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Chapter 2: Funerary Promises

The funeral was to be held outside, along the coast. Megroc would be cremated atop a stone pyre, according to his Will. Along with that, the old eagle had asked that he be used as fuel to cook several pikes and other fish that would be served as food at the funeral. It was a strange request, but General Tenac said that the dreams of the dead were more important than the dreams of the living.

"In the Neverending Sleep you don't get to stop dreamin', donchaknow," the old hare explained, wagging a finger. "Once your life becomes dreams, it's all that matters to you, wot wot. We should take the desires and dreams of the dead very seriously, wot. Even if it means cooking dinner with the old chap."

Fabian thought that Megroc must have suffered from the same thing Tenac suffered: The older he got, the madder. Not like Fabian, of course. Why did the eagle want to cook a dinner with himself as fuel? Why did Tenac worship the dreams of deadbeasts? Madness.

Alfar looked as bewildered as Fabian felt, but the young hare just nodded his head. Typical. Obedience got you nowhere. Was it obedience that saved Berry Farpaw? No, it was bold, decisive action. Fabian was about to open his mouth, then realized how foolish all this was, and nodded.

The stone pyre where they would burn Megroc was erected at the shore, a great block of granite that was piled with wood. An out-of-place grill had been lifted by two poles above the pyre, so they could cook fish over the carcass of Megroc. Madness.

Big wooden logs to be used as benches were being brought up by rats in front of the pyre. While most of the island's young males had been taken away by the Warlord Silvertung, there were still several hundred does, children, and old folk who would be attending the funeral, walking up even though the funeral was not for a few hours. A disgusting horde of vermin, who would be called nightmares in any other land. We've gone soft! Soft and weak!

Fabian spotted the four young rats he had told his story to, and one waved to him and Alfar. Fabian was surprised to feel his disgust lessen a bit. Not a whole lot, but he scowled at himself anyway. You've gone bloody soft! Bloody Soft and flamin' weak! He turned away without waving back and followed after Tenac.

The General was consoling families of rats, telling them that this funeral was as much for their brothers, fathers, and sons who had been stolen away by Silvertung as it was for Lord Megroc. Fabian shook his head. The general was always soft; Fabian remembered how he had let the vermin of Vog Myrmec's crew escape north, and then they had ended up joining Bloodpatch's crew in the Third Battle of Terramort.

"General, are you sure it was wise to invite so many of the rats out here?" Fabian asked. "There's a bloomin' lot o' them, donchaknow? I know these vermin are peaceful, wot, but all of them together? It'll be blasted hard to control, all I'm saying."

Tenac gave Fabian a kindly smile and placed a paw on his shoulder. "You've always been good at keepin' an eye out for danger, Fabian. Saved my life more than once, wot! But, no, I think we'll be alright. Remember, all these beasts lost someone when that fox came here, not just young Megree. They'll be mournful, not dangerous, wot. Good thinking, but remember to be considerate of the rats, too."

Considerate of… the rats? "These rats were all too quick to accept the fox as their leader, once he killed Megroc, donchaknow. There's a reason all the young males are missin': they joined him, wot!"

Tenac shook his head. "They were scared, and they lost their leader. There're not really quarries or mines here, bucko, and their supply of weapons is pretty dismal, and their only fortified building is the ruins of Castle Marlfox, donchaknow. Hard to fight without weapons and defenses. I wouldn't judge 'em too harshly."

The older he got, the madder, indeed. Fabian wanted to ask: Would you have joined the fox if Brawblade died, you bloody cad? But it was clear Tenac had already decided, so Fabian held his tongue.

Over at the coast, about twoscore rats were fishing, searching for food to cook over Megroc's corpse. Fabian noticed a whitish-gray form staring sullenly at the fishing rats from afar, near the ruins of what must have used to have been a boathouse. The colonel sighed and walked towards it.

Lord Megree seemed more pigeon than eagle. Small, scrawny, and gray, the young King of the Big Island looked like he could be knocked out, and maybe eaten, by a determined dormouse. Yet, considering how Tenac got madder by the day, Fabian didn't have many other friends.

Megree was muttering under his breath, "Filthy rodents. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I should be fishing. Father was always fishing. I'm too pathetic to fish. Pathetic, pathetic, path–" He gave a start as Fabian approached, leaping a few feet into the air, but relaxed when he saw who it was. "Colonel Fabian! I was looking… hoping to find you." The eagle still looked unsettled, but he did seem to be less hunched over and bitter.

Fabian smiled. "My lord and good chap Megree! I hope you're doing well on this tough day. I understand it will be difficult."

Megree opened his mouth as if to say something, then just nodded solemnly.

The hare nodded along with his Megree. "What was it hoping you would see me for, chap?"

"Well… Tenac had told me you were going to say some words at father's… the funeral." Megree looked up. "I… I figured I ought to say something to, I figured that. I was hoping… hoping you would… like… give me some advice talking? Speeching, y'know? I saw you telling the story to those… telling a story. You were good at that. Could you? Please?"

