Exile: A Tale of Redwall[]
Prologue[]
His footpaws pounded through the shallow snow, echoing across the barren plain.
His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the chilly air.
The mouse was running.
For three days and nights, he had sped across frozen flatlands with remarkable speed, with only a bag of meager provisions and the clothes on his back to sustain him. At first, the terrain seemed to go on forever, making the mouse begin to doubt whether he was making progress at all in this foreign land. But on the fourth day, when he climbed atop a dune and saw the expansive forest that lay ahead, he knew that he was getting somewhere.
Now it was the beginning of day six. The mouse had entered the forest. The trees, not yet liberated from their wintry veil, quickly grew dense and numerous, slowing him down to a mere walk. The burst of enthusiasm he had experienced two days prior faded. With every step forward the forest seemed to grow deeper, more forbidding, and more silent.
Yet the mouse’s mind was screaming. Dying cries of the world he was forced to leave behind echoed in his brain, tearing at the remnants of his sanity. Blood boiled in his veins despite the cold. Only a mixture of fear and blind rage kept him going as he pushed ever onward, despite not knowing where he was going.
It was on day seven that he reached the meadow. The mouse paused here to catch his breath, staring up at a clear blue sky for the first time in days. He was freezing, starving, and exhausted, and the rations he had so carefully husbanded were running low. But the mouse ignored it all. He had been through so much worse already, and all he could think about was what lay ahead.
One day, he would return home.
One day, he would get his revenge.
So absorbed was the mouse in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the pair of foxes sneaking up behind him until it was too late. Stars exploded in his vision as something heavy struck him upside the head. The mouse fell, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Book 1: Fugitives[]
Chapter 1: The Shanwu[]
Morning broke over Redwall Abbey. The rising sun slowly spread its light over the venerable edifice, illuminating the snows still partially blanketing its ancient roofs and buttresses. The icicles hanging on the high ledges twinkled like stars as they slowly melted. Birdsong floated gently over the sandstone walls, providing the morning spectacle with its perfect accompaniment. The combined sights and sounds made for an idyllic natural opera, sublime in its quiet beauty.
The serenity of sunrise was shattered by the loud ringing of the twin Abbey bells, named Matthias and Methuselah. Their metallic tolling echoed through the empty courtyards and sleepy orchards, signaling the start of a new workday. Soon Redwall and the surrounding woods would come alive with creatures toiling in their respective professions.
Fione the mousemaid awoke at the bells’ first ring. Jumping out of bed, she donned a green hooded tunic, drab brown pants, and a pair of worn bark-leather boots. She put her fiery ginger headfur up in a messy ponytail and placed a small linen-wrapped parcel into the travel pack on her belt. Grabbing her trusty oak staff from the far bedroom wall, she headed downstairs. Today was a special day.
The Great Hall was already busy with dozens of Abbeybeasts getting breakfast, served buffet-style on long tables. As she did every breakfast, Fione loaded up a tray with food – today, four scones spread with fresh blackberry preserve and two large cups of steaming rosehip tea – then headed outside.
It was a clear, cloudless morning, warm for late winter. The mousemaid savored the crisp air filling her lungs and the snow crunching beneath her boots as she strode across the Abbey Lawns toward the Gatehouse. She loved mornings like this.
The Gatehouse was a small cabin built into the wall just beside the Abbey’s main entrance. Thin wisps of smoke rising from its chimney signaled the presence of life within. As Fione approached, she spotted a fancy flyer announcing the Winter’s End Banquet affixed to its door – the eighth morning in a row she had seen it reposted there. She promptly tore it down and knocked three times.
A gruff male voice sounded from within. “Door’s either locked and I’m sleeping, or it’s unlocked and I’m awake, depending on who you are.”
Fione chuckled. “G’morning, Eryalus, it’s me.”
“Door’s unlocked, young’un. Come on in,” the voice called, a lot friendlier this time. Balancing the tray of food on her paw, Fione pushed the door inward and entered. She was immediately hit with the musty scent of aging wood and ancient parchments – a stark contrast to the fresh morning air outside. Making her way past piles of books and documents littering the floor, she came across the perpetually-disheveled, potbellied squirrel known as Brother Eryalus. Redwall Abbey’s Gatekeeper-Historian-Recorder-Archivist was seated in his oversized armchair, poring over his latest literary fancy. It was rare for Fione to see the squirrel without a book in his paws or, on some mornings, draped across his snoring face.
“I got your favorite today,” the mousemaid said, setting the tray of food down on a nearby desk littered with books, scrolls, and quills.
Eryalus looked up from his reading, his green eyes twinkling behind glasses perched delicately upon his graying muzzle. “Thank you kindly, young’un. Is that rosehip tea I smell?”
“Good for your fur and skin. Keeps you looking young and your joints free of arthritis,” recited the mousemaid, handing him his cup.
The middle-aged Gatekeeper took a hearty sip. “I’d say it’s working so far!”
Fione waved the flyer she had torn down from his door in front of him. “I found one of these on your door again.”
The squirrel groaned. “Ugh, those Guild brats just don’t quit, do they? Hand me that, will you, young’un?” Fione did so, and Eryalus crumpled the flyer up into a ball, tossing it into a growing pile of similar balled-up parchment. “More fuel for the fire,” he said.
The mousemaid looked over at the fireplace. The fire within had burnt down to charred embers, clearly neglected by Eryalus during his reading binge. She picked up a fresh log lying on the floor nearby and tossed it in, stoking the flames until the dying fire roared back to life. Light and warmth spread anew through the drafty Gatehouse.
Eryalus leaned back, munching on a scone. “Ahh, thanks for that. Nothing beats a warm fire and a nice breakfast.”
Fione’s blue eyes twinkled. “I got something that might.” She drew the small parcel from the travel pack on her belt and handed it to her reclining friend. “Congratulations on thirty-five seasons as Abbey Gatekeeper.”
The squirrel opened the parcel and nearly fell out of his chair. Fione couldn’t help but smile as Eryalus rose slowly, holding the gift up like a sacred tome.
“Martin’s beard! Do my eyes betray me? A…a copy of Twentie Tales of the Shanwu Folke, Translated by Brother Khong! Fione, I’ve been looking for this book for seasons!”
The mousemaid beamed. “I knew you’d like it.”
