#also please note this is the first time in canon that nivedita sings in front of the lady and willow

[theredwallrecorder]

The Legend of Willow Slay, Part 10 - Art of Life

Looking up to the crimson leaves falling from the autumn sky, I have the feeling I'm being called by someone. Yes, by someone. I'm certain it was the voice of the only kind person That cried for my being asleep here.

- from “The Spirit Puppet, or Rather Her Love and Resuscitation”

~ ~ ~ ~

*whispers* So uh... I’m the reason for the hiatus in Willow Slay fics. S-sorry...

I can’t even begin to describe how honored I am to have the opportunity to contribute to Willow Slay’s story. There is something very special about taking a world you love and adding to it, especially when the tale carries elements of your own story. I see pieces of you in Willow, @thegoldensoundtwice. I sincerely hope with every fiber of my being that I have done her justice, matey. <3

Upon special request, here’s yet another my contribution/love letter/friendship ballad/blood contract to and with golden and @raphcrow and every matey who has gifted even the smallest bit of support to the insanity that has become the Redwall Hell AU. I notice your noticing and I am deeply grateful.

Please enjoy The Legend of Willow Slay, Part 10: Art of Life, in which the Great Deceiver attempts to show off his art, severely underestimating the power of friendship love. A lie carries terrible force, especially when it was born of a fragment of truth. Isn’t it strange how we tell ourselves the most creative lies? Sometimes, it takes the gentle voice of another to remind us of the whole truth.

Here’s the link to part nine of this story, in case anyone is curious. The photo on the right in the fifth image pair at this link is what the Lady is wearing during this fic (the Lady’s clothes brought to you by the jaw-droppingly gorgeous face of raphcrow *muah~*). Here is your mood music [1], [2], [3], here is the song that inspired the subtitle of this fic, and here is a song that sounds strangely similar to the one the gentle voice sings for her friends.

- - - - - -

A cloud of anxious tension hovered over the motely group assembled near the entrance gate to the Redwall Hell nightclub, the mood magnified by the melancholy drizzle of rain that had begun to fall from the murky, predusk sky. Tuskan crouched in the shadow of a massive rambling rosebush, ignoring the heavy droplets of water dripping down onto his head. He was closely watching the figure of Vulpuz lingering just outside the gate. The sodden fox had allowed himself to become almost fully engulfed by thorned vines, the natural guardians of the Lady’s lands. For a short time, he halfheartedly struggled against the constricting plants, the merciless thorns tearing off pieces of his fur and flesh.

“Must you insist on having your houseplants restrain me?” he inquired, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you couldn’t tell, I am experiencing significant difficulty moving my limbs. This is hardly setting up to be a fair fight.”

The Lady shook a few water droplets from her radiant skirt, scattering dappled patterns of refracted light on the damp ground around her. “We have urgent business to attend to, hence the nightclub is now closed. Regular hours of operation will resume upon our return. You may come back another day, when I am willing to entertain you.”

Vulpuz frowned, flicking water off his nosetip with a toss of his head. “Actually, I think I’ll stay.”

The vines encircling the Great Vulpuz disentangled themselves from his body, retreating meekly back into the earth. The Lady and her company watched in stunned silence as the white fox straightened up, a curious light shining in his eyes. He began plucking broken thorns from his bloodied coat. “Isn’t the power to change one’s will a marvelous thing?” he mused, brushing debris off his cloak. “I came with the intent to destroy, but I have just now identified my purpose in being here.”

Vulpuz tossed away the last thorn and raised his head. Like an invisible arrow finding its target, Vulpuz directed the force of his will upon Willow Slay. The mink had been monitoring her own breathing, fighting to maintain her awareness against the ever-present call of the siren of bloodwrath. She felt the staggering increase in Vulpuz’s attention the second it shifted to her. The white fox’s scrutinizing weighed heavily on her, not unlike the looks of murderous bloodlust she once garnered in life. But Willow knew how best to deal with such rabble. She rolled her shoulders experimentally and exhaled, preparing to summon her beloved sword into her paw. However, the blade collapsed unheeded to the earth once it appeared. Willow’s mental focus had been broken.

