#redwallhell

    The voice was strange, far higher than anything she’d expected. It must have been very young when it was turned. Perhaps that would explain it’s small size. She’d never seen any full-grown rat, magik or not, so small. Or perhaps it wasn’t a rat.

    “What are you?” she asked.

    The thing in the cage gave her a thin smile. “You already know what I am, otherwise you wouldn’t have locked me up.”

    Rose spluttered for a moment, trying to think of what to say. “I mean, what were you? Before you changed?” she managed.

    The thing snorted, glaring at her. It’s eyes had gone hard as ice. “I was a mouse, if you must know.”

    A mouse? But her father had told her that only vermin could be changed, that only they possessed the necessary darkness to call upon such forbidden powers. She looked the thing over again. It, no, it was most definitely a he. He was thin, still covered in blood from the bludgeoning he’d received from the villagers, and no taller than Rose herself. She felt an unexpected surge of pity for him. What could possibly have happened to change such an young creature into a demon?

    “If you want to stare, please do so quietly,” he said.

    Rose covered her mouth, her ears growing hot as she realized she’d been thinking out loud. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

    He snorted again. “What for?”

    “I,” what was she sorry for anyways? Certainly not that her parents and brother had been killed by a demon. She pictured the creature that had killed them, long and dark,with sharp fangs that tore mercilessly at her family’s throats. A small whimper escaped from her throat as she pictured the horrible scene. But that demon had not been this one. She would have remembered the eyes. “I’m sorry you were locked up for something that was not your fault.”

    He didn’t snort at her this time. His countenance even seemed to soften for a moment. Then he was frowning again as he grumbled, “Foolish mortal. Foolish, foolish mortal.”

    Rose found herself glaring back at him, paws on hips as she grumbled right back at him. “And what’s so wrong for feeling sorry? You know the villagers want to kill you, don’t you?”

    This time he actually laughed, a sad, hollow sound that faded far too quickly. “Everyone wants to kill me, little maid.”

    “Little maid? And just how old are you, sir?” Rose stamped a footpaw down indignantly.

    This seemed to catch him by surprise, and he took a moment to answer. “11 seasons.”

    Only 11? She was older by a full season, although she wasn’t going to tell him that. “How does an 11-season-old mouse become entangled with a demon?”

    “You think I’m serving him?” His voice had gained a sharp edge to it, much like the sword he’d carried into the village. “I’ve been tracking him for three seasons now.”

    “And what are you going to do when you catch him?” The demon who had killed her parents was sure to be far older than this one, what in the name of fur and feathers did he think he could do to it?

    “I’m going to kill him.”

    Rose stepped back at the ferocity in his voice. He smiled at her, a horrid, thin thing with too many teeth showing.

    “Does that bother you, little maid? The idea of killing a killer.”

    “N-no!” she stuttered. Surely he was messing with her, playing tricks on her mind. But she looked at those silver-gray eyes again, mesmerized by the cold certainty in them. He was not joking. Her paw strayed toward the latch, he made no move to touch her. She paused, watching him watch her. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the red around his eyes seemed less intense. He was thin, almost painfully so, and the villagers had overwhelmed him easily. Only 11 seasons old. The thought played through her mind.

    “They’ll kill you if you let me go,” he said.

    Rose shook herself. Did she really want to do this? She looked at his eyes again, somewhere, hidden deep beneath the surface, she saw a flicker of something. A memory, perhaps, or a wish that would never be fulfilled, a dream that now held only pain and sadness. She bit her lip. “But they’ll kill you if I don’t,” she whispered. She lifted the latch, moving swiftly around to the back of the cage and crouched down, covering her head with her paws. She’d really done it now.

    His shadow fell across her, he stood so close she could have reached out and touched him. Surely this was the end. “Foolish mortal.”

    By the time she looked up, he was gone.

     Martin sat up suddenly, sword out in defence against whatever being had made the sound that wakened him. A butterfly landed on the ground next to him, innocently fluttering its wings. He groaned and fell back, allowing himself to curl deeper into the forest floor. Sensitive hearing was not something he’d bargained on when he gained his powers. Neither was sensitive smell. He sat up again, sniffing the air. Something, or someone, was nearby, and they were bleeding heavily. He stood and stretched leisurely. Whatever it was, he could take his time getting there. His hunger was mostly sated from his hunt the night before, but there was always room for a little extra.

    The closer he got, the more he could distinguish from the scent. The thing that was bleeding was either still alive, or else very recently dead, the blood still smelled fresh. The tang of copper filled his senses, and a red film was cast over his sight. But he had no need for sight when his nose and ears worked so perfectly. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him as he came through the trees.

    It was the maid from the village, the one who had chosen to free him. She bled from a dozen places, her smock barely held together by a few threads it had been cut so many times. One of her legs was obviously broken, and she lay curled in a ball among the ferns, breathing shallowly.

