Grenwick," Brian said, "Oh! Speaking of stars, I almost forgot to thank you for giving that astronomy lesson to the young ones last night. They certainly enjoyed it, didn't they? That invention of yours is quite marvelous, if I do say so myself."

Grenwick nodded, glancing down at the strange, metal tube in his hands. Grenwick had often taken to tinkering in his spare time. Since he lived in the Gatehouse with the Abbey Recorder, Job the Mouse, he had little else to do in between bell-ringings. His invention was a simple object; basically two lenses combined in a long tube to allow one to see things much further away. However, even he knew it wasn't perfect; there was something about the design that didn't sit right.

It was obvious by the look of Grenwick's face that the design wasn't the only thing that sat right within his head.

"Grenwick? What's wrong?"

Grenwick gave a long sigh, staring off into the sunrise as he did. "Father Abbot," he said at last, "You and I both know that I came from the ol' Vole Tribes to the east of 'ere. Before I came to Redwall, I lived a life of superstition as the rest of my kind did; it was guaranteed to happen, given the fact t'at we often were visited by Vixen seers in the past. After I arrived here, I promised to give up such foolish ways, and t'aint once been bothered by it since…'til now, that is."

Abbot Brian was confused. What could his old friend mean? Surely the Vole was not plagued by some foul memory of the past, was he?

"Father Abbot," the Vole said quietly, "I 'ave a confession to make. The reason why I'm fascinated by the stars is 'cause me ol' mother stated t'at there were always signs given by the stars. Though common sense says otherwise, I find t'at me ol' mother was always true. Every time somet'ing of great importance happens, the stars seem to be aligned to show it would occur. Same t'ing if somet'ing bad happens."

The Vole gazed up into the Abbot's eyes as he said his next words. "This new star means bad business. 'Tis a warnin'; a warnin' t'at somet'ing bad is about to happen. I do not know what it could be, but I do no this; Redwall will be at the center of the events to come."

Abbot Brian could tell by the look of Grenwick's eyes that he had not been more serious in all of his life. The Abbot was frightened. If Grenwick's words were true, it would mean that the age of peace that had finally come to Redwall would come to a close, and he was unsure whether or not things would turn out for the better, or for the worse.

"Grenwick," the Abbot said with a sigh, "Understand me very clearly; if you speak the truth, and if this terrible event is about to occur, then I should warn you not to tell anyone. I do not wish to start a panic amongst the others. Mossflower Woods would likely never forgive us if we were wrong. If you are incorrect, and I certainly hope by nature's good grace that you are, then I would like you to at least keep a continuous eye on those stars. I'll be sure to send someone to Salamandastron; to speak to the Badger Lord, Morath. He surely would know what to make of this. In the meantime, we shall speak only to Morwen about this conversation, and to no one else. Am I understood?"

"I had no intention of talkin' to anyone else without your permission, Father Abbot," Grenwick nodded, "Not even ol' Job knows of this, though knowing him he'll probably figure it out sooner or later. I'll keep watchin' that star and let you know what I make of it in a week's time. If there is somet'ing serious afoot, I recommend a counsel meetin'."

"Understood," Abbot Brian nodded, "Now…no more talk of doom and destruction. Friar Jon is likely cooking breakfast right now. I sure do hope he's made oatmeal and apple-bits again."

The two elders departed for the kitchens, going on with life as if the conversation that had occurred between them had never happened. As they did, the sun continued its steady upward climb, heralding the day and awakening the birds, insects, and other animals that dwelled within the depths of Mossflower Woods.

To the south of Redwall, somewhere deep in Mossflower Woods, the forest was still silent. Even as the dawn broke, there wasn't a sound to be heard; no crickets chirping or birds singing in the morning light. Bird nests were surprisingly empty in the area, and at least several beehives had tremendous, fist-sized holes in them and were missing a considerably large amount of honeycomb within. Newly grown saplings had been torn free of their roots, and old trees were completely devoured of their branches and leaves, stripped down until only the highest branches remained.

There was a source to all of this widespread destruction. Far south of Redwall, east of the great plain that led to the land under the guardian shadow of Salamandastron and the Long Patrol Hares, there was a great cave. This cave wove through many places throughout the depths of Mossflower wood. Once, long ago, it had been the home of a great and mighty oak tree, but the tree had fallen in long ages past; likely destroyed either by wind, weather, flame, or perhaps by fate's cruel hands. Regardless, the great stump that had been left behind was the entrance to a great and ancient tunnel network that spread far and wide throughout the southern edges of Mossflower.

