The tall otter let out a shuddering breath and sat down wearily with his back against the giant tree. The leaves barely cushioned the hard roots of the maple, but it was better than nothing. He carefully laid his razor-sharp dagger down amidst the leaves, looked around cautiously twice, and then relaxed his tired muscles. He could not be too watchful. Dark days had come to Mossflower Wood.
It had been a hundred years or more since the Scottish squirrel Racketty Tam had saved the legendary abbey of Redwall from the savage hoards of a giant wolverine named Gulo. Since then, Mossflower Wood had grown ever more and more perilous. Strange things lived in its depths, dark places that never saw the light bred evil, vermin roamed unchecked, and gradually twilight fell on the center of the forest. Redwall Abbey still existed, but the wood had grown up around it, and it was rare that ever traveler stumbled upon it. For those who had always lived in Mossflower, they could either leave or stay on in ever shrinking groups. Many chose the former, and the small bands that stayed behind had lost contact, and with that, hope.
The otter mulled over the fate of his beloved home bitterly. A rightful heir to the holt of Camp Willow, he had returned to his ancestral home only to find it deserted, signs of vermin polluting the river that ran by. If only Mossflower could be made clean! If only a force would arise to turn back the pages of history and guard the wood once more, turning the dark into light and the danger into safety! He slammed his fist into a hole in the tree savagely…and barked his knuckles on something metal.
He reached in again and pulled out a small spade. Engraved on the handle was something, but it was so encrusted with dirt and age that it was impossible to decipher. He took it down to the river and put it in to soak. Then he curled up in the leaves and tried to sleep through the chilling wind that cut through his make-shift bed.
In the morning the otter removed his find from the water and rubbed at it with the corner of his tattered cloak. After a few minutes of polishing the relic, a word could be seen on its surface. DIG. He smiled. What else would you do with a spade? He was about to put the small tool back into the hole when something caught his eye, an arrow etched into the bark of his immense maple tree that pointed straight down. He smiled again. Why not? He had nothing better to do. But his feelings of amusement at himself turned to excitement as his spade bit deeper and deeper into the moist earth.
For it was obvious to him that someone had dug here previously. The earth, instead of the rock-hard solidity around the hole, was softer and much easier to penetrate. Someone in the past had dug this hole. Had they left something behind?
By the middle of the day, it was clear to the otter that something had once been placed in the hole. He dug slower now as he strove to lift the damp, cold earth from where it covered the secret that had remained hidden for so long. At last he found what he was looking for: an iron box, ornately chased with patterns of leaves and encrusted with ancient dirt. He softly brushed it clean and blew the dust from the keyhole. It was locked.
But before he could attempt to open it, his attention was captured by something more urgent. Someone was watching him from behind the large pine stump that stood stolidly at the northern corner of the clearing. Smoothly and calmly he slid the box inside his cloak and replaced it in his hand with the dagger that he kept there. Slowly he turned so that his back was firmly against the trunk of the tree, with the weapon in plain view. "Whoever’s there, come out slowly so I can see you, or I'll throw this first and ask questions afterwards."
What came out first was an arrow resting lightly on a drawn bowstring. This was followed by a small female squirrel whose jet-black fur stood straight up in outrage at being caught off guard by the brawny otter. However, she kept her cool and made not a sound, only stood and watched him warily. The otter sighed, sheathed his dagger, and sat down again in the leaves. "Young lady, if you want to run around Mossflower Wood armed with a bow, and creep up on warriors unannounced in these dangerous times, that's your business. But if you don't want a dagger between your pretty eyes you'd better make some attempt at warning people that you're coming!"
The young squirrel glared at him defiantly. "How was I to know that you weren't some hulking vermin, eh? You should tell people who you are, sir!" The otter was taken aback at the aggressive behavior of the petite squirrel. "Look, forget I said anything. Let's start over. I’m Rowanlethe. I've been a warrior my whole life, and I came here to seek signs of my family and heritage in my ancestral home. Now who are you?"
She flipped her bow back over her shoulders and bounded up to top of the stump. Now at an eye level with the tall otter, she spoke fast. "My name’s Jesika. I'm a one-squirrel army who can shoot faster than anything you've ever seen. I'm not scared of anything, and I came here because I was looking for something."
