Chapter 4

The days passed without count after Gareth had disappeared going to the east in the early light of the morning. And so he seemed forgotten to all but his friends as they continued their daily lives. The only thing mildly different was that Perrad had since taken up the training of other young males just to be sure they were prepared for a siege, though it had not happened in many a long season.

And so the late winter passed into spring and into summer. It was on these late days that Ash would make her way up to the ramparts, searching for Gareth in vain hopes that he could be seen tromping down the road. But still he did not come.

On one of these evenings Ash looked over at Martin's tapestry where the sword was supposed to be hinged above it and she finally couldn't stand to stay silent. Sitting next to the Abbess—which was by far preferable to Perrad—she questioned aloud to her, "Abbess Clarine, I don't think seeing that the sword is gone makes me feel any better. What if he got killed and it fell into the hands of vermin?"

"You are talking about Gareth," Clarine said mildly and took another bite of the fried grayling before speaking again, "Child, I have no doubts in my mind that he is safe. As to where he has ended up, I do not know. And if, in fact, he has fallen and the sword was arrested from him then dark times will indeed have fallen. Martin is protecting him, Ash. Don't doubt that."

"But, Abbess—"

"Clarine, Ash."

"Clarine, if Martin is watching over Redwall then how is he watching Gareth? He wandered off into the unknown, so we have no idea where he is. Do you think Martin can see that far?" Ash sighed in frustration because she could not put her feelings directly into words.

The Abbess seemed to sense this and laid a comforting paw on the worried mouse's forearm, "Do not fret, my dear. I have a feeling Gareth is still very much alive and well, and that he knows what he's doing no matter how foreign the terrain is. Now, why don't you continue eating? Ash, your fried grayling is most exquisite!"

"Thank you, Clarine." Ash forced a delighted smile on her face, but when the Abbess had turned away it slid off her face as easily as oil on a slanted surface. No matter how she tried to convince herself, she knew Gareth was enduring hardships or would endure hardships.

So, that night, she crept down the staircase in the middle of the night when she was sure everybeast had gone to bed. As she was walking along the scene felt eerily familiar, and Ash was beginning to wonder if she had suffered from déjà vu when she recalled her midnight meeting of Gareth while he was still here. Just thinking about him caused her heart to twinge in worry, so she tried to force his name out of her head, yet he was the reason she was up.

Once again guilt washed over her as she stepped around a torch that had been lit and began stepping down the stairs. She felt like a naughty dibbun who would soon be caught out of bed, and reprimanded for her trespass, but she had to do this to ease her mind. Stepping lightly on her footpaws Ash finally came to her objective. She glanced up at the ornately woven tapestry.

Martin stood out to her in gleaming armor, smiling easily enough with fox, wildcat, and other vermin fleeing behind him. His magnificent sword—even in the tapestry—seemed to reflect the light of the torches as they flickered marrily from where they were across the hall. Despite his casual and easy manner, Ash shivered when she realized those eyes could instantly change into enraged embers bent on the destruction of all vermin.

Shaking her head of these thoughts she called out to Martin in a breathy voice, "Martin? Martin, please don't doubt my belief in you, but I am so worried about Gareth. There is no news of him, not even from passing travelers from the South, and I am worried about him. I suspect he's dead already. Please, if you can show me he is all right—somehow reassure me—then I will never doubt you are watching him."

With her plea given she stared at Martin expectantly, as though waiting for the miracle of ages to happen instantaneously, but after a few minutes she sighed. "I suppose I shall leave then. Goodnight, Martin."

Head bent still, Ash turned away and trudged back to her dorm. Ignoring the deep breathing surrounding her she flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Please stay safe, Gareth, she called out to him with her thoughts when she finally felt her eyelids beginning to droop.

Down in the Great Hall the torch lighter continued making his rounds of the castle ensuring none of the torches dripped fiery oil or embers on anything flammable. He double-checked the tapestry every round; as he looked on that admirable figure he could swear that strong mouse's smile had widened, and that his eyes twinkled with a living light. But the torch lighter forgot about it by morning.

If Ash could have seen Gareth an entire season ago in the middle of spring he was positive she would've died of fright. Aside from his ghastly appearance, he was scaling the side of a cliff one hundred feet above the foaming ocean. There was no rope to catch him should he fall, and his digits were bleeding from digging into and rubbing the rocks. With his eyes skyward he continued on with trembling paws that he struggled to regain control of.

Why couldn't there be an easier way up? He mused dolefully to himself. All the while his eyes dared to look down, and so he finally gave into temptation to stare at the space between his paws. The jagged, serrated and blunt, rocks suddenly seemed to shrink away and all at once he felt himself slip onto the edge of a swoon. No, Gareth! If you faint you die! Bring your eyes up and don't look down again. Getting a grip of himself he forced his gaze to the wall and continued as slowly as before on the edge.

Flinging away all thought, he reached for another paw hold, and attempted to pull himself up. Gareth halted halfway there, and then looked down—he did his mightiest not to focus further below—and found the knee of his breeches had caught on a protruding piece of dark rock. Once again he burrowed his claws into the cliff and pulled up abruptly. His breeches ripped free and he continued on, feeling a surprising warmth begin trickling down the leg, but he ignored it.

He had so many cuts, scratches, and dirt stains on his clothes that he hardly noticed. Gareth's clothes had long since gotten too scuffed and dirty to wear, but it was all he had. The near same went with his food, but he had finished off his provisions weeks ago. After living off two meals a day since he'd left, he'd turned to an even leaner procurement of sustenance—off the land. His lanky form had shriveled down to hardly anything. After a month of traveling he'd had to use a cord to tie his breeches on him just to remain modest, and his long-sleeved shirt felt like a tent. It might as well have been one. At night he used it for a blanket and in the day the hot sun burned through, causing him to sweat profusely. As far as he could recall his last bath had been a splash in the shallows of an unknown river, and that was it. Deep enough streams had been scarce since.

I suppose I'll have to take a swim once I get off of here, Gareth thought as he conjured an image of the salty water below, which was preferable to looking down. The going was as easy as it could be as he had a good grip of the wall, but the mouse hesitated when he came upon a gradual curve. He said that the wind here got pretty bad. I better brace myself then. Carefully removing one paw he flexed the digits, and then dug them in again before doing the same to the other paw. After taking a final breath he slowly began inching his way around the corner.

He had to halt as soon as he reached around to grab a pawhold due to the gusting of the wind. It whipped at his free paw, and blew at his long sleeve shirt as though threatening to blow him off if he continued forward. Gareth hesitated. Getting blown off was not something he could risk, as he still had Martin's sword strapped to his back, but in the long run if he didn't do it now he'd do it some other time. He really had no choice. I might as well go with it.

Pushing aside his doubt—and fear—he once again began edging his way around the corner. When the wind gusted particularly strong he dug his claws in and held fast without moving, waiting until it abated to a less powerful momentum. As he went,

His smiled faded though as he edged along looking for something to grip. While his one paw was free the wind suddenly decided to pick up speed and blew. Gareth, helpless, could only hold on with the one paw as he was pulled outward. He never thought he'd grip anything—not even the sword—so hard in his lifetime, but he found himself digging deeper and deeper into the rock face. But suddenly his paw slipped.

For an instant he floated in midair, only managing to gape at his suddenly free paw that no longer held him for support. Seconds later his footpaws lost contact with the ledge, and he was off into space. There was nothing remotely close he could grab onto.

And so he fell. Gareth's mind blanked as complete disbelief still shot through him then pain washed over him as his body slammed hard into something, with the sword sheath pressing painfully into his back. But that was all beginning to fade—the light, the world. Everything was falling into darkness.