83. Final Dreams.

When ability to perceive anything returned to Smalltooth, he found himself lying on soft moss, his body warmed just right by embers of small, dimly glowing bonfire. It was night, but most definitely not the gloomy and cloudy night of battle at Castle Floret. Countless starts shone in the onyx-black sky, and the Milky Way gleamed brighter than ever. But starlight did not reveal any detail of the great and dark forest that was rising all around the small glade, with the bonfire at its center. Strangely, there were no scents of a deep forest either. Smalltooth did not feel any pain, in fact he could not remember feeling better. He examined his right paw – it was whole.

"Am I dreaming, or was Rowanbloom right about the great dark forest after death?"

"You are dreaming. But she was right, if I know anything."

Smalltooth sat and looked at the speaker. An aging mouse, a bit shorter than Ewalt, and much less vicious-looking, dressed in a baggy habit, sat on the other side of the bonfire. Dim light did not illuminate his figure too well, but he looked awfully tired, ill even.

"Are you Martin of Redwall? And if you are, why you had to torture me so?" Smalltooth thought that he should be feeling anger and fear right now, but the familiar feelings did not come.

"I am. I had no choice. To make a long-winded and arcane explanation short, imagine as if some cruel creature kept you locked in a deep, dark, lightless burrow for all of your life. A beast searching for you in that dismal dwelling with a bright lantern is bound to hurt your eyes, even if he means only to help you, don't you think so? And imagine how much worse the hurt will be, if you decide to follow that beast into broad sunlight. But if you can bear the pain, your eyes will eventually get used to light, and for the first time in your life you will be able to see properly. So you did. And so we can now talk like this."

Smalltooth scratched his head. "And what happens now?"

"That depends on your choice. In the world of the living, the battle is won, and your real body has no mortal wounds, but I used up much of your strength. You can simply refuse to wake up."

"And then?" Smalltooth looked at the small, seemingly weakening bonfire, then at the dark forest around.

Martin sighed. "I never had a chance to see what happens then. I am a restless spirit, watching over those I loved in life, their descendants, and descendants of their descendants, because magic keeps me bound to the world of living. But I can tell you: there is something beyond the Dark Forest. If you remember Rowanbloom's stories well, a couple of times I served as a guide to those who passed there but wanted to appear before somebeast among the living. And though speaking with them was not a part of my role, my fate, and my nature, they did seem happy."

"But they were woodlanders."

Martin picked a small twig and stirred embers in the bonfire. "Certainly, many of your kind believe that there are only ice and darkness of Hellgates after death for everybeast, good or bad. Marroch, for example, believed that, and his conviction rubbed off you. But if I know anything, he's not among the restless dead of Hellgates now."

Smalltooth scratched his head. "Strange. I'm happy to hear that, even though I feared and hated him while he was alive. Well, he could – he should – have left me to freeze and starve, but didn't, and in that bleak winter he always made sure everybeast, even me, got a portion of whatever food the band had each day. I guess I wasn't very grateful to him, wasn't I?"

Smalltooth looked at the darkness of the surrounding forest. Marroch could not watch him from there right now couldn't he?

"Who knows," Martin answered as if he heard Smalltooth's thoughts. "While I still breathed, I believed that entering the Dark Forest means having to face all the misdeeds, wrongdoings and errors of your life. Alas, despite passing beyond the world of living, I still do not know for certain. I only know that the Dark Forest is where we all are supposed to go. Hellgates is but a creation of sorcery, much like the magic that keeps myself here, but far mightier, more twisted, and used with evil intent, an abode of ghosts who cannot or don't want to pass on… I'm sorry that I cannot better satisfy your curiosity – and curiosity is what drives your questions, for you are not yet ready to die, right?"

"Not really. Dying just when all the battles are over, and something good may finally happen with my life, I think I'd pass," Smalltooth smiled.

"Good thinking. As for the question you're about to ask, I can tell that you will live long, not entirely uneventful, and mostly happy life, but trust me, I will only spoil its best moments by revealing too much of your future. Even those warnings I do have are largely for other creatures. But to you, you personally, I can give something that shall be both a reward for your courage, and a task."

Smalltooth considered Martin's words for a moment. "And what it is."

"You've liked stories of heroes, warriors and battles very much when you were younger, and hoped to one day earn your bread by telling them, didn't you?"

"But that was before I thought I can become a real warrior myself," Smalltooth sighed. "I guess not much chance for a warrior's life now, without my right thumb."

"What happened, happened. But as a storyteller, you still can do great and important things. If you wish, I will give you a great and important story to tell. Even as a spirit I cannot see everything, but I see much. I can lay open even the very thoughts of beasts to you, and show what occurred among your enemies, and firmly etch all the important things into your memory, so that eventually you will be able to write the down the chronicle of destiny and war that began all the way back on the island of Ergaph. And yes, although their story may be separate, I can show you your parents too, if you wish."

