Chapter 29
Reminders of a Distant Past
Both the hares were asleep, that stupid otter was walking around who-knows-where, and Art Swiftpaw had left to be alone like a sad child. The only other beast at the camp who was still awake was Midwyng Coeptigo. The bat lay slumped against a tree, staring up at the night sky. They couldn't stop looking at it, and despite the situation they were in, Midwyng couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. No, that wasn't right. It was more like they felt content because of what was going on. Midwyng reached a claw up at the moon. It felt like they could reach up and touch the stars. They wondered what the night sky was like normally since Art had said it wasn't usually this cloudy. They didn't know what that meant, but presumably, it meant this view could get even better than it already was. Midwyng wanted nothing more than to soar up and engulf themselves in the myriad of stars, something they couldn't do without their wing brace. But with everything going on, Midwyng honestly didn't care. Almost. Still, it would've been nice to be able to fly again before they died.
Oh, right, Midwyng was going to die. They knew it. It may happen in a few hours or a few days, but there was no avoiding it, and for the most part, they didn't care. Even if they ignored the obvious problems of not being able to move quickly without someone else's help and intentionally annoying everyone they came across, Midwyng wasn't sure if they'd want to leave anyway. They definitely didn't want to go back home (not like they could, anyway), and while going back with Art to Redwall sounded nice in concept, something in the back of their mind sent a deep stab of guilt in their chest every time they thought about it.
Midwing scoffed and slouched against their arm. Whatever. It's not like anybeast'd want me around, anyway. Art's just stupid. Either that, or he's just using me. Speaking of which, where is he?
The bat looked up to find a dark shape huddled on the branches. Midwyng shrugged and sunk their claws into the bark, hoisting themselves higher and higher towards the stars.
In comparison to the bat, who was having a good time, there was Art, sitting on the treetops and staring at the ground. The squirrel noticed Midwyng climbing and grumbled, "why are you here?"
"What, what, what? Oh, I'm so sorry, are you the only one allowed up here, here, here?" Midwyng pulled himself onto the branch with a grunt, sitting right next to Art. "Anyway, look at you, acting all edgy and alone again, again, again."
"Is everyone asleep?" Art asked, ignoring Midwyng's statement.
"The kid's gone, and the other two are dead as a rock, rock, rock."
Art stiffened momentarily before he realised Midwyng was joking about the hares being dead. Still, there was another concern. "Toran's gone? I didn't notice."
Midwyng grinned. "Wow, you're really out of it, it, it. Maybe you're the dead one, one, one."
Art glared at the bat, unamused. "Shut up. I'll push you off this bloody tree."
Like usual, Midwyng simply snickered and stared up at the moon as if nothing was happening. Art scowled and growled anxiously. "That puts a dent in things. Should we wait until Toran comes back and goes to sleep- hey, wait a minute, why in hellgates did you let him leave in the first place? You were supposed to be watching him! That's why you were down there!"
Midwyng shrugged. "For your information, I was watching him, him, him." A few minutes before Toran decided to leave. The otter asked Midwyng for permission to look for food. Instead of saying no, Midwyng proceeded to taunt him until Toran tried to pet them again. After that, they didn't speak to him until he decided to leave anyway. "What? Is that a bad thing, thing, thing?"
"What do you think? You let a child wander alone into the woods. Need I remind you that other beasts want their friends to be alive? Ahlrath will probably murder us."
"Dear lord, what's up your tail, tail, tail? He'll be fine, unless he isn't, isn't, isn't. Then he'd be dead. He's probably still alive, though, though, though."
"Midwyng, screw with me one more time and I'm pushing you off of this damned tree," Art snapped, glaring at the bat.
"Oh no, don't kill me, me, me." Midwyng said with a chuckle. The bat waited for Art to react, but the squirrel simply continued glaring at him. Midwyng's smile faded. They tilted their head as they tried to read the squirrel's expression. "Are we doing the plan, soon, soon, soon?"
"I don't know, stop asking me," the squirrel hissed, "Dear Martin, what the hell are we doing? I swear I'm going to murder everyone in that damn ship, the hell are they making us do this for? I don't want to do this, I want to scream, I want to throw myself off this tree. This entire thing is stupid, what the hell are we going to do-"
Art was cut off as Midwyng punched him in the stomach. The squirrel wheezed and doubled over, nearly falling off the tree and breaking his neck. All the while, Midwyng watched with a smirk. Art eventually recovered and glared up with his teeth bared. "The hell was that for?"