“And it’s illustrated!” rejoiced Eryalus as he giddily flipped through the pages. “How did you even find this? I thought the Guilds banned Shanwu goods from their markets!”
Fione felt her own excitement rising. “It was in a pile of used books at the Abbey market the other day! The merchant was so desperate to get rid of it he let me have it for free! Go on, read some of it!”
The Gatekeeper turned to the first page. “Perfect! There’s a foreword! I’ll start with that.” Fione sat down backwards on a chair, nibbling on a scone as Eryalus began to read.
“This book is the culmination of three seasons of painstaking compilation, translation, and re-re-re-revisions in order to bring you twenty popular legends and folk tales loved by and retold among virtually all Shanwu, the creatures of Jiangshan.”
Eryalus paused momentarily, trembling visibly with excitement. “Ooh, I already like where this is going!” He continued:
“The name ‘Jiangshan’ comes from the words Jiang – “rivers” and Shan – “mountains”. Together these comprise the most important geographic features of our nation. It is the rivers and mountains which hold emotional, historical, and spiritual significance in Shanwu culture. The word ‘Shanwu’ itself means ‘creatures of the mountains’. According to legend, we were formed from clay in the paws of the divine, and descended the peaks to settle along the Northern and Southern rivers, where our civilization flourished.
“In this book you will find such divine stories, but you will also find humorous tales, epic battles of seasons past, and fables with important lessons for everybeast to heed. You will witness life and death, triumph and disaster, joy and sorrow, and everything that defines who we are, as if you were experiencing them through our eyes.
“Shanwu storytelling is a vibrant, vivid tradition featuring an expansive cast of mortals and immortals and told in an engaging manner. Therefore, it was of paramount importance to translate not only the stories themselves, but also to preserve and convey each character’s unique voice.
“As I write this in the midst of our ongoing trade war with the Guilds, I must reflect upon what is currently happening around us in Mossflower Country. This land that I, my wife, and so many Shanwu like us have come to call our home is being affected by the policies of greed and hatred. In this climate of fear and misunderstanding one often turns to voices that confirm and support one’s own notion of how the world is and ought to be. It is hard to see the other side for everything that they are, and even harder to speak up against the perpetration of injustice. And so, I put my thoughts to paper in the hopes that this book will find its way into the paws, minds, and hearts of the good creatures of Mossflower, for a more understanding future between us Shanwu and the wider world.
“Brother Khong, Defender of the Ershan villages.”
Eryalus shivered again. “What an introduction! Oh, I’m going to be reading this again and again! Thank you, Fione. Your parents would be so proud to see what a kind, generous daughter they raised.”
As Eryalus settled back in his chair to enjoy his new book, Fione took out the tiny silver locket she always wore around her neck and opened it, gazing at the twin portraits within. A pair of mice, one male, the other female, gazed back at the mousemaid, their kind expressions frozen in enamel.
The Gatehouse door opened suddenly and in sauntered a mouse with snow-white fur. He was a little older than Fione: tall, broad-chested, and well-dressed in an embroidered grass-green tunic with puffy white sleeves and gray trousers. Over this he wore a scarlet cape made from the finest thread. With his groomed blond headfur and chiseled jaw, he could have been considered handsome, if one could overlook the permanent sneer etched upon his features. Eryalus closed his book and Fione tucked her locket away.
“Good morning, Brother Eryalus,” said the unannounced visitor, his polished black bark-leather boots bumping into a stack of volumes on the floor and knocking them over. “Morning, Freckles.”
“Don’t call me Freckles,” growled Fione.
“Why not? You have freckles, don’t you?”
Fione glared at him. “What d’you want, Conor?”
The mouse named Conor helped himself to a scone. “I’m here to remind you two that the Winter’s End Banquet is tonight. All seven Guildmasters, my father included, will be present. The Abbot requires all Redwallers to attend. Surely you’ve gotten my flyers.”
Eryalus folded his arms. “The ones your lackeys keep plastering on my door without my permission? Aye, I have.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll show up instead of staying locked in here with your books,” Conor replied. He took a bite out of the scone he had grabbed. “You know what makes this scone taste so good, squirrel? Guild wheat, that’s what. And the winter preserves you spread on it? Made from Guild-grown berries. Our seeds yield crops more robust and flavorful than anything you Abbeybeasts used to grow. Why you’d refuse such delicious food simply baffles me.” He shook his head in mock pity.
“Probably because we were doing fine feeding ourselves before your father showed up with his crops,” replied Eryalus, gesturing sarcastically with his paws on the last word. “His Guild has forced every farmer in Mossflower out of business.”
The blond mouse shrugged, finishing the rest of his pastry. “The world is changing, old one. It’s their loss if they can’t keep up. Anyway, you’re all required to show up to the banquet tonight. My father’s introducing a new line of herbs to the Abbey Kitchens.”
“Oh, great. More ‘goods’ we’re forced to buy,” Eryalus muttered.
Conor heard him. “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Gatekeeper. All your Redwall friends think it makes the food taste better.” He paused, noting the squirrel’s bulging belly. “And so do you, apparently.”
Eryalus shook a stern paw at the impudent mouse. “You’ll show some respect for your elders, young’un.”
Conor just sneered. “It’s you who’ll be showing me respect once I become Abbot around here. And I will become Abbot. Father has that all taken care of.”
Fione wanted to hit Conor with her staff.
Just then, the Matthias and Methuselah bells sounded again. “Well, it’s time for work. The two of you best start your day,” said Conor, moving toward the door. He stopped, turning to address Fione with a sly grin. “Careful out there today, Freckles. I heard there’re plenty of Shanwu savages hiding in the eastern woods who’d like to paw a young maid’s flesh.”
“I’m not even going there today, you pervert!” Fione yelled. But Conor had already left, leaving the Gatehouse door wide open behind him.
“What an impertinent, arrogant, condescending…” Eryalus grumbled, listing every adjective he could think of to describe Conor as he got up to reorganize the stack of books the mouse had knocked over. “Shame he’s a Guildmaster’s son. We used to throw creatures like that out of the Abbey.”
Fione bent down to help Eryalus with his fallen volumes. She was still seething at Conor’s words.
