#vulpuz

Sounds of laughter and joyful singing carried across the sand, mingling with the music of many instruments. Several of the females had begun to dance in the seaspray. Cooks from every tribe were exchanging trade secrets, sampling the scrumptious offerings of their comrades and nodding to each other with eager approval. Countless mouthwatering aromas rode the gentle sea breeze. Not a single unhappy countenance could be found there. Sitting slightly apart from the festivities were a fox and a young squirrel, the odd pair content to enjoy the sunset. The fox gave a leisurely stretch and reclined against the side of the dune, a sigh of deep satisfaction escaping his lips. He was about to close his eyes for a quick doze when a flash of brilliant light caught his attention. He gave a start, craning his neck to identify the source of the distraction.

One of the dancers down the beach was a female fox. She leapt and spun, gravity naught but her plaything as her nimble footpaws sent flecks of seawater spinning through the air around her like scattered diamonds. The flickering glare of the bonfires glinted off the bracelets and bangles she wore, her fur shining like gold in the light of the dying sun. Forgetting his nap completely, the fox was thunderstruck. He sat up straight to attention, his eyes drinking in her every movement as one blindsided by fate. Her presence seemed to eclipse that of everybeast around her, like a flawless jewel set in the center of a priceless diadem.

The squirrel sensed the uncharacteristic change in his superior's mood. Ears twitching curiously, the squirrel's bright eyes followed the spellbound fox's gaze, his voice soft and wistful when he spoke, "Ah, tis the Lady. Skin me tail, but she moves like the wind!" Grinning, the youngster continued, "Y'know Gen'ral Amos, I heard some o' me messmates talkin' a few eves back. They say she's the firstdaughter of Leda, and that she can hear the very voices of the stars!" He jumped suddenly to his footpaws in excitement, sand flying everywhere. "Gen'ral, you should go say somethin' to her!"

The dark-furred fox grunted dismissively, tearing his gaze away from the dancer just long enough to pull his companion back down onto the sand in a playful gesture. "You liddle snip! We're supposed to wait here until Lieutenant Colonel Pennelegion comes to fetch us to join his Lordship's escort. Which reminds me..." Stirring, the General rotated his body to gaze in the direction of Salamandastron. The massive lump of stone reared out of the midst of the dunes like a colossal, misshapen sentinel. "Ryker," the fox began, his voice taking on an authoritative tone, "Go seek out Captain Spoons. My guess is that she's probably somewhere near the gaggle of shrew chefs over by the northern side of the mountain. Make sure she tells you where the flags and their poles have been stored, and let her know that I fully expect her to send an aide to report to me when her unit has assembled in parade fashion below the mountain's entrance. We must be ready to receive his Lordship at a moment's notice!"

"Yessir!" The squirrel saluted and shot away like an arrow from a bow. General Amos watched until the youngster’s form was swallowed by the ever-shifting crowd. He stood to his footpaws, idly brushing sand from his garments, his face growing hot as he struggled in vain to keep his thoughts from shifting to the dancer in the surf. Shaking his head resolutely, the fox tightened the strap on his swordbelt and began to make his way up the beach. Two pairs of eyes watched his ascent: those of the Lady dancing in the waves, and another pair, withdrawn and mysterious, peering down from one of the dark window slits carved into Salamandastron's stony hide.

The black-iron gates sprang open upon at Martin’s approach, letting him pass through the towering fence cleaving through the misty wood.

Vulpuz stood near the gate, leaning against the fence. He was a fox in form, but black as midnight and clothed by shadows. Like the gates he tended, he towered above any mortal creature.

“What causes the Lord of the Gates such trouble that he must call upon me?” Martin asked the spectral fox.

“One of your creatures,” Vulpuz said, his voice like ice, causing Martin to slightly shudder as a chill ran down his spine. “His time has come and he must move on, but he refuses.”

Martin looked around the clearing near the gateway. “I do not see him.”

“Even now he attempts to find his own way back to the living world. I have shifted the wood so he will only find his way here.”

A short time later, a tall, strong otter stepped into the clearing. His eyes slid past Martin and straight to Vulpuz. “Let me out of here,” he demanded.

“I have told you what you ask is impossible. Your body is dead and your spirit has nowhere else to dwell in your world. Even now your corpse is drifting down a river to the sea.”

Vulpuz’ answer was not what the otter wanted to hear, nor did it seem to fully faze him. “Just for a little while,” he begged. “Let me make things right and then I’ll be back.”

“He does not listen to me,” Vulpuz told Martin. “See if you can make him cross the gates.”

Martin took a step forward. “Rillflag,” he called to the otter, “you must come with me.”

Rillflag’s gaze darted to Martin as if seeing him for the first time.

“Martin!” he cried desperately, grabbing the mouse by his shoulders. “There were vermin! My son is there alone! He’s only a baby! Do you have influence here? Can you send me back?”

Martin looked up into Rillflag’s sad and desperate eyes. “No creature or spirit can resurrect the dead. That arrow found your heart. There is no way back after that.”

“But you step into our world, so they say at the Abbey. The legends say you can influence events. Give warning to creatures and terrorize vermin.”

“My presence there is only transient. I work in riddles and dreams. I cannot walk where I once walked. This is hard to understand, but there are rules and limits to how I interact with the living world. Even I can only grasp the smallest portion of fate and destiny. What you ask for is not how things were written.”

Rillflag pushed Martin away in disgust. “You won’t help me save my son!? Fine then, I’ll do it without you!” He made to walk off into the misty wood again.

“You will only ever find your way back here,” Martin cautioned him. You are a leaf on a river. You can only float in one direction.” He sighed and looked up at Vulpuz. “Make a path out.”

Vulpuz looked down upon him. “You were saying of rules?”

“We’re just going to watch. Once he assured of his son’s safety, perhaps he will then be willing to cross.”

“Very well.” Vulpuz held out a black paw toward the wood. There was a shift in the breeze and the mist churned around. “There is your path.”

Martin told Rillflag to follow him and walked off into the mist. After a short distance, the fog gave way to sunshine.

“Are we back?”

“We are but watchers,” Martin reminded him, “you cannot change anything you see.”

