Mynede Fan-Fic
By SolegaleMoon
Chapter 5
The
little shack Mynede was in began to change in her eyes. The dust and decay disappeared, the
bookshelves righted themselves, and everything became neat and orderly. Bright sunshine filled the room and cut
through swirling dust motes. Birdsong
could be heard through an open window.
And there, underneath the window, was a mouse. He was an old mouse; his fur was turning gray. He was rather unkempt and his clothing was in
a state of disarray. He sat hunched over
a desk, scribbling furiously with a quill pen on a piece of bark parchment. He mumbled to himself as he wrote and at
times would chuckle as if someone had said something funny. Ferath,
Mynede thought to herself, that was the
mouse’s name.
* ~ *
“Ferath! Ferath!” A shrill voice cut through the peaceful
scene. The old mouse looked up and
sighed deeply.
“Ferath,
I know you’re in there! We need to
talk. Ferath!” The grating voice was now accompanied by
someone pounding on the door.
“Coming,
sister dearest,” Ferath replied in a weary voice. He rose slowly and made his way to the door. “What is it this time?” he muttered to
himself. He opened the door and was
greeted by the angry face of a younger female mouse. Her blue eyes glared up at him with a
fierceness he had lately grown accustomed to.
Her bonnet was crooked and her body verily quivered with rage.
“Ferath,
just look at what your precious child has done!” The accuser held up several pieces of broken
dinnerware. Her hands shook visibly.
“Why,
Cornelia… Are you, aahhh, quite
sure?”
“Sure?! I saw her
do it! She was caught in the act—one of
many, I might add. This is only the tip
of the proverbial iceberg! My house has
literally been destroyed. Explain that,
oh brother of mine, I’d like to see you defend her now.”
“Now
calm down, Cornelia, surely it can’t be as bad as you say… You do
tend to overreact at times. I’ll talk to
her and make sure she fixes whatever—“
“Overreacting? You think I’m overreacting?” Cornelia was livid. She threw the remnants of her treasured
dinnerware forcibly to the ground. “I’ve
had it with you, Ferath! You’ve lost
your head to this…this…foul pet of
yours. I warned you—yes, we all did, but
did you listen? No! She doesn’t belong here, Ferath. She’s not one of our kind. You can’t change her no matter how hard you
try. You’re only going to bring trouble
to yourself and everyone else if you let her stay on like this.”
“Cornelia,
I realize it has been a long, tough road, but I assure you there is nothing to
worry about. You can’t expect her to act
like one of us after living with those of her own. But she is still young, Cornelia. I promise you I can change her…things will
get better. You’ll see—someday she will
be one of us. It just takes time.”
“Time. You think two
and a half years is not time enough?
Ferath, she’s worse now than when she came here! I don’t understand why you insist on treating
her like a helpless babe when she is perfectly capable of murdering us in our
beds.”
“Now,
Cornelia, let’s not be drastic. She has pulled some awful pranks, but she
would never hurt a fly.”
“But
I have.”
Both
mice turned to face the speaker, a young female weasel. She had large, beautiful, innocent-looking
light brown eyes that searched both of them with a questioning glance. She cocked her head to the left and wiggled
back and forth slightly as she spoke, painting the deceptive picture of a
perfectly sweet dibbun.
“I’ve
killed a lot of flies, and other things as well. It’s nothing.”
Ferath
frowned down at her. “Mable, I do not
wish you to speak of killing in such a manner.
Apologize.”
“I’m
sorry, Mr. Ferath.”
“Now,
that’s better. Would you like to explain
what you have done to Mrs. Forrester’s house, among other things?”
“No,”
the big-eyed dibbun replied. Ferath
pursed his lips.
“Mable,
tell me what you did.”
“Why?”
“Because I am your father.”
“No,
you’re not. My father is dead.”
At
this Ferath’s eyes flashed. “Yes, your real father is dead,” Ferath said in a
queer voice. “But I am your adoptive
father. I take care of you now. So…tell me what you have done.” Ferath placed a stern gaze on his adopted daughter. After a few moments of silence, she replied.
“I
broke the dishes.”
“Is
that all?”
“No.”
“Please
continue; tell me everything you have done.”
“I
ripped the drapes. I threw the ashes
from the fireplace all over everything.
I dumped all the food on the floor.
I broke the candlesticks. I
toppled the chairs. I started to rip up
the flower garden, but Mrs. Forrester caught me.”
