Chapter 3

Extract from the records of Redwall Abbey.

Summer is here! The longer days and sunny weather have provided Redwallers with much time to laugh, play, or work. For many of us, it is the latter. The last winter was especially harsh on the building's architecture. As soon as it was warm enough again, scores of volunteers have been working around the clock to repair the damage done.

My family has been busy as well. Father is preparing my younger brother, Kyrin, to succeed him as Abbey Warrior. Kyrin is very passionate about upholding Martin the Warrior's legacy, and loves to read about Martin's life and accomplishments in his spare time. His girlfriend, Mena, works in the Infirmary, learning the ways of a healer with my mother, Sister Armel. I should show you some of their books on herbs – I wouldn't be surprised if they documented every last plant in the world! As for me, I've been stuck inside the Gatehouse all spring. We've just built several new bookcases to accommodate our ever-expanding collection of records, and it's my job to catalog all these loose volumes and parchments. I think my job would go a lot faster if it weren't for all the fascinating history I keep coming across while cleaning. Don't blame me – I like to read!

The Nameday Feast is tonight, but we still haven't settled on a name for the upcoming season, thanks to an ongoing wager between Abbot Cyrus and Skipper. You see, the ottercrew have been building a bridge across the Abbey Pond. The community loves this idea, but the Abbot thinks it's a waste of time and resources. He's threatened to shut the project down several times, citing numerous missed deadlines as the cause. Skipper claims that he had provided Abbot Cyrus with estimated dates of completion for every step of the project before construction even began, accusing the Abbot of ignoring their timetable and imposing his own. Anyway, the two kept butting heads over the issue, so Skipper proposed an interesting challenge: if the ottercrew can complete the bridge by tonight's feast, then Abbot Cyrus will officially name the season the Summer of the Mistaken Hedgehog (instead of the Summer of the Diligent Paws, which he intended). If they can't finish, they'll scrap the project for good. Personally, I have faith in Skipper and his crew. From what I've seen and heard, they seem to be way ahead of their own schedule, if not the Abbot's. The Redwallers are all very eager to see how this plays out. Either way, one of them will be apologizing profusely to the other in a few hours.

Well, tea time is coming to a close and there are still stacks of records to attend to. I'll see you all at supper!

Melanda MacBurl, Recorder at Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

SWISH! CLANG!

The peaceful atmosphere that presided over Redwall Abbey was punctuated by the sound of clashing steel blades, which echoed off the ancient sandstone walls. As repair crews, farmers, and other residents went about their daily tasks, two creatures dueled fiercely on the Abbey Lawns, their bodies scarlet blurs in the afternoon light. The elaborate, deadly dance halted momentarily as the pair locked blades, then resumed as they split apart, circling one another, each trying to predict the other's next move.

Rakkety Tam MacBurl, current Champion of Redwall, leveled his broadsword at his adversary. "Your technique has improved, Kyrin."

Kyrin MacBurl smiled dangerously as he brandished the Sword of Martin. "I learned from the best, father." He lunged, driving the older squirrel back with a flurry of attacks.

Tam, an experienced fighter hailing from the Northern Border, parried his son's assault with ease. "Follow through your attacks," he instructed, fending off a slash to his midsection. "Remember, each stroke has a beginning, middle, an' end. Aggression without finesse equals wasted energy. Better! Now, watch out…"

Kyrin narrowly dodged a strike aimed at his neck. "Had me distracted with all that talking," he said, going on the offensive once more.

Tam continued to block Kyrin's attacks. "You distracted yourself with thinkin', young one. Always watch for surprises." With a flick of his wrist, the Border Warrior expertly redirected a particularly hard swing from Kyrin, sending the latter reeling. The champion-in-training, however, used the momentum to spin away gracefully, knocking away a jab from his father as he did so.

Now the pair began circling each other once more. Kyrin's paws tightened around the handle of his weapon. "Nice try, old one, but I know all your tricks."

Tam's eyes stayed locked on his son's. "Feeling confident, are we?"

Kyrin adjusted his footing. "Aye, in fact I think I'm ready for some real challenges!" The Sword of Martin flashed in the sun as he attacked.

"Defeating Orak the Assassin wasn't enough?" Tam asked, deflecting his son's strikes in turn.

Kyrin cut downward. "That was four seasons ago."

Tam blocked the strike, countering with his own. "I seem to recall ye got pretty sliced up in that encounter."

"I've gotten better since then," Kyrin replied, parrying.

Father and son twirled in opposite directions, their blades meeting with such force that sparks flew from them, landing among the grass. "True warriors don't go out looking for trouble," Tam admonished.

"They also don't sit at home waiting for adventure," Kyrin replied.

"So it's adventure ye want?" Tam asked, bringing his sword around in preparation for another strike.