For the first time since she had heard another creature’s bloodsong, utter silence confronted her soul. She could hear nothing, not even the gentle dampened flutter of the raindrops pattering against her ears. It was as though all sound had been swept away, leaving her standing in horrid stillness before the ruler of Hellgates. She felt the pulsing thunder of her heart pounding within her ribs, but no song issued forth from it. In panic, she pressed both paws against her chest. Her heart was there, of course, but it was mute, its voice stolen by some phantom thief. And there was only one thief in her midst.

Briefly, Willow met Vulpuz’s gaze. For eons to come, she was left with the distinct impression that his eyes had smiled at her, but her vision quickly shifted to encompass a figure that had appeared beyond the white fox. In the distance stood a brawny otter clothed in a long, belted tunic. A cowl hung over his head, shrouding the upper part of his face in shadow. Motionless, he watched Willow from afar, the rain dripping from the fringes of his garment. An ache from ages past suddenly tugged at Willow’s heart. Had she known this creature? Recognition struck her like a thunderbolt when the stranger brushed the hood off his head. An expression of deep sorrow and lingering regret painfully contorted the otter Fleck’s handsome face. A wave of guilt and concern washed over Willow, butterflies of confusion and doubt fluttering frantically in her stomach. Fleck? Fleck was here? She was relieved that he had come in answer to her calling, but why was he so grieved? Utterly forgetting herself and her friends, Willow stumbled ahead, her voice a desperate cry, “Fleck!”

Like the climactic events of a terrible comedy, several things happened all at once. The Lady, recognizing the foul intent of the illusion beckoning to Willow, reached out a paw to clasp the mink’s shoulder. It was a vain attempt. Willow slipped out of her grasp, breaking into a run when the image of Fleck turned his back to her and began to walk away. A gasp caught in Nivedita’s throat, her words eerily jarring as she lurched forward, shouting a warning, “Willow, wait!” The Wearet, now fully formed, gathered itself in an enormous leap and bounded towards Willow, intending to tackle her before she reached the gate. Tuskan emerged from the cover of the rosebush, prompted into action by Nivedita’s heart-rending call. He sprinted up next to her in time to watch in shocked silence as Willow breezed through the gate, the Wearet’s paw harmlessly grazing the tip of her tail. A moan of anguish escaped the Wearet’s scarred muzzle, his massive form hitting the ground with an indelible thud. Not one of them had successfully kept Willow from passing the outer threshold of the nightclub, the boundary line of the Lady’s sphere of protection against the waiting embrace of Vulpuz’s evil power.

Willow’s momentum carried her several paces away from the gate before she slowed to a walk, her movements uncharacteristically stiff and jerky. She said nothing, her mesmerized gaze fixed on the fading figure of Fleck. She would have continued walking had Vulpuz not side-stepped into her path. Willow came to an abrupt halt like a creature ordered to stand at attention, her posture uncomfortably straight and rigid. Grinning from ear to ear, Vulpuz drew alongside her.

“My silence beckons you,” he whispered. “Come. Let us speak in private, as two beasts who intimately understand one another.”

- - - - - - -

Willow Slay was alone, hopelessly consumed by the riotous tide of red mists that constituted her bloodwrath world. Unable to stem the flow of tears trickling down her cheeks, the mink curled up into a tight ball, abandoning herself to her sorrow. She had given up fighting to push the lingering images of Fleck from her mind. The grief written clear across his face. The decisive, forlorn manner with which he had slowly turned his back on her. How he had refused to even cast one glance over his shoulder as she chased after him, her very soul screaming for him to wait for her. With every fiber of her being she had begged him to stay, and he had denied her. She bit her lip, wallowing in the wretched pain of Fleck’s rejection. He was right, though. After what she had done… how could he have chosen any different? She felt as though she would tear herself apart, her emotions blitzing around her like a howling gale, the red mists churning ceaselessly, threatening to engulf her.

“Child, are you unwell?”

The voice banished the tumult surrounding Willow, and she found herself sitting upon an undisturbed sea of red, her red. Taken aback, the mink rubbed at her tear-stained cheeks with both paws. Several feet away from her stood an elaborate crimson throne, its regal shape framed by a monstrous crimson cloudbank hovering over the horizon at the edge of the world. Vulpuz reclined upon this throne, his brow creased with concern. Idly, he traced a curving arch through the blood coating the armrest of the seat, his voice disarmingly soft.

“Hmm,” he pondered aloud. “Not quite as thick as mine, but the color is far more vibrant.” His eyes flicked up to meet Willow’s. “It suits you.”

