Chapter 28
Distrust
Midnight, Day 2
The amount of time a beast can survive without food is dependent on factors such as age, muscle mass, overall health, and more. As such, it is difficult to determine when somebeast will become weak or die from starvation. However, the number of calories your body consumes varies depending on activity. Somebeast who sits comfortably needs less food than, let's say, somebeast running around an island trying to avoid getting murdered.
Toran Firepool went over what he knew about sustenance in his head, fidgeting with his tie as he wandered away from the camp. He couldn't sleep, so he might as well do something to help everyone. If it was any other day, he might not have gone away to search for food, but with a gang of well-fed guards on their tail, Toran made it a personal mission to find something to feed his group. The last time that Toran knew the prisoners last ate was back at the ship, a day or so ago. That wasn't anything bad by his standards, but what about the others? Durkfor Ventultro, Art Swiftpaw, and Midwyng Coeptigo looked fairly healthy, while Ahlrath Palaechia had a lot of muscle mass. Odds were that all three of them ate more than him.
Sure, when it came to the guards, Toran knew he'd be safe. Ahlrath will help me, the guards don't like Durkfor, Art looks like he knows what he's doing, and Midwyng is… well, he's kinda scary. But hunger still hurts, even if you're strong, Toran thought bitterly. He gazed up at the hazy moonlight above him, shivering as he pulled his cloak over his body. The only thing Toran could hear was the breeze rustling the leaves and his chains clinking behind him.
Toran frowned nervously from the silence. Back home, there were a lot of beasts. Too many, in fact. Toran just felt lucky that everyone respected his mother enough not to steal from his family… at least, while she was there. It was a different story when she was gone helping beasts somewhere else on the island. Even then, Toran could not have been more thankful for his family. A sad whimper escaped the young otter as he turned his attention to the woods around him. Mom? Dad? Are you sad I'm gone? I'm sorry. I hope you're okay.
Toran suddenly looked back towards the camp. Was Ahlrath awake? And if he was, did he realise Toran was missing? The young otter sighed nervously. He didn't want Ahlrath to worry, too. Toran wasn't even worried about getting attacked. He pulled the bag he obtained from the lake closer to his body and opened the flap. Moonlight glinted off of the steel dagger that he found inside. He didn't have a sheath or anything to cover it, so he just left it in the bag. Presumably, it was on the body that he took the bag from. Toran shivered as he thought back to the lake. He really hoped he wouldn't have to use the dagger.
Closing the bag, Toran let it fall to the side and continued walking. He scanned the eerie fog coiling around him, squinting as something stuck out in the night. It was a familiar smell, one that he recognised immediately.
Blood.
How did it get there? Was someone nearby? Toran held his breath as he focused on his surroundings. Try as he might, he couldn't hear anything, but Toran wasn't sure if that was a good thing. A spike of fear ran through his chest and his eyes grew wide. Was someone dead? Was it another prisoner? At the very least, someone was hurt, and he needed to check it out. Crouching lower to the ground than he already was, Toran snuck towards the smell. He stumbled in the dark a few times, and his collar clinked more than he was comfortable with, but he eventually got close enough to spot something on the grass.
Lying right there in the middle of the forest was a stoat. Toran clutched the sides of his cloak timidly as he crouched down. A set of chains extended from their neck, so Toran assumed it was a prisoner. On closer inspection, he saw a sturdy branch lying next to them, along with a pickaxe clutched tightly in their paw. Toran raised a brow as his gaze landed on a bloody, swollen mess of an ankle.
Toran's eyes grew wide. He recognised this beast immediately and backed away. It was the stoat who attacked them earlier, Bolgash Wolters. Toran's heart raced, expecting her to get up and attack. Nothing happened.
Toran stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. As his heart calmed, he took a closer look at the sleeping beast. Besides the pickaxe, she didn't have anything to steal. It made sense considering she tried to mug them earlier, but he always knew to check anyway.
Bolgash's eyes opened. She lashed out with her pickaxe, sweeping Toran with the handle and sending him to the grass. Bolgash latched onto his chains before Toran could stand. As weakened as she was, Toran was still an underweight child and was yanked back to the ground. "Hey again," Bolgash grinned as she reached for her cane and pushed herself up. Toran looked up just in time to see the blade heading towards his face. He threw himself backwards and felt a flash of pain as the pickaxe tore through his flesh.