Here, in the dark, dank depths of this cavernous place, dwelt the home of the Sons of Cluny.

No one can truly tell you why they got the name, or how they managed to survive the depths of time. It was believed that they were just a band of vermin that took up the name for themselves when they heard legends of the great one who managed to conquer the great abbey to the north. Others believed that they were rats that always had lived there; descendents of old vermin that once dwelt in Mossflower when it was a haven for their kind, and took up the name based off of the great leader that had brought them all under one banner long ago. However, the leaders of the Sons of Cluny all claim to have direct heritage to the great warlord himself, whether through some old bondage between the warlord and some unlucky mousemaid or honored rat among rats, or through a blood cousin that the rat had not killed or had overlooked in his conquests.

Nevertheless, the Sons of Cluny were perhaps the greatest horde of foebeasts ever to lurk within Mossflower woods since the old days. Though most of them were clans of rats, ferrets, stoats and weasels that dwelt in and out of the many dens within the tunnels, all proclaimed their loyalty to the Greatrats; the true sons of Cluny. If one ever asked how they could be considered a "son" of the great scourge, all one had to do was look at their tails.

Every last one of the Greatrats; male or female, runt or bully, lowly grunt to the great Scourgemaster himself; all had very long, very flexible tails. Indeed, so prehensile were their tails that they often used them to hang off of trees like the strange beasts called monkeys that lived far to the south in the jungles. These mighty beasts were the leaders of the Sons of Cluny, often leading whole hordes of vermin upon great campaigns across the lands of Mossflower.

Most of their dark wanderings took place in the west near the shoreline, where they often raided villages, caravans, or the occasional patrol of Hares coming from the mountain. However, not once did they ever venture north, towards the one place depicted foremost in their prophesized final victory in Mossflower; Redwall. They felt as if they weren't ready; as if a great shadow in the form of a deadly sword had loomed over them in any attempts at getting near.

Now, however, their time was ripe.

Stealthy as foxes, a recent raiding party quickly returned to the dark depths of the cave, carrying their spoils inside of bags on their backs. Most of the stuff was just food and easy loot; bird eggs, a stash of honeycomb dripping with golden honey and squirming bee maggots, the occasional stash of freshly hauled catches of fish and freshwater shrimp, and an assortment of any and all of the freshest produce of the land that they could find.

Of course, there was a real big catch for them all on that day; a great big seabird, towed down and killed by the greatest of the rat warriors. Though a couple of the rats fell to the beast, the mighty Gull was no match for the Greatrat prince that had slain it. The mighty white, black-striped bird lay upon a large stretcher carried by at least eight of the vermin scum in the party, a spear having been driven up the bird's beak and into its throat. A mighty rat walked alongside the stretcher, his tail flexing and curling around loose feathers and the nearby limb of the dead bird.

The moving feast came to a halt when drums suddenly gonged out from within the deep. The whole procession stopped and bent down upon one knee, the rats dropping their produce onto the ground and bowing low. Some of the food stuffs that were still alive began to scurry or flop about in an attempt to escape, but their fate had been sealed the moment they went inside of the cavern, and were as good as dead.

The Greatrat stood forward and took a mighty bow, flexing his powerful tail before letting it droop in submission as he did. It was a common gesture for Greatrats when speaking to a vermin of higher authority, and for the Greatrats there was only one who could claim such a title.

"Oh great Bladetail," the mighty vermin said, "Highlord of all Greatrats, da' mightay Cluny reborn. See now, wha' great feasts Ah and mah huntin' partay's brought for ye. A mightay seabird, who 'ad da' stupiditay to hunt alon' yer great sea shores. Ah slain him, an' brought his carcass to ye in yer name, as a feast to yer honor, father."

All were right to respect and fear the dreaded name…Bladetail. The highest of all Greatrats, Bladetail was the biggest, toughest, and meanest of his kind. He was likened indeed to the great Cluny himself, thus granting him the title of Cluny Reborn. Bladetail was considered by all to be the Sons of Cluny's greatest leader in many a season, compared to the great Cluny himself for his many great war campaigns with other vermin. Many of the vermin who dwelled within his halls were former enemies…most of them dead. Bladetail often kept the heads of his greatest enemies as trophies, and his mighty throne was covered in skulls of some of the greatest vermin warlords of that time; even a few mice. Indeed, the true reason for peace in Mossflower was not because of Vermin being driven off, but a lack of vermin altogether, for the Sons of Cluny were all that were left.