Willow froze, her mouth falling open in shock. The bloodwrath realm was hers to frequent as was her wont, and yet, sitting before her now was the last creature she would have thought to see. She scrambled to her footpaws, words tumbling from her lips, “You…? What…? This is… How can you be here?” The implication of his commentary dawned on her, and she lowered her guard in disbelief. “You… too?”

Vulpuz let his head fall back against the chair in a gesture of resignation. “I rarely ever speak of it,” he sighed, running a paw through his headfur. “Of the multitude of vermin that scratch and claw their way across this Hell, it would surprise you how few of them have been tainted by bloodwrath. It is almost solely the property of badgerkin, though there are a few exceptions, such as you and I. Nobeast can understand this power unless they have wielded it, fathomed how corrosive and raw it is, like a wellspring of rancid blood eternally boiling at the back of one’s throat. But enough pretty speech.” The fox straightened his posture, regarding Willow with omniscient interest.

“I am told the one you love has just crossed into these latter realms. Is this not so?”

Willow eyed the white fox warily, her instincts warning her to be cautious. Vulpuz chuckled at the change in her demeanor. “So I see it is true. And now you are on your way to unite with him, yes? One last glimpse before the light of Dark Forest takes him from you forever?”

“I…” Willow’s voice trailed off into uncertainty, revealing the shadows of doubt clouding her heart.

Vulpuz shifted to one side, cradling his chin in one paw. “Ah, I see. You don’t know what you’ll find when you find it, do you? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I caught something about going to see the Badger Council. How kittish,” he scoffed. “What do you think they will do for you? Throw wide the gates of Dark Forest so a murderous mink might prostrate herself before an old love and beg forgiveness? You must know what a foolish hope you harbor.”

Vulpuz stretched his paw out over the sea of blood. Muddled shapes rose from the crimson liquid, congealing to form the exquisite likenesses of the badger Lords and Ladies of Salamandastron from seasons of history. The white fox pulled a comical face at them. “Behold, the dunderheads of the Badger Council. I have known these stoic beasties for spans of time beyond your reckoning. Wouldn’t you know, not once have they shown themselves to be charitable. They are an entity of justice, mink. Did you think that because you were accompanied by the Lady you would receive some special treatment? Your coat is just as bloodstained as the next vermin’s.”

“As if I wasn’t already aware,” Willow stated hotly. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of Vulpuz’s mouth. “Very well.” He stood up forcefully, dismissing the crimson throne with the wave of a paw. “Here is how your little adventure will play out. You will be turned away from the gates of Dark Forest without so much as a ‘how do’. The Badger Council will not grant you entry. You will not see your beloved before he enters in to his inheritance. Everything you are laboring to do now will be for nothing, unless…”

Willow hesitated. “Unless what?” she pressed.

“Unless you use what you have to your advantage, of course.”

- - - - - - -

The Lady was furious at the unfolding of Vulpuz’s treachery. Her amber eyes flashed with solar fire, the golden material of her skirt rippling in waves about her. With the gesture of one paw she wiped the nightclub’s silver gate out of existence and cleared the surrounding area of all obstructions, creating an ample battleground.

“How dare you use Willow’s beloved as the object of a most foul deception,” she growled, pointing an accusing paw at Vulpuz. “Step away from my cherished Whetstone, and while you’re at it, release your hold on her immediately.”

Vulpuz swaggered past Willow’s statuesque form and shrugged, feigning ignorance. “There really is nothing I can do. I did indeed draw her to me with my art, but she entered her bloodwrath realm of her own choosing. I would be loath to interfere, to trespass on so sacred a ground.” He turned to face the Lady, flashing her a grin of purest malice. “And who knows? The bloodwrath world could present something awful to her, something that would most assuredly push her over the edge. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

The hollow sound of ringing metal heralded the appearance of the Lady’s axe from thin air. She surveyed the weapon with an approving eye as it floated inches above her upturned paws. “Do not think your carefully woven lies have fallen on fertile soil,” she said, her voice like chips of ice in a storm. “I know you care not to observe obeisance for anything that does not belong to you. You are in there with her. I can guess what types of trickery and deceit you intend to weave over her mind. I will only tell you this one more time: Dismiss your illusion.”