Toran tumbled to the grass with a yelp, eyes wide with fear as Bolgash hooked the collar of his cloak with her pickaxe and pulled him closer. "Remember me? I promised I wouldn't let'cha get away after what ya pulled at the quarry."
The otter's heart pounded in his chest. Run. Ahlrath told me to run, but I can't run. What do I…?
"What? Are ya mute or somethin'?" Bolgash shrugged and tossed Toran to the ground, ready to strike him down with the pickaxe.
"I can get you food if you don't kill me!" Toran shrieked, holding a paw in front of his face while the other clutched his stomach.
Bolgash paused. A sardonic grin crossed her face as she lowered the weapon. Even though she wasn't that hungry, the idea of having a servant to do what she wanted sounded great. "Really? I shoulda guessed a riverdog like ya would know how ter find somethin'. Alright. Deal." Toran pulled away his paws, staring up at his attacker. "Here's what's gonna happen. The river's over there, and I've seen at least one fish swimmin' around. Yer gonna catch me one."
"Uh huh," Toran nodded quickly. The stoat reached down and grabbed Toran's chains. The otter grimaced as Bolgash yanked him up and began limping to the south. Immediately, Toran tried searching for a way out of this. Luckily, an idea came easily. It didn't take long for Toran to realise that Bolgash was frail. Sure, if he's caught by surprise, she might be dangerous, but right now, she was limping through the woods and stopping at times to cough violently. Her breath came out as a rasp and the way she winced every time she exhaled reminded Toran of some of the beasts back home. Well, if he ignored the numerous bite and slash marks dotting her body, but that wasn't the point. The important part was that Bolgash couldn't run.
Eventually, they reached the river. Toran's eyes narrowed as he scanned the dark blue water for anything to hunt. Even though Bolgash was threatening him, he still planned on catching something for his group. Toran mouthed the names of his friends, trying to calculate how much fish he needed to feed the four of them. Toran was fine with not eating, at least for now.
"Hey," Bolgash scolded, flicking the chain backwards. "C'mon, catch me somethin' already."
Toran glanced up at Bolgash with a blank stare. Let go of me, first, he thought spitefully. It took a few moments for Bolgash to understand, but she eventually released the chains. The small otter fixed the tie on his cape and walked towards the river, getting on all fours and slipping silently into the water. A sharp chill ran through his body and he couldn't help but flinch. I forgot how cold the water is here.
As Toran disappeared into the water, Bolgash let out a hiss and carefully sat on the riverbank. Her eyes scanned the river to ensure Toran couldn't see her before rolling up her left pant leg and examining the bite marks from earlier. Great. If the stab wound from that mouse wasn't bad enough, the bat's fangs ensured that she wouldn't be walking normally for a while. In fact, it was getting so bad that even Bolgash was concerned. Almost. Damned bat. I'll kill her. Speakin' o' killin', where did the riverdog go? I might starve here!
Bolgash turned away from her footpaw and looked at the river. Maybe it was because it was dark, but she couldn't see anything in the water. With nothing better to do, Bolgash grumbled and waited for Toran to surface. A few seconds passed. Those seconds turned to minutes. Bolgash growled and narrowed her eyes. How long does it take ter catch one fish? I guess that's what I get fer choosin' a tyke to help. Kid prolly doesn't even know what a fish is. I bet if I pointed ter one, he'd say, 'goo goo ga ga, that's a rock.'
Eventually, enough time had passed that Bolgash was starting to get suspicious. She grabbed her cane and pushed herself up, scanning the foliage surrounding her. A frustrated snarl escaped her, and she shut her eyes, opting instead to listen. For a few seconds, all she could hear was the rushing river behind her. But if she focused, she could discern something. Amidst the abnormally silent forest, she heard the sound of grunting followed by crackling undergrowth.
Toran grunted as he heaved himself backwards, pulling a large bass through the grass by its tail. His breath came in short pants, both from dragging the fish and the catch itself. All things considered; he was proud of himself. As it turned out, fishing was a lot easier when he had a knife and there weren't other beasts trying to steal his catches. But amidst the warm sense of accomplishment he felt, he was anxious. Would Bolgash notice that he had left? As he paused to rest, Toran placed his paws on his knees and gazed at the ground, hoping that the stoat wouldn't find him. Wow, that fish is heavy. I might've been too greedy. Sorry, mom.
