EPILOGUE
Every lizard in the Abbey fought to the death. They had been ordered to fight, and receiving no contradictory orders, they did not stop.
From a yard bestrewn with corpses, Luce emerged, aided through the waste by Sister Selma. The victorious army of Redwallers, woodlanders, and Guosim licked their wounds, reclining against walls, doors, each other.
"Sister Selma, I can manage on my own," said Luce. "These creatures need the helpin' paw of one schooled in medicine."
"Aye. Stay put, Lady Luce, I'll return when I can." The infirmary keeper's paw left Luce's and she went to the side of a nearby hedgehog who lay on the ground with her side split open.
Luce fumbled her way over bodies, moving somewhere, unsure where.
"Luce!" said Sully. The squirrel climbed across some corpses to reach her friend. "Have you seen Fen? Where's Fen?"
"I ain't seen much of anything," said Luce.
"I ain't jokin' around, where's Fen?" said Sully.
From beneath a slain lizard emerged Sosostris. "I saw the otter!" said the vixen, now ragged and torn, with blood plastering her skull and bruises up and down her trembling body. "I know where she is, I can help, see!" She clambered to Sully's footpaws.
"Stop stuttering an' spit it."
"There, the walltop!" Sosostris shot a crooked arm in the direction of the south wall. "I saw her dueling Alagadda!"
Sully did not wait for Sosostris to finish speaking before she bolted in the wall's direction. "Make sure the vixen doesn't slink away," she managed to shout to Luce as she swiftly closed distance between her and the wall.
She clambered up the steps, trying not to look at the spot where Laramie had fallen. She had already lost her sister. If she lost her best friend too…
The wall was littered with evidence of a fight. Slicks of blood red enough to stand out against the sandstone, discarded knives. She dashed along the length of the wall, scouring every brick for evidence of Fentress, even though she knew her friend nor her adversary were on the walltop as soon as she ascended it.
She reached a spot with an exceptional splattering of blood and looked inward at the Abbey grounds. Nothing below but Abbott Walden and some of the other Redwallers who had not taken part in the battle ferrying food, water, and bandages to the casualties. She glanced outward and saw Fentress and Alagadda in repose below her.
Resisting the urge to jump the wall, which even as a squirrel she could not assume she would make without shattering her legs, Sully sprinted down the nearest stairs, hollering for help. "Fentress! Fentress is outside, and she's hurt!" She didn't stop to wait if anybeast heard, pulling herself through the nearest wallgate and scampering to her fallen friend's side.
Fentress had taken a beating, Sully could see at once. Both legs broken, maybe an arm. Her chest didn't look good. She had numerous minor cuts and bruises, and a deep gouge on her neck that thankfully had clotted. Her eyes were closed.
"Fen, Fen." She shook Fentress's head. It lolled lazy in her paws. "Fen, Fen. Fen. Fen, Fen. Wake up. Fen. Fen, Fen, Fen. Fen. Come on. Fen. Fen."
Fentress's eyes opened. She gave a weak smile.
"Is it over?"
Sully started to sob. "Laramie's dead, Fen. She's dead."
Fentress tried to reach out to comfort her but her arms would not move the way she wanted. Instead she remained silent, unsure what to say. What could one say. Laramie was dead. Fentress's parents were dead. Fannin was dead. Bristol's platoon was dead. A lot of creatures had died, a spilling of blood that had happened again and again through the ages to keep their Abbey standing.
But there was nothing to say. Laramie was dead. She would not come back.
From behind Sully emerged a host of creatures, a host of survivors. Abbott Walden and Luce and Sister Selma and Friar Alger, who himself had lost someone, and Bristol Isabella Rensselaer-LaBette rubbing a swollen head with a bandage wrapped around it, and Sosostris the fake seer, and all sorts of other peeping eyes, all sorts of other watchers.
And they watched her.
From the writings of Sister Sullyana, Recorder of Redwall.
Well. That's the last of them. We cleaned up the corpses finally and the Abbey's now more or less a livable place again.
I ain't one for writing, as you can all probably tell. But somebeast has to fill the position, now that my sister Laramie has passed on. And I suppose it only makes sense it'll be me who does it. Creatures have to know what happened. The Abbott once said, back when I was a Dibbun and still getting an education, that we had to learn history so we don't repeat its mistakes. I think that's a load of bunk, myself. I think we learn history so we can know what we have to do once what happened in the past starts happening again. There'll always be vermin and hordes. Alagadda was nothing spectacular, nothing special, not in that regard. Who even knows what she was.
I suppose I ought to tie up loose ends. Luce and the Guosim took their leave of us last week, after partaking in the final feast of summer. Fall has come now and the leaves are turning red. Or however you're supposed to write that prose rot. I'm no good at describing what the leaves are looking like, and they look the same every year, so why would that need to be written anyway? See, this is why I shouldn't be the Recorder.
We turned Sosostris loose, as well as the ferret Iredell and the other one, what's-his-face. Switz or something. We'd kept them around for awhile, not sure what to do with them, and they were all docile enough. We turned them loose and they went their separate ways, and that was the last of the vermin. I don't know what else needs to be said about them.
Bristol left too, yesterday, which was why I held off on writing this for so long. I knew she'd have to go eventually. She's determined to return to Salamandastron carrying the rapier of her fallen captain or lieutenant and make her long-delayed report. We asked if she wanted somebeast to accompany her. She said she'd be better off on her own. But she also said not to worry, she'd visit us sometime. Can't do without that famous Redwall food for too long, after all!