The kindly squirrel stopped her. “I’ll take care of it, young’un. You go about your day. Listen, how would you like to stop by the Gatehouse after work this afternoon? I’ll tell you all about this book.”
The mousemaid gave him a daughterly hug. “I’d love to, Eryalus. Can’t wait.” She grabbed her staff, heading toward the door.
“Have a good day, young’un, and thanks for breakfast,” called Eryalus behind her. “Enjoy the weather!”
Fione couldn’t help but smile. “You too. Bye now!” With that, she exited the Gatehouse, closing the door behind her.
~
Fione’s anger had worn off by the time she entered Mossflower Wood. The sun shone brightly in the clear sky, its light glimmering off the ice melting on the trees. A lark cooed in the distance, and the mousemaid thought she heard a stream flowing nearby. It was simply impossible to stay angry on a morning like this.
Firewood collection was considered one of the lowliest professions in Redwall Abbey. But for Fione, it was the ideal job. There was never any shortage of fallen limbs and branches on the forest floor, particularly after a stormy winter. It was also largely an independent task, with little to no communication needed among workers. This suited the mousemaid fine, for she was never the best at making friends.
It only took Fione until midday to fulfill her quota – three bundles of silver birch limbs, which she tied tightly into bundles and dropped off at the Abbey. The rest of the day was hers. During winter, it was customary for the mousemaid to retreat indoors, enjoying tea with Eryalus in the Gatehouse or stretching out in the comfort of her own Dormitory room. But today was a day to go exploring.
Fione stopped briefly at a thawing stream to refill her canteen. The mousemaid drank, savoring the crisp, cool taste of water on her lips. Then she was off, traveling west.
By early afternoon, she reached the top of a small, lonely hill. Here, the trees parted, revealing a clearing that overlooked a sleepy meadow still blanketed with snow. Sitting down on an exposed patch of moss with her back against a large rock, the mousemaid savored the open air and the beautiful sight which lay before her. One day, the Guilds would clear this land for roads. After a short break, she got up, determined to press on.
It was only when Fione descended the hill that she spotted a mysterious shape at the other end of the meadow. As the mousemaid drew closer she saw that it was the body of a male mouse lying face down in the snow. She hurried over to the prone creature and knelt down beside his still form. Only then did she notice the dried blood on the back of his head. He must have been a victim of a robbery. Fresh tracks led away from the body – fox tracks. Fione knew it was pointless to pursue, and that there were more urgent matters to attend to at the moment.
Gently, she rolled him over, putting an ear to his chest. A pulse! Fione relaxed momentarily. Looking up to make sure she was alone, the mousemaid took a moment to examine the stranger.
He was a mouse around her age, muscular yet lean with golden fur and jet-black headfur. Though unconscious, his battered, windswept appearance suggested he had gone through things that no creature their age should have endured. His exotic attire was completely inappropriate for the cold weather, consisting of a sleeveless deep red tunic, a thick black waist-sash made from embroidered silk, baggy black trousers, mud-splattered white ankle wrappings, and worn black cloth shoes with white soles.
It had to be a Shanwu. Fione had never seen one before, but as Conor had so vulgarly implied in the morning, a community of them resided in faraway East Mossflower. So what was one doing out west? A slew of burning questions flooded through the mousemaid’s mind, but one thought quickly prevailed: this creature needed her help.
With great effort, Fione hoisted the unconscious mouse up on her shoulders in a firefighter’s carry, and began the long trek back toward Redwall Abbey.
The sun was starting to set by the time Fione returned, and the temperature had dropped considerably. The mousemaid’s muscles ached like never before; her fiery red headfur had come down from its messy ponytail and was now plastered to her sweaty brow. But she had made it.
Fione set the Shanwu down, propping him up carefully in a seated position against the redstone wall next to the Abbey’s main gates. She gave her exhausted limbs a well-needed stretch, looking back at the trail of bootprints she had left in the snow. The mousemaid was amazed with herself; she had never trekked so far in one sitting.
The Shanwu hadn’t stirred the entire way. Fione checked his pulse again. To her horror, it seemed weaker this time. This was enough to galvanize her into action. The mousemaid began pounding on the twin steel-reinforced oaken doors, shouting at the top of her lungs. “Help! Somebeast let me in quick!”
The gates opened partially and out trundled Brother Eryalus, rubbing his bleary eyes. “Hmm…what…woke me up from my beauty sleep, young’un. What’s goin’ on?”
“This creature’s been hurt,” Fione panted. “Help me get him inside.”
The Gatekeeper was startled awake at what he saw. “A...a Shanwu?”
Fione had already looped her arms under the Shanwu’s shoulders. “Never mind that! We need to get him to the Infirmary now! Help me carry him!”
“Oh yes, right away!” nodded Eryalus. The squirrel took hold of the unconscious creature’s ankles and hoisted him up. Holding the injured mouse between them, the pair hurried inside.
Chapter 2: An Unwanted Guest[]
Fione and Eryalus sat in a cubicle in the Abbey Infirmary, watching anxiously as Sister Millicent administered to the unconscious Shanwu. The mousemaid craned her neck to and fro, trying to get a glimpse of the Shanwu past the Infirmary Keeper’s tall frame. "How is he, Sister? Will he live?"
Sister Millicent was a slender, no-nonsense mouse with her headfur tied in a tight bun. She ignored Fione’s question until she had finished wrapping the Shanwu’s head in layers of bandages. "Nothing’s broken. A few days of rest and he should be fine.”
The mousemaid wasn’t convinced. “But he hasn’t moved since I found him.”
The Infirmary Keeper turned around, peering at Fione down the length of her bespectacled muzzle. “Where did you say you found this creature?”
“In a meadow west of here. I think he was robbed,” replied Fione. She didn’t know what this had to do with the Shanwu’s current state.
“Indeed,” said Sister Millicent. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "That’s what happens when you don’t travel on designated Guild roads. Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a molebabe with a stomachache whom I must attend to."
Fione’s eyes drifted back to the Shanwu lying motionless on the bed. "But he’s still unconscious – " she looked up just as Millicent vanished in a swish of curtains.
"So much for good bedside manner," Eryalus remarked, patting Fione’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, young’un, I’m sure he’ll be alright. Thirsty?” The squirrel Gatekeeper offered Fione his tankard of warm October Ale, which she accepted.