Almost immediately, he heard a snarl. "Hey!" Bolgash yelled. Toran's eyes grew wide and he clenched the bass' tail.
Rule #1: if somebeast's looking for you. Hide. Don't move.
And Toran did just that. He dragged the bass along with him as he crouched in a clump of leaves at the base of a tree. Just then, his eyes spotted a flicker coming from the river. A shadow danced in the trunks, limping in his direction. Letting go of the fish, Toran clasped his paws over his mouth and held his breath.
Don't move, don't breathe. You've done this before.
Bolgash stumbled into view, clutching her cane with one paw and a pickaxe with the other. Toran couldn't help but shiver as the moonlight reflected off the metal in her paws.
… Wait…
Toran looked up. Bolgash's collar seemed to glimmer, too. Toran reached a trembling paw to his collar and grimaced.
"Where are ya hidin'? Huh?" Bolgash growled, twirling the pickaxe in her paw. The stoat's head turned almost mechanically as she searched for Toran. Her eyes landed on his neck. Toran kept his mouth shut.
"Well, there ya are," she said, stalking forward with her weapon.
I should've run. I should've run before she got here. I'm sorry, Ahlrath. I should've listened.
Toran looked up. Bolgash was right in front of her. Grinning, she raised the pickaxe. Toran screamed and dove to the side as she clumsily swung down. Taking advantage of her speed, Toran darted behind her. Bolgash tried to turn around, but with her numerous wounds, it was all for nought. Toran raised his fists and swung a hook into Bolgash's left ankle as hard as he could, eliciting a scream from the stoat as she fell to the ground. A harsh cry escaped her lips and Toran couldn't help but mutter an apology.
Nevertheless, he grabbed the fish and dragged it towards the camp, hoping Bolgash wouldn't find them come morning.
There was an upturned minecart by the entrance of the cave. She didn't know why it was there, but she wasn't complaining. All she needed to do was head inside and push it into place, and she had a safe shelter for the night. Of course, it was heavy and moving things was hard when one of her arms had a tear in it, but with the help of one other beast, she managed to secure a spot to rest.
Miena Dawnraft sighed, staring at that bag with what little light reached the mine. Just an hour earlier, it had belonged to Vhynias, who was now dead. Shot in the head with an arrow by…
Ulfrad Shorepass grunted as he stretched his arms. Miena stared at both the older otter's stern expression and the bow that lay in front of him. "So," Miena began, "Rough day, aye?"
Ulfrad gave a non-committal grunt in response. "Uh huh. We're back where we started."
"No, we aren't," Miena replied with a grin. She grabbed the bag that she got an hour earlier and poured its contents onto the floor.
Ulfrad turned towards the noise and sat on the ground. "What's inside? Ye haven't told me, yet."
"Let's see," Miena mumbled idly as she separated the items, "besides the file and bird call, we've got a buncha knives, more bird calls, and… What's this?" Curious, Miena picked up a leatherbound book and looked inside. The pages alternated between drawings and sketches of rafts, ships, boats, and the occasional messy shrew with journal entries. Miena raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount of detail put into the schematics to the point where it looked more like an instruction manual than anything else. A few pages in, she saw a rushed portrait of a familiar-looking shrew with the caption "me", while another page had a shrew labelled "Pinero". Miena flipped to the back where a set of shadowy figures filled the page. Miena shook her head and went back to the journal logs.
An odd sense of recognition crept up her spine as she read a few of the entries and realised why the two shrews looked familiar. "Huh. I knew the fox must've gotten these from the ship, but I didn't realise these belonged to the prisoners. I think this is from those dead shrews. Eugh. Infuriating to think they still have our stuff, huh?"
"What's inside?" Ulfrad asked, ignoring the last part.
"Drawings of rafts and boats, journal entries, other stuff. Hey, by the way, don't some of the shrews in these drawings look fa-?"
"Rafts, ye say?" The older otter sat up, turning to where he thought the journal was. "Anything we can use to leave this place?"
Miena shrugged and skimmed the pages. "Some of these look way too complicated. A few look pretty easy, though… Wait a minute, ain't I got something? Ulfrad, please hand me my bag." Ulfrad nodded and pulled Miena's bag off his shoulder, passing it to the ottermaid. Miena brought out the wooden map and held it up to the moonlight, squinting as she scanned the edge of the slab.
