5
Adisa knelt and prayed with the other Brothers and Sisters of the Abbey. However, he prayed to his old Gods and his ancestors for guidance. He prayed for courage and help against the forces that destroyed his family.
He was just starting his new life, hoping to find inner peace with himself and his anger. He had been angry for far too long, he knew that now. He was still angry to some extent, but he had once been bitter and quick-tempered. He had developed an addiction to ale and wine, as well as the drug that he still smoked occasionally. But then an event had happened which he hoped never to forget. Since then, he had not touched a drop of alcohol for several seasons, and he was proud of himself for that. The drug he smoked was not a dependency, merely an occasional habit he had long learned to control.
To think how far he had come since only a short time. He would have stayed a bitter drunk for the rest of his life if he had not come to a particular town out past the Golden Plains and heading near the south cliffs...
Adisa growled as he pulled his hood over his face to hide his peculiarity. He drank at the ale in front of him as though he was dying of thirst, trying to drown the anger and the hurt and the sorrow.
He heard muttering, and when he looked up he saw a few creatures were pointing at him and talking quietly.Rage boiled up; it was like this in every town he went into. He was too different not to get noticed, and he ended up in fights over his uniqueness that he had once appreciated. He wished he was not a civet; he wished he was a weasel or a squirrel or a hare or something ordinary. He had listened to discrimination so long he had begun to believe its cruel messages.
Hoping that nothing would happen if he looked away, he turned to his drink and tried to ignore the words that he half-heard.
The group were all younger than him and assumed that he was a decrepit drunkard, and they themselves had had a drink.
They stepped forward in a challenging way, waiting for him to look up at them.
But Adisa was tired, and he didn't want to fight; he tried to restrain himself at times, but they always spurred and goaded him on to fight. Why were strangers treated so cruelly? It made him angry to think of his misfortune; where were his gods, his ancestors to watch over him? It was all talk and mumbo-jumbo of the past.
One of the creatures leaned over his pint and sniffed in distaste. He pushed it over, his friends laughing at the alcohol pouring freely on the table.
Adisa felt rage come onto him and he braced himself to spring at his bullies and make them pay for the insults.
But then his anger evaporated. He could suddenly not feel angry at these animals, for he suddenly saw himself as he truly was; an old drunk stranger that looked like he wanted a fight.
He saw himself in a mirror that was hanging on the wall. Mirrors were very, very rare, and this town must have had the only one for miles and miles around.
For the first time in seasons, Adisa viewed his appearance. He saw an ugly creature due to drink and a ragged lifestyle. His face was sunken, and his eyes horribly bloodshot. He recalled times in his drunken stupors when he had been unable to see properly. It suddenly scared him horribly to see himself this way. He had seen his reflection before, but the water had a way of blurring the fine details of a face, and now he saw all those omitted details in full force.
This is what creatures see when they see me, he though miserably, and he was completely unaware of the other animals around him. His fur, normally sleek, was lank; Adisa could also see that he was no longer in good shape after seasons of drinking and fighting.
He needed to reshape himself properly, or else he would die of the deadly alcoholic effects of drinking too much. His appearance shamed him so much that he turned away in embarrassment.
The young lads, seeing this movement, thought it was incredibly funny. They turned away from him and walked out, still laughing at the civet.
Adisa placed a coin on the table and left, for towns like this required payment. He walked out of the tavern, wondering what to do now.
The answer came quick to him; the image of his appearance began to haunt him, and he realised what he had to do.
He went into the dark forests near the town and assembled twigs for a fire, as well as some herbs and a bit of the drug that he kept with him.
That assembled, he went find a nesting bird. Alcoholic life slowed him down but he had not lost his cunning for hunting.
Bringing back two live birds, Adisa took them to the fire, and still holding onto them, lit the wood and herbs. Flames arose, with scented smoke filling Adisa's mind. The addition of the drug had always been an idea of his own, and he always used some for every sacrificial prayer.
Taking the birds, he killed them both to make the ritualistic sacrifice to his ancestors.
He knelt on the ground, calling to his dead parents, his brothers and sisters, and the ancient relatives of his family. He called upon the gods, those whom he had ridiculed and detested.
"Forgive me, and come to me to show me the way!" He appealed with all his heart, for the prayer had brought back many memories of happiness as well as grief. It was those memories of happiness that made the later memories even worse, and crueller than before.