Now, Bladetail is a rather simple name for a warlord. One would assume that the great one would have taken up a more frightening name, such as Skullthrone, or Whiplash. Indeed, even the name Nazg had more mystery than Bladetail, for it was a name not heard since the leader took up his title. However, the true reason for his name actually lay in his tail itself.

Like the spade of the devil's own whip-like attachment, the mighty tail of Cluny Reborn had a poisoned blade permanently attached to the end. Like the poisoned barb of the great Cluny himself; indeed, it was claimed to have been the very same barb that struck down the foolish mouse leader of Redwall who thought that he could use peace to bring down the tyrant; Bladetail's mighty attachment was no less deadly. Those who touched the blade would die a slow, antagonizing death as the poison worked its way deep within the veins of his foes. Indeed, many of the great Bladetail's enemies died from a suicide of their own making, rather facing a quick death than the serpent's poison of the Scourge; the name given to the warlord's tail. Yes, Bladetail was a very frightening villain…and fear demanded respect.

"Good work, Grinwuld, my son," the mighty warlord spoke, "Ye've done well. Take the carcass an' give it to the slaves. Tell 'em to cook it nice and slow…or I'll see to it that they are cooked slower!"

"Aye, father," Grinwuld curled his own great tail around his body and let it slip over his heart; a noble salute of the Greatrats to their officers and each other, "Yer' will shall be done."

As Grinwuld demanded the hordebeasts to take the food into the further depths of the cave, the great Cluny Reborn, Bladetail, raised his arms into the air to get the attention of all inside of his tunnels and caverns.

"The Sons of Cluny shall feast tonight!" he shouted in a great, bellowing voice, "Tonight, I shall make the final decision that will change all of our fates forever! It shall be a day of great rejoicing, an' all shall speak of it in the years to come. T'ough it will be spoken no more within the halls of the great caverns of Cluny's Hell, mateys."

All eyes watched as the great master of the deep raised his Scourge, letting his mighty tail blade reflect in the torchlight. The tail barb glinted madly in the fire's glaze, though it did not glint as madly as the fiery rage, ambition, and madness of the great one's own eyes.

"It shall be spoken from within the great sandstone walls that are Redwall Abbey, our truest enemies! We shall grind them into the dust, and they shall all know the true meaning of fear when they look out their doors in two days time and find us banging on their doorstep…We, the Sons of Cluny!!!"

His tail blade came crashing down upon the rock that he stood upon. The Scourge's bladetip left a deep crack in the stone from where it struck, showing off the truest and greatest terror that was the king of the ancient horde. All rats, weasels, stoats, and ferrets alike roared their war cries to their chief's words, though no war cries were as powerful as the one that echoed throughout every last tunnel in the depths.

"Cluny!! Cluny!! CLUNY REBORN!!!"

As the feast within the depths of the caverns that were Cluny's Hell continued, none had noticed the great warlord slipping into the gap behind his throne. He ascended from his throne room until he made his way higher up into the caverns, to a spot that few neither knew about nor ever dreamt existed. Far from the main caverns, in the depths of an ancient bedrock cave forged by a running stream which still flowed in the depths, was the den of the One of Bones.

Now, the One of Bones was a very frightening creature. Few knew what he was in reality; even Bladetail had trouble guessing what he could be. Whatever beast lay beneath the ancient, ragged, mangy fur and bare skin was beyond solid recognition, and few still could identify its origins with the ancient bones covering his body.

The One of Bones was not called that without good cause. His entire body was covered in bone. From the tip of his tail to the top of his muzzle, the beastly creature was covered in an assortment of the disembodied bones of many creatures that existed over time. Those who would first look at him would think that he was some rotting corpse come back to life, and indeed he may as well be. However, Bladetail could see beyond the rib cages, jutted bony leg-plates, and the half of a rat's skull on the creature's head to know the beast's uses…as a seer.

"Tell me, One of Bones," the warlord spoke, "What do your ancient eyes see?"

The strange creature did not move at first. The warlord could never tell whether the creature was dead or not, because it always reeked of the stench of death. However, a pale, bare limb that was covered by the bones of an old lizard raised a claw and pointed at a satchel on the chief's belt.

"An offering of flesh," the creature hissed, "and an offering of bone…such is the demand of the one who is living and dead."

The warlord reached his powerful tail over to his belt and nicked off the satchel. The small bag hung upon the blade tip for a moment before the tail rose up his scourge and opened the bag, releasing its contents into an open hand. The rat fingered at the bits of half-raw bird's meat, stripped clean from the heart and muscles of the seabird of the feast, and tossed it to the monster.

