BOOK I: DIFFERENT WORLDS

Chapter One

Several seasons later

Redwall Abbey, Mossflower Country

A journal excerpt written by Trimp the hedgehog, newly appointed as Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country:

Winter has arrived in Mossflower with a vengeance. I've never seen so much snow before, even when I lived in the North Lands. It is the highest recorded snowfall in several seasons, or so I'm told.

Construction on the abbey was halted because of the weather and heavy snow; the council feeling it was wise to postpone until spring in order to avoid an accident.

It still amazes me that humble creatures can come together to create something so beautiful and magnificent. The other day when the morning was clear and the sun was out for a few brief moments, the Abbey's red sandstone walls glowed like a red jewel against the white snow.

I feel blessed to have a home here amongst good and true friends. Sometimes it feels as though I have been at Redwall all of my life, even though only a short time has passed since I left my ancestral home in the North Lands.

It has been nearly a season since we returned from our journey there, where Martin the Warrior learned of his own origins and was able to put the pieces of his missing past together. He seems to be much happier and according to Gonff, Martin is acting like his old self again, of which I am glad.

Even though winter reigns outside, we are snug and warm inside, fully prepared for the long, cold months ahead, not expecting much to happen. After all, not many beasts venture out of their homes in weather like this.

That is until we received some unexpected visitors one evening.

Folgrim's brother Tungro arrived at our gates, accompanied by Logalog Furmo and a small group of otters and Guosim shrews. They came with news that Mossflower's western shores have been invaded by a great horde of vermin, led by a searat called Caliban, who has appointed himself Lord of Mossflower and intends to enforce that title.

Tungro says that they attempted to peacefully ask that he leave but this only enraged Caliban and a battle broke out. In the few weeks since the horde arrived, acres of land have been destroyed and many lives lost trying to drive them out but Caliban has proved he is determined to stay and rule Mossflower with an iron claw. The war council sent beasts in every direction to recruit willing volunteers. Its not just the coast, its all of Mossflower that is at risk now.

As you can imagine, Martin was quick to offer his assistance. Preparations were made to leave Redwall for the coast as soon as possible.

I only hope that we're not too late to stop them.

"I don't see any reason why I can't go." Trimp stood in the doorway of the Abbey armory, arms wrapped around herself against the chill. Even dressed in her thick habit, she shivered. The armory was below the main floor and it stayed cold down here, even more so now that it was winter.

Martin didn't look at her when he replied. "And I just told you. It's too dangerous." He was gathering pieces of leather armor for those volunteering to go with him.

The hogmaid rubbed her cold paws together to bring some warmth into them. "I've been in dangerous situations before. With you, I might add." Trimp argued, determined to persuade the stubborn warrior somehow. She'd been at it since supper the night before and all morning.

Martin stared severely at her over the pile of leather in his arms, his pale eyes piercing. "Trimp, this isn't some adventure or journey to go on. Beasts are dying."

"I know that," Trimp replied softly, feeling slightly guilty. "But I just want to help. I don't want to stay behind and constantly wonder if any of you will come back alive."

Martin's face softened and he sighed. "Well I'd feel better knowing you're here and safe."

Trimp wrinkled her nose in disappointment and huffed. "You're really hard to convince, Martin."

The warriormouse grinned teasingly. "Are you finally giving up? You've been on my tail about it since last night." He stepped around her in the doorway and started down the hall to the stairs. Trimp followed right behind him.

"It's not like I'm wanting to fight."

Martin rolled his eyes and stopped in the middle of the corridor, causing her to nearly run into him. He raised an eyebrow. "Trimp-

"I can help Sister Fern treat injuries and... and help with the cooking." She cut him off. "You said it yourself- they need all the help they can get."

Before Martin could reply, Gonff suddenly appeared beside them, having come from the stairwell. "Where's that armor, matey- OOF!"

Martin shoved the pile into Gonff's arms, almost knocking him over backwards, before turning back to Trimp, arms crossed. "Alright, Trimp, you win. If you promise to stay away from the fighting and follow orders, I'll let you go. But put a paw wrong and I'll send you home." He frowned, still not liking the arrangement. "And that's a promise."

The hogmaid grinned widely. "Oh thank you, Martin!" She embraced him, accidentally sticking him with her quills. He flinched as the sharp spines dug into his side. She leaned away quickly, biting her lip when Martin shot her a look. "Sorry." She reached over and pulled a quill out of him.

Martin rubbed the sore spot, still frowning worriedly. "I'm holding you to it, Trimp."

"Don't worry!" Trimp shouted over her shoulder as she ran to the stairs. "You'll be glad to have me!" She hurried up the stairwell to the main level, the sound of her foot paws on the steps echoed down the hall and then faded into silence.

