The Singing Crane

[Sharpcutt]

The Singing Crane
A Tale from the world of Redwall

Prologue

Griss and Flit settled among the tall grass of the plains, just beyond the forest Mossflower and their parents' hut. The winds brought the scent of baking pastries and the smell of the sea. Griss, a mole, laid on his belly and plucked a few creamy white daisies from a small mound of dirt before him. Flit, a hare, clapped her paws together over a small, multi-colored butterfly. She stared in awe at it, and then released it into the wind. "Hurr, lookit, Flit, 'tis noice likkle musheroom, hurr." Griss chuckled and held up the pale brown mushroom up to his companion.

"Oh, it looks jolly good, Griss," Flit responded, taking the mushroom from Griss's digging claws and holding it up to the afternoon sun. She handed it back to the mole and rolled about in the grass, happily accepting the world with both paws outstretched. The day was beautiful - the birds were singing, the sky was a periwinkle blue, the sun was warm but the wind cool.

As the two young ones romped about in the field, a traveler walked down the winding path to the cottage. His face was shaded by the long, felt fedora that he wore, and his body was swathed in a deep maroon colored cloak. He noticed Flit and Griss, now wrestling in the grass, and called, "Heyoo, there! Where can I find food 'n shelter for the night?" His response - "Night? T'aint night time, wot!" and "Burr, oi dun want it t' become noight time just ye'. Oi'm havin' the nicest time, burr aye."

Flit and Griss hopped and skipped to the traveler, eyes wide and paws clapped behind their back. Griss's eyes glittered in suspicion; Flit's gleamed with curiosity. "If ye want food 'n water, ye'd jolly go 'long 'n better ask our mams 'n paps, wot. They're in that little cottage down yonder." Flit pointed one brown colored paw in the direction of the small brick cottage with the thatched roof and tilted chimney. "Thank you, young'uns," responded the traveler and walked with long strides to the cottage.

"Who'd ye think that t'was, Griss?"
"Oi dunno, Flit, but he seems t' be 'armless, burr."

In the evening Flit and Griss returned to the cottage, arms full of flowers and mushrooms. They dumped their findings in a huge vase already brimming with the sweet-smelling flowers and brought their mushrooms to the kitchen to be chopped. The cottage was a three-room building - a kitchen, bedroom, and a loft. Flit's mother, Clover, was cleaving away at a bit of ham and bread. "The guest's in the loft," she said. "Your fathers are talking to him at the moment. He seems friendly 'nough, wot." Griss's great, grand-uncle sat in a rocking chair, bundled up in blankets. His eyes were sealed shut - age had rendered him blind and deaf. Griss approached him and slipped a bit of cheese in one of the heavy, rough claws. The claw instinctively brought it to his mouth, and the lips chewed and chewed it until it was gone.

"Gud ole great grand-unker Smitter," Griss said, adjusting the heavy wool blankets. When dinner was finished - a huge pot of soup with mushroom and onion, ham and bread, and pints of October Ale - Flit's father and Griss's father came down to dine, along with the traveler. His fedora was off, revealing a shaggy badger head. "Darlings, this is Cresswood. He'll be staying with us for a few days, and then he'll be going for Salamandastron."

"Salamandastron! What a jolly long word, wot!"
"Burr, oi c'n barely put me lips 'round it, burr."
"Where do ye come from? Far far 'way?"

Flit and Griss looked up at Cresswood's weathered, beaten face with genuine curiosity. The badger seated himself at the table and said, "Yes, from an island out in the ocean, actually."

"The ocean!"
"Oh, all that warter'd make me see-sick t' me stomack."
"D'ye have any stories from that island, Cresswood?"
"Oh, don't be proddin' the guest too much. He's had a long journey behind 'im, wot."

"No, it's alright, Mrs. Clover," Cresswood said, an amused smile creeping across his features. "Yes, I do have a few stories. In fact, I have a tale."

"Oh, do please tell us, wot!"
"Hurr, Oi'd be vurry much pleased, sir."
"Very well, then. I shall tell you about Kressa and the Singing Crane..."

[Sharpcutt]

Chapter 1

The wind whistled ominously, and the small ship rocked to and fro among the huge waves. They glittered and sparkled with sea-foam, and the reflection of the moon was silver on their huge slippery bodies. They were like walls of obsidian, and if one was able to get close enough to see their reflection in the water without getting wet, the mirror image would be as clear as day. They crashed upon the small ship and dampened the deck - the hull creaked and groaned with every bit of strain, and the masts bent and shrieked, threatening to snap in half.