Fione sipped the foamy beverage, never once taking her eyes off the golden-furred mouse lying before her. She bounced the end of her oak staff nervously on the cobblestone floor. Thock. Thock. Thock. Who was he? What was his name? What was he doing in Mossflower?
Eryalus’ musings interrupted her thoughts. “It’s strange that you found him west of the Abbey, young’un. Most Shanwu refugees make their home in east Mossflower. Very interesting.”
Fione turned to her friend. “But why are they refugees in the first place?” She knew very little about the Shanwu, apart from the fact that they existed.
“There’s currently a terrible, terrible war going on in Jiangshan. Their homeland is being invaded from the north by nomadic tribes called the Hun-Nur. The Shanwu are hardy creatures willing to fight to the death, but it’s not going well for them. Many have fled west to escape the fighting, including some who crossed the Eastern Sea till they arrived on the other side of Mossflower.” Eryalus paused, recalling his history. “And this is all following a series of natural disasters plus a succession crisis that has had the country tearing itself apart before you were even born.”
“Poor creature,” Fione murmured, not quite knowing how else to respond. “How d’you think Redwall will take to him?”
Eryalus shook his head. “Hard to say. Shanwu merchants used to come here all the time to do business, but they haven’t been back since the Guilds declared the trade ban twenty seasons ago. The Redwallers’ views toward the Shanwu have since been shaped solely by the Guilds, and the Guilds want the Shanwu gone.”
Fione couldn’t believe that anybeast would have the heart to evict the battered, wounded mouse lying peacefully in front of her. “Well, maybe he’s a kind creature. Maybe he’ll change their minds.”
“I hope so, young’un,” Eryalus muttered. But the mousemaid could hear the doubt in her friend’s voice.
Further conversation was interrupted as the Shanwu began to stir, groaning and muttering incoherently. "Eryalus, look!" Fione whispered, wide-eyed.
The Gatekeeper noticed as well. "By thunder, young’un, it looks like he’s waking up!"
~
The Shanwu’s head throbbed with pain. Voices echoed all around him in an unfamiliar language. He didn’t know if they were talking about him. He opened his eyes and sat up.
His bedroom glowed a hellish orange.
Drums pounded; screams of terror outside rent the night.
The bedroom door flew open. His father stood in the doorway.
“Jin, they’re here. We have to leave.”
“Who’s here?”
“The Hun-Nur.”
The young mouse got dressed as quickly as he could. A little while later, he was running down a long corridor. Light from the burning fires outside poured through the paper windows, illuminating the space. Everywhere Jin looked, he could see large silhouettes rushing by, casting their long shadows on the walls. The intruders were in the courtyard, and they were setting fire to the house. The sounds of battle seemed to be getting ever closer.
“Stay close together!” his father instructed. “We’ll get through this.”
Jin’s attention was fixated on the commotion outside when suddenly an enormous armored wolf crashed through the ceiling in front of him, holding a wicked-looking scimitar in his paw. The mouse yelled out in surprise as the flames engulfed everything…
The Shanwu sat bolt upright with a start and opened his eyes for real this time. Cold sweat ran down the nape of his neck. His eyes darted left to right as he tried to calm his shaking paws. He had experienced another flashback.
As Jin regained control over his emotions, he started to get a bearing on where he was. The unfurnished space, with coarse linen curtains comprising its walls, bore no resemblance to the snowy meadow he last remembered trekking through. Neither did he remember there being a bed, nor a pillow, a fat squirrel, or a bright-eyed mousemaid staring at him.
Fione and Eryalus watched with bated breath as the Shanwu collected himself and gauged his surroundings. "H-hi," ventured the mousemaid. "How're you feeling?"
The Shanwu turned toward Fione at the sound of her voice. Brown eyes met blue.
Jin was astonished by the amount of freckles on the mousemaid’s cream-colored face. He didn’t know headfur came in red. An awkward silence passed between the two of them.
Fione’s heart pounded in her chest. Words eluded her now that the Shanwu was awake. "Um, welcome to Redwall Abbey! My name’s Fione. What’s yours?"
Jin barely heard her; his head still throbbed. Very gingerly, the mouse reached a paw up to his temple, feeling it touch fabric. Somebeast had bandaged him up. What was this place?
"Oh, er, Sister Millicent cleaned your wounds earlier and patched you up," Fione explained, the words tumbling rapidly out of her mouth. "I-I found you lying in a meadow. Somebeast had knocked you out…"
"Fione," muttered Eryalus, his own eyes still fixated on the Shanwu.
"You were in pretty bad shape, so I carried you here. Well, I did have to drag you part of the way – "
"Fione," said Eryalus, a little louder this time.
"What?"
"I don't think he can understand you."
Fione turned slightly red. “D’you speak Mossian?” she asked. She received a blank stare of incomprehension from the Shanwu in return.
The mousemaid took a deep breath. “Alright, um, let’s see...my – name – is – Fione. What – is – yours?"
Jin just blinked.
"I'm – " she said, pointing to herself, " – Fee-yohne." She pointed to him. "You?"
Jin understood that the mousemaid was trying to introduce herself. He, however, remained silent. He wasn’t sure who these strange creatures were or what they wanted from him.
Eryalus put a paw on Fione’s shoulder. “Here, young’un, let me try. I know a thing or two about their customs.” Still seated, the squirrel raised both paws to chest level, his left paw cupping his right fist in the traditional Shanwu greeting.
Jin did not return the gesture.
The scholarly squirrel faltered. “Oh, my. I guess we’d better try something else…Fione, give him your drink.” The mousemaid did as she was told, offering the tankard of October Ale she was still holding to the Shanwu.
Very warily, Jin took the bulky vessel. Hunger and thirst raged in him like a howling void, overriding any reservations he had against accepting food and drink from these strangers. He took one sip, gagged, and spat the putrid liquid out onto the floor. It tasted like bitter poison.
Fione shot Eryalus an unimpressed look. “I tried!” the Gatekeeper protested.
Jin decided that the two creatures in front of him posed no threat. The squirrel seemed to know Shanwu customs a bit more than Fee-yohne did. In any case, if he was going to leave, they would not be able to stop him. The mouse looked around the cubicle. His bag of provisions was nowhere to be seen. He tried to rise, but a sharp pain spiked through his head, forcing him to relent.