Martin breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head. "I don't see why she wants to help so bad." He looked down, pulling another quill out of his side that Trimp had missed.

Gonff's voice sounded strained when he replied. "Uh... a little help from you would be nice."

Martin turned and took the heavy pile of armor from him.

Gonff dusted himself off and shot Martin a teasing grin. "Aw. Did she finally manage to melt that icy heart of yours?"

Martin narrowed his eyes. "If this Caliban is as dangerous as they say, I don't feel comfortable bringing her along."

"She's not a dibbun, Martin. She'll be fine. Here," He reached out his arms. "'I'll take this up so you can get the rest out of there."

Martin raised a brow. "You sure you got it this time?" He was trying hard not to smile.

Gonff huffed. "Of course, noble britches. I'm just as strong as you, now give me that armor or I'll stick one of her spines in ye again!"

Martin handed the leather over again, adjusting it so Gonff could walk up the stairs easier.

Gonff chuckled as he struggled down the hall with his burden. "You'll probably beat me to the top before I can even set a footpaw on 'em."

"I'll give you a headstart, Mousethief." Martin shot back, earning a sarcastic laugh from Gonff. "Harhar. That's funny, Warrior."

Martin watched him go, smiling to himself before turning around and going back into the small room again.

But his worries about the upcoming battle with Caliban's horde came flooding back into his mind.

Usually he wasn't this worked-up about a war but something about this one had him on edge. He had voiced his concerns to Gonff and Dinny the night before after most everybeast had gone to bed but both reassured him it was nothing they couldn't handle; they had dealt with villainous vermin before. Martin wished he could believe that himself but some instinct deep within him had him thinking otherwise.

Taking hold of a curved knife, he sat down on a wooden bench, leaning his back against the wall, turning the blade side to side, watching the reflected torchlight change needed a few moments to himself to think about all this. Trimp hadn't let him alone all morning and there was the preparations for the journey to the coast that had kept him busy.

He kept turning the knife blade mindlessly, completely absorbed in his thoughts.

He stared at his warped reflection in the blade.

It flickered.

Martin blinked and held the knife still, not sure if he imagined it or if it was the garish light of the torch. He waited to see if it would do it again.

A face appeared... but it wasn't his own. Startled, he dropped the knife like something had bit him and leaped to his feet. The blade hit the stone floor with a loud clatter.

"Martin?" Gonff's voice echoed from the hall. He appeared in the doorway, taking in the shocked expression on Martin's face. Martin turned his head and met his friend's concerned gaze. "Are you alright?" Gonff asked, perplexed by his friend's strange behavior. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Paws trembling, Martin bent down and picked up the knife. "I'm fine. Just... scared myself, I guess." He glanced down warily at the weapon in his shaking paw.

"Sure looks that way." Gonff replied dryly before clearing his throat. "Tungro's pacing a rut into the floor. He's ready to leave when you are."

Martin nodded, chastising himself for sitting down to think when they were limited on time; beasts were dying. "Right. Let's get the rest of this stuff upstairs."

Gonff didn't notice, but Martin left the knife behind in the armory, too disturbed by what he had seen in its blade to take it with them.

Later that evening

Western Coast, Mossflower

An eerie silence had settled over the dark forests near the sea, where earlier that day, the violent sounds of battle had echoed through the fire-scorched trees.

The stars above the dead, blackened branches shined dimly on a pair of woodlanders making their way through the ash-blackened snow. The one in the lead was a big gray squirrel, holding his bow aloft with a notched arrow, ready to send it flying into any vermin that crossed his path. His companion was a young water vole, his dark eyes darting back and forth nervously, clutching tightly to the hilt of his knife with both paws. Like many young creatures that volunteered to fight against the horde, he was very inexperienced with war and weapons.

The squirrel paused, scanning the scorched forest carefully, ears pricked for any unusual sounds. The vole stood beside him, trembling fitfully.

"Looks deserted to me." The frightened vole whispered to his companion.

The squirrel twitched his bushy tail. "That's what's got me worried."

The vole swallowed nervously. "I wish you wouldn't say that."

"Come on," the squirrel beckoned with a jerk of his head. "We got one last area to check before we meet up with the rest of the patrol." He continued walking, the snow crunching softly beneath his footpaws.

The vole took a deep breath and followed, wishing he hadn't so readily volunteered for a midnight watch of the main battleground.

The two woodlanders walked on, unaware that they were being watched very closely and had been for some time. Silent as shadows, the vermin patrol moved soundlessly and skillfully after them, weapons drawn and intent to kill.

The big squirrel paused just within the treeline, in full view of the sea. The dark waters lapped upon the shore, the sand having been churned up into mud by thousands of feet where most of the fighting had taken place.

The beach was quiet and deserted.

Still uneasy with how quiet it was, the squirrel sniffed the air but it was strong with the scents of salt and burnt wood, masking the weaker scents.