    Martin stared at her passively, unsure of what to do. Instinct told him to feed before the blood became spoiled, but somehow that didn’t seem right. The maid had saved his life, after all, was he truly so dead to the world that he would ignore that kindness in her time of need?

    As he stood pondering, he heard a soft whimper. Kneeling down, he forced her head up. One pretty hazel eye looked at him, bright with fever, the other was sealed shut by blood. She did not have long left to live. It was a miracle she’d survived this long.

    She must have realized he was there, because her cracked lips opened in a hoarse whisper, “Water. Please.”

    The gentle voice pierced through the red cloud surrounding him. How could one mortal have such an effect? “Foolish mortal,” Martin murmured. “I told you they would kill you.”

    She gave him a lopsided smile. One of her teeth had been knocked out, another broken. “I remember,” she slurred. She reached out with a bloodspattered paw, but it fell long before she reached him. Absentmindedly, he turned her so that she lay on her back. Her stomach was exposed now, a gaping mess of mangled flesh.

    “How are you still alive?” The question left him before he could stop it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

    It was a long moment before she replied. “You’re going after that monster, right?” He nodded, not entirely sure she could see him. She closed her good eye and smiled. “Good. Give him a message for me, please?” He nodded again, mystified that she had stayed alive for so long just to tell him this. “Tell him that Laterose of Noonvale will haunt him for all of eternity, even into death.”

    Martin had thought that mortals couldn’t surprise him anymore. Apparently he’d thought wrong. “You came all this way, just to say that?”

    “Yes,” came the faint whisper.

    For the first time in a long time, Martin felt sorrow. He looked at the maid stretched out before him, covered in her own blood, smiling at the thought of haunting her enemy until she drove him mad. Pity, she would have made a decent traveling companion. She was certainly stubborn enough to put up with him. A thought struck him, and he asked, “Do you want to live?”

    Laterose said nothing at first, and for a moment he thought she’d died while he was thinking. Then she sucked in a breath of air and hissed out, “Of course I want to live.”

    “Even if you could never lead a normal life again?”

    Her one good eye was open again, staring at him with a cold calmness. “I would gladly give up my dreadfully boring life to hunt down that monster.”

    Martin grinned, it was the answer he’d been looking for. “Good. Then you must drink what I give you, no matter how vile it seems.” It took only a quick nip with his teeth for the blood to flow freely across his palm. The wound would heal up quickly enough after the meal from the night before. He had no cup with him, so he forced Laterose’s jaws open and placed his paw between them. She struggled for a moment, then swallowed. Martin felt the drain immediately as a part of his powers transferred into the new host. He would stay like that until the transition had finished, then he would need to hunt again. What a bother, having to feed two mouths instead of one, but it was too late to turn back.

     It took three days for Laterose to heal. In that time, Martin hunted for food and searched for the trail of his enemy. His newly turned companion didn’t speak much, only once to ask him to call her Rose instead of Laterose.

    It was on the morning of the fourth day that Martin went to collect a canteen of water for their journey. It was the only form of supplies they would carry. The monster had gotten a head start, and they would need to travel light and fast to catch him. Martin capped the canteen and growled at his own reflection in the stream. The monster, Badrang Martin reminded himself, had taken Martin’s family and left him for dead. Now he’d taken Rose’s family as well. It was time someone put an end to the slaughter.

    He wondered idly what his new companion’s magik would be. Would it be something useful? Something that could be used against Badrang when they caught him? As much as he hated to admit it, Martin was not yet strong enough to confront Badrang on his own.

    Rose was seated with her back against a tree when he reached her. Her eyes were closed, and to the casual observer she looked like a simple maid napping in the forest. But Martin was no casual observer. Even without trying he could feel the power that now pulsed through her veins. Her eyes, when she opened them, would have the same red ring as his own. Other than that, however, there was no noticeable difference in her appearance. She opened one hazel eye to look at him as he slung the canteen onto his belt.

    “Time to move out,” he said.

    Rose opened both eyes and stood. “How long do you think it will take to catch up with it?”

    Martin stood rooted in place as the honey-sweet voice rippled through the air. A shiver ran down his spine, and it seemed that the very light shifted with the sound. He had to shake himself before he could speak properly again. His own voice sounded harsh and his tongue felt unwieldy in his mouth. He ignored her query. “Tell me, Rose, did you sing often in your village?”

    She seemed surprised by such a mundane question. “Yes,” the honeyed voice washed over him again and he could practically feel her confusion, “I loved singing. My mother taught me. Why?”

    Martin shuddered again, then gave Rose a smile that he knew showed too much of his teeth for comfort. “Best practice your trade on someone else, little siren, if you want to catch your family’s killer in a timely fashion.” He took off into the woods, Rose following after him several moments later.