Fabian chuckled and held up a paw. "Relax, it's not that difficult. In fact, the whole key is to relax, wot." Megree did not look reassured. "Listen," said Fabian, "Just pretend you're flying. Not the kind of flying where you're searching for a fish and failing, or the kind of flying where you're trying to convince Madam Mrokka you're worthy of the island. The kind of flying where you go out without a beast in sight, and just soar. The wind carrying you, not a judgmental eye to be found. That kind of flying. Where you only have two emotions, calm and confidence. Center yourself there. Then, try and do your best to bring everybody else into that cracking wonderful place with you, wot! Don't worry about the words, your bloomin' confidence will find the right ones, no matter what."

Megree looked up at Fabian, looking a good deal better. He gave a flap of wings. "Thank you." After a moment's hesitation, the eagle leapt off the ground, and started flying through the air. Fabian wondered if the eagle would find a fish for his father's funeral feast.

Despite his creaky joints, Fabian left the ruined boathouse with a spring in his steps. It was good to help young Megree. The way the eagle looked at him, like he was a hero again. That was as good as any glory, he thought.

No, it's not, a voice said in his mind. The praise of a bitter, weak eagle? That hardly compares to being the hero of Salamandastron. What happened to the hare who slew Siv Skullsmasher with naught but his cracking paws? Who cut down the dread pirate Bloodpatch? Grasping at the weak applause of the only cads weaker than you, as if their cheers were sand sifting between your paws. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Fabian needed a drink. He started walking to the table where they were setting up ale for the funeral when he ran into the one beast he wanted to see least.

"Colonel Fabian Longleep," came the drawl of Madam Mrokka. The matriarch of the rat colony was half the height of Fabian, but the hare still cringed at the sound of her voice. "Searching for a swig of ale, are you? Does anything else motivate you?"

Fabian gaped for a bit, then remembered his dignity. He was representing the Long Patrol, after all. With a bow, he said, "Madam Mrokka. May the sun shine–"

"I care about the son, not the sun, you slovenly imbecile. I saw you talking to Lord Megree. We don't need you corrupting the ruler of this island."

Fabian inhaled sharply to avoid snorting. Mrokka had much more control over this island than Megree. "Please, Madam, I was just–"

"I know what you're doing. I know your mountain values. You're not subtle with them. I know you hate us 'vermin'. I remember when you first came here, and tried to attack my Children."

Fabian pursed his lips for a moment. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been paying attention when Tenac told who they'd be helping. They weren't her real children anyway, but she called all the rats her Children. That little incident was how he first met Megree, who thought Fabian was in the right there. His pause gave her a chance to continue.

"Listen, you glorified madman. I don't care how much you want to kill each and every one of us. I don't care how many of us you have killed. But I will not have you manipulating Lord Megree, who is sworn to protect us, into hating us. None of it!"

Sometimes words have a value. Sometimes they don't. Fabian just smiled, nodded, and started walking backwards, the glare of Madam Mrokka following him as he moved towards the pyre. After all, the funeral was about to begin.

Fabian didn't much understand Madam Mrokka's speech in honor of Lord Megroc, and he figured that was the point. She spoke in a horrid dialect unique to the Big Island, and by the end all the vermin were in tears, and all the hares looked confused. That is except for General Tenac, who was also crying. Megree just looked uncomfortable. At the end of her speech, she took a torch and lit the pyre, where Megroc's mutilated body now rested. Before long, the air was thick with the smell of roasted bird and roasted fish.

Tenac stood up next. Wiping away his tears, he smiled. "Hello, my friends. Some of you may recognize me, some of you may not. My name is General Tenac Durus, leader of the first Long Patrol Division. I came here sixteen seasons ago, with my division, after perhaps the greatest tragedy this island has ever known.

"When the last Marlfox, Mokkan, was killed many seasons back, this island became a free place. Your ancestors were able to farm in peace, led by the great eagle, Mighty Megraw. For many, many seasons, this island has been a haven of joy and peace. Joy and peace are the signs of a world without a Marlfox, wot!" Somebody from the crowd cheered, and Tenac continued on.

"Then, sixteen seasons ago, somebeast claiming to be a Marlfox returned. He called himself Vafír Silvertung, and he led a small band of vermin. He was evil, but he was cunning, donchaknow. He slew Lord Megroc, who protected this island. Megroc was a wonderful leader, but the worst of Vafír's crimes was still to come.

"After killing Megroc, he ordered every lad who could heft a weapon to join his band of vermin, which grew into a great army. Those who did not join, he killed. This was his evil. He used fear to force people to serve him." Tenac's voice grew hard. "He stole away sons, and brothers, and fathers, and forced them to join him. Then, he led them away to die. He brought them to kill others, or be killed, and they did both. Their body's are lost to the swamps of the Toadlands, because the evil of Silvertung forced them to die for his lost, mad cause.