Ferath
looked deeply hurt. He glanced at Cornelia
but was greeted with an icy glare. After
a few moments he regained his composure.
“My
child, why did you do this?”
”Because I hate her.”
Ferath
was not prepared for such an answer. The
child had said it with no remorse in her voice whatsoever. Even more disturbing was the fact that there
was no anger present. It was said simply
as if it were a most normal thing to say.
“Mable,
hate is a very strong word. Surely you
do not mean what you said.”
Mable
simply shrugged.
“You
see, Ferath, the child has no morals whatsoever. Who knows what she may do in the future!”
“Yes. Who indeed. Especially if I cease to
care for her. Cornelia, for all
the problems she has caused I could never abandon her. That would be wrong. I admit I may not be the best father for the
child, but I am certainly better than nothing.
Perhaps my lack of parenting ability is the reason she has not yet
learned our ways. I know progress still
needs to be made, but I can’t do all of this on my own. I’m trying my best, but I need the support of
everyone, support that has repeatedly been refused me. I may seem mad to you all to have taken her
in, but…how could I do otherwise?”
Ferath sighed wearily. “I am
sorry about all this, Cornelia. I
promise you amends will be made. Now if
you’ll excuse me, Mable and I need to have a little talk. I thank you for your concern.” With that Ferath shut the door.
The
old mouse was just about to turn to his young charge when—
* ~ *
“Mynede?”
Mynede
woke with a start and looked around in confusion. Jessup was standing over her. Apparently she had dozed off for a
while. Immediately the memory of the
dream filled her mind. How strange, that
she should dream a memory so vividly and so accurately. It was very unnerving.
“Milady,
it is eventide. Do you want anything?”
Mynede
suddenly felt a terribly hunger. Pushing
the dream and all the thoughts that came with it to the back of her mind, she
stood up.
“Yes. Bring me some victuals—plenty, in fact. We shall spend the night here. We may or may not leave in the morning.”
“Yes, milady.”
“I
will be over there, near that clearing.”
Mynede gestured with her paw.
“Please stay close by as there are some things I may wish to discuss
with you.”
”Yes, milady.” And with that, Jessup again
departed.
Mynede
too left the shack. She wanted to sit
and think. Not only did certain things,
like where to travel next, have to be established, she wanted to sort out everything
this dream had awakened. Mynede
shuddered as an image of Ferath floated through her mind, although she was not
sure why. She walked through the
peaceful woodland, reacquainting herself with the real world.
Chapter 6
Jessup made his way back to the center of camp. The warm evening was unusually humid. There was a heaviness
to the air that made Jessup move at about half his normal rate. The sun was once again a bright orange disc
dipping below the horizon; its warm rays did little to invigorate Jessup’s
weary limbs. The weasel tried to fight
off a yawn, but failed. It had been a
long day for Mynede’s second-in-command.
Jessup shook his head and slapped his face in an attempt to wake himself up. There was
still much to do.
Several vermin were hanging around the center of camp,
keeping an eye on the rations. There was
really no official guard for the provisions, as everyone wanted to make sure
his neighbor did not get more than his share.
A few of the group threw Jessup a distracted salute. Most were intent on looking over the pitiful loot
they had found.
Jessup approached the pile of food packs and selected a
particularly large one. He could sense
several covetous eyes following his every move.
He was just making his exit when a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
“An’ where are you goin’ wit those victuals,
yer lordship?” A rat with an idiotic
grin sidled up next to Jessup.
“Don’t call me that, ‘tis not me title.” Jessup continued to walk.
“You didn’t answer my question,” the rat said with a
smirk. “Whatcha doin’ with those vittles? Rations ‘ave already been
given out. This isn’t yer private
store, y’know.”
“They are not for me.
They are for her Ladyship.”
“Ohhh.
Yore sure, now?
I didn’t see you at mealtime.
Where’ve you been all day?”
“My whereabouts are none of your business, rat. Now leave me alone.” Jessup knew it was a stupid thing to say, but
he had never been very good at disciplining the unruly ones.
“As you wish, m’lord. I wouldn’t want t’be keeping a loyal servant
from his task. Now, if someone was bein’
disloyal, that’s a bird of a different feather…” The rat looked knowingly at
Jessup. Jessup gave the rat a queer
look; what was he talking about? “Don’t
play dumb with me! Yer
not the only one on the outer patrol, y’know. Did you think no one’d notice yer little,
ahhh, slip up?”
