Epilogue. Someone Else's Story

[multiplemint]

The next morning, the Abbey was quieter than usual, as most of the occupants slept off the previous night's excitement. At the Abbess's behest, the five beasts who braved the tunnels the day before made their way to the second floor, and her study. They exchanged glances with each other as they neared the door.

"Do you think she's mad that we went outside?"

"We found it in my gardens, I don't see the problem."

"Maybe 'ee be wantin' t'arsk uz about th' tunnel."

"Mother Abbess! You wanted us to tell you about--" The door to her study burst open, but all that greeted them was a silent room: drawers thrown open and emptied, knickknacks missing, and a desk miraculously freed of its usual nest of papers. A half-empty firkin sat in the middle, recently tapped, a victim of yesterday's revels, with a piece of parchment pinned to the top of it with a penknife.

Timothy's words died in his throat. "Huh... I guess she's out?"

Elsine slipped past him, her shoulder brushing against a coat rack. In a long-practiced gesture, her paw neatly stopped it from tipping over. "Her and Paten both, from the looks of it. Looks like she left a note, at least."

The badger plucked the knife free and set it aside, then peered down at Gentian's scrawling script -- a testament to the Abbey's need for an official recorder if there ever was one. "Oof, she definitely wrote this one herself," she mumbled under her breath.

Her eyes widened a little as she scanned the sheet.

"Well? Don't just gawk. What does it say?" Jaskia groused.

Elsine cleared her throat and began reading.

"I, Abbess Gentian, head of the Order of Redwall, sound of mind -- despite the best efforts of our latest guests -- do officially step down from my position."

The room was silent for a beat, before Mrs. Flowers gave a low, rough whistle. ""Ee be gone?"

Nibs peered over her shoulder, at the keg, "I didn't think that batch was bad enough to drive beasts out of the Abbey."

"There's more," Elsine said, continuing:

"Dear Sister Elsine -- I assume you're reading this, and if not, I hope somebeast hands this to you -- I want you to know that I never regretted making you Recorder. You'll be a steadier presence than I could ever have been, and hopefully a wise counsel for my successor." The badger's eartips turned pink at reading out her compliments. "However, I am going to leave you one last challenge. Something that, I hope, will keep you occupied for the next few seasons, at least. You're charged with quickly developing an ear for molespeech. I am abusing that time-honored tradition of appointing my successor by choosing Foremole Celandine Flowers to inherit the position of Mother Abbess."

Silence overtook the room once more, as everybeast turned to look at the mole.

"Oi?"

"Attached is a letter for her. Please hand it to her as soon as you can. Preferably before announcing to the Abbey as a whole about this."

Elsine, still slightly dazed, shuffled the next piece of paper to the front and handed it to Mrs. -- now Abbess Celandine Flowers.

The mole began to read it aloud.

"Celandine. Paten 'n Oi always cherished 'ee an' Murbol, and Oi'm glad t'see 'ee reachin' out again t'other beasts. 'Ee 'ave a gudd 'ead on yore shoulders and 'ave always be'd a gudd judge o' character. "Ee lead yon molers fairly an' uffishen'ly,and that be th' most importnent part o' bein' a leader. Burr Oi wish t'leave 'ee with one piece o' advice, 'owever. Know that th' beasts 'round 'ee care about 'ee. They'm gossip an' whisper -- 'eavens know Oi've 'eard some o' what gets said 'bout th' Oicee Abbess -- but they'm care. They know 'ee will look after 'em an' work 'ard t'make 'em feel .

"Most o' all, Oi want 'ee t'amember this: th' Abbey be a symbol o' peace an' a force furr gudd in Mossflower. Et be power. Th' power t'protect, and t'repel those who would do uz ill. Th' power t'stave off famine an' freezin' an' drought. Th' power t'old evil beasties at bay.

"But all that be meanin'less without th' beasts inside. Oi was too worried about keepin' th' scales o' power tipped in our favor. In keepin' uz secure at all costs.Oi lost sight o' what gurtly mattered. These walls be just fancy rocks that we live in. Th' gurt spirit of our order, benev'lent an' bright, be what makes uz special.