"We're on an island, and there used to be a whole castle and town here. I'm willing to bet there's a port or a dock or someplace used fer trade. Just gotta look… here!" Miena exclaimed, pointing to a cross etched into the north side of the island.
"What do ye see?" Ulfrad asked, slightly annoyed at the order to look.
Miena chuckled apologetically and placed the map back in her bag. "There's an X on the northern shoreline. We should sleep and head there come morning."
Ulfrad nodded. "Good idea. At least 'tis something instead of sitting 'round a temple waiting fer death."
"I guess," said Miena, her smile faltering a bit. "Say, speaking of what happened at the temple, should we go gather help as well? Maybe find any survivors from the attack?"
"Why are ye asking me?" Ulfrad scoffed. "Yer the Skipper."
Miena chuckled awkwardly. "Aye, I am." Not a very good one, though. Tornear and Bolgash were a bust, and I couldn't stop Vhynias from goin' to the ship… then again, are those even my fault? Ulfrad's kinda right. "But I wanted to ask yer opinion, too."
"Hm. Alright. Well, the way I look at it, our options for allies are rather limited. From what I remember, we have a child, a mountain hare, a vole, vermin, a bat, and everyone from Redwall Abbey. Out of all of those, I can only see the bat, the mountain hare, and maybe Durkfor being useful. Still, we have a lot of weapons fer the two of us, so it wouldn't hurt to pass it around a bit if we find allies."
Miena furrowed her brows. What do ye mean our options are limited…? Oh, ye don't mean… "Ye want to turn down anyone that can't help us?"
Ulfrad folded his arms across his chest. "Aye."
"Why?"
"Don't ye remember what happened at the temple? That damned fox wanted us to sit still and wait while he looked fer his subordinates. If we have too much dead weight, stuff like that's going to slow us down. We can't afford to waste time here."
Miena sighed and rested her chin on her arm. "So what? Aye, I'm not keen on working wit' the vermin anymore either, but saying everyone else is dead weight is wrong. Besides, what does it matter? Useless or not, we still have to try to help everybeast… that isn't trying to kill us, that is."
"What matters is that we're being hunted, Miena. As much as I wish for everyone to survive, that can't happen."
Miena drummed her paw against the stone, gazing blankly at the knives she laid on the ground. Do ye wish that, now? I don't mind, but just at least be honest. She thought to herself.
"And do ye know who's dead at this point?" Ulfrad continued. "Those two shrews, three vermin, presumably someone else if the scream I heard earlier was any indication, and… Noruth, too. We need to make sure that we don't end up like them."
"So, yer saying that out of every single prisoner still alive, we should only work with three of them."
"Well, when ye put it like that," Ulfrad grumbled and lay on the ground, "look, what I'm saying is that we should be more careful, so we don't have a repeat of what happened at the temple."
"Uh-huh."
"Just trust me, Miena," Ulfrad said as he shut his eyes, "this is what's best fer us."
The ottermaid didn't reply anymore and instead shoved the knives, bird calls, and journal back in the bag. As she reached for the file, she paused. Vhynias' face flashed into her mind as she slowly picked it up. It almost felt like something was weighing on her back as she stared at it.
"Do you want me to be blunt, otter? You're right. I don't care about any of ya. Y'all could die for all I care. I will burn this entire goddamn island to ash to keep them alive!"
A shiver ran down Miena's spine as she recalled those words. Was the fox being serious? Did he really care about them that much? Did they care about him in return? Of course, they undoubtedly acted like it. Tornear acted very conflicted at the castle and Vhynias threatened to kill them. But did they genuinely feel that way deep down? Miena shook her head. Why was she getting so caught up in this? None of it mattered right now. The vermins' relationships didn't matter because they weren't here, and Vhynias' death didn't matter because it never did. Beasts died every day, whether they were vermin or not. Otters, mice, squirrels, badgers… shrews, moles, foxes, it was all the same. There was nothing she could do about it, so there wasn't any point in getting too sad about it.
So why was she still thinking about Vhynias?
Miena growled as she lay down. There's no point thinking about it now. Vhynias is dead. We're alive. 'Tis a shame what happened to him, but Ulfrad is mostly right. We just need to get out of here.
Apologies can wait until we're back home. For now, we'll do whatever it takes.