Kyrin predicted the maneuver. Moving away from Tam's blade, he pressed his attack, using the superior range of Martin's sword to his advantage. "I want to see the world and help others, just like Martin the Warrior did."

Tam parried and dodged, looking for an opportunity to close the gap. "Martin hung up his blade and became a mouse of peace. Perhaps you missed that in your readings."

Kyrin was careful to not give his father an opening. "Only after a lifetime of fighting for justice."

"One day you'll realize that a warrior is not defined by his sword, but by his spirit," said Tam, subtly widening the distance between them.

"I'm spirited," Kyrin protested. He accidentally swung too hard and too short. His blade sliced thin air, leaving the younger squirrel's flank exposed.

Tam took the opportunity to move in. In an instant Kyrin found himself off balance and being driven back. Stumbling, he fell on one knee, barely catching Tam's blade with his own.

The Border Warrior smiled. "You're restless."

"I'll have your teachings to guide me," Kyrin replied, twisting the Sword of Martin so that the blade of Tam's claymore came to rest at its hilt.

Tam's eyes gave no indication of what he was going to do next. "Well, then the next lesson is for you to learn your duty here at Redwall. Besides – " in one sudden move, the veteran fighter slid his blade forward, locking hilts with Kyrin. With a simple twist of his arm, Tam wrestled away his son's blade. " – I didn't teach you everything."

Kyrin wiped sweat off his brow, shaking his head at being disarmed.

Tam smiled roguishly, tossing him back his weapon. "So, let's get learnin', shall we?"

Evening couldn't come fast enough. After the last of the day's work was done, every Redwaller, from the youngest babe to the most ancient elder, flocked to the Great Hall. Spirited laughter and amicable chatter floated in the air alongside brightly-colored festoons that crisscrossed above the revelers. Golden sunlight flooded through the open doors and stained-glass windows. Martin the Warrior, as depicted on the venerated tapestry hanging on the wall, presided over the happy scene.

Kyrin sat with his family, waiting for the feast to begin. The young squirrel's stomach growled as he stared at the tables piled high with the most mouthwatering delicacies one could imagine: among them, golden-crusted onion-and-leek turnovers fresh out of the oven, pies and pastries garnished with fresh fruit and fluffy meadowcream, endless flagons of cordial and ale, and two enormous steamed trouts.

Around him, other abbeydwellers seemed to be equally transfixed.

"Wow, this food looks amazing!"

"Burr, oi carn't wait t' get me paws on some zoop!"

"Soup? My friend, you 'aven't tried the finer things in life. Now steamed trout garnished with leeks and watercress – that's t' die for!"

Cyrus, Abbot of Redwall, clinked a spoon against his glass. The Great Hall fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the bespectacled old hedgehog whose graying quills stuck out over his plain green habit. "Happy Nameday, friends. Please join me in saying grace."

The Redwallers bowed their heads as the Abbot recited:

"Mother Nature, bless the loam

Upon which we have built our home

May seasons smile and fortune grace

The four walls of this hallowed space

For it is here that we belong

Among comfort, friendship, food, and song

So let us feast, one and all

At the tables of Redwall!"

As the feastgoers opened their eyes, the Abbot spoke again. "Before we start I have a few announcements to make." He gestured toward the Kitchens. "First of all, I would like to thank Friar Tobel and his staff for preparing this marvelous feast."

Shouts of "hear, hear!" and other exaltations of approval sounded as Tobel, a pudgy vole clad in a dirty apron, appeared at the doorway and bowed, his toque falling off in the process.

"Next, all Redwallers wishing to dine outside may do so. Chairs have been set up on the Lawns, although individuals may bring extra seating as needed. Given tonight's festivities, bedtime will be pushed back one hour."

The Dibbuns (Redwall's term for young ones) hooted and hollered with joy.

The Abbot paused, as if reluctant to continue. "And finally, I'm sure you want to hear about the bridge."

The Redwallers held their breath.

Abbot Cyrus cast a sore eye over to the creature sitting at the end of his table. "I'll let you take it from here, Mr. Skipper."

The bare-chested otter stood up, his baritone voice booming throughout the hall. "I'll make this short an' sweet, friends. As of tonight's feast, the bridge has been completed!"

The Great Hall burst into cheers and applause as Skipper motioned to his otters to bow. "Me an' the ottercrew would like to thank each an' every one of ye for yore undyin' support. There'll be a ribbon-cutting ceremony bright an' early tomorrow. Don't miss out!"

As the fanfare died down, the otter winked at Abbot Cyrus. "Something ye want to say, Father Abbot?"

The old hedgehog turned red. "Do I really have to?"

"Aye, 'twas part of our agreement, remember?"

A chuckle rippled through the audience.

