Joseph's Craft
Joseph’s Craft
~~//~~ A Tale of [[Order_Redwall_0%25E2%2580%259D|Redwall]]~~//~~
Starring:
Benar, Father Abbot
Magramba, Traveling Warrior
Flicktail, Abbey Champion
Within the Bell Tower
Dusk in Redwall Abbey and the bells have been singing their call to supper over the air; now, however, they are silent: the bell ringers have run off for dinner. Inside the dusty air of the newly restored tower is not still, as the bells still hum, ever so gently quieting down from their use. Up in the bellfry stands Redwall's Abbot looking out over the ground, his grey tail swaying in the air behind him. He sent a message to Magramba and his Champion to join him here and now he waits, quietly, patiently, one paw resting on the window frame as he watches Abbey beasts hurry toward the Great Hall and Cavern Hole beyond.
In the waning light, a silhouette appears in the doorway, the large bushy tail doing little to distinguish which of the two it might be. As he enters, though, the light spreads more evenly across his frame and reveals Magramba, the warrior squirrel from the North. A brown Brother's habit, cut down the middle, covers his normal clothing in an attempt to keep warm without dragging out his traveling gear. Curious eyes seek out the Abbot over by the window. "You sent for me, Father Abbot?"
Benar doesn't turn as Magramba speaks; he seems to be tracing out a column of text carved into the pillar of the window he is standing by. After a moment he turns to look at the warrior, his eyes sharply focused and piercing.
"If you now would wield my blade,
Look midst light of newborn Day:
There where two of one were made,
There where Joseph's craft did trade,
Might to fight 'gainst evil's sway."
He says the words softly, reverently. "Do you know what those words mean Magramba? Martin has been singing them in my sleep for a month now... but it wasn't until today that I worked out what they meant. It is so obvious now, however..."
The words are unexpected, and it takes the younger squirrel a moment to register that something important is immediately being thrust into his ears. A look of confusion clouds his face, brow furrowing as he considers the rhythmic phrases. "Martin? Martin's blade? I'm not sure. Flick is the Champion, Martin speaks to him." The stream of questions comes to a halt, and Magramba takes a moment to center himself, eyes closing for a moment before snapping open again. "Who is Joseph?"
Benar sits himself on the window sill and pats the stone next to him for the younger squirrel, "Martin doesn't just speak to the Champion. He speaks to the Abbot to and in times of strife or dangers others as well can hear his voice." he sighs softly and waits for the squirrel to sit down, "I fear, I have found what he wanted me to find... sit with me and I'll try to explain."
Magramba makes his way further inside, sitting himself down on the stone and pulling the makeshift smoking jacket a bit closer, suddenly feeling a bit disrespectful for fashioning the garment out of an Abbey habit. "I thought Martin brought good news, and help to the Abbey."
Benar sighs softly and offers Magramba a smile, "He does, but his news also lays heavy on the heart." he motions to the writing carved into the lintels of the window, "This window is less then a year old, I was here for every part of the construction as was the foremole, neither of us recall who carved these words and yet... here they are..." he touches the stone, "They tell of the Under-King, the Marten who has moved into Kotir, they warn of danger beneath... but also caution us that to understand what needs to be done the warriors of Redwall must face many trials."
"Redwall has but one warrior. Why are you telling this to me?" Magramba's paws clench the rough fabric of the habit tightly, a growing sense of foreboding winding its way around his heart. "Flicktail should hear of this. I'm happy to help, but I'm not one of Redwall's heroes." The squirrel shakes his head as he speaks, turning to examine the writing as he falls silent, his lips pursing as his eyes scan over the words.
The Abbot is sat with Magramba up in the belfry as the sun is setting, the Abbot moves out of the way so the squirrel can see the words carved onto the pillars of the window frame. To Magramba's eyes the words read: "The Squirrel of the North, who shelters within the Order but is not of the Order and the Champion, the Snow Fox redeemed by deed and action stand before the Abbot who embodies the Peace. As the sun sets and our voices still hum you will see what you must do, where you must travel. The Under-King rises, his search has brought him to the Red Walls, in the shadowed mind, the plots still do revile. The peace imperiled starts the course, Winter Snows a brief recourse, before Spring sings you must have found, the real home for those beneath and convince them it is what they seek." The second pillar reads:
"If you now would wield my sword,
Prove yourself a warrior born.
There we buried Mossflow'r's Horde,
There we her evil mem'ry stored,
In a tomb with none to mourn."
Flicktail responds to his Abbot's call and arrives clad in his simple winter cloak, thinner as the arctic fox's fur is proof against all but the worst of blizzards. His green eyes shine as he nods to his long-time friend, Magramba, even if the squirrel's brush is not QUITE as magnificent as his own. Flicktail listens and cocks his head, looking at the writing. "Father...wot means this, do you think? Martin has been silent to me for some time now; I thought that meant peace..."
"I do know this one, I think," Magramba begins, pointing sharply at the riddle speaking from Martin's point of view. "They buried the vermin castle, Martin did. Martin and the Mossflower freedom fighters, after they won the battle. They buried it, and then they built the Abbey. It's in the records." His gaze flicks over towards Flicktail as the fox enters. "Flick, good. You have to hear this. There's this writing, and it goes with these riddles." He points at each as he chatters excitedly. "This must be about the horde in that pit."
Benar places his hands on the windowsill and stares out across the open grounds toward the orchard, "You are right, Magramba." His tail sways from side to side as he points. "My Champion," his voice changes, softer, stronger, deeper, "Magramba, you are called... the horde beneath will destroy Redwall if you do not make them leave. They cannot leave until you find for them what they truly seek." He steps up onto the windowsill and points, "There... see where the last rays of Winter's sun strikes, the guards in the fire-pit... you must descend below, Verdauga Greeneyes slumbers below, his tomb... forgotten where his daughter was but bones forgotten he was interred with honours... seek his sleeping place, there... you will learn where to look."
Flicktail watches both tails a moment, his own tail flicking as his name implies. "Of course, Father Abbot, I will do as you say, but wot will this all mean when we are done?" He watches over the two smaller beasts looking at the sun in the distance. "I get to go on an adventure...with Magramba?"
"We'll need to prepare before we go down there," Magramba states, scooting off of the windowsill. "It's not wise to go into this sort of thing haphazardly. We'll need to gather provisions and make a plan. I'd like to speak with anyone who's gone down there before."
Benar sits down slowly, leaning against the window frame and regarding the two warriors. "I have been down there... as has Rascal. 'You will find a marten, she who is the heir, her guidance will aid you, befriend her and learn... but do not trust too readily, vermin at heart she can betray.'" He shivers and draws his habit close around his body, "As for what will change Flicktail... I cannot say. Martin has not shared all with me, but you and Magramba are at the centre of this."
Flicktail says, "If we need someone down below...we should talk to moles, aye a good moler could 'elp us." He offers Benar his own cloak. "I am plenty warm wi' me fur Father, and you are getting older you know." His green eyes sparkle with mirth at the good-natured jibe.
"As you say, Father Abbot," Magramba agrees, heading towards the door. "I think I've heard that a few others were down there. One before the martens and Lee, of course. I'm going to ask around and start gathering provisions. I'll leave you two to talk about this." They're the Abbey officials, after all. The squirrel slips out, stride purposeful as he heads for the main Abbey building.
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