Redwall: New Bloom

[Balvayne]

Hello, everyone. So, for starters, it's been awhile since I've wrote any Redwall fanfiction, but I figure it would be good practice as a writer and is always enjoyable. Essentially, I'm taking the basic premise I used for Everwinter Blades (Redwall has fallen), and rebooting it. This time, I plan on finishing it. Comments, questions, all welcomed. Also, errors will probably be throughout; have to love drafts, eh? Also, I created a feedback area if you do not want to submit the feedback here. Works either way for me.

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ACT I: Kindle the Flame

Prologue

A mountain peak poked into the cloudy depths of the night. It fought to be seen, stretched to its very tip to keep memories alive, but the moon would not listen, eclipsed by the clouds, its light barely breaking past them as it strived to spread its own hope and luminance to the crashing waves below. Touched by waves and war, the shore leading to the mountain had become smaller over the years. Stones marking the graves of thousands of fallen soldiers had been displaced.  Buried, too, was the mountain's glory, covered by time. The fallen's numbers still mattered though, for Salamandastron was a graveyard. The lives that replaced its beating, fiery heart were as long gone as the volcano, its halls and righteous name pillaged. It was said that one could still hear the whispers of the dead on the chilling winds. All that was heard this night was the company of strangers.

A wiry vermillion furred fox with streaks of grey weathered as the shore itself walked the long beach toward the base of the mountain, scarf dancing in the wind. He displayed a frown on his grizzled muzzle. At his side, a curved sword, a kopis, rested, his gloved paw attached to it by his firm grip. With his free paw he buttoned his coat.

"Vesere," he said under his breath, his amber eyes locked on a figure leaning against a rock, smoking a pipe. A heavy cloaked enveloped the stoat's bloated form. As Uri approached, he recognized how old the beast was, his greys not from stress and war, but battles with time. Uri eyed the rising smoke before resting his gaze on Vesere. "This is an eerie place, why here?"

"Because," the stoat said baring toothless gums in a wise smile, "this is where the Dunmoon family refuses to lay their ear. It is good to see you, Uri Dougal."

"I wish I could say the same." Uri's tail flicked to the side. "I've risked a lot to come here; it better be worth it."

"It will be. More than you know," Vesere said, shaking as he pushed his weight from the rock. He approached Uri, seizing the fox up. "You're thinner, smaller than the Lord said. Still, he spoke fondly of you"

"Food is scarce for those on the fringes of the kingdom. King Dunmoon's beasts drain the land from the outside in."

"You look weary, too."

"Says the stone to the boulder." Uri scratched his nose with his claw. "I can always leave."

"No, no." Vesere chuckled. "You'll do, I think. You'll do."

Uri nodded. "So, what am I doing here?"

Vesere glanced to the mountain and heaved a sigh. "We vermin were never meant to take these lands—"

"I don't care for any goodbeast sentimentality. We suffer, too." Uri looked to Vesere. "Just tell me where to go."

Vesere eyed Uri carefully, his eyes nearly slits as he strained with furrowed brows to see the fox clearly. He dipped his head in thought.

"A seer not far to the east, one who holds allegiance to Lord Ashfang has had dreams. He speaks of a mousemaid, one who will bring Redwall to new keepers. She lives deeper within Mossflower, far closer to Redwall than Ashfang's loyalists can reach. The seer could not discover the precise village, but she's there. Somewhere."

A silence settled between the pair. Uri crossed his arms. He raised a brow in interest. "And you want her killed? I'm sure Dunmoon would do it himself provided the knowledge—if he finds her."

"'Gates, no. The Lord wishes to know more about her. She could prove useful against Dunmoon." Vesere tapped his own head with a single claw. "Got t'think a little, Uri. Suppose your years at home have dried your mind a bit. As for finding her, force tells a lot. The seer also says she bears the mark of summer on her arm."

Uri laughed at the absurdity of it before entertaining the idea. "Then where do I fit in? Why not send one of Ashfang's beasts? I'm a storyteller now. Nothing more. My days with a blade are gone."

The waves continued to beat the land, each crashing wave falling to be replaced by another. Unable to fight any longer, the moon was overwhelmed by the gathering clouds, leaving the sea to writhe on its own. Uri knelt down, picked up a stray pebble and tossed it to the sea. He picked up another, tested its weight, and looked to the elderly beast.

"Well?"

Vesere smiled and looked to the blade at Uri's side curiously before meeting the fox's gaze. "Some pawns are worth more than others, Uri. A beast with both wit and blade can slay its enemies before falling, but when it makes its enemies its friends, it will slay all."

[Balvayne]

Chapter 1

In the southern flatlands just beneath Redwall rested a destitute village with no more than forty beasts in it, most of them, families. They were the sun for each other when there was no light, land when there was nothing but water to drown them.