"Very well," sighed the Abbot. "In honor of our wager, I, Abbot Cyrus, do officially declare this season to be named the Summer of the Mistaken Hedgehog."

As the hall reignited with thunderous laughter, the humiliated Abbey leader turned to Skipper. "And I offer you, old friend, my humblest apologies, and ask for your forgiveness."

Skipper rustled the old one's quills with a meaty paw. "Haharr, nothing to worry about, Father Abbot. I could never stay mad at you. An' I know how much yore name meant to ye, so consider this a token of our friendship..." Raising his goblet, the otter proclaimed: "To Abbot Cyrus, an' to the Summer of the Diligent Paws!"

As the Redwallers cheered, one of Skipper's otters ran up, bearing a hefty bronze plaque, which Skipper intercepted. "We made this to pin up on the bridge, Father Abbot. You didn't think I'd let ye get off that easy, did ye?"

The Redwallers fell over laughing at the plaque, which read:

BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED OTTERS

DEDICATED TO CYRUS, ABBOT OF REDWALL

"I guess I deserved that," laughed the hedgehog. Holding up the sign with Skipper, he announced: "Now that we're all in good spirits, let the Nameday Feast begin!"

Like a runner at the starting line, Kyrin immediately loaded up his trencher and began demolishing his mountain of food.

"For seasons' sake, slow down, son," Tam chuckled.

"Ha, th' wee lad's hungry. Can ye noo see that, Tam?" Wild Doogy Plumm, seated next to his longtime best friend, guffawed. Like the Border Warrior, the Highlander's fur was starting to go gray.

"Our little warrior has been training hard," winked Melanda, ruffling Kyrin's headfur affectionately. She was five seasons older than Kyrin, and never missed a chance to make it clear he was her younger brother and would always be. "Knowing Dad, this is Kyrin's first meal of the day."

Sister Armel, seated to Tam's right, turned to her mate in horror. "Tam!" she exclaimed, "I know you and Kyrin like to train, but for seasons' sake, you can't make him skip meals! Look how thin he is already!"

"It's alright, Mother. I had a late breakfast," Kyrin assured her.

"He needs to lose weight if ye ask me, love," Tam remarked, munching on a deep-fried pasty practically bursting at the seams with gravy.

Armel rolled her eyes. "You need to lose weight, you great bully! I saw you sneaking those extra scones during tea time! Here, Kyrin, take some more food..."

While Armel tipped the contents of her trencher onto Kyrin's (much to the latter's embarrassment), Tam looked across the table at his son. "We have lots to do this season. I was thinkin' it would be a good time to go over your footwork."

Kyrin stopped eating for a moment. "Actually, father, I was wondering if I could leave the Abbey this summer."

The older squirrel raised his eyebrows. "Where're you going?"

Kyrin faltered, "I-I don't know yet…anywhere but here, really."

Tam frowned. "You have training, Kyrin."

"I know, but – "

"What if the Abbey comes under attack while you're gone?"

Kyrin wondered if Tam had really been listening to their conversation that afternoon. "Father, Redwall's been at peace for over four seasons. Nothing's going to happen if I leave."

Tam's face was stern. "I made my stance clear earlier today. Your duty is to Redwall Abbey now. No more runnin' off whenever you please." He watched as Kyrin put down his fork, sulking. "I know you're upset, but my word is final. Unless Martin the Warrior himself comes calling, you're staying here."

Armel placed a gentle paw on her mate's arm. "Our son has had a long day, dear. I think I saw your friends go outside just a little while ago, Kyrin. You should join them."

"Gladly," Kyrin said, shooting Tam a resentful look as he got up. "Hope you've finished sorting those records, Melanda. I'll be reading them when I'm stuck inside Redwall all season."

The sky was a blend of colors both fiery and mellow as the sun sank below the Mossflower treeline. A cool breeze swept through the land as the soft cooing of distance birds signified the end of the first day of summer.

At Redwall Abbey, however, the Nameday Feast was in full swing, spilling out of the Great Hall and onto the Abbey Lawns. Redwallers sat on the grass, laughing and joking as they cooled their footpaws in the evening air, while excited Dibbuns ran by, gleefully chasing after one another.

A group of otters, armed with mandolins, ottercordions, and a pawdrum, had taken center stage in the middle of the Lawns. Excited Redwallers got up to dance as the musicians launched into an extremely fast ditty.

"Oh, what good's an otter if he can't sing

The fish right out a stream?

Or strum a wildcat's whiskers

And dance O so supreme?

Well, I got my vittles, and I got my holt,

And a pretty maid by my side

But most of all I've got this drum

Let's hear it, don't be shy!"

The audience cheered as the otter playing the pawdrum launched into a brief but dexterous solo. The song repeated several times, showcasing a different musician's talents at the end of each verse, ending to thunderous applause.