A squirrel, soaked to the bone, scampered on deck. He was tethered to the mast by a length of thick rope, however this rope threatened to snap and send him overboard. He raced over to a broad-shouldered otter who was gripping the rail so hard his paws were pale white. "Skipper!" The squirrel screeched into the gale, but even then his words were chopped up into little bits and scattered across the wind. The otter heard him, and turned his eyes to the frantic, furred creature. "Aye, mate?" His voice was cool and collective, not at all like the squirrel's. "We're gonna be tossed overboard! Our gizzards'll be eaten by the sharks! Our bleached bones are the only things that'll reach land!" The squirrel lamented, huge sparkling tears rolling down the brown cheeks.

"Don't be like that, mate. Go down below and tend to yer wife 'n family. You've done 'nough." Skipper took a spyglass from a pocket in his baggy pantaloons and placed it to one steely gray eye. However, the only thing he saw was a hundred miles of glittering black water, threatening to gobble him, his ship and anybody aboard up. The squirrel whimpered, the lower lip trembling, and then without another word scampered below deck. Skipper sighed. That Windred. His youngest daughter had more bravery in her paw then all of him put together. He watched his crew, several bulky otters, a troupe of shrews and a mouse clamor about, tightening this rope, shortening the sails, throwing buckets of water overboard.

"Good job to all of ye, mates! C'mon, keep it up and I'll have rum for all!" Skipper dashed across the deck to consult with his navigator, a shriveled old mouse named Cornelius. He was in the cabin among sheets and sheets of parchment. A half-empty bottle of ink sat in his lap, and a huge feathered quill was clutched in one paw. It scratched frantically across a sheet of parchment. The mouse that wrote with it constantly wiped the tip on his grimy smock, licked it, dipped it once more in the ink and commenced to write with it. "Where are we, Cornelius?" Skipper asked, striding up to the small desk cramped among stacks of thick volumes.

"I think," Cornelius responded, "we're about a league away from shore, but we won't be going anywhere anytime soon if the weather's this rough." Skipper grinned and clapped the mouse so heartily on the back Cornelius nearly spilled the remainder of ink all over him and the desk. Hurriedly the mouse lifted the bottle onto the desk and held it there with one paw. "Good job, mate. Leave the sailin' to me; I'll get us through this. Go down to the galley and get a bite to eat." Cornelius nodded and slid back from the desk. He stoppered the bottle of ink, placed it on the floor, and hurried off.

Cornelius slipped and slid about as the ship rocked to and fro. "T'aint a place t' be, Grandpap!" A shrew called, a bucket of water in hand. "Oh dear, can one of ye help me to the galley?" Cornelius asked. His paw was held and he was gently taken to a heavy door. Cornelius peered through the rain and murk to see the sight of his grandson, Fierrio. Fierrio grinned at his grandfather through a curtain of rain and said, "Don't worry 'bout me, Grandpap. Tend to those squirrels below deck - I'm sure that old Windred's having a fit."

With some effort both mice hauled the heavy door open, revealing a flight of stairs that led below deck. Cornelius slipped down these. He was greeted by Frita, the Skipper's wife and ship cook, and her son Matta. "How's it lookin' up there?" Frita asked, mixing a pot of steaming soup. "Oh, it's the same. Howling winds, crashing waves," responded Cornelius rather bluntly. Matta was just a young'un, barely old enough to recall this horrid storm. He moved his way through the galley. He was thankful the benches had been hammered down into the floor, or else they would be sliding about and knocking into any beast in their path. Huddled in one corner was Windred and his wife, Skanna. They were clasping paws and whimpering, huge tears welling in the corners of their eyes. Both had gone deathly pale, Skanna's lip bleeding from her biting it so much.

"Oh, this lurching is terrible, Cornelius!"
"I can barely keep in my lunch!"
"Oh, the young'uns, where've they run off to?"
"Always torturing their poor papa, oh, oh!"

The two squirrels burst into tears now, hugging one another and bawling into their shoulders. Cornelius stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Matta stumbled forward, paws laden with dry clothes. "Oh, thank you kindly, Matta." Cornelius smiled and took the bundle from him. "No probbabalem," the otter grinned. Cornelius went off behind a table, peeled off his wet garments, and put on the dry ones. He folded his old clothes and stacked them beneath the table where they wouldn't get in the way and moved over to the barrels to get a bit of rum. There he nearly stumbled over two small bundles.