The Great Vulpuz stuck out his tongue playfully, his tail flicking back and forth. “No, I don’t think I will…”

The Lady moved, a blur of color in motion so swift it was impossible to track her progress. Steel clashed upon steel, and suddenly the Lady and Vulpuz were face to face with each other, the Lady’s stoic war axe grating against Vulpuz’s deadly shaska. The Great Vulpuz licked his lips with pleasure, his nose barely an inch away from the tip of the Lady’s snout.

“Swift to anger, are we, vixen?” he chided mockingly, fangs bared in wild glee. “What do you care? She’s just a throwaway mink. You should have devoured her power ages ago, and yet you continue to ignore that which lies within your grasp.”

The Lady glared at Vulpuz through a gap created by their crossed blades. “I will not stand and idle while you attempt to manipulate Willow to your will.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Haha, wrong again!” Vulpuz cackled, his voice cracking. “I am changing her perspective. You’ve kept her sedated for too long, vixen, and I haven’t forgotten how you stole the Wearet from me. I desire this pound of flesh for my own amusement, and in My Name I shall have it.”

With a powerful heave Vulpuz broke their stalemate. The Lady danced backwards out of his reach, watching him carefully in case of a counterattack. The white fox’s panting had grown heavier, and he crouched low to the ground, cocking his head to the side so he could behold his opponent with one eye. An unbearably hot breeze blew across the clearing, whipping the drizzling rain into tufts of billowing steam. Vulpuz coughed and straightened to his full height, pointing his sword at the Lady.

“If you so much as try to stop this, I will drive that whelp without mercy before the voracious wave of my revenge. She will drown in the embrace of her bloodwrath, and she will never regain herself again. Have I made myself unspeakably clear?”

- - - - - - -

Willow huffed impatiently. She was tired of Vulpuz’s coy wordplay, her exhausted mind begging for a moment of solitude. The fatigue was stoking her temper. “Get to the point, fox,” she spat. “You’re boring me.”

Vulpuz indulged in a leisurely stretch. He sauntered over to the figures depicting the members of the Badger Council, turning his back to the mink. His next words tore into Willow like a hail of knives, “Pray, humor my curiosity, child. Do you genuinely believe he wants to see you?”

A lump formed in Willow’s throat. She stared down at the crimson fluid lapping at her footpaws, blinking back tears. Vulpuz had found her secret fear, a gnawing dread that had been her bosom companion through the blood-flecked days and endless dark nights. Truly, she longed to see Fleck, but how would he react? Through the seasons, she had considered hundreds of ways their reunion could go, but the heavy silhouette of her guilt had gradually drained each scenario of hope. She wasn’t sure if she deserved to see him again.

Vulpuz hungrily observed Willow’s reflection in the eyes of the statue closest to him. He was beyond thrilled. He had finally found the crack in the mink’s tough exterior. Ignoring the badger sculptures, the fox began to pace menacingly around the stricken Willow, reveling in the cruel power his suggestions had over her. “What if, shall we say, he doesn’t care to see you? He would be within his rights to desire nothing to do with you. Have you ever considered that his life may have devolved into one misery after another because of what you had done? Remember, you took everything from him, including his own father. Perhaps he came to hate you, swearing vengeance against you until his dying day. Who can say what manner of effect time may have had on his emotions? The seasons change, as do hearts.” Vulpuz paused to let the magnitude of his words sink in. “You may be selfishly chasing a shadow, child. What if, across the tapestry woven by his life, he fell in love with another?”

The memory of Fleck walking away flashed into Willow’s mind. Though her voice wavered, she answered Vulpuz defiantly, “That doesn’t matter! I… I have to try to make things right. I have to offer everything I am to him. Even if he chooses not to listen, I owe him whatever closure he might want, even if…” she swallowed, “even if it means he never wants to see me again.”

“Hmph. I’m almost disappointed in you. Can’t you hear yourself?” Vulpuz curled his lip at Willow in disgust. “How pitifully submissive and weak you sound. Tears and entreaties won’t get you through the gates of Dark Forest, min—”

“Then what will?!”

The force of Willow’s shout shattered the effigies of the members of the Badger Council, scattering glassy chunks of coagulated blood across the surface of the sea. Half of one of the statue’s proud faces went spinning through the air to land unceremoniously at Vulpuz’s footpaws. The ruler of Hellgates regarded the broken piece with moderate disinterest.

