EPILOGUE

How does one start a journal?

I asked Cyrus about this, since he seemed the best one to ask, what with Brother Winokur and the Father Abbot being way too busy these days, and he told me there are as many different ways to keep a journal as there are beasts to write them. Which makes sense in a certain way, I suppose, although I may have been looking for something a bit more … useful. But, if each Recorder truly must find their own way and settle upon the approach that works best for them, then I'll just have to do the best I can, shalln't I?

Is it shalln't, or shan't? I'll always be grateful for the reading and writing lessons Mum and my sister Maddle gave me as a youth, but I am hardly as literate as some of the scholarly beasts I find myself rubbing shoulders with these days, who put my own writing skills, such as they are, to shame. Then again, with all the rats and shrews at Redwall these days, perhaps I'm still above average after all.

Anyway, after giving the matter much thought, I decided I'd start with a stroll all about and throughout the Abbey - the grand tour, as our Long Patrol friends might call it - and simply make note of my impressions as I went along. That seems the best way to me to capture a day's happenings at Redwall, and it is my journal after all, so off we go!

Well, I must say breakfast was delicious! Strawberry tarts and warm cheese scones, washed down with delicate pennycloud cordial. I avoided any of the breads and jams so as not to risk staining, smearing or smudging these precious pages, because that would hardly do, you know. I must say that even with everything that's going on these days, Abbeys breakfasts still always manage to be cheery affairs, embracing the optimism that each new day brings. Let us hope this never changes, no matter how dark or dire things get!

I sat with the Long Patrol, as I always try to do, and they are if nothing else the best beasts to bolster one's spirits that anybeast could ask for! Which is not to say they don't take their responsibilities in defending this Abbey with all seriousness, but maybe it's that combination of stalwart dedication and upbeat, can-do attitude that makes them so special, and so very much in a class all their own. Of course, with all the leverets, they must keep an eye toward the future, and trust in that future to be a good place for their sons and daughters - which is why they fight so hard to try to make both today and tomorrow better.

And now it's down to the kitchens!

By the seasons, does Friar Hugh and his staff keep themselves busy! Breakfast is barely over (although some of my Long Patrol companions were heard to jokingly inquire about "second breakfast") and already they have more delicacies cooking and baking and stewing for the midday meal, which can't come soon enough for me! I must admit it's still a bit disconcerting to see so many rats lending a paw in this most sacred of spots, but Abbot Geoff says it's important we stick with Abbess Vanessa's plan for making these refugees more fully a part of Abbey life and routine, and goodness knows we certainly have enough of them sharing Redwall with us these days! Hugh assures me (as he no doubt assures all of us, several times a day) that our cellars and pantries and larders won't be running out anytime this season, or even next, with all we can harvest from our gardens and orchard and pond, but that unless the Gawtrybe drop their siege soon we'll all have to tighten our belts sooner rather than later. He's the expert, so I will leave it to him.

Next, up to the Infirmary to check on things there. I must say, it is almost as impressive to see Metellus at work here as it is Friar Hugh down in the kitchens, although in a very different way, of course. Now that the main responsibility for Redwall's healing needs has come to rest upon that young badger's shoulders, he acquits himself with an almost heroic bearing in his new role. I've heard it said that, in spite of his tender seasons and only holding the role of apprentice until just recently, he might already know more of the healing arts than some of our past Infirmary keepers. Today, with no patients demanding his immediate attention, he spends his time with his own apprentices. Sisters Jimmery and Hazelton and Brother Ronby have long helped out in the Infirmary, but with the tragic loss of Abbot Arlyn and the equally tragic state of Abbess Vanessa, it was felt that they should be trained more deeply in this area than ever before. Joining them are half a dozen rats who seem adept along these lines as well, and had started their training under Vanessa before she … well, back when she was still herself.