The One of Bones caught it in midair. Giving it a sniff, it greedily began to lap up the meat from beneath its skull mask. As it feasted upon its meager meal, Bladetail waited patiently for the creature to finish its appetizer of bird's meat. The One of Bones slurped the flesh through a seemingly toothless mouth, but finished the meal quickly.

"And…an offering of bones as well…"

Bladetail took out an assortment of the many bones that were picked off secretly by his slaves from the fruits of their repast. A couple of sharp, pointed fish ribs, the lower jaw of the seabird's beak, and the scattered remains of a grave-robbed hand were all that could be provided, but they were more than enough. The One of Bones took them greedily, feeling a finger through each of them before attaching the most useful to parts of his ever-growing armory of dead exoskeletal clothing before placing the rest on the floor in front of him.

"What does the Tyrant Reborn wish to know?" the One of Bones asked.

Bladetail brought a foot up onto a rock and leaned on his leg, letting his tail flex and maneuver about as if fidgeting. "Are yer visions clouded of late?" he asked, "Does the demon mouse fix his gaze on ye?"

The One of Bones shook his head. "One who is dead cannot bother another who bonds with the dead," the seer spoke, "And those of the past cannot delve into the minds of the future. My visions see all…though the Redstone house seems to avoid my gaze for the time being."

"Two days," the chief said, "Do ye think that's enough time?"

"More than enough," the beast said, "Indeed, the spirits of Hellgates tell me that it is not soon enough. Many things come over the horizon…and though the sun comes from the east, the shadow arrives in the west."

Bladetail sometimes could never make hide nor hair of the One of Bones, but listened nonetheless. He was good at solving puzzles. He could figure it out later if he had to. "What else?"

The One of Bones began to chant in some ancient language as he grasped at tiny bones that encircled about in his lair. Gathering them and his most recent in his horde, he shook them into his claws before tossing them upon the ground. Letting his sickly green claws maneuver each of the bones, he examined the tiny pieces of the dead and began to whisper at them, as if trying to converse with them.

At long last, the One of Bones looked up. Though the chief could never see his eyes, Bladetail could always tell when the One of Bones had his gaze upon him, and right now his gaze was mesmerized and stricken with importance…like the gaze of someone who knows valuable information.

"A great, moving forest," the seer muttered, "riding upon clouds of black, moves from the west. A dark one rides upon it…one whose horde is greater than many…nay. This cannot be…"

"What?! What is it?" the Greatrat growled impatiently, "Speak, seer!"

"The horde that rests upon this vessel is greater than even that of Cluny," the One of Bones mutters, "Stealers of the rich. Slayers of kings and nobles. A crew of hunters whose very lives are bound by law and by the hunt. They come swiftly west, though they do not know of these shores."

Good, Bladetail thought in relief. At least that leaves out competition. "What else?"

"Your dreams and ambitions soon become one," the seer said, "Indeed, in two days time, Redwall will know and fear your name, though they shall fight dearly. In peaceful times, the Redwallers are; letting their grip on the realities of war slip. They will be easy targets…should allies not arrive."

"Allies?" That did not sound good. Redwall had legendary ties with many of the free woodlanders in Mossflower. The Guosim Shrews of the east, the Salamandastron Hares to the west, and the mighty Squirrel Troupes of the north. All three of these allies alone were more than suitable for combat, and even if the smallest of them were to join the Redwallers, it would mean certain defeat or a long siege for the Sons of Cluny; a siege that they could not afford. Indeed, Bladetail was more frightened of the allies of Redwall than the abbey itself.

"Your attack must be swift," the One of Bones whispered as he gazed over his collection, "If the attack extends to a siege, all hope is lost. You must rely upon speed and strength of arms. No mercy whatsoever and no attempts to retreat or fall back to the caverns, unless you find yourself in battle still by the third day and not within the Abbey walls."

The One of Bones waved a hand over to his right, examining the bones there.

"A murderous beast follows the travelling forest," he said, "Blood mixes between these two. The beast has no intention on stopping, even if death takes him. The dark one aboard will have much upon his hands if he chooses to attack the great stone on the western shores."

Salamandastron. Bladetail knew it well. He had seen it from afar, though never bothered to attack it. It was a taboo place. Any searat who dared to get within ten leagues of it were chased down by Badger Lords or shot down by the hares of the Long Patrol. Dark was that mountain, said to contain ancient treasures within. There was no getting out once you were inside.