“The answer to your conundrum is quite simple, really,” Vulpuz murmured. In an abrupt fit of rage, the fox stamped upon the fallen carving, crushing it to smithereens. The insignificant act of destruction seemed to lighten Vulpuz’s mood considerably. “Hahahaha! Did you see that, child?” He indicated the pile of sickly pinkish dust before it dissolved into the blood sea. “Therein lies the key to your desire. What need have you of prostrating yourself before the Badger Council?” Throwing both arms wide, Vulpuz delivered his proposition in a voice rumbling with authority, “Release your will to the mercy of the music. Take up the thorned crown of bloodwrath. Turn the threshold of Dark Forest into your stage and make them see you. Burst through those oaken gates in a blaze of power, and all you passionately hope for will become yours.” He offered Willow a conspiratorial wink, his tone mellowed, “If one already has the ability to do what one wishes, asking permission becomes unnecessary, wouldn’t you agree?”

- - - - - - -

The Lady and Vulpuz had reached a painful impasse. As swift and terrible as she could be in her element, the Lady knew better than to goad Vulpuz into a rage. The cunning fox had Willow in his clutches; with Willow in a state of relative susceptibility to the influence of bloodwrath, the Lady was wary of making the wrong move. She did not want to put Willow in any more danger than she already was.

The Lady flicked rainwater from her ears, her war axe bobbing gently up and down in the air beside her. Her options were limited. Vulpuz had lowered his blade and was now looking at her, a cruel smile playing about his lips. The Lady stiffened, certain that Vulpuz had something up his sleeve.

“Of course, I am not unreasonable, vixen,” Vulpuz began, “though I would like to enjoy the pleasure of this moment.” The white fox shoved his sword into its sheath and breathed deeply, exhaling in an obnoxious yawn. “Ah, how lovely it is to finally have an advantage over you. Your ward has proven to be of even more use to me than I could have imagined! But I must digress…” Vulpuz rudely jerked a paw over his shoulder. “I am willing to bargain for the sanity of this mink, whose piddling existence you hold so dear... as much as it disgusts me. What will you give me for her?”

“She is without price,” intoned the Lady.

“Oho, is that so? What shall it be, vixen?” Vulpuz taunted gleefully. “Shall I have you cough up the keys to your tavern of debauchery?” He shook his head. “No, let us match one prize for another. Allow me to propose a trade. The mink for the Wearet and her handler, hmm? I shan’t take the one without the other, seeing as how the female is damaged goods. I won’t hold it against her, however. I can sense her hardworking spirit even through this ghastly mist; no doubt she would serve me well.”

Acrid bile rose into the Lady’s throat. She wished to tear a gaping hole across Vulpuz’s chest, to unstitch his existence thread by incorporeal thread, but with dignity she remained still, her posture poised and regal. Dismissing her axe, the Lady inclined her head to Vulpuz and countered, “It is clear you still desire your pound of flesh. Very well. I offer myself.”

Vulpuz was stunned speechless. He stared open-mouthed at the Lady, his eyes threatening to burst out of his skull. Unimpressed, the Lady regarded Vulpuz with disdain.

“Are you not satisfied?”

One of Vulpuz’s paws wandered up to his snout, pushing his gaping jaw shut with the sharp retort of clasping teeth. “Oh my,” he purred, massaging his throat thoughtfully. “This is a prize I had not expected to win. And yet, how can I be assured of your goodwill in this exchange?”

“My word has yet to come undone, unlike yours,” the Lady retorted smoothly.

Vulpuz sucked in a breath. “Oooh. How callous the truth can be, especially delivered from your lips. Hahaha! I, the Great Vulpuz, accept your noble sacrifice!” With an elaborate flourish, the white fox unsheathed his sword, crooking an uncouth claw at the Lady. His wicked laughter conjured a rumble of thunder from the darkened sky.

“Step forth and receive your new master, vixen!”

- - - - - - -

Willow stared at Vulpuz, incredulous. She did not know what to think. The fox made his plan sound so ridiculously obvious, it was as if he were offering her the keys to Dark Forest on a crystal platter. Was it possible that she could channel her bloodwrath and fly defiantly in the face of consequence? Could she really pluck Fleck from Dark Forest like a Dibbun would pit a cherry?

