The Newcomer of Redwall
Book 2 Combustible: The ability to burn (or Wolf's bane)
Chapter 11--Simon Gilnom--
He appeared on the side of the road, fever-sweat giving his pale, yellow face a sheen. He hoisted the pack onto his back with some difficulty, baring his teeth in a feral grimace. "Come on," He grunted.
Basil stood, and Simon plucked the cigarette lighter from his paws. "Careful. You'll hurt yourself." They fell in line behind him as he trudged towards the Abbey in the distance. Simon, Basil, Rallah, Kilel. In the fading sunlight, to the north, a huge dust cloud was being kicked up from the road.
Simon turned, his head spinning, and walked backwards, looking up at the cloud, one eye squinting against the sunlight. "Apocalypse cloud," He muttered, then locked eyes with Basil. "What's the safest place in the Abbey? Where would the Abbot go?"
Basil furrowed his brow in thought. He had never given that particular idea any sort of consideration. He had always thought the Abbey to be safe from its outer walls, but... "I think...The cellars, where the drinks and cheeses are stored, or the guardhouse, near the main entrance to the Abbey…"
Simon nodded and said to all of them, "We are going to find the Abbot and any other survivors. Logic insists that they would have found one another and barricaded themselves against the wolf's mindslaves. If they aren't in the guardhouse or the cellars, we will work our way upward through the main Abbeybuilding. Unfortunately, we don't have much more time. Ideally, we will have found the Abbot and the others over the course of the night and worked our way to the building to the south before the wolf gets here, sometime during the early morning hours. After that...Well...I don't know, we'll let the Abbot take over for us." He turned and continued the march to Redwall. It's sad, sometimes, how even the best laid plans can fall apart.
--Basil Stag Hare--
He's insane!
He's the only one out of us that has any sort of plan other than just sitting on our paws and waiting for the wolf to kill us.
That doesn't change the fact that he has lost his mind! Look at his eyes, look how...Empty they are!
I trust him. I don't know why, but I trust him. He's like Mattimeo, he was born to lead troops...It's in his very blood. His soul.
He has no soul! He's just as evil as the wolf!
He's not evil.
If he's not evil, then he's...he's...He's insane!
This mental war had been brewing in Basil's mind for the past several minutes, ever since Simon had turned his back to them. Why should he trust Simon? He had known him far less than a season. On the other paw, he had that...presence about him. It was in his nature to lead goodbeasts into battle, perhaps his destiny. And on the battle raged.
Basil shook his head, trying to physically sweep away the thoughts, but to no avail. His very mind felt sore and tired, and his temper was beginning to shorten. He wanted everything to be normal; this wasn't the way things were supposed to be! At this time of day, he would have just tucked away the fifth plate of his supper, and been contemplating what to do in the few hours between dinner and bed (hours that seemed to be fewer and fewer in number). He was starting to face an inevitable truth, with age comes routine, and with more age, routines become harder and harder to break. He didn't want to grow old and grey, but he really didn't have a choice in the matter. His hands balled into fists and he glared at the human's back. It was HE that started all this. Wolf or no wolf, the sickness had come with HIM.
Stop it Basil. This is no time for-
I DON'T CARE! It was Simon's fault, Simon's fault for everything!
Simon's fault for the birds flying away? Simon's fault for Jess's disappearance? Simon's fault for your son attacking you
It's not like that!
There was another truth, just as inevitable, that Basil could not bring himself to admit... Even though Simon was mostly innocent, he would be persecuted, purely because he hadn't been there before the sickness. His paw rubbed away an itch at his forehead and sighed. The world had grown very, very tiresome in the past few days.
--Kilel--
The time was growing near. Very, very near. The knife was buried in the folds of her robes, with her many potions, elixirs...and poisons, the slightly warm metal bouncing against her fur as she walked.
As much as she detested the human, she needed him. Being the third party in the equation was difficult, and she had come so very close to her goal. It had been so simple, too; get the blade of Martin and leave, take it to The Gathering of Blades in a season's time. But the wolf, the damned WOLF had been made to attack before she could get to the Blade. But...such was life. Such was Galen's doing. It was not her place to question her goddess's orders, and she only needed the human to guide her to the Blade before she had to kill him.
Your time is short, human; it is Galen's will.
--Rallah Kheme--
It was both painful and beautiful to watch Simon walk. His gate held a slumped, quiet, sustained power. He walked like a creature with a purpose, someone with a time and place to be. She hated to see him so sick, so sore, fever chills still racking his body...She pitied and envied him at once.
Time passed, they reached the door to the Abbey. Simon peeked it open, gave them a silent all clear, and slipped in, the other three following him.