“I can’t feel the grass on my paws,” Rillflag said, looking down.

“Because we are not truly here. We are only echoes.”

“Then how are we still standing on the ground?”

“Your spirit remembers how you used to exist. If you spent enough time like this, you would no longer be bound to such conventions. Have you noticed you are still trying to breathe? There is no air entering your lungs. You remember being alive, so you act like you’re alive.”

Rillflag shrugged off the new information. “Where’s my son?”

“He is near to where you left him. Only moments have passed.”

Rillflag passed through the underbrush, heading straight toward the ford. Martin followed at a leisurely pace.

Five vermin were standing at the edge of the river, all tattooed in a similar manner: a black stripe up the center of the face with a row of red dots on either side. One of the vermin, a fox, was pacing around, grasping at a bleeding paw and muttering “Bloody ruined me axe-paw.”

Another fox, this one an elderly female, was holding Deyna, Rillflag’s son.  A ferret standing nearby was talking to her.

“Well, is it really him?”

The fox took the ferret’s paw and placed on Deyna, speaking the words “Zann Juskarath Taggerung.”

A sly grin appeared on the ferret’s face as he replied “Might warrior of our clan. Taggerung!”

All the while, Rillflag was among the vermin, yelling and swinging his fists, but his blows passed right through the clanbeasts. He screamed in frustration as they took off through the forest.

“They have my son, Martin! What am I supposed to do if I can’t touch them?”

“There is nothing you can do, Rillflag. I’ve been telling you, your time has passed. You can no longer change this world.”

“What did they take him for? They called him a mighty warrior. Do they want him to fight for them? I won’t let them turn my son into a monster!”

“Your son will be fine, Rillflag. Those vermin have no desire to hurt him. I know it is painful to hear, but there is nothing you can do now.”

Rillflag growled. “Am I supposed to simply accept my son being turned into a murderer and thief?”

“He’s your son, Rillflag. Do you think strong hearts can so easily be extinguished? I was raised in slavery and treated cruelly. Am I a murderer and thief?”

“He’s only a baby!”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

“Living creatures travel through the seasons like sand through an hourglass, but we have left that hourglass and can turn it in any direction we choose. I can show you your son’s furthest descendants or take you back to see the first otter who walked upon this land. We are but dreams, and time is nothing in dreams.”

“Very well,” Rillflag said. “Show me.”

Martin took a hold of Rillflag’s arm and the world blurred around them. When their surroundings became clear, it was apparent they were someplace else.

“Where…” Rillflag began.

“In the woodlands west of where we were, at the northern reaches of the Western Plains. About six Summers later.”

“Why here, Martin? There’s nothing…” A sudden flapping in the bushes interrupted him. Rillflag peered into the bushes and saw a woodpigeon caught in a snare. The voices of approaching creatures caught his attention.

“I’ll go north and check the traps up there. You start down here and find me when you’re done.”

“Yes Chief.” A young otter, face covered with tattoos, walked through the bushes carrying a knife.

“Deyna,” Rillflag choked, tearing up. He reached a spectral paw out toward his son, but the young otter passed right through him.

The young Taggerung stood over the woodpigeon, watching it flap about pitifully in the snare. He had his knife up, but his paws were trembling. He looked around, listening and sniffing. When he was convinced he was alone, he put the knife back in his belt and loosed the snare from the bird’s neck.

“Go on, fly away, quick.”

The pigeon needed no second bidding and flew off over the trees and out of sight.

“Finding anything?” the Chief shouted from a distance.

“No Chief, not a thing.” The young otter walked off to continuing checking the snares in the area.

“Still believe he is being corrupted?” Martin asked Rillflag.

“Show me more,” Rillflag pleaded, hints of desperation in his voice. “Show me when he’s older.”

Martin grabbed hold of Rillflag and the world blurred around them again. They were now standing in the middle of a camp. In front of them was a group of young creatures, both male and female, all of whom were engaged in one-on-one fights.

“It’s another six Summers later,” Martin explained. “The young ones are continuing their training. Your son is supposed to be the strongest and the fastest.”

Rillflag’s eyes were fixed on his son, who was busy grappling with a young female stoat.

The stoat was smaller than Deyna, but that did not seem to dissuade her, even as her efforts made no visible impact upon him. She jerked to the right and left, trying to throw him off balance, but his footpaws remained firmly planted on the ground. She began to push straight into him, trying to force him backwards, but Deyna suddenly loosed his grip and sidestepped. The stoat’s momentum carried her forward and Deyna tripped her over his rudder, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The stoat snarled in frustration. Deyna offered a paw to help her up; she looked at him, puzzled. Around her, the other fights were resolving, and most of the other victors were giving their opponents a last kick or shoving their faces in the dirt. Thinking it was some trick, the stoat knocked Deyna’s paw aside and pushed herself up.

“These Juska are not overly brutal to each other, but simple kindness is often foreign to them,” Martin explained. “Despite this, your son grows into a merciful, caring creature.”

“But where does that take him? I’m glad he is no savage, but when his surrounded by savages, his kindness may be his undoing. They may kill him, thinking him weak.”

“I assure you, Rillflag, your son ends up leading a good life. A good beast could only endure this life for so long. Deyna leaves, has his adventure, and makes his way to Redwall.”

Rillflag sighed. “I need to see it. Let me see him free from all of this.”

“We really should be going back.”

“Please, Martin,” Rillflag pleaded, I have to be certain.”

Once more, the scene around them shifted, and the two spirits found themselves standing within a cave. Candles were stuck on every available surface, and all manner of shiny objects glittered in their light. Deyna was lying on a table in front of them, his eyes closed, with a severe wound in his chest.

Rillflag’s teeth ground together as he stood over the table, looking down at his son. “What has happened to him?”

“The consequences of a warrior’s life, but do not despair. He is under the care of the best healer in Mossflower.”

An ancient, white otter came shambling into the cave, the objects sewn into her dark cloak jingling and rattling as she did. In her paws she carried a bundle of herbs and berries.

“Rukky Garge? The otterfixer? I’m surprised she’s still alive. She was old when I was a little one. I broke my leg tripping over some rocks in a stream. After she fixed me up, I didn’t even have a limp.”