"Hey, you gave me an excuse to punch you, so I took it, it, it."
"What?"
Midwyng grinned wryly. "Calmed down yet, yet, yet?" Although they expected Art to reply with something angry, he instead stayed silent with an indiscernible look on his face. Midwyng scoffed and folded their wings across their body. "What, what, what? You're no fun, fun, fun."
"You punched me in the stomach."
"And you held a weapon to my neck, neck, neck."
"That was after you tried to bite my neck. Shut up."
Midwyng laughed. "No, I didn't, didn't, didn't."
A growl rumbled in Art's throat, and he looked down at the ground. "What's wrong with us?"
"Which of the many problems are you talking about specifically?" Midwyng asked dryly.
Art rested his chin on his paw. "Shut up. It's just… I mean, what did we even do? We suck. I'm awful and then you're just… I don't even know how to describe what in hellgates you are, but it's not great."
"I love pointing out the obvious, obvious, obvious. Where are you going with this?" Midwyng asked, adding some irritation in their voice. "Look, what does this have to do with the…" Midwyng peered at the sleeping hares below, lowering their voice as they continued. "What are we doing, doing, doing?"
Art grimaced, tapping the sickle blade against the branch. "Do you think this plan is a good one?"
Midwyng growled. "This again, again, again? Oh, it's a terrible plan and you should throw yourself off the tree for thinking about it, it, it."
"I'm being serious."
"And I'm saying that you'll never get any of this done if you keep second-guessing yourself, self, self. Just do the thing already so whatever happens next, happens, happens, happens. I don't care if it'll be good or bad, but it's better than nothing."
"One of us might die, though, maybe both," Art whimpered, "there might not be a 'whatever happens next'."
Midwyng narrowed their eyes. A growl rumbled deep in their throat as they leaned in closer, staring dead into Art's eyes. "And? You know, I don't believe for a second that you're concerned about yourself, self, self. From everything you've told me before, you seem more concerned with honouring your friend's memory than anything else, else, else. Even besides that, you keep telling me that you care if I die. Well, guess what? I don't. We're going to be fine if we just stop worrying and do the plan, plan, plan."
Art shivered, clutching the sickle tightly in his paws. "Please tell me again that you're fine with this."
"How many times do I have to tell you-"
"Yeah, I know… I feel sick."
Midwyng rolled their eyes. "Yes, I am fine with this plan, plan, plan. I'll say it again if it makes you feel better, better, better." Squirrel, Art, come on. I don't have anybeast that would care if I die. I don't have anybeast's memory to preserve. I don't have anyone rooting for me. I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Just, please go through with this. I don't know why you trust me, but…
Art muttered to themselves for a bit before looking back up. "You know what? Let's just start before I hesitate again. We should be fine even with Toran gone, anyway." Art tucked the sickle back in his habit cord and motioned for Midwyng to climb down.
Midwyng sighed, their expression easing into a subtle grin. They latched onto the bark and began to descend when they paused. Their smile faded quickly as they looked in Art's direction. "Hey, squirrel, you're not going to get mad if I ask you something serious, right, right, right?"
Art rubbed the back of his neck. "I won't. What is it?"
Midwyng hesitated before shrugging casually. "I dunno, you're a moron for picking me to help when there are two other beasts that can, can, can. What's wrong with you, you, you?"
Art stared at Midwyng. He didn't answer. He looked away, gazing down at the ground. "Can we just climb down already?"
Midwyng laughed. Their suspicions were confirmed. "I'm serious about that question. Why, why, why? I won't move until you tell me, me, me."
"Well… Because I trust you more than the others. I don't think any of them would help me with this, and I've spent most of yesterday with you," Art replied. For some reason they couldn't explain, Midwyng dipped their head in disappointment. Art sighed. "For what it's worth, I really hope you get out of this alive."
Midwyng hesitated. A scowl formed on their face as they scanned Art's face. They couldn't see anything. They weren't good at reading others, anyway. After a while, they gave a reluctant nod. "Same goes for you, you, you," they admitted under their breath.