Rowanlethe fought back a smile at the cocky attitude of his new acquaintance. "Pleasure to meet you, Jesika. What were you looking for?" Jesika sat back, apparently quite willing to talk. "Well, there's this legend in my family about a group of warriors that kept Mossflower Wood safe, ages and ages ago. They lived around here, or so the story goes. One day, a long time ago, this band, called the Sentinels, left to go to a great war. But supposedly, one of them left something here for those who came after. No one really knows what it was, but it was supposed to be something that could be used to raise up a force of warriors to guard Mossflower again. Well, goodness knows we could use something like that now, so I came here to try and find it."
While Rowanlethe was listening to Jesika's tale, his mind was working quickly. Could he have found the mysterious something that the young squirrel was talking about? Should he tell her? He decided to wait a while, and further test this small warrior. Well. While this interchange had gone on, night had fallen. "Why don't you bed down for the night here," he asked, "and continue your search in the morning." Jesika stared at him, and then apparently decided to trust him. She darted behind the stump and reappeared bearing a knapsack from which she took some food. Throughout the meal, the otter had that feeling that he was under inspection, not the other way around. Jesika asked him multiple questions, probing him for information about his past and his opinions on everything imaginable. At the end of the meal she made up her mind. Sticking her paw out, she spoke up firmly and decidedly. "I like you, Rowanlethe. Mates?" Rowanlethe grasped her paw and shook it. "Mates."
The next morning Rowanlethe told Jesika of his find. She was tremendously excited, and immediately asked to see the box. Turning it over and over in her paws, she nodded her head knowingly. "My family has made these kind of boxes for years. You press on different parts to open it." After examining it closely, she pressed on three of the carven leaves in quick succession. The lid sprang open.
The two warriors both peered into the box. From it Rowan withdrew a sheaf of papers. He walked over to the river and sat down alone to read them. Jesika pulled out a leather bag, tied shut with a myriad of knots. "Huh," she muttered. "He gets the papers and I just get to untie a bunch of knots!" She hopped up on her stump and set to work.
As Rowan peered over the papers, his paws shook as he realized what they were: the records of that ancient band of warriors called the Sentinels! It was a treasure house of lore, tales and ballads recounting the deeds of the brave fighters, maps of the surrounding countryside, battle strategies that covered every possible topic. And then another scrap of paper fell out, one less well-read than the others. He picked it up and began to read.
Welcome, stranger. If you are reading this, it is because you have found the box I left for you. Though I don't know who you are, or what time you are in, or the need you have, I know through a moment of foresight that you are a mighty warrior, in a time of desperate need. I know also that you are my descendant, both in blood and valor. In this chest is all you will need to rekindle the flames of the Sentinels that once kept Mossflower Wood safe. Every record I could think of to leave you I have. But most importantly, I have left you the banner of the Sentinels. Wherever you are, however dark and alone the time seems to be, be assured that the memory of the Sentinels lives on in every small foothold that noble and good creatures still have in this wood. All they need is a leader. Raise this banner, sound the war cry of the Sentinels, and a band of warriors will rise up and follow you. My time grows short, but I will leave you with this: don't fear to take up the banner and the responsibility. The Sentinels were destined to come to you.
The Blessing of Fate be on you.
Riana of the Golden Eyes
Rowan closed the paper, struck with awe. The thought that this time had been foreseen and prepared for gave him new hope. Turning, he saw Jesika behind him. He wordlessly gave her the note from his ancestor and walked away to stand looking into the water while she read it. Once she had finished, she looked at him with eyes wide in appreciation of the moment. "Come on." She led him over to where she had untangled the cords of the bag. In one swift movement, she drew forth the banner. Dark green folds of heavy cloth caught the air for the first time in decades. The banner swirled out, revealing the pair of gleaming eyes worked in golden thread. She leapt up to the branch of the maple and attached it, then descended to watch it as it waved above them.
Rowan turned to his companion. "We can do this, Jesika. You and I shall rally the creatures of Mossflower and claim the heritage of the Sentinels! We shall go to every group that clings to goodness and gather behind us a force that will keep off the dark for as long as we need too! For now with us lies the power to turn back the tide and become the greatest band of warriors that Mossflower has ever known!"
Under the sweeping folds of the great banner, the two clasped paws, threw back their heads, and let out the war cry that would soon ring throughout every part of Mossflower Wood. "FORWARD THE SENTINELS!"
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