"Ooffers, ooh, Cuneliuusss, you hurtedted me..."
"Ooh, dun be succha cryah, Duby..."

He recognized the Dibbun speech immediately. He picked up one and then the other, placing them on the barrels of rum. One was a sniveling little bundle of red-gray fur, looking as timid and miserable as his parents. Cornelius knew this one to be Duberin, the elder Dibbun. His younger sister, Kressa, sat proudly and tall, her fur an auburn color and her eyes sparkling with excitement. Duberin burst into tears. "I wanna go home! I wanna go home Kressy!" His tiny paws clutched Kressa's, though Kressa did not burst into tears as well. She made a 'hmph' noise and flicked her tail inappreciatively.

Windred and Skanna, drawn to Duberin's wails, plucked the squirrel from the top of the rum barrel and cooed to him between sobs. Kressa stared back, looking both amazed and embarrassed by her family. The three drifted off back to the corner to cry and whine. Kressa kicked around on the barrel, and extended her paws to be lifted back onto the ground. Cornelius obliged, and when she reached the ground she hurried off to Matta. "Mattata, can I helped you?" She asked, not interested in joining her family to snivel and bawl. Frita poked her head from the kitchen. "'Course you can, dearie. Come and wash your paws and you can help..."

They went about making biscuits. They had scarcely finished one pan of the flaky things when the ship lurched, there was a loud scraping noise, and a joyful howl from the deck above. "LAND HOOO!"

[Sharpcutt]

Chapter 2

The rain had let up, though the skies were dark as if it was midnight, though according to Cornelius it was dawn. The old mouse scrambled up back on deck, slipped on a bit of cold seawater, and landed on his rump. Muttering to himself, Cornelius picked himself up and peered around. It seemed like they had reached their destination, though were on a sandbar and wouldn't be able to get out until high-tide. The water frothed and gurgled down below in a thick, puffy mist. The shrews passed, continuing to dump buckets of water and greeting the navigator.

"Hallo, Grandpap."
"G'day, Grandpap."
"Day? Looks like night if ye ask me, Thiff."
"No 'un asked ye, Hudd!"

Cornelius quickly scooted away to avoid being caught in the crossfire as the shrews Thiff and Hudd circled each other, menacingly wielding a bucket in paw. Fierrio was looking at the damage - nothing too bad, a leak here, a smashed rail there. Fierrio was the carpenter, and was in charge of repairing the ship. Skipper called to the cabin boy, Billo, and told him to swab the deck. "But that's Grassweed's job!" Billo whined, glaring at the shrew Grassweed who was innocently throwing another bucketful of water over the rail. "Go on. Grassweed's dumpin' out water, so you've got to clean the deck 'til it gleams. And make sure it's dry, too." In the swish of a tail Skipper strode off, and that was the end of that.

There was a muffled thump and some protests from below deck. Cornelius watched with some fascination as the door swung open, and the two squirrel dibbuns leaped onto the slippery deck, sliding and skidding around. Kressa seemed to be enjoying herself immensely; Duberin was wailing and screeching as he made his way from one end of the deck to the other. Windred and Skanna shakily followed, both squirrels grasping the rail for dear life. Cornelius grabbed Kressa, who pouted and writhed, and then lifted Duberin by the scruff. He placed them into their awaiting parents' arms, and immediately they started howling and blubbering.

"Oh, thank ye kindly, good old Cornelius! Without ye we'd be lost in that storm, oh thank ye!"
"Yes, yes, how may we repay ye?"
"I wanta go home, mammie!"
"We are home, sweet little Duberin!"

Kressa was silent, and peered over her father's shoulder to look at the island beyond. She struggled from her father's grasp and slipped and slid to the door. Frita lifted her up, the strong otter paws picking her up as if she were nothing but a feather. Matta whimpered and tugged on her apron, asking for a turn. Frita tucked the Dibbuns each on one shoulder and slid gracefully on the deck as if she had been doing it for years and years. Only occasionally did she grip the rail for balance; other than that she glided across the hard wood almost as if she were flying. Matta and Kressa whooped with joy.

