The soul of the south

[Fireflyfly]

Morning/Afteroon/Evening/Night, fellow redwallers!
This is my first ever fanfiction and I would appreciate if, after a read, you could leave a comment, telling me what you like an what you didn't. Thanks much and enjoy

Chapter 1


"'ere, Padfoot."

"Wha'? Can't you see I'm busy 'ere, cleaning these weapons?"

"Nevermind about those toothpicks, what's up with the boss?"

"Eh?"

Twoboot growled at the other rat. Lowering his voice, he leaned in, snatching and pulling Padfoot's ear with him.

"I means, what's biting ol' Ironclaw? He's been walkin' around 'ere like some bees are on his tail."

Pushing him off, Padfoot shook his head, mumbling threats under his breath. Shooting a glare at Twoboot, he went back to cleaning the sword. Twoboot was about to smack him when he caught sight of the very beast he was asking about.

Ironclaw, as the would-be warlord was known, was a black wildcat of grand stature. Towering above all beasts, one sight of his muscular arms or a flash of his great blade was enough to send the sanest of creatures scurrying for the underbrush. His strides were long and purposeful, even if he did not appear to be going anywhere. He stood near-by for a moment, growling and snarling, scarred face sculpted into a malicious glare. Sighting something in the distance, he kicked out at a random horde beast then marched off, paw strangling the pommel of his sword.   

"Oh," realised Padfoot, stopping his movements. "You mean misery guts? 'Aven't you 'eard, waxears?"

"Heard what? And who you caliin' wax-"

"It's that mongrel brother of 'is."

"Oh, you mean the idiot?"

"Yeah, apparently he was actin' weird during one o' the boss' talks."

"D'you know what he did?"

"Well, I 'eard-"

"Oi!" The shout made them jump out of their furs. Spinning around, they found themselves nose-to-nose with a ferret captain. "All that talkin', you'd think you'd be finished with them weapons by now. As it is, you obviously have more energy to spare. Sentry duty, all night; no arguments, get it?"

With that he spun on his heel and walked away, ignoring the groans behind him.
*
When Martin the Warrior succeeded in ending the tyrannical reign of Tsarmina, the creatures of Mossflower celebrated, singing songs of the mouse hero's valiant actions. Stories of his bravery and warrior spirit spread through the woodlands first, then began to spread into the neighbouring regions. When Redwall Abbey was in its early stages, creatures came from afar to come see its construction, eager for a symbol of peace to shine bright. Such stories, however, did not reach the Southlands.

The southlands was a dry, dusty place, scorched by the sun. From early in the morning till late in the evening, the sun shone on all. It was devoid of mass vegetation, leaving many of its residents ragged and sickly looking; It lay many leagues from Mossflower and many of those that lived there had never seen more than one tree at a time. The worst thing about it though, the thing that killed the most and ruined the most lives, was Ironclaw's horde. The Wildcat was not a native to the lands, but he seemed to take to it joyfully, uncaring of the sufferings of his horde or his slaves. He raided the small communities endlessly, revelling in their defencelessness. Occasionally he would branch out, attacking creatures from the nearby regions as well. Any potential heroes that gave chase soon perished in the wild, unforgiving lands.

One such would-be hero was a small mouse by the name of Malcom. Though old now, he had been a spry, young fighter when he had first gone after Ironclaw, and his determination had led him through the Southlands. Determination only went so far, however, and Malcom had easily been defeated by the Wildcat, who had only been verging into adulthood at the time. Rather than slaying him, Ironclaw had drawn out his anguish, forcing him into the ranks of the slaves.

Daily they were beaten and daily they suffered. They got the least of the scant water, least of the small portions of edible vittles. They were made to do back-breaking work, hauling water from a nearby well and being the dog-bodies of the many vermin that made up the horde. Life was almost unbearable for Malcom and everyday he asked himself why he refused to lay down one final time. Then he remembered: Yerodin

Though his name was Yerodin, everyone called him idiot. The brother of Ironclaw, Yerodin was the antithesis of his elder brother. Skinny and small, Yerodin seemed simple-minded, and struggled to get a simple sentence out, infuriating his brother who refused to be seen as anything other than a fearsome beast. Rumour had it that, as a kit, Yerodin had been dropped on his head by his jealous older brother, rendering him to his current state. Ironclaw would have given him up long ago if not for their mother, who had made him promise to look after Yerodin; being the only person he had loved, Ironclaw could not refuse. That did not mean he had to treat him well.