“And ye had t’ go and get yerself killed and ruin all my work,” Rukky added. “Step ‘way from yon table. Rukky’s got work t’ do.”

“Sorry.” Rillflag stepped back. “Wait…”

“ ‘nother one who can’t let go,” Rukky cackled as she worked on Deyna’s wound. “That ol’ fox is gettin’ soft. Used to be he jus’ hurl ye through gate hisself.”

Rillflag pulled Martin deeper into the cave. “How can she see us?” he whispered. “I thought we were just watching. You said we were little more than dreams.”

“In my life, I met several creatures who could see with more than just their eyes and knew things they shouldn’t have known. This Rukky Garge seems to be one such creature.”

Rillflag paced nervously around the back of the cave before approaching Rukky. “Is my son going to live?”

“Don’ be worryin’ ‘bout this one,” the ancient healer said, tracing her paw along Deyna’s tattoos. “There ain’t nothin’ Rukky likes more than stealin’ a soul from ol’ foxy’s claws.”

Rillflag turned to Martin. “I think I’m ready to go now, but I’d like to make one last visit first.”

“Who?”

“I’d like to see my wife and daughter first. One final goodbye.”

Martin smiled. “I was planning on taking you there anyway.”

“If ye ever feel like droppin’ in, forget it,” Rukky chimed in. “Don’ like surprise visitors. ‘cept foxy. Oi mousie, tell that broody bugger t’ stop in fer tea sometime. He don’ get out enough.”

Martin turned his attention back to Rillflag. “Let’s get to Redwall.”

In moments, they were there, standing in one of the dormitories in the middle of the night.

“A score of days after your death,” Martin said before Rillflag could ask.

The otter walked across the room and knelt next to the smaller of the two beds. Martin stood behind him, looking at the young ottermaid.

“My little girl,” Rillflag sniffed, a lone tear flowing down his face. “I can’t even tell her I love her one last time.”

Martin gently placed his paw on Rillflag’s shoulder. Rillflag held up his paw; he felt it tingling. He looked toward Martin.

“It’s your daughter. I’m bending the rules. You are somewhat more tangible and can be seen and heard, but speak quietly.”

Trembling, Rillflag ran his paw tenderly across Mhera’s cheek; his paws pushed the soft fur aside and did not simply pass through it. “She’s so warm.” Leaning in close, he whispered to her, “Mhera, darling. It’s Papa. I’m going to have to go soon, and I won’t be able to come back. I’m sorry I won’t be here to see you grow up. Be good to Mama. I love you so much, little one.” As softly as he could, he kissed her on her brow as if he was saying goodnight, as he had done a thousand times before.

Mhera rolled over in her sleep, murmuring. “Mmmumph. Papa.”

Rillflag froze. “Martin,” he choked, “can she still hear us?”

Martin looked to be in the same emotional state as Rillflag. He shook his head.

Rillflag curled up on the floor, bawling. Martin sat on the floor beside him, holding the otter as his anguish took its toll.

“I don’t want to let go, Martin.” Rillflag sobbed, his eyes red and puffy. “I don’t want to let them go.”

“You needn’t forget them, Rillflag. I would never ask that. You will just be leaving for a time, but you will be reunited one day, and I swear, Rillflag, I swear I will watch over them and protect them.”

Rillflag nodded, though he still shook. “I know. I know you will, but that does not make this any easier. Let me say goodbye to my wife. I cannot take much more of this.”

He stood beside his wife for a few long moments, saying nothing. “I have no words.” He finally said. “How can I say goodbye to her?”

“I have an idea,” Martin said. “Kneel down; close your eyes.”

Rillflag did as Martin told him. He felt the mouse place his paw on his head. He felt a faint breeze pass by. “You can open your eyes now,” Martin said to him.

When Rillflag opened his eyes he was no longer in the Abbey. He was in Mossflower somewhere. He could hear the river running just a few paces away. “Where are we?”

“Filorn was dreaming,” Martin explained. “We’ve now joined her in her dream.”

“And she’s here somewhere? We can talk to her?”

“You can, yes. I’ve shrouded myself. She shouldn’t be able to see or hear me. Don’t do anything to dramatic, or you might wake her. She should be nearby. Have a look around.”

Rillflag’s first impulse was to follow the river, so he led Martin along away until they got to a bend where the current slowed. In the still waters, he got a good look at his reflection. Rillflag was not even in his middle-seasons when he died, but he looked younger now than at the time of his death. He was slimmer and more youthful.

“What is this?” he asked Martin.

“She must be dreaming about you,” Martin responded. “This is how she is remembering  you.”

“If I’m this young, than she…” Rillflag’s voice cut out. “Follow me.” He took off along the river, Martin following in his wake.

The otter stopped where the land dropped sharply away onto a sandbank below. “She’s down there,” he whispered. “This is where we first met, seasons ago. Well, not first met. We had known of each other, being otters living in Mossflower, but this is where we first started getting to know each other.”

“How did it go?”

“If I remember correctly, I tripped as I was walking and nearly fell onto her down there.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

“What do you…” Rillflag failed to finish his question as Martin pushed him off of the elevated riverbank. He hit the ground hard, right next to a young, attractive ottermaid. (Martin slid down and sat nearby).

Rillflag lay dazed on the sand. The cute otter was peering down at him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, fighting to avoid laughing at the clumsy visitor.

“Yes, yes.” Rillflag assured her. “I was walking along and I…I…” he fought to find an excuse, “I tripped. Over something.”

“Do you trip often?”

“Only around the prettiest of otters.” Rillflag found the words coming unnaturally easily to his mouth. He had used these words before.

Filorn smiled shyly. “Are you always such a flatter?”

“Again, only to the prettiest of otters.” (“Was I really this terrible at flirting?” Rillflag thought to himself.)

“You’re Rillflag, aren’t you? Your branch of the holt lives further upriver. I think I’ve seen you at some of the gatherings. You sometimes go by Rill, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Weren’t you the one who set himself on fire at the last one?”