The song did little to cheer Kyrin up. As the ensemble started playing their next number, he wandered glumly around the courtyard, searching for his friends.

Mena, Firulan, and Gry Riverpaw were sitting in a circle on the grass, eating and conversing. Gry spotted the young squirrel first. "Kyrin, over here, mate!" he called, waving a paw.

The young warrior's sullen spirits temporarily lifted at the sight of his friends. He hurried over to them, embracing Gry in a friendly hug. "Good to see you. Congratulations on completing the bridge in time!"

The burly otter chuckled as he hugged Kyrin back. "Ah, 'twas nothing, just doin' wot we do best."

Firulan, a small but pudgy wood mouse whose too-large straw hat often obscured his too-large head, laughed. "Heeheehee, did ye see the look on the Abbot's face when he 'ad to name the season 'Summer of the Mistaken Hedgehog'? An' when he was presented with that plaque?"

Kyrin grinned. "Aye, I've never seen anybeast turn that red."

"Redder than a beet! Hahahahaha!" Firulan hooted.

Kyrin set his trencher down on the grass, turning his attention to the pretty squirrelmaid next to him. "And how are you, my lady?"

Mena yawned and laid her head on Kyrin's shoulder. "I'm exhausted. Plikkin's cough stopped last night, but not before he passed it on to Libbie, Derk, and young Springo. Your mother and I were up all night trying to stop a miniature epidemic from breaking out."

Kyrin brushed some headfur out of her eyes. "You should go to bed. Did you eat yet?"

Mena looked up at him and smiled. "I did. I might turn in soon. I just wanted to see you first."

"Well, here I am," said Kyrin, kissing her gently. "You're the best."

"I know," said Mena, kissing him back.

"Aye, we could all use a break." Gry said, wiping sweat off his brow as he swallowed a spicy spoonful of shrimp n' hotroot soup. "We've all just been workin' or trainin' since spring."

Firulan stretched his limbs and lay back on the grass. "I'm with ye, mate. I've been workin' too hard."

"Must be hard doing nothing," Kyrin remarked.

"A whole lot o' nothin', if ye please," Firulan corrected, pulling his hat over his face. "Mm, those blackberry scones sure are good…"

Mena suddenly pulled away from her boyfriend's shoulder. "Ouch! Kyrin, your sword belt is chafing me."

"Aye, mate, don't ye ever put that sword down?" Gry asked.

"What do you mean?" Kyrin asked, puzzled.

"The sword! You're still wearing it!" Mena exclaimed.

Kyrin suddenly became aware of the Sword of Martin still strapped to his back. "Oh! Sorry, I guess I had this thing on for so long today that I forgot to take it off."

"Here, let me help you," said the squirrelmaid, undoing Kyrin's sword belt for him. "Sometimes I worry about how hard you train."

"Ahh, Kyrin's just lookin' out for another vermin invasion," Firulan joked, his voice muffled by his hat. "That's why 'e always carries that thing around."

Kyrin glared at the dozing mouse. "This 'thing' is Martin's legacy and Redwall's fate. I'll never part with it, just like how you never part with food."

Mena placed the sword on the grass. "Well, at least remember to take it off when you eat. Gry's right: we all need a break."

Kyrin's face fell as he remembered his father's words. "I wish."

Firulan sat up instantly. "What's wrong, mate?"

The young squirrel shook his head. "It's my father. He wants me to stay at the Abbey this summer and train."

"C'mon, that's ridiculous! Yore plenty trained already!" Firulan protested.

"Not according to him, I'm not," Kyrin groused. "Apparently, when I signed on to be Abbey Warrior, I also signed on to be a homebody for the rest of my life."

"I agree; that's silly. No warrior came to be by not going anywhere," said Mena.

"That's what I said!" Kyrin exclaimed. "But apparently Redwall needs protecting, so I can't just run off."

"Well, I'll be around," Mena offered. "Now that it's summer we can spend more time together."

"I'll be around too," said Gry. "As far as I know the ottercrew's takin' it easy this season."

"We should all just run away from here," Firulan suggested. "And don't ye pull that 'duty' excuse on me, Kyrin. I'll wrap ye up in a big blanket an' smuggle ye out of Redwall if I have to."

Kyrin laughed. "Please do. It'll be the most excitement I've had in ages…"

Dusk gave way to night. Stars emerged and fireflies danced across the cooling grass. Many feastgoers had already gone inside. Lanterns were brought out onto the Lawns to provide light for those still about. Gradually, the sounds of rejoicing died down, overtaken by the sounds of nighttime Mossflower.

The four friends continued to talk and laugh under the stars. Little did they know that adventure would soon come knocking.