A pretty young field mouse sat in the plains at the edge of the village. Dawn broke the horizon and Willow gave a smile. Spring's lively breath revitalized Mossflower, brought strength to its trees that waned and cried like creaking bones. Willow felt the grass beneath her paws and clenched a handful of dirt. She let it fall back to the earth bit-by-bit before lowering her head in solitude. Softly, she sang:

"The light of day, let's praise its song.

In one fine spring at the break of dawn,
we shall hear our fertile lands yawn,
the anchors of night gone for long;
the light of day, let's praise its song..."

She halted the song as quickly as she begun, her ears raised as pawsteps led a a beast toward her. She spun her head. Willow smiled brightly. "Arthur. Never quiet with those paws, are ya?"

The auburn squirrel laughed heartily. It was only seasons ago that they were boasting that they were no longer dibbuns. Beasts could hear him approach for miles, Willow would tease.

"Never was, never will be," he said with a wink as he plopped next to her. "'least my father says they're the steps of a warrior, eh?"

"Oh?" Willow mused. "My, I apologize, warrior." She chuckled with Arthur as the pair scooted closer to one another. Willow rested her head on the tall squirrel's shoulder and glanced up at him. "So, what brings you out? Thought you'd be resting after the work you had to do for the soldiers."

Arthur grinned at his friend and lightly shrugged. "Couldn't sleep all night. 'sides, figured you'd be out here as usual, singin' 'bout the dawn, instead of waiting for the meeting."

"Not going hungry are you?" Willow lifted her head. Arthur's build should have left him thick as a trunk, not skinny as a twig. It was odd the way his tail overpowered his form. "Please tell me you're not giving your rations to your sisters again. I'll have to start giving mine to you then."

"No, no, I'm eating," said Arthur. He crossed his paws in front of him and peered to the north, looking beyond the trees in the distance. "Been thinking a lot about your dreams."

"Arthur, they were just dreams. Nothing more." Willow rose to her paws and brushed off her tunic.

"No, they have purpose," Arthur said as he stood up. "You come out here to sing, to find peace. Dreams of war shouldn't be yours. It's an omen."

"Since when do you believe in those?"

"Since my grandmum. Come, let's head back to the village. We'll talk on our way back," the squirrel proposed as they interlocked arms. "As silly a question as asking why you sing."

Willow nodded. She sang because it was what her mother did for Willow's father when he had left for battle in the North on behalf of King Dunmoon. The wolves refused to let their fortress of Redwall fall, and in belief that leaving or limiting their defenses would do so, constantly sent goodbeasts to fight alongside vermin aligned with the family. Anything was better than their most loyal and closest soldiers. They would win in a war of attrition, win by numbers. Willow's father was sent the same season that a rogue rat by the name of Tymur Ashfang rose in rebellion in the east. The rebellion succeeded, and with it, Ashfang began to secure various outposts and villages throughout Mossflower, primarily in the east, far south, and then towards the west, the legendary grave of Salamandastron, giving him three fronts should he ever choose to fight Dunmoon again. Instead, the two vermin rulers lived in bitter peace, Dunmoon holding Redwall and land closer to it, Ashfang's own spoils further out. Thankfully, Willow's father had returned. The singing did little, but it gave Willow's mother hope.

If only it was his last journey.

Willow's father had disappeared on a mysterious task with Dunmoon soldiers three seasons ago. Since then, she sang in her grief-struck mother's stead. She looked to Arthur cautiously. "So, if it is an omen, what does it mean?"

"War, obviously, but there's more. You said you see a mouse, yes?"

"Sometimes." Willow glanced back at the field they were leaving behind. "He reminds me of father. Strong. A brave face, one that has seen the face of battle but speaks for peace instead. He speaks in rhymes, though, riddles I cannot decipher."

"What else does he look like?"

"I ... I can hardly remember much more. Finer details? They're lost to me ... foggy, even. He umm, he has armor on. Its worn though. Oh! There's a sword!"

"Not surprised he was in armor and wielding a sword." Arthur grinned. He laughed as Willow playfully shoved him. "Quite the truth seeker, Willow."

"No, nuthead! This sword ... I mean,  I have not seen many blades save for the ones the guards and patrolbeasts wield, but this blade was beautiful. It was like the moon, simple, but so bright, so powerful. It had a feeling surrounding it. Past all the images of ash, fire, and war, this mouse and that blade, a weapon that must have brought peace. I can't explain it."

"'cause it means something," Arthur said firmly, a look that dared King Dunmoon himself to tell the squirrel otherwise. "I was thinking: after the meeting, we'll try to finish the day's work early and talk to Mr. Fensworth."

Willow's brown eyes widened in surprised. "Mr. Fensworth? The crazy old hedgehog?" Willow shook her head. "No, Arthur. He doesn't like talking to beasts. Last I heard, he's crazy enough to keep the guards away when they collect rations from his gardens. You must be mad."

"He talks to me," Arthur said as they approached the outskirts of their village. He skip-stepped in front of her and faced her, walking backwards as he talked. "I already told him we'd be coming tonight."

[[Will continue chapter one in a later reply. Gotta hit the hay]]