I will say a certain pensiveness seems to hang over Metellus, and I suspect it's due to the loss of Abbot Arlyn. The two had worked so closely together, and that mouse's sudden and rather unexpected passing has hit him harder than most. Perhaps he feels he should have been able to do something to save Arlyn, although what that could have been I can't imagine. They were both being hit by so many casualties at once after that Gawtrybe ambush, and when Arlyn became another patient himself, what was poor Metellus to do? He had all he could manage to save as many lives as he could, and by all accounts he carried himself admirably through that crisis in spite of the overwhelming challenges facing him. At least he didn't react to his imagined failure with the bad grace Mona did when she failed to save Sister Aurelia. Yes, I've heard all about THAT rather startling tantrum she threw a few seasons past, and I must say it unsettles me even more about that vixen, on top of everything else we've been hearing about her lately. Perhaps the warning signs were there, even back then? Maybe it's a good thing we have the River Moss between us and Foxguard after all.

Since I'm up here on the second floor already, might as well drop in on this day's Abbey classes. Brother Winokur felt it important to keep this schooling going in the wake of all that's happened, to provide a little routine normalcy to our younger residents, including the new rat students from the Western Plains. Wink and Cyrus have had to move their sessions to one of the larger open dormitory areas, since they now have too many pupils to fit in their old classroom. It's a lot of extra work, pushing back the made beds and bringing in all these desks and chairs at the start of each day, only to move them all back out again afterwards so beasts can sleep in here, but it's not like we don't have plenty of extra paws around these days to help out with such tasks. Why, I've even been known to carry a chair or two myself. Everybeast must earn its keep!

Winokur has proven up to the task, no matter how large his class size grows. Of course, he's got a lot of help, and not just from Cyrus. His longtime students - and here I count the valley horde rats as well as all the Abbey youth - have been won over and know the importance of welcoming the new rats and helping them fit in, and thus make a point of behaving and showing Wink and Cyrus the proper deference and respect, while also reaching out to include the most recent refugees to let them know we're all in this together. Wink does all he can to keep his presentations breezy and entertaining, but even as skilled as he is in this area, you can't expect one otter, no matter how talented, to pull it off by himself.

Okay, I've just had my ear pulled for the third time. I'm obviously causing a distraction here, so let me be on my way and leave these playful youngsters to their lessons. Time to head outdoors and get some fresh air!

And here's a nice shady nook on one of the walltop benches. A bit crowded up here, I must say. With all of the patrols of forest and plains curtailed due to this bothersome siege, we've got a full slate of hares and squirrels to keep a very thorough lookout rotation indeed, and having the full presence of the Guosim here as well ensures that our gates are never left unguarded, not even for a moment. And with all the otters and mice and moles and hedgehogs on paw as well, including those from the quarry, we've no shortage of beastpower to get done anything that needs doing around here! But gazing down at the expanded rat encampment, which seems to take up more and more of the Abbey grounds all the time, I can scarcely believe we're coping as well as we are. In spite of the Friar's assurances, I honestly can't see how this can go on if we don't end this siege well before season's end.

And speaking of gazing, there's Lekkas gazing out at Freetown from over the main threshold, and a mournful sight that is to see. It must be crushing to him, after waiting so long and working so hard to get their new home to a point where it is now, only to have the entire project shut down, and then after the way the Gawtrybe used it for that terrible ambush. I never did care much for those militaristic squirrels, but even so, never did I think them capable of anything like THAT. I've heard it said that Lekkas and Clovis would dearly love to wed, but refuse to do so until the ceremony can be held in Freetown itself. They were so close, too, with the central building just about finished before this whole thing came crashing down on us. This gives them even more reason than the rest of us to hope for a speedy resolution to this conflict, so that both the quarry and Freetown itself can be reopened soon and those two can have their blessed nuptials.

But Lekkas and Clovis aren't the only betrothed mice around here. There go Cyril and Jiriel, on their way to the belltower with Raritan and Carteret, the two rat lads in training to become Redwall's newest bellringers. Those noisy apprentices, everybeast agrees, are growing into their roles quite nicely, although the more discerning of ears around here can still tell when it's them pulling the bell ropes and not the mouse brothers. Then again, not everybeast can be Cyril and Cyrus, with the seasons of tolling experience they have under their belts. And as for Cyril and Jiriel, they claim to hesitate in their own wedding for the same reason as Lekkas and Clovis, or very nearly so, preferring to put off any such ceremony while times remain so uncertain … although in Cyril's case, I suspect it may also be a matter of cold footpaws. Nobeast doubts Jiriel came to Redwall with the aim of making Cyril her husband, and while I'm sure he doesn't find that prospect at all unbearable, his future better half will always have been the main instigator in this affair. But he'll be happily dragged along as such malebeasts always are, and if this is to be a long engagement due to wider circumstances, I'm sure that knot will be tied in its own good time and when it's meant to.