Fione was by the Shanwu’s side in an instant. "Easy! You have to rest."
Jin gritted his teeth, waiting for the pain in his head to subside. How was he going to survive in this strange land without food? The ground outside was still mostly frozen over, so foraging would be difficult. This was not a good situation to be in.
Suddenly, the cubicle curtains parted. Fione watched as a middle-aged gray mouse walked in, closely followed by a pair of armed otterguards on either side. The otters were clad in chainmail, over which they wore green-and-white tunics emblazoned with the Guild emblem – a large golden sun – on the torso area. Even though they were a common sight around the Abbey, the mousemaid always felt slightly intimidated when she saw them.
The gray mouse spoke. "Well then, who is this, Fione?"
Fione performed a hasty bow. "Father Abbot! This is our guest. I found him today while I was out collecting firewood. He was hurt, so I brought him here for treatment. I don't think he speaks Mossian."
Julius, Abbot of Redwall, was the spitting image of a stern Abbey patriarch, from his plain brown habit to the square spectacles perched high on his graying muzzle. The middle-aged mouse frowned as he stared at the Shanwu, who stared back. "I don't think he belongs here."
The mousemaid blinked. "What d'you mean?"
"He's a Shanwu," Julius replied, and when Fione raised an eyebrow he continued. "The Guildmasters won’t be pleased to see him in our Abbey."
"Why?"
Julius adopted a patient tone of voice, as if he were lecturing a Dibbun. "Surely you know, having lived at Redwall for your entire life, that the Shanwu disrupt the honest business conducted by Mossflower's Guilds?"
Fione made a sound of disbelief as she glanced at the ubiquitous Guild Sun engraved on the tankard of October Ale, printed on the Infirmary curtains, and carved into the headboard of the Shanwu's bed. "Really? Seems like they're doing just fine, if you ask me!"
"His presence would anger the Guildmasters – "
"He was going to die! How could you turn him back out into the woods?"
Fione saw the elder mouse’s expression darken. She knew the Abbot did not like Redwallers challenging his authority. "Very well, Fione. He may stay for now. But seeing as you brought him into our Abbey, you shall be responsible for him. Maybe you can teach him our ways and civilize him a bit."
The mousemaid glared daggers at him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Sister Millicent's head popped through the curtains. She had evidently overheard their exchange. "He can't stay in the Infirmary, Father Abbot. I need to make room for more patients."
Abbot Julius nodded. "So be it. There is a vacant room at the end of the Dormitories' west wing. Brother Eryalus, do you have the keys?"
The portly squirrel nodded. "Aye, Father Abbot. The Gatekeeper has keys to every lock in the Abbey. But shouldn’t we – "
"Good. Then the Shanwu is stay there until he is healed. He is not to be let near the other Redwallers. Should he need to leave his room for whatever reason, you, Fione, will see to it that he does not do so unaccompanied. Bring his meals to his room, after the others have eaten. Once he has recovered, he shall leave Redwall Abbey at once."
Fione opened her mouth to protest, but Julius silenced her with a wave of his paw.
"I will not hear any more on the subject. After you see to it that he is settled, you will join the rest of us at dinner." With that, he and his bodyguards were gone, leaving Fione and Eryalus with the Shanwu.
Jin watched the older mouse leave. He figured that this was their leader. The sword-carrying otterguards gave away that much.
Fione glanced at the Shanwu, who sat there with a blank look on his face. What had she gotten him into?
~
Dinnertime was approaching as Fione and Eryalus escorted the Shanwu through the Great Hall as they headed up toward the Dormitories. The trio found themselves braving the rush of excited Abbeybeasts streaming down the wide staircase as they headed in the opposite direction. The Redwallers shot them small glances as they passed by, whispering among themselves. Fione couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious.
Jin’s mind raced as he rapidly processed his new environment. It was so different than what he had seen back home. Contrary to the elegant carved wooden structures that so often defined Shanwu architecture, the walls of this place were built out of some kind of red stone. The windows on the high ceiling and the walls were decorated with multicolored glass.
He wondered if this place was a temple of some sort. It certainly had a sacrosanct quality to it, and between the brown robe worn by the leader mouse and the green robe donned by the squirrel, he guessed that some order of monks resided here. Yet the other creatures like the mousemaid didn’t seem to follow a collective regimen or dress code. Plus, there were armed soldiers. Whatever this place was, its residents didn’t seem to like him very much.
Brother Eryalus, on the other paw, was thrilled at the Shanwu’s arrival. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this day, young’un. I've always wanted to learn more about your culture. Let’s set up a time for tea tomorrow afternoon. Fione, you can bring him by the Gatehouse and we can get to know him better…"
"Eryalus, please!" protested the mousemaid. "Let’s get him settled first. And in case you haven't noticed, he's been hurt!"
The portly squirrel peeped over from behind the stack of pillows and blankets he was carrying. "Sorry, young’un, you're right. I'm just so excited to finally meet a real Shanwu after all these seasons."
"Well, at least give him time to rest,” said Fione, as they reached the top of the stairs. “He’s been through a lot.”
The Abbey Dormitories split off into two wings. Since the arrival of the Guilds, the Dormitories had been expanded and rearranged. The majority of Redwallers slept in the west wing. The east wing contained larger rooms reserved for members of the Abbey Order and wealthier Abbeybeasts and their families, as well as guestrooms for travelers and merchants.
Fione guided the Shanwu down the west wing toward the room Julius had specified. “Last room on the left,” Eryalus called. “Don’t get too far ahead, young’uns.”
They reached the room at the end of the hall. The Gatekeeper set down the sheets and pillows and drew forth a large ring loaded with around three dozen keys, fumbling through several until he found the correct one. He stuck the key in the door and turned with some difficulty. The door creaked inward. “There you go, young’un! Enjoy your stay!”
Jin scanned the quarters with which he had been presented. It was unfurnished save for a small bed which lay near the open window. The candle-holder mounted on the wall was covered with cobwebs. A chilly draft swept through the tiny room.
Fione set her staff down in the corner, replacing the burnt-down candles in the candle-holder with fresh lit ones while Eryalus made the bed. She smiled at the Shanwu. "I live across from you. Just knock if you need anything,” she said, pointing across the hall to her door.