“Well…” Rillflag stammered. “You see, I had made a bet that I could juggle three lit torches, but since I had no prior juggling experience, it may have been a mistake. So I didn’t so much as light myself on fire as I dropped a lit torch on my footpaw which…caused me to catch on fire.”

Filorin had started giggling halfway through the story and erupted into full laughter by the end. “I’m sorry,” she gasped between laughs. “I really shouldn’t laugh, but you’re just so…so…”

“Many have said adorable, charming, outrageously handsome.”

“You certainly can liven up a celebration, at any rate.”

“Speaking of,” Rillflag said, remembering a detail from that day, “have you ever been to the Hullabaloo? There’s a group from our camp getting ready to leave in a few weeks.”

“Not yet,” Filorn shook her head. “Mother and father have always said I was too young to go, but I suppose I’m old enough to decide for myself now.”

“You should come this time. I can promise you we will have a great time.”

Filorn leaned into Rillflag, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know we will. And we did, Rill. Those days were some of the happiest, along with marrying you and starting our family.”

Rillflag glanced toward Martin, who could only shrug.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” she reached up and stroked his chin and neck. “You are no dream.”

Like a vanishing fog, their youthful visages faded. They were no longer two young creatures falling in love; they were two mature otters who had led a life together.

“Filorn, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go.”

“I know that, my love. You would never leave if you didn’t have to.”

“I just had to see you one more time.”

Filorn smiled sadly. “Did you get Martin to drag you up here just for Mhera and me?” She nodded in the warrior-mouse’s direction.

(“Of course she can see me,” Martin grumbled.)

“I had to say goodbye. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. But now I have nothing left to say you don’t already know.”

They leaned together, forehead to forehead, eyes closed, just sitting for a time.

“Will I remember this when I wake, Martin?” Filorin asked directly to him.

“You will remember dreaming of your husband, of happier days. You will grieve for him still; you will miss him still.”

“That will have to do, I suppose,” Filorin said somberly.

“Take care of yourself, beloved. Do not weep too much. Martin has promised me Deyna will be fine.”

“Then I will endure as long as I can, until I see you again, Rill.”

There was nothing left to be said between them. They stood upon the sandy shore beside the River Moss. Paw-in-paw, they watched the sun go down.

“I love you,” they said together, and the world faded around them, dissolving into mist.

Filorn was gone. Only Rillflag and Martin remained. They walked in silence for a short distance before emerging out of the mist to Vulpuz’ gate.

The ebony fox looked down at them, his eyes glistening like obsidian. “Are you ready to enter, otter?”

“No, I’m not,” Rillflag responded, looking Vulpuz straight in his eyes. “But I don’t suppose anybeast ever truly is.”

“This is so.” The fox agreed, deigning to give a nod to the otter.

The gates slowly creaked open.

Rillflag took one last look back. He took a few more steps forward and faded entirely into the mist.

Martin lingered at the gates. “I hate it when you make me take them,” he told Vulpuz. “Tearing them from their loved ones is no pleasant task.”

“That it is, mouse. I have performed this task since before the seasons were named. Never have I found joy in it.”

“Then why place the burden upon another, if only on rare occasions?”

“Because there are times, mouse, when even I do not believe I have the heart to tell a creature their time has come.”

Martin shook his head as he walked toward the gate, a faint smile on his face.  “I’ve underestimated you, Vulpuz. By the way, Rukky Garge says that you’re invited to tea at your convenience.”

“A curious creature,” Vulpuz reflected. “I do enjoy her company. She is a worthy adversary.”

Rose had stopped swinging her sling. She was kneeling alongside Dinny and Grumm, helping the two dazed moles to come back to their senses. Several feet behind them, Gonff sat up, patting himself down to make sure he was still in one piece. His face was the very picture of awed surprise and confusion, but when he locked eyes with Martin, the irrepressible mousethief burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! We’re alive!” he cried, leaping to his footpaws. Hardly able to contain his joy, Gonff cartwheeled over to where Felldoh still lay in a baffled heap, the warrior squirrel’s intact spear laying across his chest. Still laughing, Gonff snatched up the spear and offered Felldoh a paw. “Up y’come, matey!”

Felldoh groaned as Gonff helped him up off the ground. “Ooh, that’s a sore spot for sure. Would anybeast be able to explain what exactly just—”

He froze mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. In their midst a vixen had suddenly materialized, a dark gossamer cloak swirling slightly about her. She stood, tall and stern, her unwavering gaze fixed not on any of the company, but upon the disturbed visage of the Great Vulpuz. The ruler of Hellgates was crouching close to the ground a few yards away, his jaw working spasmodically, his eyes fixed on the cloaked vixen. Without moving a single muscle, she spoke to the woodlanders gathered around her, her tone low and urgent.

“You have done well to come so far. Now, you must abandon this fight. Follow my lantern. It will lead you to the one who does not belong here.”

In that moment the six friends became aware of the presence of a gentle glow, softer and more substantial than the unnatural light of Hellgates. The light emanated from an elegant paper lantern affixed to a delicate pole of bamboo wood, which had appeared in the air next to Gonff. The lantern swayed gently back and forth in an unseen wind, its pole hovering several feet off the ground. The aft end of the pole rotated slowly upwards, the artfully carved handle coming to rest against the back of one of Gonff’s paws, as if the lantern was offering itself up to be held.

The mousethief hesitated, his brow creased with doubt. He glanced up at Martin. The warrior mouse’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he was watching the newly-arrived vixen intently. The thought of the group being confronted by another deadly trap flitted briefly through Gonff’s mind.

“It’s all right, Gonff,” Rose broke through the mousethief’s reverie. “This is the one who has been guiding us with her voice, the Lady of Hellgates.”

“Burr aye, take oop ee loight, zurr Gonffen,” Grumm encouraged.

Bolstered by his friends’ confidence, Gonff reached out to grasp the Lady’s lantern. The bamboo pole seemed to thrum with an energy all its own, causing a tingling sensation in his paw. He eyed the lantern curiously as it bobbed to and fro.

“How will this tell us where to go? Should I… ask it?” He gestured to the lantern with his free paw. “Will you show us the way?”