And now the pattern of the bells has changed, telling everybeast it's time for the midday meal. Have I really let so much of my morning get away from me by lollygagging up here on the walltop in this warm sunshine? Well, those bells have been quite lulling, and I may in truth have nodded off a bit. Still, keeping this journal is a greater expenditure of effort than you'd think just pushing quill across the pages would entail, and I find I've worked up quite the nice appetite since breakfast, so down to Great Hall I go!

Well, that was a sumptuous lunch! Who would have thought simple garden salad and warm oat farls could taste so good, and satisfy so completely? The otters had also whipped up another batch of their famous hotroot soup - no shrimp in it this time, since we're trying to conserve our stocks and make those little water critters last - but I refrained, finding that fiery broth more than a bit too spicy for my liking.

My companions for this repast were the fine badger trio of Metellus, Bostany and Hekko. I'd already seen the first two of those on my morning rounds, but this was my first chance to talk in earnest to any of them today. They all worry for Lord Sodexo, although Metellus perhaps a bit less so than the others; I sometimes wonder if that badgerlad ever truly worries about anything, as cool and calm as he is most of the time. Our Sparra kept watch over Sodexo until he was two days to the south, and last seen veering slowly across the Plains and back toward the wooded region, hopefully well below where any of the Gawtrybe currently patrol. So much rides on him reaching his home territory … but then, even if he does, it will only be to raise an army and bring it north again to face the Gawtrybe, which could lead to far wider and more terrible war than anything seen so far in Mossflower this season. Now, I'd love to see this siege broken as much as anybeast, but not at the cost of many more dead and injured, especially on Redwall's side, or among our allies who would put aside all else to come to our aid. Let us hope that, should Lord Sodexo succeed in his mission, his reinforcements will buttress the cause of peace rather than further the ravages of war.

After lunch I made my way to the lawns, where General Harth and Captain Truax - who really do seem equal in authority, despite their differing ranks - have been putting many of their rats through their paces … with a generous amount of oversight from the Long Patrol, and Skipper Montybank's otters, and about half the Guosim, it would appear. Abbess Vanessa, before her latest mental deterioration, had urged Colonel Clewiston that this step might prove necessary, and now, with the Gawtrybe tightening their grip on the surrounding forestlands, the Colonel has grudgingly assented to such preparations, if only under his watchful eye, and refusing to allow the rats any access to weapons outside their practice drills. Of course, many of these rats had undergone such training before under Harth and his mad fox chieftain, and show some fair promise as Abbey defenders, at least in their skills - and, considering what they stand to lose should Redwall ever be overrun, I trust they would show just as much dedication to this cause as any woodlander. Some of the others clearly need more work before they could do much more with their weapons than hurt themselves, but at least it's a start - a start to something we all hope will never have to be finished.

Watching all that warlike activity and preparation, I thought it best to remind myself of just what we're preparing for, and what's at stake. So now I sit on the grass by some of the newest graves to be dug at Redwall. Rumter stands nearby, coming here as he does every day to pay his tearful respects to his lifelong friend Brydon, taken from this life by Gawtrybe arrows, as were the shrews Prisko, Frydle, Jeejosh and Lugoff, the squirrels Silberquist and Hallock and Buissy, and the hare Olibrice. All lie side by side here in their eternal rest, sad testament to what has been lost so far, and what might still be lost if this conflict isn't brought to a peaceful end very soon. It all makes me want to try my own paw at negotiating between the two sides, but who would listen to silly little me?