She looked down at her paws. Bloodwrath had given her the power to accomplish many great and terrible feats in her lifetime. She had never hesitated to follow its music when the time came… yet, she felt reluctant to let its numbing ecstasy wash over her now. Bloodwrath had separated her from Fleck, so how would it bring them back together? It was too much for her tired soul to contemplate.

Vulpuz hungrily watched Willow struggle with her conscience. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind coiled like a serpent prepared to strike. He was gambling on her, a bet he would never have dared to make unless he was sure to win. He wanted her to give in, to wield her bloodwrath to its full potential with no holds barred. If she could successfully distract the Badger Council long enough, he could slip into Dark Forest and have his way with its unsuspecting occupants. Biting his lip, his forced himself to be patient, beating back the screaming desire to vent his ire upon the indecisive mink. An idea presented itself to him in a moment of brilliance; delighted, Vulpuz drew alongside Willow.

“I wouldn’t spend what spare precious moments we have contemplating fate,” he warned. “Time is running out. The presence of your beloved grows faint.” Vulpuz stretched out his paw to her in a gesture of finality.

“Will you not go to him?”

- - - - - - -

Tuskan was completely at a loss for what to do. He felt crushed by the gravity of the struggle unfolding before him. There was nothing he could do to help. He wasn’t even totally convinced that he wanted to help. It baffled him, how the Lady was readily willing to offer herself for the mink who had just destroyed the place she called home. She made no sense. The foxes Tuskan knew were self-serving cutthroats, always ready to borrow your blade just so they could shove it twixt your ribs. The Lady was the opposite, a paragon of untamable energy who accepted the brunt of Willow’s outburst to protect the ones she loved. Knowing that a being of obvious benevolent power presided over the tavern he had frequented made Tuskan want to sit down and rethink his post-life decisions. Part of him wanted to get away, to return to the relative pseudo-safety of his rosebush, but even in the midst of such internal strife he was sure of one thing. He strongly felt he should stay by Nivedita’s side.

The female rat had not moved an inch. Her unblinking eyes were focused on the mists undulating before them, her paws tightly clenched at her sides. Tuskan figured she could sense what was going on even though they could not see it. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her in some way, but he was hesitant, caught up in the unpredictability of a fated dance to which he did not know the steps.

Confronted by his uselessness, Tuskan hung his head. He couldn’t even think of an encouraging word to offer Nivedita. She had protected him with her life when the nightclub collapsed, and he could only stand stupidly beside her. A deep sense of shame fell upon Tuskan. His ears and tail drooped towards the ground, his entire body bowed like a leaden weight. Hot tears began to slide down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his paws. Any courage he harbored previously now deserted him. His mind tumbled into a spiral of self-remonstration, assaulting him with negative thoughts. What a failure you are. Stupid, stupid idiot. Disappear, you don’t belong here. The nasty words menaced him like bullies, and he had no weapons with which to fight them. He could think of nothing to do but meekly accept the stinging barbs as fact. Just before he surrendered himself to the punishing spite of his thoughts, Tuskan was roused back into full awareness by the stirring of the lady rat next to him.

Nivedita was singing.

Tuskan could just barely make out her voice, mingling softly with the sound of the misty rain. It carried a childlike innocence to it, heady but wistful, the notes rising and falling as Nivedita weaved the story of her melody together. She sung in a language Tuskan only vaguely recognized, but the power of her voice prompted his soul to swell with emotion. Through the music he experienced her gut-wrenching concern for Willow, beheld her passion for the Lady, and contemplated her unshakeable hope that all would turn out well. A warm feeling blossomed in Tuskan’s chest, spreading outward through his limbs and banishing the shroud of misery from his heart. Listening to Nivedita’s song made Tuskan want to be brave. He flexed his paws and straightened, inhaling the humid air as if taking his first breath. He felt ready for anything.

Nivedita’s tune nosed through the mists, floating across the field and beyond the Lady. It carried with it an invitation to release, to abandon oneself to the beauty of the song. Smiling, the Lady turned her face to the sky and joined her voice with Nivedita’s, welcoming the relaxing embrace offered by the music. Their duet carried for a few lines before the Lady turned the melody back over to Nivedita. She marveled at how the tension had fled from her shoulders and the root of her tail. Her endurance renewed, the Lady looked across at the Wearet, who gurgled happily at her, kneading the soil with his claws like a contented cat. She threw back her head and laughed aloud, calling her axe to return to her side.