Without warning the lantern and its pole bucked so fiercely, Gonff was forced to take hold of it with both paws. The animated lamp seemed to gather itself before executing an enormous leap, effectively dragging Gonff across the clearing. “This waaay, maaaaaaaates!” he managed to holler back at the company before the lantern tugged him over the crest of a low hill and out of sight.

Loth to abandon what he knew to be a brewing conflict, Martin hovered betwixt uncertainty and his warrior instincts. It was not in his nature to leave another to fight his battles for him, especially one so mysterious as the Lady of Hellgates.  

“Go.”

The Lady’s spellbinding voice shattered Martin’s spirit of indecision. For the first time she tore her gaze from Vulpuz, a vague smile of admiration playing about her lips as she beheld the warrior mouse with her bright, piercing eyes.

“Your heart has courage, but you know not whom you face,” she cautioned. “You must be swift, warrior! The tenderhearted one called Blaggut needs you!”

The mention of a creature in need reminded Martin of the task at hand. He nodded to the rest of the company, and the five friends tore off across the clearing after Gonff, disappearing together over the distant knoll. The Lady breathed a visible sigh of relief as she felt the presences of the woodlanders grow faint.

Meanwhile, Vulpuz, ruler of Hellgates, had abandoned himself to a temper tantrum. At some point during the exchange between the Lady and Martin’s group, he had thrown himself upon the ground to writhe piteously in the dust, scoring deep scratches in the earth with his claws. At intervals he would throw up his head to snarl at the sky, tearing great tufts of white fur out of his tail as he did so. Ravenously he gnawed upon the boulders around him, crushing broken pieces of the fiery brimstone between his powerful jaws. He eventually succumbed to rapidly dragging his paws down his face in a repetitive, anxious blur of motion, all the while hurling accusations, entreaties, and insults at the Lady.

“How could you? How could you?!” he screeched, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “I had them! Do you know how many eons of insufferable boredom I could have blissfully passed through with those imbeciles as my pets?” Vulpuz’s eyes bulged, the veins in his neck pulsating as he gave full vent to his rage. “Curse you, foul and deranged vixen! How could you take this from me?! This was to be my moment of ultimate triumph, the pivotal instance where I, the Great Vulpuz, would steal the very crown of Dark Forest right from under the dripping snouts of those idiotic woodlanders! Why? Why?! What in my name have I ever done to you to deserve this sort of treatment?” The Great Vulpuz scrambled onto his footpaws with erratic urgency. He paused briefly, his chest heaving from the exertion of his outburst.

“I… I have to do something about you. I must do something about you!” Vulpuz’s upper lip curled into a snarl, flecks of spittle falling from his chin. “I… I know you will interfere again… if given the chance.”

The Lady placed one paw on her hip, regarding Vulpuz with mild amusement. “There,” she cooed at him. “You’ve spoken your piece. Tell me, how does the Great Vulpuz feel now?”

The white fox’s entire body shook, and he bent forward at the waist. “Ooooooh, I feel so betrayed,” Vulpuz wailed, his voice almost a sob. He continued to speak aloud to nobeast in particular, his gestures wild and distracted. “How could she do this to me? Me, the ruler of Hellgates? When I knew she had come, I rejoiced, thinking she would join me in my revelry… but, no.” He scuffed at the ground with a vicious kick. “No, no, NO! She protected those miscreants! Hellsteeth! Just thinking about it makes me want to tear myself limb from bloody limb! Augh! And the smell! How noxious and revolting the stench of Dark Forest that clung to their miserable bodies like fine mail!”

A full minute of complete silence elapsed, in which Vulpuz remained hunched over and panting, the inner flames of his fury stoking themselves into an untamable wildfire. Slowly he raised his head, locking eyes with the sole object of his hatred, and in his gaze was the pale light of a cruelty so chilling the Lady flicked one ear in acknowledgement of it.

“I feel… rage.” Vulpuz’s voice had grown deathly quiet. “Rage at the one who took what was mine by right of conquest. How deeply I long to thrash her beyond recompense, to tear out her eyes and commit them to the infernal winds, to defile her adulterous establishment, to completely and utterly…”

He smiled at her.

“… Devour you.”

The reddish light of Hellgates slowly dimmed until the Lady found herself surrounded by complete darkness. Though Vulpuz was unaware of it, she could still see him, his knack for warping appearances having no effect on her. He was laughing now, echoes of maniacal glee ringing about the stone-rimmed clearing.

“I’ve had enough of your kittish antics, vixen,” he admonished. “I will let the stroke of my chisel of anger fall upon you. Haha, finally! You will give me what I desire, and if not, I shall carve it from you by force.”

Four distinct presences manifested themselves to the Lady in the same moment, catching her off guard. Before she could react she was confronted by a heavy whooshing sound, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a great iron war club come barreling down towards her. In an instant there was an answering flash of drawn steel, and Willow Slay stood alongside the Lady, her flawless curved blade effortlessly parrying the fatal strike.

The Lady blinked. “Willow Slay, what in Hellgates are you—!”

The chef of Redwall Hell’s nightclub unceremoniously interrupted her. “My Lady, on your right!”

Out of the darkness snaked a cruel thonged whip, the metal barbs lashed to its ends seeking to tear gaping holes in the Lady’s flesh. Suddenly, the whip caught on an obstruction in its flight path. Nivedita did not even wince as the biting thongs wrapped themselves around her upraised arm. She snarled into the shadows, dislodging the projectiles from her wrist and forearm with a disdainful shake.

“My Lady, are you hurt?” Nivedita turned slightly to catch the eyes of her mistress, the glow from her wounds highlighting the contours of concern etched into her face.

“Well, no,” the Lady blustered, “I am fine… but, you both, I…”

Willow laughed out loud as she deftly tossed her blade to her off paw in order to summon forth a pair of throwing knives. “My Lady, I know you didn’t really expect us to remain at the nightclub while you went off to tango with the old fox. Damn well inconsiderate of you— erm, pardon the language.

“That is, we’d like to tango too, if it’s all right with you,” Nivedita finished sheepishly.