Skipper came from his cabin, wearing a dry cloak, tunic, and pantaloons. "I hope this is your destination," the otter said, scratching himself on the neck. "Say, where are we?" Skanna's eyes twinkled with joy. "Oh, we're on Hargrove Island! Just where we wanted to be, isn't that right dearest?" Windred nodded and gripped Skipper, wringing his paw and hooting, "Oh, home sweet home!" The two squirrels nimbly hopped onto the rail and practically danced down the side of the ship, a task that Skipper would never imagine such cowardly squirrels capable to do. The squirrels beckoned the crew and Skipper onto the shore. Cornelius smiled at Fierrio and said, "You go. I have to chart the route back to Mossflower." Fierrio looked like he was about to argue, but then said, "Alright, Grandpap."

"That's a good boy, Fierrio. Have fun."

Thiff and Hudd put down their buckets, but they had given each other a soaking beforehand. They glared at each other and followed Skipper as he put down the ramp and began to walk with a joyful air to the shore. Likewise, Grassweed took a particular care to avoid Billo, who was still fumingly swabbing the deck. Skanna spread her arms wide and called, "Oh, you'll love it here! If Mythirill has been doing her job properly, there'll be some food in the loft and plenty of ale to drink! Nothing at all like that grog you sailors call 'rum'!" If Skipper and his crew looked like that had been offended, they didn't show it. They merely shrugged and followed Skanna and Windred, who were twirling and squealing as they walked on.

Frita smiled and put down both Dibbuns. She stretched her back and rubbed her aching shoulders, though the two infants didn't seem to notice. Kressa released a shriek of joy and ran after her parents, the fluffy red tail streaming behind her like a banner. Matta, seeing that he had nothing else to do, followed.

They walked for some time and entered a thick wood. A small lake, as large as a bedroom, sat in the middle of it. A small tree house was nestled among the branches of a hard oak. The tree house was simple, resembling a large round hut made of wattle and daub, but the squirrels had gone out of their way to make it as elaborate as possible. An elegant wrap-around porch painted a cheery white had been constructed rather recently, the rungs leading up the oak were decorated with dabs of red and gold paint, strings of blossoms (now shriveled and old) were hung from the branches. A little plot of land was cleared in front of the oak, and here a small vegetable garden grew.

The moment Skanna and Windred approached their abode there was a squeal and a furious tapping noise as a beast climbed down the tree. It was another squirrel, dressed in an apron and frilly blouse, her eyes wide. She was quite young, though older than both Duberin and Kressa, and looked enough like Skanna and Windred to be their daughter. "Oh, Mamsicle and good Pap, how wonderful it is to see you!" The squirrel-maid trilled, grasping her father and mother's paws. She lifted the sniffing Duberin from Windred's shoulder and twirled him about, singing, "Oh, good old Duberin!" She placed him on the ground (where he commenced to cry) and then lifted Kressa and tossed her a few times in the air. Kressa shrieked with joy.

"Mythirill, oh darling, how have you fared without us?"
"Wonderfully, Mamsicle, but I still had troubles without your infinite wisdom to guide me."
"Oh, don't flatter, dearest Mythirill!"

Still, Skanna's cheeks turned a vivid pink and she hid her face bashfully behind a paw. "Now, dear, fix up a meal for us before the the morning -" However, scarcely had Skanna finished her sentence when they were suddenly all soaked in the morning dew. Kressa shook off the cold droplets from her fur, and Matta sneezed several times. But this wasn't enough to dampen the squirrels' ecstasy. In a furious dash Mythirill hurried up to the tree house, and in the blink of an eye reappeared on the porch bearing a heavy silver tray laden with pastries, mugs of ale, wood platters, and bowls of soup. Mythirill placed these on the ground of the porch, took a blanket from the tree house, and this she put the tray on.

Skipper and his crew slowly climbed up the tree and clambered onto the porch, which sagged but held firmly. They were accompanied by Skanna and Windred, who - seeing that there was barely enough room to move about, perched on a nearby branch and enjoyed their pastries there. "It's lovely to see you again, Mamsicle and Pap." Mythirill beamed before taking a munch out of a blueberry pastry. "Indeed, you have a lovely abode," Skipper commented. "When Frita and I retire, we'll definitely consider this place to build our home." Skanna's eyes sparkled. "Oh, yes, please! We haven't neighbors for miles, and it's rather dreadful to talk with the same four squirrels again and again."

As they spoke on, Kressa leaned against Matta and Duberin, and slowly their eyes began to shut. Duberin gave one last sad hiccup before they all fell into a deep slumber.

[carabadgermum]

Sharpcutt, this is great and i'm not just saying that because my youngest son is named Cornelius. It's a great story, very vivid and well written I can hardly wait for more.