I decided to leave Rumter in peace and head up here to the east walltop, where I find another soul deeply affected by these divisions. Everybeast agrees that Judelka is a peculiar one, and I might say it goes a step or two beyond that, but she seems harmless enough, so I'll not fault her for her slow-witted oddness. Not having known her before, I can only go by what I hear from others, but it's said her fragile vulnerability reveals itself now more than ever before, with her husband Grayfoot separated from her and their son Percival, and his fate hanging in the balance along with that of Foxguard as a whole. The ferretwife spends much of her time up at this spot, gazing toward that magnificent tower that soars over Mossflower and looms so large over all these events. On some level she surely misses her mate and worries for him, but the bland face she always wears under her mask makes it hard to tell she ever feels much of anything at all. It's a shame little Percy can't know the benefit of a mum who's more caring and, well, present, but as long as they dwell here at Redwall, that lad has plenty of other beasts to look out for him, and all his leveret playmates to make him feel at home. I worry his mother may never feel truly at home anywhere.

And what do I feel myself when I look across the forest at Foxguard? I only called it my home for but a short time, and much of that time uncomfortable and uneasy in the presence of Jaffox and the Gawtrybe … and now Mona's recent exploits make me think I should have been far more wary around that vixen as well. One could say my feelings on the place are very mixed. On the one paw, relief fills me over successfully escaping the worst of what has come to pass there, not to mention the warnings of worse to come, from both the Abbess and Latura's old villagers, who voice her dire pronouncements on the fox fortress whenever the matter comes up. But then again, never before had I undertaken anything to so raise my sense of accomplishment and self-worth. To be charged with such responsibilities, notwithstanding my success (or lack of it) in carrying out those duties, was an achievement all its own, and on the few occasions I've had so far to wear the splendid uniform the Redwall sisters made for me, I have worn it with pride. I fear now I shall never get to wear it again - at least not in the capacity Tolar and I had in mind for it - but I daresn't dwell too much on myself in all of this, must I? For if my brief tenure as Foxguard's Ambassador has come to an end, it is only because circumstances so much bigger than one humble rabbit, and affecting creatures beyond measure, sweep these lands, touching lives and altering the destiny of us all. And that makes me feel very small, even though I should wear the finest uniform in all of Mossflower.

Oh, there go some of our Sparra, flying back with full sacks in their talons! Squirrels' eyes may be quick, but bird senses are even quicker, and thus far our winged foragers have been able to avoid the Gawtrybe during their scavaging forays. Mostly they've brought back berries and nuts, the kind of small and light things birds of their size can easily bear, and they've been very good with herbs as well. It's not much, but every little bit helps, and until we groundfolk can forage again for ourselves, we'll have to get by as best we can.

Wait, are those the dinner bells tolling already? On these long summer days, it seems the evening meal always rolls around quicker than expected, what with the sun still shining, if low on the western horizon. Then again, I've been smelling the moles' deeper 'n' ever pies baking since the noontide or thereabouts, so this tantalized tummy will be well ready to receive some of that delicacy. Once again, I can't believe I've let the day get away from me like this, distracted and diverted by the sights and sounds and creatures around me - or just plain woolgathering, as Brother Wink would put it! Then again, there is so much to see everywhere you look around Redwall these days, you get an eyeful no matter where you rest your gaze. And, looking back on the pages of this journal that I've filled since just this morning, I'd call that a good day's work and an auspicious start to my career as an amateur Recorder! I never knew I had so many words in me, and so many of them fancy too. Looks like spending so much time amidst so many well-spoken beasts has really rubbed off on me!

I think I'll put this journal away in my satchel until after dinner; that deeper 'n' ever pie gravy can be notoriously messy! Perhaps after dessert - there will be dessert, won't there? - I'll show what I've written to Cyrus to get his impressions, and see how he thinks I've done so far. I hope he's not too hard on me!

But for now, it's down to dinner, before all that pie gets scoffed!

Cyrus looked up from reading the journal in the old classroom where he and Tibball had agreed to meet after the evening meal. "Fine job!" the assistant Recorder mouse complimented the rabbit. "Very good work for a first day of diary-keeping. I'd almost say you're a natural at it!"