The Lady observed both her steward and chef with wonder. The unlikely pair were peering into the darkness around them, every muscle poised to defend. Very little surprised the Lady, but the loyalties of her most beloved children never ceased to prompt within her a spirit of humble gratitude. She bowed her head before glancing up in Vulpuz’s direction, a tacit gesture of submission.

“I… consider myself thoroughly chastised,” she exhaled, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me, Nivedita, Willow, for attempting to deprive you of this honor your both rightfully covet.”

The chef and the steward seemed to swell with pride. Boldly they faced the darkness before them, fearing neither creature nor fate.

“Think nothing of it, my Lady,” declared Willow. She directed her knives to circle in the air above her free paw, the tip of her sword flicking up and down in sync with their rotation. “These blades are yours to command!”

“Yes!” Hope danced in Nivedita’s eyes as she adopted what she thought to be a cool and aggressive combat stance. “Let us fight with you!”

“Shut up, shut up!” Vulpuz roared from his hiding place in the shadows. “How dare you show your faces here, you worthless serfs! I will have nothing to do with you. Amuse yourselves with my right and left paws whilst I entertain your mistress!”

“Ha! Suits me!” Willow Slay scoffed. “I’ll tan any hide what shows its miserable self here! Prepare yourself to receive me, clubface!” Without another word the courageous mink threw herself into the darkness, leading with her blades.

Nivedita’s kind features were set with determination. “For you, my Lady,” she intoned, stepping forth to allow the shadows to swallow her up as well.

The Lady breathed deeply, her all-knowing gaze effortlessly piercing the darkness. She locked eyes with the infuriated ruler of Hellgates and gracefully held out an open paw.

“You’d think it’d be a mite warmer here, what with these veins of fire running through all these rocks,” Gonff’s voice broke into the silence. “It’s as if somebeast used the stones to ring their cooking fire, but the blaze that once licked at their insides never went out.”

“Burr, only ee foire burns lioke ee frost, zurr mouseythief,” Grumm observed, giving the rocks on either side of him a wide berth. “Oi’d loike to make ee proper foire for summ zoup, but there’m baint no sticks yurrabouts!”

Rose tentatively ran the back of her paw across the surface of one of the massive brimstone boulders. “I agree, Grumm. These stones look like they’d burn you if you touched one, but it actually feels like ice.” She paused as they reached the top of a small rise, thoughtfully surveying the terrain ahead of them. “Everything looks the same here, Martin. How do we know if we’re heading in the right direction?”

The warrior mouse reached the crest of the hill, coming to a standstill alongside her. “I don’t think there’s a way to tell for sure, Rose. This is a strange place. Still, we must continue on. The message the Lady conveyed to me was one of utmost urgency.”

Felldoh flicked his tail in a gesture of mild annoyance. “And I suppose it was so urgent she forgot to include directions?”

Martin shrugged, adjusting the shoulder strap of his sword belt. “I do not think the Lady of Hellgates would invite us to run a fool’s errand. There must be a way for us to figure out where we are going.”

“I’ve got it mates!” Gonff clapped his paws together, a look of mock seriousness upon his face. “I say we spin Dinny around in a circle, and wherever his nose points when he stops has got to be the right way to go.”

“You’m gurtly wrong thurr, zurr. Oi say we spin ee, more loike. This yurr moler culd sloice ee roipe cheese with yore snout as moi knoife, hurr!”

As Dinny and Gonff continued to banter back and forth, Laterose noticed that Grumm had been quietly staring off into the distance with curious intensity. She shimmied atop one of the brimstone boulders next to him and peered in the direction he was looking. “What is it, Grumm? Do you see anything out there?”

The spellbound mole shook his head slowly. “Burr no, miz Roser. Oi’m… oi thought oi heard ee voice callen from thataways. Twas most bootiful, loike ee soft velvet o’er glass.”

Martin stepped between Gonff and Dinny, effectively cutting short their conversation. “Is that true, Grumm? What did the voice say to you?”

Grumm’s deep molevoice was solemn as he intoned the cryptic message, “’Cumm, yore friend awaits for ee.’” He raised a hefty digging claw, indicating a line of low, jagged cliffs on the horizon off to one side. “Oi felt moi snout gettin’ tugged towards ee stoney ridge o’er yonder.”

“It may be that the Lady is trying to get our attention,” Rose offered. “Should we head in that direction?”

Felldoh observed the distant formation, voicing his thoughts aloud. “It could also be a trap. As of right now, we have no idea where we are in relation to our ultimate destination, and we have no way of knowing if the voice Grumm has heard isn’t some nasty trick meant to lead us astray.” He turned to the group, his tone edged with skepticism. “Have you noticed how we have yet to encounter anybeast here? Something can’t be right.”

“It seems my reputation as the Prince of Mousethieves precedes me.”

“Gonff.”

“Haha, sorry mates. Ah, I say we go see what Grumm’s velvety-voiced friend has in store for us.”

Martin shook his head at his friend’s joke and exhaled slowly, his keen gaze sizing up the distance between the group and the faraway cliffs. “Felldoh does have a point, but we have nothing else to go on but Grumm’s lead. If we head to the rocks, I think it would be wise to proceed with caution. Our only other option is to continue wandering aimlessly.” The warrior mouse held out an open paw. “All those in favor of investigating Grumm’s message, say ‘aye’.”

Four hearty voices rang out into the muted stillness. Martin glanced over at Felldoh, who shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Whatever it is, I think we can take it on. I’m in.”  

The six friends travelled swiftly, Felldoh acting as rear guard while Gonff scouted ahead. The gently rolling flatlands they had previously been navigating dipped to morph with a low-lying, mazelike area of stone canyons. Coarse, black sand shifted unsteadily beneath their footpaws as the sheer monoliths of stone hemmed them in on either side. The canyon walls were eerily reflective, the glow from their fiery light veins casting roguish shadows betwixt every unfamiliar twist and turn. Even the slightest sound came ricocheting back at the group with deafening intensity. It was enough to put everybeast’s nerves on edge.

Gonff had adjusted his tactics somewhat, skillfully forging on to inspect the passageways of each new change of direction dictated by the structure of the canyon. He would creep forward, peering into every crevasse in the walls, checking every shadow, keenly alert for anything out of the ordinary. He had just reached the mouth of a wide, curving tunnel when he froze, his ears turning this way and that. When the rest of the group had caught up with him, he posed them a question.