[Sharpcutt]

Chapter 3

Fierrio spoke up after he finished a flagon of spicy, refreshing ale. "We'd better start construction on the Steadfast as soon as possible, Skipper," he said, brushing a few beads of sweat from his brow. The weather had gotten hot and humid within minutes of the storm - the sun broke through the gray clouds like a sword through satin, and already a gentle, sea-scented breeze wafted in from the east. Skipper finished off a blueberry tart and leaned back against the whitewashed porch. "Yes," the otter said. "We must do this before high-tide, for I have very important duties in Mossflower that cannot wait a moment longer." He leaped to his paws - the porch creaked dangerously, but held - and cried, "Alright, buckos! To the ship! We got repairing to be done! Thank ye kindly, marm, sir," he added, turning to Windred and Skanna, "for your kind hospitality."

"That t'was hardly hospitality!"
"Indeed. Please stay some brunch, Skipper."

However, the otter was adamant. He shook his head and brushed crumbs off his pantaloons. "No, sorry marm. Mossflower beckons me back to their woods - the matter's quite urgent." He lifted the slumbering Matta off the porch and gently eased him into his arms and tickled the tiny, velvet nose. Matta blinked wearily, then closed his eyes, shifted in his father's muscled arms, and slept on. "What's the matter in Mossflower, Skipper friend?" Windred asked, leaping down to the porch. "Skaa Stormwhip's on the move again, I fear." Skipper sighed. "He's an old corsair who's been terrorizin' the coast 'round Mossflower for ages now. I thought it was the end o' him when his ship, the Screechcrow was sunk, but I suppose that wasn't enough."

"A corsair! Skaa Stormwhip, ye say? Well, ye'd better hurry then, dear Skipper! Goodbeasts are coutin' on ye to exterminate this...foul beast." Windred hopped up and down with excitement. The thought of battling a corsair for the good of the community got him worked up. "I have some friends upon this island who can help ye, dear Skipper! They're just past this ridge...let me get them!" Before waiting for a response, Windred had leaped down the side of the tree, narrowly avoided colliding with a tomato plant, and began happily skipping off eastward.

Fierrio smiled and stood. Skipper asked if he could leave Matta here in the tree house, and Skanna allowed it with many smiles and nods. He placed the otter infant on the floor, rubbed his tiny brown fur between the ears and scaled down the tree. His crew followed, hardly a push or a scuffle occurring. Windred was soon back with a young mousemaid, two squirrels, and a badger. "This is Honeysuckle, Bark, Skaff, and Willowstripe," Windred said, and with each introduction the beast would politely nod their head. Bark, the larger squirrel, rolled up his tunic past the elbows and clapped his paws together eagerly. "Alright then," he said in a booming voice, "lets get to it, shall we?"

----

Skaa Stormwhip stared through the wet mist that shrouded the coasts. His claws dug into the hard wood of the rail. His lips, pushed into a dark scowl, dripped both saliva and rainwater. His ears were pierced numerous times, and whenever he moved his head they clattered and jingled. Two of his teeth were gold and the thickness of a thumb. They curved up and out like tusks from his upper jaw. He was donned in a thick coat made of sealskin, with a necklace of shark's teeth around his neck. A thick black belt was wrapped around his broad hips, and in its sheath laid a gleaming scimitar. The Fisher's mouth broke into a cruel smile.

Ah yes, Skaa Stormwhip, tyrant of the seas!

He backed up from the rail and walked across the smooth, polished deck of his new ship, the Torrent. She was a beautiful thing, shaped like a large schooner. She was black as pitch, making her a deadly weapon in the night. Her sails were equally dark, bearing in bloody red the insignia of her captain - a curved tooth dripping blood. He took a spyglass from his pocket and scanned the horizon, seeking for a ship to plunder. However, no more ships dared to sail off the shores in fear of the Torrent. Skaa cackled in the gentle wind. Yes, fear him, the lord of the sea.

But Skaa Stormwhip was getting old. No longer did his body feel for the exciting adrenaline of battle. His joints were stiff with arthritis, but not so much so that he could not wield his scimitar. This fact alone drilled him on to sail the seas. As long as he had a crew behind him he could sail and pillage without a care in the world. He chuckled and went to the prow, checking upon on his newest captive.

