Abbot Daniel sat underneath an oak tree, watching Jakob's grave sadly. He heard George limping over to him long before he spoke to him
The tree above them was in full autumn regalia: its splendor was not lost on the young abbot.
"I wish poor Jakob could see this tree he sleeps underneath," he sighed. Lame George steadied himself on his cane, and slowly, stiffly, sat down next to the mouse. "How will we tell Michael when he comes back?"
"It will be hard," George agreed quietly, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun. A breeze played with some of the fallen russet leaves. They danced through the weatherworn graveyard and into the orchard. His steady, serious eyes watched them: even in death, they had not a care in the world. He smiled slightly. I know beasts like that.... His head turned at something. "Hmm? What did you say?"
Daniel looked at him. "I didn't say anything." George chuckled at himself.
"Silly me, then, must be the old war wound. I thought you just said 'but there'll always be Redwall.'"
The mouse's ears perked up. "You know, I do hear someone calling our abbey name!" He held up a paw. "Listen! Do you hear that?"
He jumped up, and scampered up the battlement steps on the northern wall. His face lit up excitedly. "Oh look! They're here! Oh, George, I wish you could see this! Come up, look! They're back! Our warriors are back!"
Not all of them, Father, he sighed, and struggled toward the stairway.
The sight that greeted him was one George Flantyr would recall the rest of his long life.
Dust was rising miles back from the returning friends. A long column of wolves, otters, and hares was steadily advancing toward the abbey. The abbot was ecstatic. He raced along the battlement wall, shouting "The bells! Someone ring the bells! Friends! Our friends are home!"
Skipper and Leith fought the gates, which wouldn't open fast enough. The whole population of Redwall Abbey flooded out the doors, the youngest and fleetest of foot racing ahead to meet the homecoming heroes. The abbot, like the mischievous Dibbun he had been in earlier seasons, was in front of them all.
"Look! They've come t'meet uz!" Rivenna shouted, her voice shrill with glee. "Look a' that, 'tis like a parade!"
The two columns soon met at the heads: Abbot Daniel finally lay eyes on Michael, their Abbey Champion, again. The warrior mouse bowed, and, unsheathing the great sword, presented it to his abbot.
"Father Abbot, we have come home."
A wild roar was set up on both ends, a roar of celebration that echoed throughout Mossflower.
George was pulling himself forward at a speed amazing even to him. He reached the spot where the two armies mingled, his face alight. "Aelfwald! Michael, Rivenna, Adia! Good to see you!"
Accidentally, he stumbled into a smokey-gray wolf. She carried a small child, which she cradled with worry after trying to help the Recorder to his feet. George refused, pushing himself up with his cane quickly. He dusted himself off momentarily and bowed to her. "Please accept my apologies, miss, it's always pretty hard when you're caught between someone's Point A and B." She smiled, and bounced the baby.
"That's quite alright, mister Flantyr." The pup awakened, and sleepily opened his large, sad blue eyes and gazed at George. The mother wolf began talking sweetly to him. "Look, Ritchie, this is your daddy's friend George. You'll be getting to know him quite well at Redwall, won't you, honey pie?"
George stared. "This-this is Ringo's son?" He then smiled slowly. "I should have recognized him! He looks exactly like his father. Many congratulations, um..."
"Branwen. Branwen MacIntyre."
George smiled, a bittersweet tone to him voice. "Branwen." He took a breath shakily. "Many condolences also."
She bit her lip, trying not to tear. "Thank you."
George's wandering eye spotted something behind her. He dipped his head quickly and said, "Excuse me."
He made his way to Taiga and Tamga, the Gaelic cheiftan's twins. "Well," he smiled ironically, "circumstances were certainly different when we last met. Tell me," he continued, "where are Tori and John? Ringo, Paul, Liam, Noel, where are they?"
The twins' faces were immediately somber. "George," Taiga began, her throat still choked with emotion to talk of it. "We lost them. Tori and John are dead. So's Ringo."
"You woulda been so proud of them, George," Tamga continued, unashamedly weeping already. "They were so brave..."
George's haggard face was searching. He hadn't known about this..... Something must be wrong here. His jaw opened and closed in shock. "But-but, surely not....not Paul an' Liam an' Noel? Not...not them?!"
Tamga managed to smile, and pulled a scroll from his tunic pocket. "They said to give you this." He handed it to the thin, somber Abbey Recorder. George quickly unrolled it and began to read Paul's familiar, beautiful handwriting.
"Tori, Ringo, and John came to us, through Rivenna, Aelfwald, and Noel. Here is what they said to us. Don't worry, we'll be back before next summer. Until then, we miss you. Keep well, George Flantyr. Always keep your fire alive.
He continued reading. "Go now from this shattered berth, love not the ground which shelters me...." He read on silently, and smiled strangely, sharing the last line aloud: "Never forget me." He looked at the twins, glowing behind his tears. "Tori Fairskye Rubyhaer." He sighed, and smiled at the thought and memory. "Caawww, t'see Angliaterryn. I tell you, I'd dearly love to be with them now." He turned to the wolves. "But come now, enough o' that, y'must be starving. Our abbey doors are open to you always. Stay and rest awhile, and tell us the tale of our dearly beloved friends."
* * *
The journey across the Giant's Causeway had been tricky: the wind was blowing the sea around their feet, and sometimes Liam feared the waves would overtake them. The trickery of the stones was aggravating, but Paul and Noel led them through it well.
On the other side, on the stony shore of Nosummer's pebbled beach, an Arctic hare waited for them. He shouted through the driving mists of the rare gift of a drizzled rain, waving his paws to signal his presence.
He smiled courteously as the three travelers smiled at him and said their Hullos. The hare bowed. "Welcome, warriors. My name is Caxton Miahcris. I am Governor Yellowback's messenger. We've been expecting you for some time."
Paul smiled through his shaggy fur and bobbed his head to the hare. "Well, seems we've got some business with th'Governor. A friend of ours told us t'drop in on old Yellowback."
"And so you have," a booming voice said happily. A huge polar bear materialized out of the mist. The three wolves were completely enawed. He bowed. "I am honored to be in the company of the friends and soldiers of Tori Rubyhaer. Her name has come to be treasured throughout this land as that of a savior. Come, we will go back to the stronghold. You can finish your tale there."
Noel's bushy eyebrows were raised, questioningly. "Finish, Lord?"
Yellowback Creenhlay smiled. "Yes. Please, tell me how my dear friends' daughter and her friends accomplished such a notable deed."
Liam spoke for the first time.
Liam Gallagher had grown up quite a bit since the loss of John and Tori and their last visit to him. His deep blue eyes were no longer arrogant, but wise. He still sang, and he was still light-hearted, but Liam had learned quite possibly the most important aspect of adulthood, which he had certainly grown into. Life is there to live, not to sorrow over lost comrades or fight among friends and foes. And nobeast knew this better than Liam Gallagher, as he quietly began to tell the story. The story he would never let the world forget.
"Well, Lord, in the town of Leedsdown Tundralake, a princess sought refuge from the foxes who had just decimated her life. She was found, and thrown off the cliff the palace rested on, by the fox Shang Widowmaker, who thought that she had finished the last of Colvin and Derynai..."