Martin marched forward through the mist, passing between the dark trees that dotted the bleak, grey landscape. As he walked, the fog parted in front of him, leaving a clear path toward his destination. Martin was uncertain as to what he would find, for it was not often that Vulpuz summoned him from the bright lands to the gate.
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.”
Martin left Vulpuz to his own business and walked through the gates. The black-iron closed behind him and he faded into the mist.
Deyna sat alone. Hidden in a corner. Wearing a name that doesn't seem to fit and a face he doesn't recognize. He couldn't let the others think he MISSED being a juska. He couldn't! But to wake up so different.... they didn't even ask him. Ask is he wanted the tattoos gone, ask if he wanted his birthmark gone, ask if he wanted to keep the name Tagg. They just decided for him. So caught up in his thoughts, he failed to see Mhera walk up to him, and sit down beside him.
"What's wrong?"
Her voice cut through his brain fog and he tried to force a smile.
"Nothing at all! It's fine! Juat getting used to Redwall!"
But Mhera was wise beyond her years. More so than most of the Abbey.
"You are not. Something is wrong."
Reaching over, she gently turned his formerly marked pawpad.
"They shouldn't have covered it."
And hearing that from somebeast else, made Deyna start crying.
"They didn't ask. Why didn't they ask?"
Patting her much bigger brother's back Mhera tried to comfort him.
"I don't know. I really don't know."
After a good sob, Denya pushed himself back.
"Sorry, I'm trying but...."
"But not even your name feels like yours. Everyone expects you to come back and be Deyna. As if you were never Tagg."
His silence told her she hit the nail on the head. She took his other paw into her hand alongside the one she already had.
"I can't give you back your birthmark. Or your tattoos. I don't know how to do that. But I can do this. I know about my baby brother Deyna, could you tell me about my younger brother Tagg?"
Tagg smiled, a genuine one for the first time since he got there.
"Well, despite being in a Juska Clan, I was cared for very well....."
I've grieved and shed tears, long and loud, for my departed loved ones. Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.