The figurehead at the prow was strapped there with many coils of thick rope. To protect it from the seabirds, thick canvas had been wrapped around it. Only a head, small and shriveled, poked out of the heavy, stiflingly hot cloth. There was a soft moan from the lips of the figurehead. Its eyes fluttered open, and another tormented croak erupted from its throat. "Waaaterr..." It whispered, the words drifting across the wind. Skaa cackled. He left the prow and strutted back across the deck. "Skannath! Galewind!" He barked, his voice sharp and cruel. From beneath the deck two Fishers, nearly identical, came forth. They were both brawny and long-limbed, walking with great ease across the slippery deck. The male, Skannath, wore a cloak of crimson feathers lined with ermine fur. Galewind wore something identical, except cloak had the plumage of a kingfisher sewn into it.

"Yes, Father?" They both asked in unison.

"Tell Brumm t' take 'ee ship further 'long the coast, an' prepare 'ee crew fer combat on 'ee shore. If we carn't take loot from 'ee sea, we'll take it from 'ee land, harr harr!"

[Sharpcutt]

Chapter 4

Skipper sighed as he sat in his cabin, drawing a lazy red line in ink across the table. There were dark semi-circles beneath his usually lively brown eyes. His lips were drawn into a taught, thin line. Frita bustled in, apron swishing behind her as she brought in a porridge of potato, onion, and carrot sprinkled over with parsley. In a flagon she carried the remaining portion of Hargrove Ale, a brew that tasted of mango and pineapple. Good old Windred and Skanna had given them two barrels of the stuff in addition to the many flagons of rum they carried aboard the Steadfast. Now the food in their storage had dipped dramatically. There was enough for a mere three months now.

"Don't fret, dearest," Frita smiled, patting her husband's cheek warmly. "We'll catch up to the bloke eventually." Skipper released a loud grunt-like sigh of exasperation, slamming a fist upon the table enough to make the entire cabin shake. "We've been on his trail for a season now! Skaa always slips from our grasp the moment the battle's in our favor. We should just hang up our coats and sail back to Hargrove now," the otter moaned, rubbing his temples. Frita looked taken aback, her expression of pure surprise. She suddenly became angry and grabbed her husband by the shoulders, shaking the burly otter with surprising force. "Don't be like that now," she finally said. "We'll get him eventually."

"There's no point, Frita. Some of our best have been lost - Billo, Grassweed, that good old Skaff that agreed to join us." Skipper clutched his head in his paws. He was the very model of melancholy. Frita hugged him, her paws barely reaching around his broad shoulders. "Don't fret. We're on his trail. We're nearly sailing in that old Torrent's wake," she cooed, then walked off to the door. "Eat up, dear. Don't let that last flagon of Hargrove Ale go to waste."

Skipper chuckled and popped the cork off the flagon and took two deep swallows of the sweet, rich ale. That old Skanna was right - compared to Hargrove Ale, their rum tasted like bilge. Oh, good old Skanna and Windred...good old Duberin and Kressa, and good old Matta, who they left at Hargrove. He hoped that their little otter son would forgive them, for they had left in the dead of night without so much as a farewell. Skipper could almost hear his son's distressed wails from across the sea. He wiped his quill across the old, tattered smock of Cornelius the mouse and licked the sharp tip with his tongue as the old navigator had done. Along with Fierrio, Cornelius had been captured by that wicked Skaa.

Another shining, crimson line joined its twin across the surface of the desk. The quill gently scratched and whispered against the grain of the wood. Skipper almost fell asleep out of boredom when there was a call from the crow's nest. "I sight the Torrent!" was the shrieking alarm. Immediately the sound of bells banging and clanging ran across the Steadfast. Skipper dashed on deck. He grabbed the hard leather sheath from the wall and withdrew the rapier it held. He brushed aside a corner of his cloak, revealing the row of daggers and dirks strapped to his belt. He brushed a claw against the tip of his rapier, testing the sharpness. At last they had the Fisher in their grasp.

----

The Torrent and the Steadfast slowly grated beside one another. The two crews bustled about on the deck, each glaring fiercely at one another. Skipper was garbed in a sweeping coat of flannel lined with wool, all of it dyed a brilliant azure color. In one claw he clutched a javelin, in the other he held his trusty rapier. Frita was also armed with a sharp claymore she had nicknamed Snapper. Across on the coal-black ship, Torrent, Skaa wore a coat of piercingly white ermine fur, speckled with crow feathers, his gold tusks polished and sharpened. He was armed with a pair of nasty spears, each bearing a few drops of deadly poison on their tips. Skannath wore his feathered crimson cloak, and was armed with a cutlass. Galewind smirked among the fur of a polecat, though most of it had been swept aside to reveal a thick leather tunic and breeches. In one of her claws she clutched a glittering scimitar.