"I… I know what it is to lose a son. Vafír Silvertung stole this beautiful island's sons. His monstrosity is the only sign he's actually a Marlfox." Tenac gave a shaky sigh. "This whole situation was blasted evil. Vafír forced your lads to fight for him. He forced the armies of Southsward and the toads to fight against him. If… if the Long Patrol was there, we would have fought, and killed, too. The ones who suffered were the young lads he stole. Nothing can be replaced."

The crowd was crying again, and Fabian inwardly groaned. Tenac had killed more than his share of others' sons. That's what you did when vermin tried to kill you. After a bit of thought, Fabian frowned. He hadn't heard about Tenac losing a son before. The general rarely discussed his personal life.

Tenac shook himself. "I think… I think we should be helping you people of this island. We should be doing more, wot wot! I have written to Redwall Abbey, where they're led by friends. Abbess Fern has decided she will send several shipments of stone from the quarry north of Redwall. Over the next few seasons, you will have enough resources to build a Redwall Abbey of your own. A place of peace, so this island can prosper even better. Furthermore, the Guosim shrews offer you three of their whacking good longboats, to support travel and trade on the island. Brawblade of Salamandastron offers you all a large arsenal of weapons, which will come with the longboats, to help you defend yourself in the future. You all deserve goodness, wot. The best place I've ever been is Redwall Abbey, and I hope this will give you a part of what you deserve."

Tears were replaced by whispers of surprise and excitement. A few of the older rats grunted in approval at the extra weapons. Fabian thought he recognized some kind of merchant rat rubbing his paws together in anticipation of the new Guosim boats. Many rats had heard about the wonders of Redwall Abbey, some had even visited it, and they echoed Tenac's sentiment. Madam Mrokka was looking at Tenac with a curious expression on her face. Fabian just snorted. There was no glory at Redwall Abbey, at least when it was really a place of peace and not being attacked by yet another random warlord.

Tenac stepped back, and Megree stepped forward. The young eagle just spent a few moments looking out at the crowd in silence, then turned around and waved a wing at a pike that was cooking above his father's corpse. "I caught that pike," he said. "Pulled it right out of the river. My dad always wanted me to be good at fishing, and look! It's the biggest pike up there, y'know. And I caught it. I think he would be proud." Megree turned back around and faced the crowd.

He looks… proud, thought Fabian, who felt a rush of pride himself. After all, Fabian was the one who encouraged Megree, even if this speech was as weird as the chapesses who thought Alfar was attractive.

"You've all done very well," Megree continued. "Look at you! We're already building back. General Tenac says that soon will have a Redwall Abbey of our own, because we're strong, and building back. This island really is wonderful. I think dad would be proud of all of us. I'm definitely proud of you. Thank you." Megree stepped back.

Mrokka nodded, satisfied. The crowd gave a polite applause. Fabian shook his head at the lameness of the speech, but at least Megree seemed more confident. After a moment, Fabian realized it was his turn to give a speech.

The old hare stepped up in front of the pyre, flames glowing behind him, and looked out across the crowd.

They were disgusting vermin. They should be killed. They should be burning at a pyre.

There were also those four young rats, sitting up near the front, looking at Fabian like he was a hero. The same way the young hares at Salamandastron used to look at him. Maybe they weren't so bad. Maybe he was a hero.

Fabian took a deep breath, and imagined he was flying. Not the kind of flying where he was constantly reaching higher and higher, for more glory. He thought of the time between where he leapt from the mast of a ship onto the deck of the boat of Bloodpatch. The time where he was already at the height of his glory. Where he soared, on track for his destiny. That was the greatest moment in all of history. When Fabian Longleep flew, a hero. He took another deep breath. This would be a good speech.

"Lord Megroc—"

There was a shout behind him. It sounded like it came from Tenac. All the rats were getting off their benches, looking out across the lake.

Fabian turned, and was surprised to see a ship there. A great big one, like those owned by Southsward, made of dark wood and great big white mast. Behind it came five other grand ships, beautiful and majestic.

Fabian squinted up at the flag, expecting to see the crossing swords coat-of-arms of Castle Floret. Instead, the flag displayed the skull of a fox and a wicked, half-moon ax. Something nagged at the back of Fabian's memory. He had seen a drawing of that flag, sixteen seasons back. That was the flag of Vafír Silvertung, the mad warlord.

Excitement turned to anxiety. Younger rats demanded to know what was going on. Long patrol hares started drawing swords taking a last sip of their ale in preparation.

Mrokka started giving orders for a calm retreat. The crowd were gripped with confusion, joined by an ever-rising sense of fear. Tenac started calling the Long Patrol to join together and find their weapons. Fabian ignored it all as he strutted forward, pulling out his sword and laughing. Here was his long-thought-lost chance.

Glory.