Another draft swept through the room. “Sorry about some of the other Redwallers,” continued Fione, struggling to close the sliding window. “They’ve...well, they’ve never seen a Shanwu before.” She pulled hard downwards and the window jammed, leaving a small opening at the bottom. She turned back toward the Shanwu and smiled apologetically. “We’ll get you an extra blanket.”
But the Shanwu wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was gazing at the small bed that Eryalus had made for him. “Go on, try it out,” urged Fione, gesturing toward it.
Jin sat down slowly on the bed. It creaked violently under his weight. The young mouse hadn’t slept in a proper bed since fleeing Jiangshan. Although the accommodations these creatures had set him up with were less than ideal, the mere existence of a real bed made the mouse momentarily abandon his wariness and suspicion. He had forgotten what comfort felt like.
“Glad we found one thing he likes,” Eryalus muttered to Fione.
Just then, the Matthias and Methuselah bells tolled out their evening song. “The banquet’s starting, young’un,” said Eryalus. “We shouldn’t miss it.”
Fione turned to the Shanwu. "I'll be back with some food. Stay here."
Jin still didn’t understand a word that the freckled mousemaid was saying, but it didn’t matter. He was still preoccupied with having his own room for the first time in so long. The mousemaid smiled again. He watched as both creatures exited the room, closing the door behind them.
“Well, he seems harmless enough,” said Eryalus, as the pair made their way back down the wide stairscase toward the Great Hall. “Say, young’un, does he seem reluctant to talk to us?”
Fione nodded. “Maybe he’s just getting used to the new place. I’d love t’know his story: how he got here, why he’s here, where he’s going. Oh, if only there was some way to communicate with him…” The mousemaid suddenly stopped walking, clapping a paw to her forehead. “What is it, young’un?” asked the Gatekeeper, concerned.
“I left my staff in his room. You go on without me. I have to go back and grab it.”
Eryalus gave her a quick nod. “Alright, but hurry. You know how the Abbot gets when we miss these feasts.” With that, the squirrel continued on his way, punching the air triumphantly. "Martin’s beard, a real Shanwu! I never thought I'd live to see the day!"
Fione tore back up the stairs and down the Dormitory wing until she had arrived back at the Shanwu’s room. She knocked rapidly on the closed door. “Hello? It’s me, Fione. Can I come in?”
Nobeast answered. Fione guessed that the Shanwu was probably just asleep. No matter; she would be quick. The door was unlocked, and it creaked loudly as she pushed it open. "Sorry t’ disturb you. I forgot my – ”
The room was exactly the way she had left it. The candles were lit, the sheets were laid out on the bed, and her staff leaned against the far corner untouched.
But the Shanwu was gone.
Chapter 3: A Feast to Remember[]
Fione flew down the empty Dormitory wing, her heart pounding in her ears. The Shanwu was in his room just a moment ago, so how could he have disappeared so quickly? Abbot Julius made it very clear that the Shanwu wasn’t supposed to be let near the other abbeybeasts. The thought made the mousemaid put on an extra burst of speed. She didn’t want to know what kind of trouble she – or he – would be in if he were caught.
The last of the Redwallers were trickling into the Great Hall for the Winter’s End Banquet as Fione made it to the bottom of the stairs. She fervently hoped the Shanwu hadn’t gone in with them.
The hall was packed when the mousemaid entered. Mountains of delicious food were piled high on the long tables between the chattering feastgoers. Brightly-colored festoons hung from the high ceiling, mingling with colored flags emblazoned with the Guild Sun. But Fione was in anything but a festive mood as she hurried up and down the crowded aisles. “’Scuse me, coming through…have you seen a mouse? Golden fur, red tunic, head bandages? No? Thanks, sorry…”
Suddenly, she spotted the Shanwu sitting at the end of one of tables near the exit, his deep red tunic and bandaged head sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb. Fione turned around and marched toward him.
Jin was starving. He hadn’t seen this much food since fleeing Jiangshan. The Shanwu’s mouth watered at the tantalizing sight of exotic stews, breads, and fishes which lay before him. While nothing looked familiar, he was sure it was going to taste delicious – better than that horrible beverage the freckled mousemaid made him drink earlier.
He was just about to grab one of those tasty golden-crusted pasties when the freckled mousemaid in question materialized beside him, a look of anger on her face.
“What are you doing?” Fione hissed. “You’re not supposed t’be down here! Go back upstairs!”
The Shanwu looked at her blankly, then reached out and grabbed the leek-and-potato turnover he had been eyeing. Several Redwallers shot him dirty looks. Fione slapped his paw. “Put that down! You’ll get us in trouble!”
Jin put it back somewhat regretfully. Hunger clawed within him like a caged tiger. He hadn’t had a proper meal since he arrived in this strange land.
Fione tugged at his tunic. “Now let’s go!” she urged. But she may as well have been trying to move a mountain. The Shanwu sat unmoving, staring longingly at the endless mountains of food. The mousemaid was becoming aware of the looks and whispers they were getting from the feastgoers sitting around them.
“I – you – ahhh! Fine, you can stay. Just keep your head down so the Abbot doesn’t see you!” Leaning back in her seat, Fione peered down the Great Hall at Abbot Julius, who was sitting at a beautifully-carved table at the other end of the hall. Surrounding the Abbot were seven creatures dressed in fine, colored robes.
It took Fione a moment to realize that the Shanwu was staring, too. The mousemaid’s expression softened. There was no reason for the Abbot to keep him locked up, away from even the basic aspects of Abbey life. No, the Shanwu belonged at Redwall. So long as he was here, he was one of them.
“We’re in the Great Hall,” Fione explained. “This is where Redwallers gather for feasts, festivals, and meetings. Tonight’s feast celebrates the end of winter and the coming of spring.”
The mousemaid gestured toward the seven creatures sitting with the Abbot. “That’s the Council of Guilds. The Guilds are trading companies. There are seven Guilds in and around Mossflower. Each Guild specializes in something, like fishing, textiles, or blacksmithing.”