“Do you mateys hear that?”

Everybeast was silent for a moment. Not a sound could be heard.

“What should we be listening for, Gonff?” Rose whispered, whiskers twitching curiously.

“It sounds like ocean waves lapping against a pebbled shore… and so close. But how?” The mousethief’s voice was almost hollow with bewilderment. “Can there be a sea in Hellgates?”

The squeal of a gannet abruptly cut through the air, closely followed by the sudden rushing hiss and resounding crash of an unseen wave upon sand. The six friends stood stock still, exchanging looks of surprise and confusion.

Grumm and Dinny were the first to move again, their footpaws sifting uneasily through the dark sand. Dinny elected to voice their joint observation aloud. “Marthen, if thurr be ee gurt sea yurrabouts, ee soil beneath us’n’s baint roight. If’n ee ground could speak, et would say no water bees here, zurrs! Naught for moiles aroun’!”

“What?” Felldoh was flabbergasted. “Are you saying there can’t be any body of water around here, even though we can all hear it?”

“And smell it, too,” Gonff added. He paused as everybeast caught a whiff of the salty coastal air. “We’d be blunderin’ ninnyheads to ignore what a mole knows to be true about the earth ‘n’ terrain, though.” One of his paws began to stray to the knives hanging from his belt. “Mayhaps Felldoh was right, eh? Could be some trick lies ahead, waiting for us.”

Martin glanced up at the strip of sky above them. Not a cloud was in sight. He sized up the canyon walls either side of them. “Do you think you could scale these walls to try to get a view of our surroundings, Felldoh?”

The warrior squirrel stepped closer to the nearest canyon face and ran his paws over it experimentally. “I don’t think so mate,” he admitted with obvious disappointment. “The surface is too smooth… no pawholds. Good idea, though.”

“Perhaps the only thing we can do is forge ahead.”

The five turned to see Rose unwinding her sling from about her waist, her eyes alight with determination. “I just heard the voice that spoke to you earlier, Grumm. It urged us to hurry. Why, I’m not sure.” She turned to her molefriend, her voice softening. “I understand why you were so thoughtful earlier, though. I feel as though somebeast just warmly embraced me… but, in my soul, if that makes sense.”

The kindly mole smiled and nodded, “Burr aye. Twere just loike ee say, miz Roser.”

“You’re sure?” Felldoh pressed.

Rose came to stand beside Martin. “Yes,” she answered, her tone resolute. “No matter what lies before us, I know we must go forth to meet it.”

Martin took a deep breath, straining to see down the darkened passageway before them. A solitary point of pale light hovered at the far end of the tunnel, its presence both chilling and intimidating. Suddenly, he realized that Rose had taken his paw. Their eyes met, and she offered him a warm smile. “All right, Rose,” Martin began, giving her paw a tender squeeze before he reluctantly released his grip. With business-like efficiency he turned to address the group. “Everybeast, stay together. Keep within a few paces of one another if you can. Felldoh, come up here with me. You and I will go in first. Gonff, you take the rear. Shout if you notice anything worth shouting about. Slings out, mates, in case we have to move fast.”

Everybeast shifted to follow Martin’s orders with stern precision. In moments the company was ready to move, each pair of paws loosely grasping a lithe sling, tongues of finely woven twine eager and ready to deliver a salvo of deadly missiles. After he had silently checked in with each of them, Martin gave the signal, and the friends moved forward as one. As they drew closer to the end of the tunnel, the sounds of the ocean became louder, filling the silence with a cacophony of screeching sea birds and undulating waves. Wafts of salty ocean air assaulted their nostrils, carrying hints of sunbaked sand and half-dried seaweed. Without a moment’s hesitation, the party emerged from the dark tunnel, everybeast blinking furiously in the harsh light.

The tunnel’s end opened upon a scene ripped from the very fabric of time. A long pathway led out before them, lazily curling around a mess of fallen chunks of rock until it split to go in two directions. Its left arm began to slope gently downwards, the uneven, sandy surface descending into a deep recess carved into the clifftop. The right fork of the path levelled off, running parallel to the beach far below them before it made a sharp turn and disappeared, presumably weaving its way down to the ocean. A brilliant sun shone down on them from a cloudless, periwinkle blue sky, its rays glinting off the surface of the distant sea as if it were a flawless, multifaceted jewel. A group of gannets soared playfully above the waves, chasing each other to and fro as the race to catch a meal was on. At first, the friends seemed to relax, but the idyllic nature of the scene was instantly shattered the moment they each laid eyes on the walls of a massive fortress, its oppressive bulk seeming to rise from amidst the sands above the tideline roughly a league to the north of their position. A tattered, solitary flag peeked over one end of the battlements, its patchwork form waving jauntily in the sea breeze.

It took Rose a moment for her to sift through her mind, recalling distant memories. There had been a missing presence from her home, a desperate mission to find her beloved younger brother, a long trek across miles of forest and scrubland, culminating in the appearance of a towering fort erected along a rugged coastline… and like a thunderbolt the realization struck her. On instinct she reached for Martin’s forearm. He was as tense as a tightly wound rope, and she also felt a distinct pressure as Felldoh stiffened alongside her, his bushy tail bristling. The eyes of both warriors were locked on the figure seated upon a throne carved into the rock before them, the very seat from whence Badrang had once surveyed his slaves at work in the stone quarry south of the stronghold of Marshank. Rose felt the fur on the back of her neck slowly rising as her gaze met a pair of dark eyes twinkling with malicious intent.

The figure lounging casually on the chiseled throne was a fox of indescribable beauty, his white fur almost glowing in the light from the brazen sun. He was dressed simply in a cloak of cobalt blue silk, a delicate silver chain fastening the garment over his breastbone. His eyes, sparkling like two flawless sapphires, took in the small group with an eager intensity, as a miserly vermin would count the treasures in his hoard. A mocking sneer wreathed his unfathomably proud features, the gentle sea breeze ruffling through his headfur. Once he had drawn the attention of every individual in the company, the fox showed his fangs in a cruel smile.