The two prisoners silently climbed down the tree, landing on the ground next to Durkfor and Ahlrath. Midwyng looked at the sky. They couldn't see the moon as well from here. Art grimaced, quivering as he looked at the sleeping hares. He then turned to Midwyng. The bat nodded.
It was time to begin…
Vhynias was always right.
That was the motto that she lived by for most of her life, but now that he was gone, what was she supposed to do? If it wasn't Vhynias leading her, it was Tornear. If it wasn't Tornear, it was Captain Vulcan. If it wasn't any of those three, it was usually someone else. There was always someone to tell her what to do and guide her to make sure she didn't self-destruct. Even if they didn't always have her best interests in mind, at least she wouldn't be alone.
Unlike a few other beasts she knew, she didn't believe in fate, divination, higher beings, fortune telling, or anything like that. If they did exist, there would be no way her life would've ended up like this. But if anything, it terrified her knowing there wasn't some divine, kind spirit watching over her. She was alone. For all the world would care, she could die and everything would keep going.
Lord knows the world kept going when all her friends died, anyway.
Gurnilal Speareye grumbled as she kneaded her paws together, gazing out the window of the abandoned shack. A rat's body lay by the back entrance, exactly where it was left yesterday.
If you had asked her yesterday, Gurnilal would say that she didn't feel all that bad about bringing a cutlass to the guards. They were trying to kill her and her friends, and while she couldn't help but wonder how many of them wanted to do this, sometimes beasts try to hurt you and you need to defend yourself. It sucked, but that's just how it was ever since she was born, so there wasn't any use complaining, right?
But now, Gurnilal felt disgusted with herself. She looked at the rat, and she didn't see a nameless guard, she saw Crookedfang. Who knows if he was safe? They separated at the temple. So did Vhynias. And Tornear. And Bolgash. All of them were gone.
For the first time in a while, Gurnilal wasn't near any of her friends, and she wanted to scream. Who knows if they were even okay? Vhynias never came back with news about Tornear or Bolgash. Was he still inside the ship? Did he get lost along the way? What if he came back to the temple only to find it abandoned?
But, no, she shouldn't be so scared, right? She wasn't alone. Suck it up and start acting like an adult. Gurnilal slowly turned to the other prisoner in the shack with her. Rianne Wurtil sat against the wall, cradling her wrist. The hogmaid seemed even smaller than usual in the dark. Gurnilal pulled herself away from the window and sat on the ground. "Are ya alright?"
Rianne scowled, glaring up at the weasel. "What do you think? My paw hurts and it's starting to swell. I think it's broken."
Gurnilal grimaced as she stared at her wrist. It didn't take a genius to know something was wrong with it, but she didn't know what to say that would make Rianne feel better. Spouting off platitudes right now wouldn't help anyone and would probably just anger the hogmaid.
"We need to come up with an idea," Rianne grumbled. "Some kind of plan of action so we aren't dead in the water."
"Sorry," Gurnilal replied.
Rianne groaned and buried her face in her uninjured paw. "Right. Don't apologise. So, do you have any ideas?"
Gurnilal looked up. "Me?"
"Who else would I be talking to?" She snapped. "I've never been hunted before, I don't know what to do here."
Gurnilal couldn't help but raise a brow at the statement but otherwise didn't complain. Indeed, she had been hunted before, but most of the time, the easy solution was just to run. It wasn't that difficult given she didn't have a permanent home, but running wasn't possible when you were surrounded by water. "I dunno," she finally answered. "What about ya?"
Rianne frowned. "I don't- come on. I don't know."
Gurnial dipped her head solemnly. What would Vhynias do in this scenario? Find Crookedfang? Figure out what happened to Tornear and Bolgash? Of course, she had a few ideas of her own, but she didn't want to force Rianne to do anything. I don't wanna be responsible if somethin' happens, she thought. Besides, Vhynias' priority was to make sure everyone stuck together and if that wasn't possible, stay safe.
The weasel opened her mouth to speak and immediately shut it. No, she wasn't a leader. She shouldn't be the one dictating what Rianne did. She didn't want any blood on her paws.
"Well, someone needs to think of something," Rianne grumbled, "we can't just sit here and do nothing."
"Ya keep askin', but d'ya got any ideas yerself?" Gurnilal challenged, tilting her head towards the hogmaid.