Fione’s eyes fell upon a tall, middle-aged mouse with albino fur seated directly to the Abbot’s left. “The one in the fancy green robes is Guildmaster Leopold. He controls the Inland Western Guild, the one that we Redwallers trade with. They grow food, crops, and herbs. They’re the newest Guild on the Council, but they’ve gotten really wealthy fast. I heard Leopold is trying to expand into East Mossflower, where no Guild has gone before…”
Guildmaster Leopold whispered something to Abbot Julius, who nodded and clinked his goblet with a spoon. The Great Hall fell silent at once.
The Abbot stood up, his voice echoing through the Great Hall. “Please join me in saying grace.”
Fione clasped her paws together and bowed her head, motioning for the Shanwu to do the same, which he did. Julius cleared his throat and began to speak:
“Come spring forth, and wash away
The dreary cold of winter gray
Let golden sun and falling rain
Breathe life into the earth again
May we prosper; may we build
Under guidance from the Guilds
For they are giving, good, and fair
Thus they we honor in our prayer.”
This was followed by a resounding amen from the feastgoers. The Abbot waited for his audience to open their eyes before continuing. “Friends and travelers all, it is my privilege to host all seven Guildmasters at tonight’s banquet. Through our close ties with the Guilds, Redwall Abbey has survived yet another hard winter. Now that spring has come, Guildmaster Leopold and the Inland Western Guild have introduced three new spices to our table: cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. Our very own Friar Flubb has ingeniously combined them to create a very special spiced drink he calls ‘oat nog’. Look for the large silver pitchers at every table. We hope you all get to try this delicious new concoction. Now please join me in toasting our esteemed guests.”
Julius raised his bejeweled goblet high in salute. “Hail, Guildmasters!”
“Hail, Guildmasters!” repeated the Redwallers in unison.
“Hail, Abbot Julius!” replied Guildmaster Leopold, raising his goblet in return.
The Abbot spread his arms wide. “Let the feast begin!”
And so began the feast. Jin grabbed the golden turnover he had been eyeing, wolfing it down in two bites. The hot filling burned his mouth and throat, but this didn’t stop the ravenous mouse. It tasted savory and delicious. He reached forth and grabbed a second.
“Slow down!” Fione chided. The Redwallers sitting around them were staring again. “Here,” she said, loading up the Shanwu’s trencher with some vegetable barley stew and a generous slice of deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie. “Try these. They’re really good.”
Jin went through his trencher quickly. Devouring the pie first, he quickly moved on to the stew, lifting the entire trencher up and slurping down its contents in voracious gulps. Several Redwallers cast him glares of disgust, but the mouse just ignored them.
Fione looked around. By now the feastgoers were beginning to get up from their seats and move around, conversing with their friends and picking up dishes and drinks from other tables. Abbot Julius looked to be deep in conversation with Guildmaster Leopold. The mousemaid spotted Brother Eryalus sitting at a table with the rest of the Abbey Order. The Gatekeeper saw her and cheerfully lifted his beaker in greeting.
Fione tapped the Shanwu on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you something to drink. I want to try that oat nog they have.”
The pain in Jin’s head was manageable enough for the moment for him to walk around and stretch his limbs. He let the mousemaid lead him down the crowded aisle. Her ponytail whipped from side to side as she searched left and right.
“Ah! Here it is!” said Fione, grabbing a half-full pitcher sitting on one of the tables. The mousemaid filled her tankard with the cream-colored liquid and sipped. It tasted refreshing; sweet and spicy all at once. She filled another tankard and offered it to the Shanwu. “Here, try this. You’ll love it…“
But Jin had stopped paying attention. His eyes were fixated on a large tapestry on the far wall that he didn’t notice earlier. Past the feastgoers and merrymakers was depicted a mouse in full battle armor as rats, weasels, and other vermin fled all around him, terrified looks on their woven faces. The great sword wielded by this mouse hung below the tapestry.
Was this mouse their deity? Some sort of god of war? The creatures here certainly didn’t seem to be very courteous. Jin had once been in a monastery; the mice there recited scriptures on attaining spiritual enlightenment and betterment. He had certainly not noticed any of that here.
Fione noticed what he was looking at. “Oh, that’s Martin the Warrior, our founder. He built this Abbey as a place for all creatures who needed a place to go. He was brave, strong, and wise. Y’know, it was said that he appears in the dreams of certain Redwallers when the Abbey’s in trouble.” She paused for a moment. “That was in the past, though. I don’t think he does that anymore.”
Just then, somebeast bumped into them from behind. “Hey there, Freckles. Who’s your friend?” slurred a familiar voice. Fione turned. It was Conor, accompanied by his gang of friends. The Guildmaster’s son reeked of mead. Fione had seen Conor drunk before; his refined contempt would be replaced by vulgar aggression and hatred.
The mousemaid turned back to the Shanwu, grabbing his paw and pulling him away from the tapestry. “Let’s go.”
But Conor was not one to be easily dissuaded. He ran in front of Fione, blocking her path. “Who’s that with you, huh? A Shanwu? I knew you wouldn’t stay out of the eastern woods like I said.”
One of Conor’s followers, a wiry mouse named Benji, hooted obediently. “Hahaha! Fione sure knows how to pick’em, eh, Conor?”
Fione scowled. She had grown up with virtually all of Conor’s lackeys. They had bullied her relentlessly back then. Now, they flocked to the biggest bully of all.
Jin noted that this drunkard resembled the albino mouse the mousemaid had pointed out earlier, down to the pale blond headfur and green attire. The difference was that this mouse was bulkier and meaner. He glanced over at the mousemaid. Her jaw was set and her blue eyes blazed with fury.
Fione was fuming. “Leave me alone, Conor. I don’t want to do this today.”
Conor ignored her, turning his attention to the Shanwu. “Hey,” he said arrogantly. “Where’d Fione find you?”
C’mon, let’s go,” Fione urged again, tugging at the Shanwu’s arm.
Jin didn’t budge.
Conor sneered, not taking his eyes off the Shanwu. “Come on, Freckles. Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?”
“Conor, stop it!” said Fione, her voice now rising a little. But before the mousemaid could do anything, two of Conor’s burly followers stepped in, cutting her off from the Shanwu. There was little Fione could do than peer over their shoulders at the escalating conflict. Conor stood a full head taller than the Shanwu and was clearly spoiling for a fight. The mousemaid’s eyes darted frantically around the Great Hall. Very few of the feastgoers seemed to be taking notice. She bit her lip anxiously, wishing she could do something.
