"Marta...Maaaarrrtaaa? Marta wake up...Martaaaaa." Sister Gwen gently shook Marta's thin shoulders. "Wake up m'dear wake up."
Inside Marta's head a black cloud surrounded her; she couldn't find where the voice was coming from. Marta...Maaarrtaaa? Marta wake up...Frustrated she called out, "I'm here! Is that you Martin? Hello?"
Gwen stood up abruptly at Marta's sudden exclamation. "Oh Marta, can you hear me? Wake up, open your eyes."
Marta responded to Gwen's command and her eyes opened. Even in the dim lighting of the infirmary, Marta's eyes burned. Tears formed, and she squinted at Gwen. "What happened Gwen? I had a horrible dream that Martin killed me..."
"Shh, now don't be speaking of horrible things like that. A few moments ago when you came up to tend to Tobias and the rest of the sick'uns, you went into a trance, like someone far away was talking to you. You walked to the medicine and sewing supplies cabinet, and grabbed the pincushion and poked your hand in many different places..."
"When Martin cut my hand..." Marta put the pieces together.
"Then you dropped it, and tripped over the pile of blankets you had set on the floor earlier, and you fell and landed with you belly on this bed corner, it must'ave hurt a lot. But thankfully your awake now, I was afeared you was headed to the black forest when you didn't wake up there."
"Thank you Gwen, I wasn't in much trouble, but I did have a very disturbing dream-"
Gwen cut her off, "Not now Marta, you need to rest. Here, take a deep breath of some fresh air." Gwen opened up the window and Marta looked out into the blizzard and took a deep breath.
The wind howled outside Redwall, over the walls, and into the courtyard, making a spinning vortex of ice and snow. Marta did not envy the moles as she watched them trudge out to the southeast gate. She closed the window before the infirmary could cool any further. She only hoped that the moles would be able to endure the bitter cold and remain healthy.
Outside the abbey, the mole crew trudged through the snow, heads down in silent protest against the roaring fiend. Some of the smaller, newer moles were being buffeted by the wind, and they had difficulty remaining on their feet. The veterans quickly saw this and sheltered the younger moles, protecting them from thee wind.
The crew arrived at the southeast wicker gate cold and tired, but they knew that there was desperate work to be done. Standing in the corner, where the south and east walls met, Grumman addressed his crew. "Alright moles, tonight we will finish the tunnels. Understood? It is quite simple. Franz and I will dig to the main vegetable cache. Jericho and Trey will dig to the potato cache and Mulch, seeing as Wallace is sick you will need to dig to the fruit cache alone. Do you think you can handle that?"
The young mole sneered, as if insulted, "Of course I can. Now can we do this job already? I'm freezing!"
"Yes, wise words," Grumman remarked and to himself he continued, "coming from the mouth of a fool." Then for everyone to hear, "Crew, move out!"
The moles each went separate ways with their digging partner. Mulch headed off alone towards the western wall, from where he would dig underneath the abbey wall and out towards where the sun would set.
Grumbling to himself as he reached the wall, Mulch stooped down into the snow and began to clear away snow to reveal a hole. Mulch had already been working on this hole for three days, and was nearly finished. He crawled in, letting his blunt digging claws sink into the still moist soil. His eyes were nearly useless in the dark, but he smelled his way through, recognizing the scent of the different layers of dirt he had dug through. He descended deeper into the earth, until the tunnel leveled off. He walked a little bit, and then was forced onto his knees as the roof of the tunnel became drastically lower. The tunnel began to slope upwards, indicating that the end of the tunnel was near. Mulch began to sniff intensely now, attempting to judge the distance between him and the wall of untouched dirt. He crawled four body lengths, and then began to dig into the new soil.
His claws worked furiously, scraping dirt away from in front of him and pushing it behind him. The temperature of the soil began to drop, slightly at first, but sank quicker and quicker as he neared the surface. Suddenly, Mulch burst through the layer of topsoil and landed half in, half out of his hole. He judged his surroundings; the large hollow oak stump was within paw lengths of the hole, so close Mulch could even make out the details of the well concealed bark lock. He envisioned the piles of candied berries, apple preserves, dried pears, plums, and cherries, all waiting for him behind the door. Maybe just one or two apple slices wouldn't be too bad, he thought to himself, after I finish the tunnel of course.
Mulch dove back into the tunnel, his claws propelling him back down to where he came from. He soon came upon the soft, loamy dirt he had unearthed (pun intended) earlier. He dig his way past the stuff, then turned around and began to push the soil up towards the dim, cold blue light at the end of the tunnel. It took him two more trips to ensure that the tunnel was free of unnecessary loose dirt.