Suddenly, he saw something that he had never seen before. Later on, people would suggest that it had been the burning drug, but he had always used the drug in his fires afterwards and never saw anything like what he saw then. He was certain of the gods' message till his dying day.
His father and mother stood before him, staring with sadness at him. Adisa did not blame them; he had failed them as a son, and had failed also to save them.
"Son,' his father spoke with a heavy accent from their ancestral home, 'do not continue to blame yourself for what happened. You were betrayed, as were we."
Tears flowed down Adisa's face, "I could have discovered it before it happened! I could have led you to safety as well!"
"No, Adisa, you couldn't have!' his mother called out in her equally thick accent, 'We do not blame you, and never did, but you blamed yourself. It is a miracle that you even escaped!"
"And look what I have done with that miracle.' Adisa growled miserably, 'I am a miserable drunk."
Adisa's father looked sad, "Son, you can turn yourself around yet if you can only forgive yourself!"
Adisa bowed his head, "That could only happen if I put your killer to justice. If only I knew where he was!"
"My son, if finding the traitor is the only way you can feel good about yourself, I will try to help,' his mother had said, 'to find our murderer, you must find him."
Adisa looked up due to his mother's emphasis on the word 'him'. He saw a mouse in armour, wielding a large sword.
The fur on Adisa's neck rose as he heard a loud voice, "Adisa! Avenge me! Avenge us all!" It was the voice of his eldest brother, who had always been temperamental and bitter over their fate. He had died resisting to the last, and torn to pieces for his efforts as his family died around him. For Adisa, it was the last straw.
From that day on, he refused to eat anything except vegetables and fruits from the trees. He also occasionally ate almond nuts and wilder sorts as well. Partly due to his own kind of penance, and partly due in an attempt to get into shape, Adisa kept this diet up for six seasons, training his body as much to its original endurance, strength, and agility as he could. At the end of that period, he went back to the same town with the tavern.
None recognized the high-held head that ducked into the building. A few looked up when he came in, but it was impulse, and they looked back down again.
He ordered a glass of water, and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
The face that looked back at him was healthy and proud. The eyes shone with their former lustre, and his teeth had turned a shade whiter. He had lost much weight, gained new muscle, and looked younger than his age for the first time in seasons.
Happiness swilled in his gut, but he choked back laughter of triumph. He had put himself forward to redeem himself, not to be vain of his appearance.
He turned to look at the waitress, and tossed her another coin, "A tip for you, and also if I may, I would like to ask you a question."
The waitress shrugged, "If I can answer it."
"Have you ever heard of a mouse in armour, wielding a great sword?"
The waitress choked on laughter, "What?"
She was oblivious, then. Adisa asked others, but got no answer.
He left the town, never to return again. One day, he'd find the mouse, and the traitor. He would put his soul at rest and peace. It would be his redemption, his sign that he could bury the past, and move on at long last...
'Aid me, father, mother, for I have found the one who killed you all.' Adisa prayed as he listened to the chanting of the monks, their voices creating a chilling atmosphere.
After prayers, the civet went to the Cellars, to find Arly Punto, his new friend. Arly was a slow thinker, and a lover of his ale, but he was a competent creature and physically powerful. The hedgehog spoke with a thick accent, which became thicker under influence of alcohol.
Presently, he was sober, but sipping at a bowl of nut brown beer. He was writing new labels on the barrels.
"Ay, if it ain't my ole pal, Disa! How you doin', mate?" The hedgehog had taken a liking to the civet, but was still doubtful on the conflict concerning Varrus.
Adisa smiled at Alonzo, who preferred the name Arly, "I'm feeling better now, Arly, thank you for asking. Is this tiring work?"
Arly waved his paws diffidently in the air, "Meh, it has to be done, know what I'm saying?"
Adisa picked up some clean labels, "I would like to help."
In no time, the two of them were hard at work, copying down faded letters and transferring them to good copy.
Most of the time the work was done in silence, until Arly raised the subject he did not understand, "Listen, Disa, you want to tell me what the hell's goin' on with you and Father Varrus?"
Adisa hesitated, "I don't think so, Arly. At least not yet; maybe when the time is better."