Tibball perked up, ears erect in excited relief. "You really think so? I worried I might have been blathering on a bit with it."

"It's your journal, so you can blather in it all you like! I mean, have you ever read some of Brother Winokur's journal entries?"

"Um, no I haven't, actually. So, do you think I should keep at it?"

"Most definitely. And if we ever need a new apprentice Recorder, we know where to find him!" Tibball beamed at these accolades while Cyrus reached for his own diary. "Now part of my entry for today can be about reading your entries and - hey! Who's been writing in my journal?!"

The startled rabbit moved around to look over Cyrus's shoulder at the open pages. From all Tibball had gathered from Winokur and Cyrus, a Recorder's journal was sacrosanct and not to be meddled with, so the very idea of anybeast writing in another creature's diary resided beyond the pale. Gazing down at the seeming Sparrascratch scribbles defacing the parchment, Tibball asked, "Who would do such a thing? Can you tell? What does it say?"

"Let me see if I can figure it out," Cyrus replied, beside himself over this affront to his place as assistant Recorder. Bending down to scrutinize this literary vandalism more closely, he set to work to see how he might decipher it, and slowly began reading.

she's gotten inside me.

she's gotten inside us.

and seeing things the way she saw them is terrifying.

she told us of the red terrors, but now i see them like i never could before. blades to match any swordfox, shafts to match any gawtrybe, nightmare thirst matched by nobeast alive, monsters on the march, through tree and forest, coming right for us. right for the red tower.

bad place. bad bad place. gotta stay away.

no escaping the bad, splattered out in all directions. like blood.

she looked into urthblood too, like i never could. i knew it was there, but never saw it like that. badgervoid. great sucking hole in fate and destiny. suck us all up. suck suck suck. suck me up, if he ever dares slay me. may not even know it himself, and that might stay his paw. might also be afraid to do it, if he knows she's inside us now. may even protect me, i dunno. but danger's still there. lose my head, no dark forest for me. blade through the heart, no dark forest for me. badgervoid takes it. badgervoid takes it all. all of me. all of us? suck suck suck.

something coming up from the south too. can't see clearly what it is, but it put urthblood on the run, so whatever it is it's bad. real bad. maybe as bad as the red terrors. maybe even worse. maybe lots worse. can't see what they are, but see what they can do. leave nothing behind. wipe the lands clear of all beasts. like a plague. like a fire. plague fire, fire plague.

if they make it this far, won't be a single living beast left at redwall by mid-autumn.

tratton moves to attack us too, but gotta get past salamandastron first. maybe he will, maybe he won't. if he does, king ratty will be knocking at our door. won't be a friendly visit. not bad like the red terrors bad, or up from the south bad, but no picnic either. thinks he's got a score to settle with us, gotta convince him he doesn't.

so much going on, it's getting crowded inside my head. our head. hard to think sometimes, hard to keep it all clear, keep it all straight. one body, three spirits. can't tell sometimes who's in dark forest and who's here, or how much. how far, how close. how here, how gone. straddling the line between living and the next realm. none of us is really here, yet we all are.

i am vanessa.

i am martin.

i am latura.

martinessatura.

gotta find a way to get the door open again. i need to be fully me again for what's coming.

but who is me?

the body of an abbess. the spirit of a warrior. the essence of a prophet.

gets scary sometimes, having all three of us here in one mouse. and not just because of what lattie's showing us that we couldn't see before.

help me?

there is a way. i know it. but knowing and doing are two different things. there's not enough of me here anymore to follow through. i can swing a sword, i can take a life, but this quest to make myself whole lies beyond me now. i need help, but i don't know how to ask for it.

help me.

metellus knows. i told him. at least i think i did. hard to remember sometimes. three voices can get confusing. ask that badger. maybe he'll remember better than i can.

gotta find the one. the one from that other life. the other guardian. the one with the touch that can do what lattie's touch did.

find me.

deliver me.

restore me.

help me.

help me.

help us.

helpmehelpushelpmehelpushelpmehel

help

Tibball and Cyrus stood staring at each other for a long time after the mouse novice finished reading. Then Cyrus turned and raced off to find Abbot Geoff.