Mulch stepped out of his hole to admire his handiwork. He had piled the dirt in a way to form a natural wind block, keeping the hole sheltered from wind and snow. It definitely was a fine show of his workmanship.
Now to reward the worker, Mulch thought to himself as he trundled towards the oak stump.
The stump was strong, its roots deep and broad, extending beyond the depths into the earth in search of water. In its prime the branches would have extended far into the sky, as if the oak was trying to grasp the clouds. The deep brown wood would shiver and move, but never crack under the forces thrown against it. But somehow the tree had faltered. A passing whim had caught its attention for too long before it realized that it was sick. The core of the tree died, leaving the magnificent shell behind. The oak had not worried, because, who sees the inside of a tree anyways?
For many years it stood, a magnificent shell, appearing to be strong and healthy, but really sick and weak. The façade the tree put up was amazing, and before long it even believed itself, thinking that it was perfectly fine. But doom would fall upon the tree sooner than it could comprehend. After years of acting, the tree had forgotten how to survive for real. The sickness within it grew stronger every day, and the tree grew consistently weaker. Until one day it gave underneath the strain of a violent gust of wind. Its smaller branches were ripped off. The larger branches hung on, but were eventually shorn off by the cutting wind. The merciless wind did not let up, until with a groan of resign, the mighty oak fell. The trunk burst into hundreds of pieces upon contact with the ground, rotten wood, termites, beetles, and all sorts of crawlies were tossed into the air as the dying spirit of the forest giant gave its last breath. Only the stump remained.
Mulch approached the grand stump, stepping over roots and bits of rotten wood until he stood snout to bark with the stump. His claws worked quickly and carefully, manipulating the bark lock until it snapped open. He quickly stepped inside.
Inside the stump was a large cache of fruit. With the light coming from a small hole in the false ceiling of the originally hollow stump Mulch walked over from the door to the dried apples. He stuffed his face with four slices, enjoying the sweet and sour flavor. He sniffed the air; the overpowering smell of sugary preserves and fruity bundles was laced with the faint, but undeniable odor of death. The rotting stump no longer hid its true identity as it slowly crumbled away into a stinking mass of rotten wood.
The revelation of the scent startled Mulch, and he found himself wanting out of the food cache. He hastily head over to the door and opened it. Stepping outside he turned to face the door. Fumbling with the lock in the freezing blizzard air, he snapped the lock shut. Snap. Mulch began to turn to go down his tunnel and back to the abbey. Snap. He froze in place. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his body rigid. Slowly he turned his head, hoping to see nothing but forest. Hmmmmaaaahhh. A warm gush of air hit the back of his neck like a death sentence. Without looking to see his hunter, Mulch dug his claws into the wood of the stump and began to climb as quickly as he could. A sadistic laugh emanated from below him as he felt a strong paw grasp his stubby tail and toss him onto the ground. "Why 'ello little mole. How is you doin today?" a dark voice asked in a sarcastic tone.
"P..p..pple..please...do..don" Mulch stuttered
"Shut up you coward." Growled the voice, "or I'll give you something to be really afraid of. Now stand up and follow me."
Not knowing what to do, Mulch remained silent and didn't move. "Aww, yew stupid beast," the voice groaned, "Garan, Yart, grab the beast 'afore he finds his tongue." Two sleek, silk furred beasts came from the shadows of the surrounding trees and grabbed Mulch. They gruffly carried him by his fore and hind paws, following the leader through the dark forest.
The trio marched for a while, and then entered a clearing with a fire in the middle. The leader motioned for the two to drop Mulch near the fire. He landed hard, not being able to compensate for his fall. Mulch lay on the ground for a few moments, groaning in pain and self pity. "Why did I ever leave the forest? Oh, there is only trouble with those abbey beasts."
The large feline forms circled the fire, gathering its heat. Mulch counted about two score including his three captors. There were tents set up in a semi circle on the far side of the fire, but none of the beasts remained inside them. They were all eager to find out what the three had dragged in. One spoke up, "So Jaggar, what did you find?"
"Oh, nothing of significance, just a mole."
"Really, where'd you find him?"
"Over by the huge stump a couple of minutes away." Jaggar turned and looked at Mulch with a gleam in his eye as if he had stumbled across a trove of treasure. "So moley, what exactly were you doing out this late. In a stump. You know moles live in the ground. Not stumps."
Mulch remained silent. He knew what would happen if these cruel beasts found out about the cache. Even though he felt no loyalty to Redwall, he felt loyalty to the goodbeasts inside Redwall, knowing that no matter how much he despised them, they were far more honorable than whoever had captured and brought him here.