If this was one of her normal visits to the living world, Lepuz would have sat and listened for hours as the birds composed new symphonies or watched the flowers open their petals to the sun, but today she had a different goal in mind.

There were many secret places in Mossflower, secret places that even the most well-traveled of mortals would never find, the dark-crevices of the world that anybeast with sense did well to avoid.

“If I was an emotional, temperamental fox, where would I hide?” Lepuz mused, considering all of the secret places she could check.

First was the place the mortals called the Skeleton Rocks, a small gathering of boulders along Mossflower’s northern border. On the surface, it appeared to be only a cluster of rocks, but beneath the ground, there was a small cavern large enough for one or two creatures. The only way to enter and exist was through a gap at the base of one of the boulders. A mortal hare of Lepuz’ size would never have managed to enter, but Lepuz managed to writhe through the gap with an impossible degree of flexibility. She felt around the cavern, but found nothing.

“Being tricky today?” she said, thinking aloud. “You don’t normally enjoy games.”

Exiting the same way she entered, Lepuz set off toward the second location on her list.

It would have taken a mortal a day of travel to reach the quarry, but time was of little meaning to a being like Lepuz, and a day could be as long as she needed it to be.  

She disliked the quarry immensely. It had no life to it, only barren rock. There was also the matter of the snake. Though it had been long dead, the thought of such a horrid creature still made Lepuz shudder. She had never been particularly fond of any of Zerpentez’ progeny.

Searching the miles of caverns would have been taxing to even Lepuz’ patience. To aid her search, she sought the help of a nearby group of moths resting in the shadow of the cave’s mouth.

“Hello, little friends,” she said quietly, trying not to disturb them as much as possible. “Do you think you could help me find my friend?”

The moths fluttered their wings in response.

“He’ll be easy to spot. A fox. Dark furred. Moody. Probably lurking in one of the darkest corners.”

The cloud of moths flew off into the cave, separating into smaller groups where the paths branched.

About an hour later, the moths returned. One of them landed on Lepuz’ paw, its wings held straight upward.

“Couldn’t find him, eh? That’s okay. Being sneaky is one of the things he does best.”

The moth fluttered away to join the others in the mouth of the cave.

“Now he’s really testing me,” Lepuz thought as she walked toward a third location. “One of these days I’m going to drag him out by the ear and force him to spend some time in the sun.”

Lepuz stopped along the way to watch two fieldmouse dibbuns at play. Lepuz loved little-ones more than anything else. They were the very essence of the life and energy she treasured.

By the early afternoon, Lepuz found her way to the edge of the River Moss. Not too far away beneath the surface of the river was the entrance to an underwater cavern. The cavern never filled with water; the flow from the River Moss was drained away into the deeper reaches of the world before it could flood the cave.

“Of course you’d make me swim.”

Lepuz took a running dive into the water. She slipped through the current with the skill of an otter and made her way to the entrance. A short crawl later, she was at the top of a small waterfall, dropping down into the cavern below. Releasing her grip from the ledge, she dropped to the cave floor, landing lightly on her paws.

“You know you’re a hard beast to find,” Lepuz remarked to the creature huddled in the corner of the cavern. “You always pick the gloomiest places, Vulpuz.”

“I prefer solitude,” the dark-furred fox responded. His voice was soft, yet intimidating. It possessed a certain intensity that impressed upon any listener that he was a force to be feared.

“I know,” Lepuz said, “but I’m glad you kept your promise to me.”

“You said you’d be sad if I spent all my time beyond the Gates. Making you sad would be unforgivable.”

“I knew you cared.” Lepuz sat down next to Vulpuz and rested her head on his shoulder.

“How did you know I’d be in the mortal world today?”

“These ears aren’t for show,” Lepuz reminded him. “I hear lots of things.”

“I don’t think our ‘father’ would be happy if he knew you were meeting me.”

“He’s the one who told me you’d be in Mossflower.”

Demi-beasts like Lepuz and Vulpuz were themselves not entirely certain where they had come from, but their father-like Storyteller had said he had written them into existence and stitched their forms together like the pieces of a tapestry.

“Does he still speak of me with disappointment?” Vulpuz asked, his voice suddenly sullen.

“He’s never spoken of you with disappointment, but with regret…”

“I suppose I’d regret making me too.”

“Regret that he wasn’t able to reach out to you sooner, idiot.”

“It hardly matters, now that I’ve been kicked out of the family.”

Lepuz lightly smacked Vulpuz on the head. “No one ever kicked you out. You kicked yourself out. The Storyteller wanted you to stay. We all wanted you to stay, but you chose to leave.”

“After everything the others and I did…”

“He knows you were tricked, how it was all Zerpentez’ idea. You couldn’t have known what she was really planning.”

“Whether or not I knew what would happen is irrelevant. We broke the world. I don’t think anyone would want me back…”

“There you go again. That’s you saying you shouldn’t go back, but we do want you back. The Storyteller wants you back. All he wants is for you to say you’re sorry.”

Vulpuz sighed. “I don’t know if I am though. Zerpentez did have a point though. Things could not have continued to exist as they were. Muztel and Zilveztriz realized that too. Rattuz was reluctant, but he was persuaded in the same way I was. What we did was terrible, and how we did it was far worse, but we did it for the good of the world.”

Lepuz put her arm around Vulpuz, comforting him. “You don’t have to do it right now. There will always be a Storyteller. He’ll be there to listen when you’re ready.” Lepuz paused. “Sciuruz will be there as well.”

Vulpuz sprang up. “She’s alive!? How? We…”

“Surely you’ve realized by know we are not normal. We were not written to be feeble or ephemeral. It will take time, but she will be back at her full strength eventually. She misses you, Vulpuz. She wants you to come back.”

Vulpuz wandered around the cave, kicking pebbles into the stream. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Maybe after an eon or two.”

“I’ll let her know,” Lepuz said, standing up to join Vulpuz, “but she can be very impatient.”

“Typical bushtail,” Vulpuz smirked.

Lepuz turned to leave the cavern.

“Lepuz.” Vulpuz stopped her. “Tell her that I’m sorry.”