Jessup frowned. Could
this rat have seen him and the squirrel last night? The weasel was not quite sure what to
do. Why did this rat have to speak so
strangely, as if in a riddle? Couldn’t
he just be straightforward and be done with it?
“It’s okay, m’lord.
I’ll give yer awhile to figure it out.
Perhaps you’ll be ready to have a chat with me in the morning.” With that the rat gave a laugh and sauntered
off. Jessup glared at him as he walked
away. He felt like a fool.
*
~ *
“That Jessup, thick as a brick,” the rat muttered to himself
as he crossed through the camp. “Hey, Quinty! Lochan! Did you see that?”
Quinty, a skinny stoat with small eyes, grinned. “See what?
Was there summat special I was s’posed to see? Why was you talkin’
to Jessup, Scrutul? Nobody talks to
him. Did you see my hat that I
found?” Quinty held up a wide-brimmed
hat with a large feather and waved it in Scrutul’s face.
“Yes, the hat’s lovely, Quinty,” Scrutul said, pushing it
out of his way. He turned from the stoat
to face an old, gray fox with a black headband wrapped around his eyes. “Well, Lochan?”
“Hmmm?”
“Did you see, er, hear
me talkin’ with Jessup?”
Lochan flashed a cold smile.
“Hear. That’s better. You must be watchin’ your words,
Scrutul. You’ll hurt a poor blind fox’s
feelings.”
“You knew what I meant,” Scrutul said with a snort. “Anyhow, what’d you make of it?”
“I’d be careful if I were you, Scrutul. As I have said before, Jessup is not to be
taken lightly. He may be a fool in every
sense of the word, but he’s also an experienced fighter and Mynede’s right
hand. Don’t insult him as if he was deaf
and dumb. You’re being too confident.”
“I suppose you’re right.
Though why Mynede picked ‘im, I’ll never know. Any more advice?”
“Go ahead and continue your blackmail. That’ll keep Jessup out of your way. But use your time wisely. Show our Lady your skills. Give her a chance to warm up to you before
you do away with her favorite.”
“You really think I should kill him, then?” Scrutul was smiling.
“Of course!
But not too soon. Take your time, but use it wisely.”
“Thanks, mate. I know I can count on you.” Scrutul grasped the fox’s paws and shook them
heartily.
“You can count on me too, Scrutul! I’m your best pal. Here, I’ll let you wear my hat.” Quinty shoved the foul-smelling hat on
Scrutul’s head and giggled. Scrutul
merely sighed.
“Thank you, Quinty. I
appreciate your…support.”
* ~ *
Night
passed quickly and soon the vermin band was packing up camp and preparing to
move out. The sun was just beginning to
peek over the horizon; the birds had not yet started their morning song, but the
grasshoppers had gone to bed. All was
quiet and peaceful, except for the activity at the campsite.
“Milady,
we are ready to move out.” Jessup stood
straight as an arrow, a heavy pack on his back and a large staff in his
paws.
“Everything is in order?
All signs of our presence here have been taken care of?”
“I have seen to it, Milady.”
“Even the bodies?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Then let us not waste any more time.”
Jessup nodded and reached for his scimitar in order to
salute, only to find it was not at his side.
Mynede watched with interest as a look of dismay appeared on her
bondservant’s face.
“Is there a problem?” she said with amusement.
“I, er, uh, forgot something, Milady.”
“Well, hurry up and get it.
We won’t wait for you.” With that
Mynede broke into a jog, ready to inform the others that it was time to leave.
Jessup did not waste any time. He raced back to the last spot he could
remember using his scimitar. There, a
good distance from the settlement, lay the small
clearing. It was dotted with several
large, smooth mounds of freshly overturned dirt. A strange white rock lay in the middle, and
on top of the rock was Jessup’s prized scimitar. It was a beautiful weapon, the long blade
curving gracefully into the golden, jewel-encrusted hilt. Jessup snatched it off the rock, but instead
of running back towards camp, he paused.
“It’s not a very fitting marker for so many graves,” he
muttered, staring at the rock. “But I
guess it’ll have to do.” He wiped some
dirt from his battered blade. “I buried
you as best I could. Rest
in peace.” Jessup hurriedly
sheathed his scimitar and headed back after the rest of the vermin.
To Be Continued…