Arly shook his head frustratingly, "I always hear that from you, you know that? Here am I, wonderin' which of you is right, and I can't help but feel like I'm being torn apart between you two."
Adisa froze during this monologue; it was the longest speech Arly had ever made; the hedgehog's skill was in his paws rather than in his voice.
He turned to the hedgehog, "Varrus and I grew up together."
Arly was absolutely silent, all work forgotten as he finally listened to the beginning of the story that had been plaguing his mind.
Adisa continued, "I was in a colony of civets...
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
Varrus, Father Abbott of Redwall Abbey, moved through the corridors of his Abbey like a caged animal; restless and agitated. What was he to do against the threats of Adisa and the murder of Slade?
Slade the Sane, a brain damaged decrepit squirrel that had known Varrus, had been killed gruesomely, and there were a number of visitors in the Abbey at the time. Of the suspects, one peculiar female squirrel had confessed that Slade was her father, and that he had abandoned her mother. For Varrus, it was she that had done the deed, and now he feared Elfwin. She had not just come to kill Slade, but also to bring vengeance to him, Varrus thought desperately. How much did she know? Had Slade confided in his illegitimate daughter? Eliminate her, Varrus thought, and his problems were halved. But how to do it, Varrus wondered. If he sentenced her to death now, then most would be against it and would reject the harsh sentence.
The trouble was that Elfwin had not broken the rules of her parole, as had none of the others. Varrus wished Adisa would be caught doing something, but the civet was a very kind creature according to some of the monks and nuns.
Varrus bumped into Verso, a young, strong-willed mole that was popular among the younger residents of Redwall for his good nature and snappy humour.
"Burr, pardon Oi, Father." Verso knew when to be polite and humble.
Varrus smiled kindly upon the mole, "And where are you going, Verso?"Verso shrugged, "Oi be goin' to see moi friend Arly an' Adisa."
Varrus blinked, but he made sure that that was the only reaction he made, "Ah yes, well I was on my way to request something from Arly myself. I'll come along with you."
Verso shrugged indifferently, and the two of them went towards the cellars.
The silence was very awkward, at least to Verso. Varrus was too absorbed in his own thoughts. These three were acquainted with each other; what was going on between them? He had rarely seen Adisa and Verso together, so Arly was the link between civet and mole.
They approached the cellars; Varrus' heart was surprisingly beating fast as he approached the door.
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
Adisa stopped talking, hearing footsteps. He did not care who it was, he did not want anyone to know what had gone on.
He turned to Arly, who was riveted with his astonishment at what he had heard so far.
"Alonzo! Look busy!" He whispered harshly.
Arly would have sang opera and juggled in the state he was in. He needed an authority to manage him: he could not manage making all his own decisions sometimes.
Arly and Adisa turned and bent down to continue their work just as the door opened.
"" "" "" "" ""
Varrus allowed Verso to open the door, and entered first.
Adisa was peering at an old label on a barrel, writing down what he saw on the wood. Arly had his back turned to the door, and was in the process of lifting a barrel up on the table.
Verso ran over and attempted to help the hedgehog, but Arly needed no help.
Adisa turned to give a look at Varrus; his new oaths commanded him to be courteous, and he had always done so. He nodded humbly to his Abbott, giving Varrus a streak of satisfaction; his time would come.
Varrus looked away from the civet and watched the hedgehog guzzle down some ale, "Alonzo, I must ask you something." He paused, thinking of what to say.
Arly turned, almost reluctantly, and said, "What is it, Father?"
Varrus' paws froze, and he spoke automatically, "I would like you to abstain from serving damson wine tonight, if you please: it is not the right season."
Arly nodded faintly, and turned to drink more.
Varrus nodded his goodbye and departed, fear in his heart.
Arly had never been a subtle creature; his face read what he was thinking all the time. He had looked at Varrus as though he had seen a new side of him. Adisa was talking about the past!
Varrus shivered, and realised with both horror and determination, what he had to do to eliminate Elfwin with the Abbey's consent, and quieten Adisa at the same time.
It disappointed Varrus, but he knew that it had to end. He could no longer shuffle away from the past under an Abbott's robe; he had to remove those that knew his past.
And he had to act fast and cautiously, for if this went wrong, he would be condemned to the punishment he had feared as a child and still feared with a passion.