Speaking of which, to move to brighter things. Alger poured his heart and soul into the End of Summer Feast. It was agreed that the feast would honor not only the changing of the seasons but the sacrifices of those no longer with us to enjoy it. Everybeast did a part in making it the best feast in a recent memory. Even Brother Roane overcame his clumsiness to whip up a fine cream custard. Alger's saying he may have hope as a chef after all, he just needed some time to get his legs. Whatever that means. Roane took it really hard about Laramie, but getting so many compliments for once in his life has put the first smile I've seen on him since long before the battle.
And I suppose I might have started to smile again too. I still think of Laramie, almost every day, but I can do so without so much pain. She has a nice grave, out near the orchard, with a little marker and everything. I pick flowers from the woods and place them there once a week, and I don't suspect that'll change as long as I live or else the Abbey stays standing. But something inside me's started to heal.
I couldn't have done it without Fentress. She's the real hero of all this. Even when she was bedridden while her wounds healed, she could take my mind off things for awhile whenever Sister Selma allowed visits. Everybeast's saying she ought to be the new Champion, of course. Never to her face, they know what she'd say. Oh no, I didn't do anything, all that. Didn't do anything! It ain't every day you bring down the warlord plaguing all Mossflower by yourself! She's walking again now, which is good, although she needs a crutch to move much. Sister Selma says with time the leg might heal fully, or it might not. She can't tell for sure.
Hopefully it won't ever matter in our lifetime.
Is that it? Let's see… Well, we had the rotten old gates replaced. In fact, Abbott Walden called for an Abbey-wide search for any rotten wood, be it floor planks or broom shafts, to have it tossed out. No more rot in this Abbey, we've seen what it got us. Everybeast was more than happy to help out, and now the Abbey's looking fresher than it has in seasons.
Ah. Of course. There's the issue with the tapestry. From what I've pieced together based on the accounts of Roane, Fentress, and the other Abbeydwellers, it was a stoat named Jareck who took it. Just waltzed on out with it over his shoulder. There have been cries to track him down and find where he got off to, and Luce and Bristol both said they'd help, but so far nobeast's seen a whisker of him. Some of the older Redwallers, the ones who don't have to worry about it so much, say they sniff a new adventure on the wind. I hope it don't come to that. But if it does, and the tapestry winds up in some foreign land, well, I suppose I'll be the first to volunteer to retrieve it.
But I hope it don't come to that.
Well, that's it for now. I'm bushed, writing is hard work. Laramie always made it seem so easy, but I've hardly filled a page and I need to take a break! Soon I'll compile a chronicle of the whole ordeal involving Alagadda of the Many Blades. I know Laramie had already started one, I found parts of it in the library. I'll do my best to finish. It'll probably wind up a lot of rot, completely unreadable, but it might be of interest to somebeast well in the future, so who knows.
Farewell, friends.
The stoat swung into port on a merchant vessel that had business. He'd spent a pretty penny for the ride. Stepping off and onto the dock of the city on stilts, he found himself yet again impressed by its weather. Here it was, early fall, yet the sun beamed down and beat upon his neck like the height of summer.
Shouldering his heavy bag, he made his way through the zany walkways and over the numerous canals that divided the teeming mass of stucco buildings and their clay tile roofs. Younguns scurried past, mice and foxes discussed business in bright tunics. Coin changed paw, the city rang with it. The stoat paid it no heed.
Crossing a bridge he reached the villa, unchanged as always, with a gray mark a few lengths from the base where the tideline came in. The villa was crammed between several similar, smaller villas, one small box next to another, not even a crawlspace in between. The stoat didn't get what kind of creatures could stand to live such a way. Packed together, prone to disease. Although with such warmth during every season, perhaps disease wasn't much to worry about here. Maybe it was him and his treks through northern woodlands and rocky crags that was the one to not understand.
He came to the carved and polished door of the villa and knocked. The door opened immediately and a mouseservant the stoat hadn't seen the last time he was around answered.
"May I ask who is calling on the master," said the mouseservant.
"Jareck," said the stoat.
The mouse nodded and disappeared into the house. Moments later a jovial, booming voice echoed from the inner sanctum.
"Jareck!"
Another stoat, clad in long silk garments, emerged in the doorway. The better-dressed stoat swayed with a healthy fatness, plump features round and red in his face. He had more rings than fingers.
"How ya doin', Ravalli," said Jareck as he entered the villa, glancing around. "Yore pretty daughters still around or ye marry 'em all off yet."
"Oh, Jareck, old friend," said Ravalli, patting Jareck on the back. "I'd've guessed that would be the first thing you'd ask! Alas, they've all found dear and wealthy husbands, save my youngest. But if you think you even have a chance, you old fleadog, think again!" He bellowed laughter, leading Jareck inside.
"You still collect art, Ravalli?" asked Jareck. Of course Ravalli collected art. It hung from every available inch of space in his cramped yet luxurious villa. Paintings of famous old stoats mostly, a few of which Ravalli bore direct lineage from, as well as some other historic figures of the southern port city. They must have all been quite famous. Jareck didn't know a single one of them.
Ravalli rubbed his paws together. "Oh, now that's a question I'm much more inclined to hearing!" The fat stoat almost giggled with glee. "Come over to my study, we can discuss that particular query in much finer detail…"
Still toting the bag on his shoulder, Jareck followed. "Well then," he said, "I've got a little something for you. How do you feel about northern art? This piece here'll drive you mad. Woven hundreds, thousands of seasons ago… Legendary mouse warrior…"
The two stoats entered the study and the door shut behind them.
THE END