Rianne scoffed. "I already said no, what do you want from me?"
"Well…" Gurnilal scratched her head. "I dunno. Sorry. Um, here's an idea. How 'bout we just find Crooked, Vhyn, or Bolgash come sunrise? If ya want. Ya don' gotta."
To put it bluntly, Gurnilal wasn't expecting Rianne to agree, but she didn't expect the hogmaid to get angry. "What? No, don't do that. Crookedfang, maybe, but I am not going with the other two again."
"Why?" Gurnilal scowled. "What's wrong wit' 'em?"
"They're-" Rianne paused, glancing back and forth between the window and the weasel. "Come on. I just don't like either of them. They scare me. You've got to admit that Bolgash coming in with Thaddeus' vest isn't suspicious, or Vhynias aiming a sword at the otters wasn't awful."
Gurnilal sighed. "Who do ya suggest, then? Who do ya trust?"
Rianne suddenly grimaced. Her gaze drifted to the floor as she shrunk back into herself. "I don't know. Crookedfang, Kallius and Art, maybe. That's a huge maybe, though. I'd pick Noruth, too, but…"
Gurnilal was taken aback. Wouldn't them abbey beasts be a lot more trustworthy? "Whaddya mean? Don'tcha like 'em?"
Rianne rolled her eyes. She probably would've slammed the floor with her paws if her wrist wasn't broken. "No. Is that what you want me to say? I don't. Maybe I'm just being difficult but I don't trust any of them, at all."
Gurnilal's expression softened, but at the same time, this made things more complicated. "In that case, d'ya agree we should search fer help in d'mornin'?"
"I guess."
"Wanna just figure it out as we go?"
"Fine. At least that's something."
"Great, we've got a plan," Gurnilal said with a smile. If Vhyn was here, he'd prolly say this was a no-brainer, but he's not here. We've gotta do this.
"Hey, Gurnilal, was it?" Rianne mumbled, keeping her gaze trained on the floor. "I'm also a jerk and probably will be tomorrow. Sorry."
Gurnilal shook her head. "Yer good. Shud we get some sleep?"
"Sure."
"Aye, see ya tomorrow, then."
Rianne gave her a weak nod, but by the way she gingerly clutched her paw, Gurnilal could tell she wouldn't be sleeping for a while. Gurnilal couldn't help but look at her own wounds. There was a slice in her arm and a flesh wound in her leg. She had wrapped both using a spare tunic. Guess ya just get used to it, she mused. The weasel headed to the other side of the shack and lay down.
Hopefully, they would find some of the other prisoners, both for her sake and theirs. They needed to help each other.
That's what Gurnilal thought, anyway.
As Rianne sat on the floor nursing her arm, she narrowed her eyes at the weasel. Sure, right now, Gurnilal could be trusted. Logically speaking, there was no use in Gurnilal hurting her. It was the middle of the night, neither of them had supplies, and both of them were injured. It was a different story when chaos struck, however.
Yeah, let's go find your friends and I'm going to be the one left behind when stuff goes down. Great idea.
But then, Gurnilal's question echoed in her mind. "Who do ya suggest, then? Who do ya trust?"
I don't know, what do you want from me? Rianne thought as she moved away from the windows. Kallius is nice, but she always took Thaddeus and Farshawn's side even when they were acting like jerks. She never helped me. Durkfor's with Borsen, I don't trust those otters, and Art's just… he's a good kid, and I think he's the one I'm closest with out of all the abbeydwellers here, but he scares me sometimes. Is it even right for me to think about them like this? They might be hurt, right now.
Rianne groaned anxiously. At least there was always that one caveat when it came to the prisoners. You don't hurt the beast giving you medical aid… But what if she didn't have the supplies she had back home? Beyond basic stuff like "don't move that limb", "don't pull out that knife", or "keep that wound clean", there wasn't much she could do. The more experienced prisoners may have basic medical knowledge too, so was there really any difference between her and them in a situation like this? What did she even bring to the table?
No one hurts the healers. Just got to keep telling yourself that. The guards are hunting us all down anyway, I don't think they care who they get first. What does it matter if I can't do my job as well, anyway? The perception of a knowledgeable healer is better than a useless one. Maybe that's better if the prisoners consider leaving me for dead.