Smalltooth looked down, at the small bonfire, which kept burning just as dimly as it was when he first woke up here. "I want to see them again, but I fear seeing them too. If you know so much, I surely know that I hated them, for not putting myself above everything and everybeast else, and even back then I knew that I was just being selfish and stupid. Just, before you do anything, tell me first, did Lurthen lie when he called my father a coward and a traitor?"

Smalltooth could not see Martin's expression, but the mouse remained silent for a few seconds before speaking. "Lurthen wanted to make your future mother, Jofryd, his wife, both because he lusted after her, and because he had designs on the land and fighters of your grandfather from her side. Jofryd instead chose your father, Skamkel. But Lurthen was a younger brother of the most powerful warlord in the Land of Ice and Snow, who did his best to avenge any slights against his clan, while Skamkel was a great, mighty and famous warrior, but could not muster many fighting beasts under his banner. Snowlanders sang songs and told stories about his victories over bullying strongbeasts and murderous brigands – to this day many revere him as a proof that there can be strength without greed, ferocity in battle without cruelty, wit without deceit – but most were not about to risk their own hides for him. Odds against Skamkel were not so bad as to take away all hope from the start, but it would have been a long, bloody, perilous quarrel. So instead of tearing apart his homeland, your father decided to leave it and seek fortune wherever winds carry him. Many seasons later, Lurthen's older brother died. Fearing ill intent of his nephews, he too decided to leave the Land of Ice and Snow, but he had time and treasure to outfit multiple ships, so that many young beasts in search of adventure, better life or plunder left with him. The rest you know or have guessed correctly."

"So that's how it was…"

"Yes. So don't be surprised to see surviving snowlanders treating you with respect. You are a worthy son of a hero, which you've proven to them by killing Lurthen stone dead."

"That was you, though. You, and magic," Smalltooth looked at Martin again. "All right. What must I do to see what you want to show me?"

"You just need to hold my paw."

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Captain Aldwin was not surprised when, after falling into the deep sleep of exhaustion, he found himself healthy and free of pain, standing on a small stone balcony, the observation platform carved high above the shore, where the slope of Salamandastron turned into a sheer cliff. It was night, but bright moon over the dark waters gave enough light to see everything. Nothing of this could be real, but stone under his paws had the most un-dreamlike quality, and his thoughts were clear and ordered.

"Am I dead or under some confoundin' spell?" he wondered aloud.

"The latter." Though at the first moment Aldwin seemed to be alone on the balcony, now Violet Wildstripe was standing next to him. She seemed to be more beautiful and less tired than at their last meeting, but there was a hint of deep sadness in her expression and voice.

Aldwin had an urge to hug her, but instead he just looked her straight into the eyes. "And you?"

Violet nodded, avoiding his gaze at the same time. "It is as you suspect. One day ago, I fought Willag Axehound in a duel and was killed. He died as well. The quarrel between Salamandastron and the North ended with that, and no more woodlander lives were lost. My dying wish was to see you one last time, and the magic of ancient Rulers granted it. I am not sorry for sending you away, for in your rage, you could have started a battle, dooming thousands. But I'm sorry for not doing that in a wholly honest way."

Aldwin just kept looking at her, silent, so she continued. "And I'm sorry that I never thanked you for… for everything. Badgers of Salamandastron are supposed to find their happiness in following their destiny of duty and rulership, but I don't think I ever was really happy, except for a few seasons in your company."

Aldwin spoke slowly at first, as he answered. "And here I thought you don't even really blinkin' know how to pronounce the word "sorry". You know what, I jolly well want to stay mad at you for your mistrust and trick, just to maybe hear you apologize some more, because you're confoundingly cute when you're feelin' sorry for somethin'. But alas, I can't."

Violet exhaled loudly. "I knew in advance you would say this, and I still can't believe it! Aren't a hare of the Long Patrol is supposed to mourn his badger ruler and any decent male…"

"Would me being mournful and gloomy make you feel any better about being wherever you are now, wot?" When Violet didn't answer, Aldwin continued. "And besides, I'm not absolutely stupid. I've thought why you may be so bloody insistent on sendin' me away, and I've made my peace with the idea of never seeing you again long ago. But now you stand before me, even if in a dream, a talkin', walkin' reminder that death is not the end. Why should I act all tragic, Violet?"

Violet looked as if she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You don't know anything about magic and destiny, about what I really am now, and the reason we're able to talk…"

Then Aldwin finally stepped forward and embraced her. "Yes, I don't, and I have no blinkin' idea for how long this dream will last too. But I know that for now we're together, just as I promised when leaving for Southsward, and I just know that one day we'll be together again."