The vole shivered as an icy wind whipped through the trees. "Brr. I swear it's getting colder the longer we stay out here."

"Alright." The squirrel relented, relaxing his bowstring and taking another quick look around. "Let's find the others and we'll head back to camp."

Sighing with relief, the vole turned around but was struck through the neck by an arrow, dying instantly.

The big squirrel strung his bow, aiming it at the advancing vermin as they materialized from the shadows.

Even though he was greatly outnumbered, the squirrel shot his arrow into an approaching ferret before leaping into the nearest tree, taking advantage of their brief moment of surprise to get away. Unfortunately, he was struck through the footpaw as he leaped into the branches. He pulled the arrow out of his foot and jumped into the next tree.

"Git 'im, lads!" The squirrel heard a harsh voice say from below. "He won't git far wit' that bad foot!"

Despite his injury, the squirrel moved nimbly through the treetops, dodging their arrows and slingstones, inwardly cursing the vermin for burning what foliage had remained on the branches, as he had no cover to aid in an easy escape. He could have outsmarted them had there been leaves still on the branches. He took a quick glance below his feet and saw that they were keeping up with him quite well.

The next tree was a good distance away but he took the chance and leaped across, landing on a thin branch.

Brittle from the fire, it unexpectedly snapped under his weight and he plummeted to the ground, landing so hard on his back it knocked the breath out of him.

He lay sprawled in the snow gasping for air, watching warily as the vermin surrounded him, their bows strung and ready.

A wiry female weasel approached and confiscated the squirrel's fallen bow and quiver as harsh laughter echoed from the trees.

The squirrel sat up painfully as a huge, bearded, black-furred rat appeared from the darkness, a younger rat resembling him, following behind.

The bearded vermin was grinning from ear to ear, showing off a row of rotting teeth, twirling a sling in his paw. "Too bad that branch broke on ye." He spat on the ground. "We was havin' us a good chase, weren't we lads?"

There was a chorus of amused snickers.

The squirrel struggled to his feet, his bleeding foot staining the snow scarlet. He straightened himself and glared defiantly. "I'm surprised you were able to keep up with that big belly of yours, Caliban."

Caliban snorted in amusement. "You woodlanders." He shook his head. "Always using insults to mask how afraid you are." He drew his sword from its scabbard and stepped closer, poking the squirrel in the stomach with his sword tip, making him flinch and take a step back. "So tell me, what were you and that little pipsqueak up to?"

"You'll pay for his death, rat." The squirrel snapped back.

Caliban frowned, digging the sword harder into his belly. "Yer gonna answer me straight, bushtail. Or get this blade shoved through yer middle! Which do ye prefer?"

"Kill me then." The squirrel replied, still breathing raggedly from his hard fall. "I won't tell you anything."

Caliban clenched his jaw in anger but withdrew his weapon. "You're a stubborn fool."

"You're a fool for still being here."

The younger rat stepped forward to confront him, but Caliban stopped him with an outstretched arm. "Is that so?" He smiled. "I admire your courage to continue fighting, squirrel. Unfortunately, you woodlanders won't last much longer. There's only a pawful of ye that knows 'ow t'fight."

The squirrel narrowed his eyes. "We have reinforcements on their way. We'll see who lasts the longest."

This made Caliban laugh heartily. "Hahar! And I suppose ye have some mighty warrior to help ye win, eh?"

"Aye." The squirrel affirmed. "If he can bring down a wildcat, he can bring you down as well."

This statement wiped the smile from Caliban's face. For a few moments, he didn't speak until the squirrel's slight grin of triumph infuriated him. The big rat snorted doubtfully. "Brave words, squirrel. Too bad they're the last ones that you'll ever say."

He waved a paw and the vermin patrol released their deadly arrows.

Caliban watched grimly as the squirrel's lifeless body was dragged away, still stuck with arrows like needles in a pincushion. The younger rat stood beside him, shaking his head, wondering if the squirrel had been joking or not.

"Do ye think that was a bluff?"

Caliban crossed his arms. "Coulda been, Aynon." He replied thoughtfully. "Coulda been," he looked over at Aynon, eyes narrowed. "But jus' in case, I want ye to find out the name of this so-called wildcat killer."

"Sir?"

Caliban shot him a glare. "Ye heard me."

Aynon blinked in surprise. "You believe what the squirrel said?"

Caliban snarled, making Aynon swallow nervously. "I'll see what I can find out." He quickly added.

Caliban turned and followed his patrol through the woods, kicking clean snow over the streaks of blood from the squirrel's body. "We'll see if this mystery warrior exists. If these preybeasts think he can defeat me," he stopped walking and gave Aynon a sadistic smile. "They'll be in for a shock when I kill 'im myself."