The One of Bones continued gazing into his collection, but suddenly stopped. Letting his hands sink, he gazed deeply into the bones, as if searching for something. With only the sound of the lapping streamwater to break the silence, the two of them stood absolutely still and silent for many moments.

Finally, Bladetail broke the silence. "What is it?! What do ye see?!?"

The One of Bones whispered slightly, as if trying to confirm his thoughts. As he gazed back up, the eye sockets on his mask seemed to grow darker.

"Nothing," he said, "I see nothing. This has never happened before. Within seven revolutions in the future, I see a bright light, and then…only darkness. 'Tis…'tis a bad omen, my lord."

Bladetail pondered upon this information. He technically had gotten what he came for; he knew that within two days time, they would do battle with Redwall, and that if they did not succeed in breaching the gate in another three days after, they would fail. However, it was intriguing that the One of Bones could not see further than a week into the future. Did it spell his downfall? Did it mean that the old seer was finally cracking? Perhaps the light shattering in the darkness meant that the light that was hope, the light that was Redwall, would finally crush beneath his heel.

"I take my leave," the chief said, "I will reflect upon this message. My servants will bring more food for ye later."

The One of Bones watched him go before leaving his collection and heading deeper into the cavern. As he did, his foot cuffed a rock with his tail, which was sent splashing into the waters of the stream nearby. Water splashed up onto the floor, covering the whole area where the seer had stood earlier.

It had washed the bones almost completely away…

A rat who had gotten just a little bit too drunk had just left the cave entrance to Cluny's Hell, wandering about through the forest as he made his way away from his friends. He had gotten into a little bit of an argument and was fuming in a drunken rage to the point that he could make out neither hide nor tail of where he was in the world. He didn't care either. Right now, all he wanted was some peace and quiet to get rid of his headache.

After he had gotten quite a distance away, he fell against a tree with an almighty plop. Head reeling about dizzily, the rat completely forgot about the dangers that lay within Mossflower's dark boughs, and slept openly in the depths. His snores echoed long through the forest, and every woodland creature inside that wanted some peace and quiet during that early morning moved away as far from the infernal snoring as they could.

Only one creature remained. In the boughs of an old sycamore, watching the rat, a dark furred beast stood still and silent. Tossing a few nuts near the rat to make sure he was fast asleep, the creature watched patiently. Finally, when all was well enough, he scurried down the tree trunk and kept to the shadows, slowly making his way to the rat until he was but a paw's length away.

The rat began to stir, his headache calling to attention. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was what looked like the black silhouette of a squirrel, wielding a large, oaken staff in his hands. Before the rat could even move, the staff came down, and he was out cold.

Kerian: It's been a while since I updated this, eh? I hope everyone's liked it. I'm probably going to work on this a lot for a while. I'll explain why in a minute, but for now; on with reflection of our story...

I've been thinking on making the Sons of Cluny for a while now. Descendants of Cluny's Horde, or what was left of them anyway, the Sons of Cluny had lived in Mossflower for a while before they were united under one banner. Basically, they didn't have a leader until the Greatrats, the self-proclaimed descendants of the Scourge himself, showed up. Now they scour all of Mossflower, bringing wrath and destruction in their wake, and they are the true reasons why Mossflower's been all quiet recently. Of course, every horde needs a powerful leader, and every powerful leader of wrath needs a power behind the throne, so to speak. So is the One of Bones. He's a pretty new idea, though he's pretty cool nonetheless. Imagine being so old that nobody can recognize your species anymore, and going so gothic that you literally like wearing dead stuff all over you. That's pretty much the One of Bones is.

Now, the real recent reason for my current return to Redwall stuff is because I recently got the second-most recent Redwall book, Doomwyte, a little while ago. I finished it last night, as a matter of fact. Brian Jacques really outdoes himself with the new books. I can't wait until I get a chance to order the Sable Quean. Anyway, since my last inspiration to doing this was caused by Eulalia, hopefully Doomwyte will help me keep to this story. To tell you the truth, I need a little break from the Zelda line. Having completed a short story in Legend of Zelda, plus updating a chapter on my novelization, and a number of other reasons has kept my focus on a minimum. Any break is a turn in the right direction for me, so I might be able to find refuge in Redwall for a while...at least, after I'm done updating everything first. lol

So, I wonder what's going to happen to Redwall now? Will Grenwick's stargazing proove helpful? Who was the beast that struck down the drunk rat? And what of the One of Bones' vision? Find out in the next installment of The Fallen Star: A Tale of Redwall!

-Kerian