Rianne shook her head. Wait, why the hell are you thinking like this? Your job is just to help beasts, medical supplies or not. Just keep trying. That's what you're supposed to do. Even if you get nothing in return.
She stood up and padded wearily towards the back door, opening it and gazing at the rat's body. A puddle of dry blood caked the rat's neck and face, soaking into the dirt below. Rianne shivered and turned to the sleeping weasel. She took a deep breath, moved to her spot away from the windows, and sat down. Whoever we find tomorrow better know what they're doing because we clearly don't.
He woke underneath the shadows of a birch tree, blinking rapidly as the early morning rays lit up his face. The air buzzed with tension, and he wasn't sure if he should bring up what he saw last night. Everything ended up fine anyway, so would talking about it bring unnecessary conflict?
No, it wouldn't, he told himself. Borsen wouldn't argue with ya, anyway. He doesn't talk much.
Durkfor woke up from the makeshift campsite Borsen made last night to a crackling sound. His nose twitched as the aroma of food wafted over to him. He sat up with his stomach rumbling. Borsen squatted by a campfire with bloodshot eyes a few meters away, poking the tinder absentmindedly with a stick. Putting on a faux smile, Durkfor greeted the otter. "Hey bud, how was yore night?"
Borsen cast a glance towards the hare. "Good," the otter mumbled. Durkfor tilted his head. He hardly noticed it, but it was the first time Durkfor had seen him grimace. Borsen turned back to the fire. "what about ye?"
Durkfor froze, leaning back in surprise. Borsen's voice was so soft that he wasn't sure if he spoke at all. "Me? Good. Why are ya askin'?"
The otter sighed. "Don't know."
"Oh. Well, thanks for askin'." Durkfor rubbed the back of his neck. Normally, he'd be chatting Borsen's ears off, but he couldn't shake what he saw last night. That combined with the generally stoic otter meant they sat in silence as Borsen reached for a knife.
Durkfor eyed the blade as Borsen picked up a fish next to him and placed the knife against the skin. "Scales, aye or nay?"
"No thanks," Durkfor answered. His eyes stayed glued to the blade as the knife tore away the scales covering the fish's body. Borsen ran the knife down their meal over and over, flaying with careful, measured strokes.
"Hey," the hare began, "ya didn't have to catch us fish for breakfast. Ya said that we're just campin' fore a night. Not that I'm complainin', this is sweet, but I feel kinda bad havin' ya do this."
Borsen didn't have a response. He picked up a skewer and slammed it through the fish's mouth, holding the catch over the fire.
"How long were ya up carvin' those?" Durkfor hadn't seen the skewers yesterday, so he must've made them during the night. Did Borsen really make those? The otter didn't use utensils that often, so that must've been for him, but when did he ever do something this thoughtful?
"Couldn't sleep," Borsen answered, staring listlessly into the flames.
"Hm."
Eventually, Borsen was done cooking and sheepishly placed the skewer on the ground next to Durkfor. The hare picked it up with an awkward chuckle and bit into it. Meanwhile, Borsen grabbed another fish and tore into it raw. Although the pair sat in silence, Durkfor's mind was racing. Why was Borsen being so nice to him? More importantly, if he was up all night, did he see the same thing?
While he was pondering, Borsen was watching him like a hawk. Durkfor looked up and grinned. "What is it?"
Borsen growled and rested his head on his free paw. "Don't know." He stared silently at the fish for a moment. "Do ye trust me?"
The question came so out of the blue that Durkfor grew a bit nervous. "Of course, I do," he eventually answered. "You've been nothin' but nice to me."
Borsen simply stared.
Durkfor began to laugh. "Hey, c'mon? What is it? Ya don't gotta be so embarrassed. We're friends, aren't we? We trust each other, right?"
Borsen continued to stare. Durkfor chuckled and scooted closer to his friend. "I do, at least." Durkfor continued to talk, but his gaze would drift to that knife.
Something happened last night.
"Do ye really?" Borsen muttered.
Last night, Durkfor couldn't sleep. Borsen couldn't either, apparently.
"Without a doubt," Durkfor nodded.
Last night…
… Durkfor opened his eyes. A figure stood over him.
A moment later, there was a blade pressed against his throat. He was too scared to scream but lost the opportunity anyway when a paw covered his mouth.
There were hushed whispers above him. Then, he was dragged off into the night.