Jaggar looked intensely at Mulch, as if he were trying to bore a hole with his eyes in Mulch's forehead. Mulch locked his jaw, his defiance now growing stronger within him. "Mole, I'm gonna give you one chance to tell me what's inside the stump, or I'll kill you." Jaggar slowly drew his curved cutlass, dramatically slicing the air in a figure eight motion.
Mulch's defiance quickly melted into panic. What would he do? If he told he and everyone in the abbey would die. But if he didn't...Hold up! Mulch came across an ingenious idea. "Mr. Jaggar, sir," Mulch mumbled, "I finks that I can tell you what is in my stump. You see," his courage began to build once again, "as a mole, I live underground, and I find lotsa rocks. Some rocks are pretty and shiny," the feline's eye's light up. Realizing his blunder Mulch hastily added, "-but have no value, they just look pretty. So I takes these rocks and keeps them in the stump for safekeeping."
Jaggar looked at him. Stared long and deep into Mulch's eyes, and then spoke aloud, "You lying scum! I shoulda killed you the moment I caught you!"
"No please! It is all true, there is just rocks! Nothing! I swear, no candied apples at all!" Mulch stopped. "Aww no." He whimpered, and began to cry.
Jaggar grinned manically, "Well troops, it seems that our little mole has provided us with food for the evening. Thank you kindly, dirt rat!"
Mulch just sat in the dirt by the fire and sobbed, wondering how such a simple job could have gone so awry. He watched the feline giants march off to the stump. He gave up the thought of running, he was too slow and he had already lost the cache to the beasts. Surely the abbey wouldn't even take him in after all he had put them through, even without the loss of the fruit cache. Seeing no way out other than death, the mole resigned himself to whatever form of punishment that the cruel cats would deal out to him. Mulch curled up into a ball and slept a restless sleep by the fire.
When Mulch woke up the fire was only smoldering embers within the ring of rocks. He sat up and yawned, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes. The blizzard was over, and the trees surrounding the clearing were bent, broken, and covered with a fine layer of snow. He was surprised he hadn't felt the cold during the night, seeing as the fire was his only source of heat. Not bothering to ponder the dilemma anymore, Mulch stood up and surveyed the camp. He heard snores from the tents, and even saw some foot paws sticking out the end of the smaller tents. He smiled at the irony, but the moment of happiness was quickly forgotten as he noticed the largest tent begin to stir. A few moments later Jaggar emerged, looking sleepy, but dangerous. "So moley, survived the winter? Hmmm, you're a tough little beast aren't you?" Jaggar's eyes lit up with a demonic fire. "Well, it seems that we are going to have to find a way to break you aren't we?" The sadistic beast laughed a deep throaty laugh, which climaxed at a near snarl, then receded to a mean chuckle. Mulch stared in horror, but didn't say a word.
Jaggar began to rouse the camp, kicking tent flaps and calling out names. Soon the entire camp was up and standing around the rebuilt fire. Mulch was the centre of attention, and for once, he hated it. He slowly panned across their faces, noticing scars, missing ears, and the omnipresent stench of unwashed fur. Before he could even stand to stretch his legs Jaggar began to speak. "Troops, last night we feasted on fruit and rabbit food thanks to this tiny mole. Now how shall we repay him for this kind act?"
The crowd began to grin evilly and formed a circle around Mulch. Mulch was scared, and there was no hiding it. "What do you mean repay?" He asked aloud, frightened beyond his own wits.
"Oh, nothing really. Just a little something we like to call 'releasing the spirit.'"
As frightened as he was Mulch immediately caught on that they did not plan to release his physical self, but something a little bit more morbid. They meant to kill him.
In a movement even surprising to him Mulch stood up and stared Jaggar in the eye. He realized how much he despised these creatures and was no longer afraid. Lashing out in hate he asked, "Who are you? You foul smelling, gut wrenching buffoons! Who?"
Jaggar laughed once again, he threw his head back and his maniacal guffaws filled the early morning air. He turned and looked at Mulch, who had gone silent, his burst of courage long gone. "Mole, we are polecats."
Jaggar slowly turned, and walked away. Then he stopped, looked over his shoulder and casually remarked, "I'm done with him, release him."
Mulch began to cry.
Yeah! Oh buddy. That was an accomplishment. Sure, call me soft, but this is only the second chapter of my first real story. And to be honest I am pretty proud of it. Obviously my writing will get better as I go, considering I haven't written in about six months. Yeah, so read and review.