Yerodin was only just treated better than the slaves with whom he kept company. Although not made to do work, Yerodin was bullied by the guards and often had his food stripped back to the bare minimum. Yerodin did not seem to know or care. He was perfectly content listening to the slaves reminisce or tell stories of by-gone heroes. He took pleasure in the simplest of things and some days, his smile, full of childlike wonder, was enough to brighten Malcom's day.

At the moment, Yerodin was hiding amongst his friends, fearful of his brother's anger. During a talk with his captains, Yerodin had found something -he would not say what- and had tried to tell his brother. In typical fashion, he had gotten excited, making noises rather than words and Ironclaw, angered by the interruption, had lashed out, backpawing his brother. That had been two days ago.
The small wildcat kept sneaking away then returning, each time looking slightly wearier. Malcom and the others had already spent many an hour trying to find out what was going on, but it seemed Yerodin wasn't up to telling them. Hearing the clang of the bell, telling him they had a ten-minute break, Malcom scooped a small bit of water into his paws from their communal bowl and took a sip, sighing in relief as the cool droplets made their way down his parched throat. Shaking out his paws, he hobbled towards the curled-up figure resting against a cart. He smiled as he saw the black nose poking out between two paws.

"Yerodin, can you look at me?"

The young cat made a small noise but did as he was bade, removing his paws from his face and revealing two dark eyes. Malcom grinned at him, gently grabbing one of the paws in his wrinkled grip.

"What ever is the matter, lad? Surely you can't still be frightened of your brother, can you? No doubt he has forgotten all about it."

Yerodin gazed at him with teary eyes and Malcom could see his tongue moving in his muzzle, trying to find the right words.

"Think lad, think. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." He lifted his footpaw, jangiling the chain. Yerodin let out a quiet giggle and Malcom's heart warmed to hear it, despite the rather upsetting circumstances. Another minute later, it seemed Yerodin had calmed himself enough to try and speak.

"I found, uh,...I found..." Yeroidn let out a frustrated growl and buried his face in his paws, shaking his head. Before Malcom could say anything, his head shot up and he cried out, clutching at Malcom.

"The woodlands are nice!"

The creatures around him stared in confusion and Yerodin ducked his head once more, muttering things under his breath. Malcom frowned in disappointment, upset that his young friend couldn't say what was obviously troubling him. Sighing heavily, he lowered himself down beside the cat, resting a paw on his pelt; a sign he was still there. Both creatures sat in silence for a few moments, Yerodin still repeating the phrase 'The woodlands are nice', trying to get Malcom to understand. Unfortunately, Malcom just couldn't grasp what he was getting at, upsetting him further.

The bell rang again, and Malcom wearily got to his feet, ruffling a paw through Yerodin's head fur. Moving slowly aware, he spied, moving quickly towards them, the skulking form of Ironclaw. Worry flashed through his heart and his gaze turned back to the oblivious Yerodin, who was still, by the looks of things, repeating his phrase. Iornclaw marched straight up to his brother and lashed out, kicking him on his outstretched leg. Yerdin froze, then spun bewildered eyes up to look at the larger wildcat. Letting out a squeak, he tried to move away but Ironclaw was quicker and clapped a paw around Yerodin's scruff. Picking him up and dragging him towards his tent, Malcom could only watch as Yerodin cried out pitifully for help. As one, the slaves gulped, fearful for their friend. The nearby guards took offense and, prodding and poking with rusted spears, they made the slaves work again.

[The Grey Coincidence]

So far so good. Liking Yerodin a lot, hope nothing too bad happens to him.
Keep up the good work!

[Eila Wanderstream]

Awwwwww, Yerodin! Gotta say, this is the first of the fanfics I decided to read and I love it! Haven't been on the forum for long, but I'm definitely excited to see if everything else is this good. You've got a neat writing style, and Malcolm seems like a pretty cool mouse. Can't wait to see more!

[Eila Wanderstream]

The italics got a bit out of hand, there..... sorry. Still getting used to using this. It was only supposed to be the 'I love it' bit (in italics). You could say I am technologically illiterate.

[Ashleg]

You can edit posts, you know.

[Eila Wanderstream]

With my talent, I'm halfway scared to try....   

[shisteer of nothing much]

Poor Yerodin. I hope Ironclaw doesn't hurt him too much. He seems a nice beast and it would be sad to see him die, especially since he's the only thing giving Malcom the will to keep on living.