"Please tell Friar Timothy that 'ee be roight. At that moment, Oi didn't know 'ow 'ee felt. But 'ee was roight. An' an abbess tha be losin' sight o' that be a danger t'th' beasts below 'er.

"You'm goin' t'be a wunnerful leader o' all beasties, loike you'm a wunnerful Foremole. Believe in yoreself moi friend, 'cause Oi've always believed in you'm.

Yore Friend,
Gentian"

The mole looked up from the parchment to the expectant faces of her friends -- new and old. "Boi okey!" she breathed.

Elsine nodded to the table beside her, where a freshly-folded habit lay. "Huh. Well, Abbess. I suppose we'll need to tell everyone the good news."

Abbess Flowers, ever the pragmatist, added, "Burr aye, an' be fillin' that tunnel under th' wall."

--

Two bright bursts of steam billowed in the morning air on the path south of the Abbey. The larger of the two clouds poured from the now-former abbess's muzzle as she leapt over a snowdrift. Gentian was practically skipping, feeling lighter than she had in more seasons than she could count. She even attempted a cartwheel, plopping unceremoniously into a pile of paws in the powder. A flurry of giggles pushed the snow from in front of her face.

A shadow fell across her as Paten leaned over. The hare's brows were furrowed. "Are you all right?"

"Quite literally never better."

"Genny... are you absolutely sure about this?" Paten asked for the also-more-times-than-she-could-count-th time.

Gentian scrambled to her feet, ignoring the complaints from her desk-accustomed joints.

"Paten. Look at me." Gentian spun in place, facing back at her companion. "I've never been more sure of anyth -- well, almost anything -- in my life."

"But all that time we sacrificed. The work. The endless shifts and buttering up the elders and taking on extra --"

She was silenced with a single claw over her muzzle.

"I'm sure."

"Genny. We don't have to do this. We could --"

"Weren't you the one who always wanted some time off? Some time away. Just the two of us, travelling, like we used to?"

"I meant a holiday!" The hare snorted, exasperated. "I didn't think you'd just toss away our life's work like that!"

The final syllable echoed around them, a sharp, repeating accusation, nipping at her ears harder than the cold.

"It'll keep on without us just fine, Paten. You know that."

"How many nights did we stay up too late, dreaming of all the changes we'd make."

"-o many," Gentian's reply was muffled.

"Hmm?"

"Too many!" She snapped. "I was a fool, love. I worried my youth away over that building and look at it! Still there! Still tall! Still full of the same squabbles as it always was! Mouldering records. Cellar expansions. Strange tunnels." She paced on the well-trod road, her footpaws kicking up slush as she marched before the hare. "Water rights!" She punctuated that with a kick. "Hellgates-damned beasts screaming over creek beds. I spent a fortnight reading I don't know how many entries on which stupid, fat, greedy beast should fish which tiny spit of stream. That building doesn't need us. It'll be just fine on its own."

Paten was quiet for a long moment. "It was just outside Southsward, you remember? When you decided -- when we decided to come back here."

"I know." Gentian squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could will away the memories of burned villages and pillaged towns they'd encountered. She opened them, letting the old visions drift away, as she took in Paten's face. The one constant in her life. "I know. But I was wrong, then. Martin and Matthias, the arrogance I had, thinking the Abbey needed me to protect it."

"You kept it safe, though." Paten reached a paw out, brushing a stray unmelted dash of snow from the mouse's brow. "Are you absolutely sure that you're okay leaving it behind, now?"

With strength that surprised even her, Gentian pulled the hare down into a tight embrace, her arms strong around Paten's shoulders -- those steadfast supports she'd leaned against countless times. "Yes. I decided there's something more important."

"But... I thought you..."

"Ssh." A quick peck fully silenced her. "I'm finished being a chapter in the Abbey's history."

Gentian threaded her paw into Paten's and gave it a tug, turning them southward again. "Let's go write one of our own."