The timid rat’s voice swelled to fill the clearing, transitioning into bold crescendos as her courage grew. She paused after the delivery of the first stanza to glance over at Tuskan, who was watching her with a look of awe plastered across his homely face.

Vulpuz reacted to Nivedita’s song as though he’d been struck by lightning. The shashka fell from his grasp and he stumbled backwards, clutching his head in his paws. “How… how is she reaching her?! The mink’s bound in bloodwrath!” he fumed, incredulous. “Damn your crippled strumpet, vixen! I will not let her wrest this victory from me!” The Great Vulpuz threw up his arms and shouted into the sky, “Stop her! Stifle her infernal voice, or all will be lost!”

The unnerving sounds of excited chattering filled the air, issuing from the ground like infernal gossip. Shapes began to rise out of the muddy earth surrounding Vulpuz, jagged forms resembling dark-furred squirrels carrying crude stone axes. They swarmed around the ruler of Hellgates, laughing with maniacal glee and taking swings at each other with their archaic weapons. “The rat, you fools!” Vulpuz screeched, snatching the closest squirrel by the ear and shoving it in Nivedita’s direction. “Focus on the voice! Catch her and tear her apart!”

“A game! A game!” the squirrels cried in eerie unison. “Whoever catches her gets to play with her! Will it be you? Will it be me? Eeheehee, let’s see!” Fanning out into a semi-circle formation, the odd score of squirrels hurled themselves across the battlefield, each member kicking and scratching at its neighbor for a chance to win at their game.

Unpeturbed by the sound of the enemy charge, Nivedita launched into the next part of her song. Her melody exploded into life, the notes stretching and growing, drowning out the wild shrieks of the oncoming squirrels. As if in response to the music, a cooling breeze began to blow through the area, chasing the mist from the battlefield and offering Nivedita’s allies an unobscured view of their foe.

The two opposing forces met in a clash of thunder. The Lady spun in a graceful arc, greeting the front running squirrels with the business end of her axe. The bodies of all four toppled headless to the ground, her great cleave effortlessly slicing through bone and sinew. She pinned another squirrel against the trunk of a massive oak at the edge of the clearing, the unfortunate beast squirming the last vestiges of its life out upon the merciless tongs of her barbed trident. Returning from their spellbound slumber, the Lady’s spiked garden vines vigorously erupted from the soil. The vines snaked across the field, entangling and trapping many of the squirrels in a suffocating embrace from which there was no escape.

A feral roar heralded the arrival of the Wearet, who bulled into a clustered group of squirrels that were menacing the Lady, scattering them like ninepins. Undaunted, the Lady seemed to be everywhere at once, her axe tearing through enemies like a scythe through wheat. Alongside her, the Wearet pounced and lunged, snapping necks between his powerful jaws and tearing foes apart blow by blow. The lethal pair were an unstoppable whirlwind, dealing death to all within their reach. Almost as swiftly as the skirmish had begun, it seemed to be nearing its end.

One squirrel, more lucky than the rest, had managed to slip past every obstacle unscathed. The maniacal creature was rapidly approaching Nivedita, a dirty knife clenched between its yellowed teeth. The female rat continued singing, oblivious to the threat of danger barreling towards her.

Tuskan watched the squirrel draw closer as if in a dream. Time seemed to slow, and he became aware of oddly distinct details etched into each passing moment; flecks of spittle flying from one of the corners of the squirrel’s mouth, the hollow sound of his own breathing echoing through his ear cavity. His body felt oddly stiff and heavy. It was as though the drizzling rain was trying to drag him to the ground.

Out of nowhere a knife appeared from thin air. The jeweled object floated before him, its blade gleaming in the muted light. Confused, he stared at the knife until the disembodied command of the Lady broke through his stupor.

“Take up the weapon, she needs you!”

Startled and mildly shaken, Tuskan stumbled forward, plucking the knife from the air. He very nearly dropped it when the Lady’s voice once again ricocheted around inside his skull, “Defend her!”

Gritting his teeth, he mouthed the echoing words to himself with grim determination.

“Defend her!”