The two ships' hulls came within meters of each other. There was a silence from both ships, and then the words "FIRE"! Immediately spears were loosened from paw, javelins whistled through the air, light-weight daggers connected with their targets. Grappling hooks were thrown and rails splintered. Finally the two ships were yanked close enough for the drawbridge to be lowered. Skipper hurried the heavy contraption to the rail and sent the command to drop it. In a shriek of metal and wood, the plank was lowered. There were heavy metal spikes at the tip - they splintered the deck of the Torrent and latched the two ships together.

In a brilliant eruption of war cries, Skipper and his crew crossed the drawbridge onto the opposition's deck. He swiped out with his rapier, slashing open a stoat's gut and slaying another in one breath. He pushed aside a wounded ermine and made his way to Skaa. The Fisher was currently aiming one of his spears at a target - there was a whoosh and then a screech. One of the snipers armed with bow-and-arrows fell to the deck of the Steadfast, slain. Skaa sneered and slashed out with the other spear - a shrew released a last gurgle before falling on his knees, defeated.

Skipper gutted a weasel as he passed by, sword raised over his head in an attempt to intercept the otter. Kicking aside the corpse, he managed to shove past to the Fisher. Skaa sneered and readied his spear. Skipper gritted his teeth and waited. Around them, the hubbub seemed to creep farther and farther away from the dueling captains. Skipper hissed, "Any last words, Fisher?" Skaa released a whooping howl to the heavens and screeched, "I'll go to the Dark Forest if it means I'll be taking ye down with me!" He snatched a sword from the dead grip of a stoat and ran forward.

Metal smashed upon metal. For an old Fisher like Skaa, he was quite strong. Skipper clutched the hilt of his sword with both paws, and then in a graceful twirl he broke free of the iron grip and attacked Skaa's open side. The Fisher hurriedly parried by allowing the shaft of his spear to be broken in two. He jabbed at Skipper's eyes with the sharp spear, and nearly did it if not for Skipper's agility. He dodged nimbly away and hurled a dirk at his opponent. Skaa beat it away like a pesky fly with his sword, and did the same with a throwing dagger Skipper thrust at him.

Skaa raced forward, swinging his sword about. Skipper grunted as his knees were cut open, oozing crimson blood. But this allowed him to stab one of the dirks into Skaa's body; in one fluid motion he had snatched the dirk from his belt and stabbed it into his opponent. Skaa grunted as it slid into his upper thigh, so deep that only the hilt protruded from the wound. Gritting his teeth, he swung his spear around and caught Skipper in the shoulder. The two leaped away from one another, inspecting their wounds with impressed looks.

Skipper gritted his teeth and ran forward, swinging his rapier. Skaa parried with his sword, the two metallic blades hummed as they touched one another. Skaa stabbed Skipper in the gut with his spear, and Skipper slashed open Skaa's chest with his dirk. Again they leaped away, panting and gasping in pain. Skipper raced forward again, and Skaa decided to throw his spear. It whistled through the air and caught Skipper in the chest. The otter surged on, and slashed at the Fisher with his rapier. Skaa howled with glee as he parried it with his sword. Skaa twirled his blade around and cut open Skipper's stomach once more before leaping aside.

The otter clutched his deep wound, feeling the blood drip from them and stain his clothes. He could feel the agonized screams of Frita. He looked up through a mask of pain and sweat, and then charged again. He swung his rapier around and felt it be resisted once more by Skaa's blade. However, he recoiled it and swung again with greater force - Skaa's blade snapped in half and the rapier cleaved cleanly through it and embedded itself into Skaa's throat. The Fisher gasped and gurgled, but his paw grabbed the dirk still stuck deep in his thigh. He removed it in one hard jerk and stabbed it into Skipper's chest. "To the Dark Forest...we go..." he hissed before collapsing in a heap on the deck. Skipper moaned and fell to his knees, feeling his own weapon in his breast.

Before Frita could aid her husband, Galewind strode forward. "I shall put an end to his misery," she shrieked and plunged her skimitar into Skipper's back. There was a howl of anguish from Frita, and Skipper fell with a thud on the deck of the Torrent. Galewind snickered. Skipper's crew was called back on the Steadfast, and the drawbridge was hacked off the Torrent and thrust into the sea. Both ships creaked away from each other, both victorious and beaten in their own way.