Jin found himself face-to-face with the blond mouse. He could smell the alcohol on the latter. Even without speaking the same language, he knew this bully wanted trouble.
“You know, we don’t want your kind here,” Fione heard Conor say in a calm but menacing tone.
Jin stared at his drunken adversary. Conor stared back, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. The Shanwu had had enough. He had come to eat, not get in a fight. It was pointless continuing this interaction any longer. He tried to walk away, but Conor blocked his path again. “Where’re you going, Jangy?” he asked loudly.
The use of this slur turned more than a few heads. Several nearby Redwallers had stopped eating and were now starting to stare at the two. No matter which way Jin tried to go, Conor moved to block him. His lackeys roared with laughter as their leader started dancing around the Shanwu, his fists raised.
“Come on, you savage. Don’t you know how to box?”
He pushed Jin.
At this point, some of the curious Redwallers had begun to form a ring around the two opponents. Conor’s lackeys egged their leader on.
“C’mon, Conor! Hit him and let’s get back to drinking!”
“Aye, knock him back to his homeland!”
But Jin did not fight. He stood there passively, watching as the drunken bully continued to bounce, fists at the ready.
Fione gnawed on her lip nervously. She didn’t want to see what happened next. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t look away.
Seeing the Shanwu stand there unresponsive infuriated Conor. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” His voice was rising to a shout. “Can’t speak Mossian, huh? Well, maybe you’ll understand this!”
He threw a vicious right hook.
Had Fione blinked, she would have missed what happened next. The Shanwu’s fist connected with Conor’s muzzle before the latter could even fully extend his arm. The drunken bully dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
The Great Hall fell completely silent as the onlookers registered what had just happened. Fione stared with the rest of them, dumbstruck. Jin returned to a neutral stance, staring down at the mouse he had just defeated. He could feel every eye in the room on his back.
Conor’s followers rallied around their leader as he staggered to his footpaws. The mouse’s snow-white facefur was smeared with blood. He glared at the Shanwu, hatred burning in his eyes. “You’re dead, savage.”
“Enough!”
All heads turned to see Abbot Julius walking rapidly up the aisle, flanked by his otterguards. The older mouse’s face was red with fury. “What is this, Fione? I want him out of the Abbey now!”
Fione placed herself between Julius and the Shanwu in an instant. “That’s not fair! He was just defending himself!”
“NOW!” roared Julius. The mousemaid glared at him defiantly. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do, but she wasn’t about to let the Abbot throw the Shanwu out of the Abbey.
“Perhaps I can help settle this,” said a calm male voice.
The crowd parted wordlessly, clearing the aisle as Guildmaster Leopold approached. The tall albino mouse resembled Conor in almost every way, only older and thinner. He had a refined air to him, and his silken green robes swished across the floorstones as he walked. The abbeybeasts held their breath.
Julius seemed to shrink under the creature’s presence. “G-Guildmaster. I am truly sorry about this. The Shanwu wasn’t supposed to be at tonight’s dinner; he wasn’t supposed to be here at all…”
Fione couldn’t believe her ears. “Wasn’t supposed to be here? Isn’t Redwall supposed to help the sick and injured?”
Leopold ignored her protest. “That’s quite alright, Father Abbot. There’s no need to kick him out, especially during a momentous occasion such as this. It would reflect poorly on Redwall’s values to kick out anybeast on such a night.” He shot Conor a withering glare.
The Abbot bowed like a chastised son. “O-of course, Guildmaster. Thank you for your insight.”
Now it was Leopold’s turn to chastise his real son. “As for you, Conor, I expected better from Redwall’s future Abbot. Go clean yourself up.”
“Yes, father,” muttered the blond mouse. Gathering what dignity he had left, he stumbled briskly out of the Great Hall with his henchbeasts in tow, shooting the Shanwu a deadly glare as he disappeared.
Leopold turned back to Abbot Julius. “My son can be a little short-tempered at times, especially when he sees a Shanwu. They are a testy bunch. Even so, we must show patience and understanding when dealing with their kind.”
“Their kind?” Fione repeated, outraged. Leopold offered her no more acknowledgement than a glance as he continued.
“That said, I think a punishment is in order for these two. There’s nothing like some honest manual labor for a violent Shanwu and a nasty-tempered maiden who speaks out of turn.”
“Nasty temp – ” started Fione, but Julius silenced her with a glare. “I know just the task, Guildmaster.” Turning to the mousemaid, he declared his punishment. “If the Shanwu can fight, then he can work. Tomorrow after breakfast, the two of you will scrub the Great Hall from top to bottom until it is spotless. Pausing, the Abbot looked back at Leopold. “…Will that do, Guildmaster?”
The tall mouse nodded, looking satisfied. “That’ll do, Father Abbot.”
Julius turned back to the pair of young mice. “Go to your rooms and stay there until tomorrow morning.”
“Gladly,” Fione spat. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Grabbing the Shanwu’s paw, she marched off toward the exit without another word.
~
Fione couldn’t stop ranting as she and the Shanwu walked back to the Dormitories. “The absolute nerve how they treated you tonight! How could they take Conor’s side after what he said and did? I have the right mind to go smack them all upside the head! Aye, I said it! Punishing you for standing up for yourself…unbelievable!”
The mousemaid continued her tirade until they reached their rooms at the end of the hallway. Fione sighed wearily as she opened the Shanwu’s door for him, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry. I wish you could understand me. You don’t deserve to be treated like this. Try and get some sleep. We have chores tomorrow.”
The door closed and Jin lay down on his creaky bed. Moonlight illuminated his room in a soft silver glow. A cold draft swept through the room via the leaky window. The mouse pulled the covers tightly over himself. He had made an enemy tonight.
He didn’t know why these creatures were so hostile to him. The freckled mousemaid and her squirrel friend seemed to be the only ones who wanted him around. Maybe it was best to leave.
But where else would he go? Was there any place in this strange land that would accept him? He would certainly need rations for traveling. His head was starting to throb again. It was too exhausting to dwell on this any longer, and all the food he had consumed was beginning to make him drowsy.
Jin closed his eyes, drifting off to the faint sounds of the feast continuing downstairs without him. He would consider his options in the morning, with a fresh mind and a clear head.