[Sharpcutt]

Chapter 5

"Shh, matey. He might waken."
"Oh, that old stripedog. He could sleep through a hurricane and wake up unscathed."

The two young animals crept through the small, cramped cellar. Well, it wasn't being used as a cellar at the moment. Four large barrels of Hargrove Ale were propped up against the wall, along with salted meats and bundles of mushrooms and last season's harvest. The elder of the two, a lanky, muscular otter nudged through a maze of junk - old bits of wood, stacks of broken tools, and shredded, waterlogged books. Behind him a squirrel nimbly leaped over the debris, a cunning smile upon her features. Unlike other squirrelmaids, she dressed like a male - a creamy white tunic, the baggy breeches of her father - and even had an old, rusted dagger at her hip. The otter was quite plain, dressed in similar garb except with a thick tweed coat around his shoulders. He was unarmed, though in one paw he clutched a small lamp.

The otter's large paw grasped the squirrel's wrist as he heard something stir up above. "Please, Matta, don't tell me you're frightened of old Willowstripe?" The squirrel chuckled, tugging her wrist from the older beast's grasp. Nonetheless, she placed a paw on the hilt of her dagger, though she knew she would never use it. Not now, anyways. Matta sighed and leaned against an old, broken barrel and said, "I'm not afraid of o' Willowstripe - no, he's too gentlem'nly to berate us too much. No, I'm afraid o' yer mother's wrath when she learns o' this." They both chuckled and continued on their way, this time more wary of their surroundings.

Kressa, the squirrelmaid, elbowed past a tall pile of leather-bound books. She wriggled around her comrade and came to a stack of old, rusted weapons laying in the farthest, darkest corner of the cellar. They were draped over with a thick cloak of stained velvet. It took both Kressa and Matta to tug it down, though they were rewarded with the sight of the mighty weapons. There was a club half as long as Matta was tall, and a sword that was so heavy not even their combined strength could so much as lift it an inch from the ground. Even the daggers were heavy, much heavier than Kressa's lightweight one.

The gawked at these large, shimmering things. Weapons were strictly prohibited upon Hargrove. How Willowstripe managed to smuggle these into his cellar was unknown. Kressa ran a paw across the dull metal of the sword. To her eyes it was an elegant blade of silver, the hilt encrusted with rubies and emeralds. To regular eyes it was a simple thing, the blade chipped numerously and crusted over with hard red rust. The hilt was wrapped with a thick layer of leather that was beginning to peel away, revealing the wood beneath it. But to Kressa's eyes, it was beautiful.

The pale light of the lantern began to grow. It spread the eerie gold light across the cellar, casting everything with its dreamy glow. Kressa's eyelids drooped, and she was scarcely aware of her surroundings. She heard Matta's distressed voice, and then no more.

Kressa's eyes opened to a winding path. The path crept to a large, looming forest with a dark colored canopy. Before the forest a huge iron gate stood. This gate began slowly creeping open. Kressa was not drawn to this forest, and instead looked over her shoulder. There was a shrieking whistle, and she now stood on the beach, water lapping at her paws. She was not on the shores of Hargrove. The skies were nearly black, a murky gray mingled with dark clouds. A frightfully cold wind howled past. A huge black slip began to slowly approach, appearing like a huge hawk in the gale, sails flapping, the fang dripping blood branded on one of the sails. Kressa, however, stared at it and screeched, "I'm not frightened o' ye!"

There was the sound like the song of a harp, of a harp so perfectly tuned it sounded like the trill of a songbird. Then, a gentle voice rode the wind, gently gliding to her ears.

"The black ship sails
a prophecy unveils.
Head fast, go
to where the songbirds crow.
Run fast, spring
to where the cranes sing.

Pass blackened tombs
where new life blooms.
Flowery bliss
Do not so easily fall in their kiss.
Cascading greenery
Pass quick through the scenery.

Upon a field of crimson red
Here the Crane lies in her bed.
Unearth her!
Fast, she lies beneath the lush green fur.
Defeat the tyrant!
Spread freedom throughout!

Kressa gasped as she jerked upright. She was sitting up in the grass in a copse of trees, not too far from Willowstripe's abode. She grabbed Matta's sleeve, eyes large and pupils trembling. "I...I must..." she whispered, voice barely audible. Matta looked concerned. Kressa gulped and tried again. "I must leave Hargrove. Immediately." She clutched her head, which was throbbing terribly. "I pose a great danger for us here."

"Why in the world's that?"
"It's drawn to me. The black ship is drawn to me."