Instinct took over, and with the speed born of precision Tuskan leapt in front of Nivedita, dropping into a solid crouch. He gripped the Lady’s knife in both paws, tilting its keen edge slightly upwards. It was too late for the squirrel to halt its charge. With a howl of anguish squirrel and blade met, and the last of Vulpuz’s dark soldiers was vanquished.

- - - - - - -

Vulpuz’s inviting paw beckoned to Willow. She was seriously considering accepting it when her ears detected the sound of somebeast singing off in the distance. Distracted, Willow turned to find the source of the music when a passing blur of whitish-brown fur nearly broadsided her. The abrupt, sharp retort of wood cracking against bone sounded loud and clear. Stunned by the pain blooming throughout his paw, Vulpuz retreated away from the figure menacing him with its cane.

“Touch ‘er an’ I’ll gut ye, serpent’s tongue!”

Willow was shocked. The misty figure of her father, the Skipper of Otters, had appeared between her and Vulpuz. Skipper growled dangerously at the ruler of Hellgates, hunching his back and shoulders.

“Ye spit nothin’ but lies. M’daughter won’t never lissen to ye, cos she knows better ‘n’ to ‘eed the foolish words of a two-toned toad!” Chortling, his tone softened when he turned to address Willow, “I love ‘ee, shrimp. Like I always learned ye, follow yer ‘eart but remember yer mind. Come’n see yer old pater someday, eh?”

The form of the Skipper of Otters faded from view, only to be replaced by that of two other familiar otters. Bark Nip and Kelp’s uproarious laughter danced across the notes of the song floating through the air. The happy pair blew flirtatious kisses at a mystified Willow before they joined paws to face Vulpuz.

“Back off, fox!” the otters cried in joyful unison. “This ‘un’s too good for you!”

Vulpuz recoiled as if he had been struck again. He was beginning to lose his grip on the realm of Willow’s bloodwrath, an occurrence he could not tolerate if his plan was to proceed to fruition. Snarling, he aimed a swift kick at Bark Nip, only to find that the otter couple was no longer there. Instead, an old, grey-furred mouse glared at Vulpuz severely, his headfur slightly disheveled from the passing of Vulpuz’s footpaw. The lenses of his crystal spectacles reflected the red of the blood sea, giving the Abbot of Redwall Abbey a menacing appearance.

Clearing his throat, Abbot Dogwood addressed Vulpuz in a no-nonsense tone, “If you wished to kick me, you should have aimed lower,” he sniffed. “I have been told you are telling my dear Willow some utterly ridiculous rubbish, and I am here to set things straight.” A smile crept across the Abbot’s face while he continued, “Never has one been more worthy to grace the halls of Redwall Abbey. This mink is no vermin, like you. She is a daughter of Mossflower Wood, loved by all who know her, and there is nothing you can do or say that would make her any less than the warrior she is.”

Nodding to Willow, the Abbot bowed regally and disappeared. The music swelled to a broadening crescendo, coaxing the flat blood sea into gently lapping waves. Willow wasn’t sure who to expect next, but she almost cried aloud with happiness when a playful giggle heralded the arrival of Nivedita. The lady rat curtsied to Willow and then to Vulpuz, moseying over to the latter like a curious Dibbun. Nivedita beckoned to the ruler of Hellgates, pantomiming that she had a secret to tell him. Confused, Vulpuz inclined his head to her. A look of utter surprise flashed across his face when she patted him gently on his snout.

“Mister Vulpuz, please tell my Willow the truth,” she requested innocently. “The truth is that our Lady’s nightclub wouldn’t be what it is without her. We all care for her so much, and this is our chance to show it, to help her find her way to her beloved one. She always gives abundantly of herself; we want to return her selflessness a thousand-fold, to love her as she has loved us.”

Nivedita glanced back at Willow. There were tears shining in Nivedita’s eyes even as her figure dissipated, but the smile on her face was one of love unbound for her friend. Willow felt her lower lip beginning to quiver. The outpouring of support from those whom she had cared for was almost too much for her to take in. She felt layers of her fatigue peeling away, the anger and uncertainty morphing into peace, steadfast courage, and resolve.

Opposite from her, Vulpuz was in a state of panic, his mind desperately searching for some solution to the mounting problem of his impeachment. His panic quadrupled when the imposing form of the Lady rose from the depths of the frothy blood sea. The vixen’s image smirked piteously at him.

“Willow Slay is my strong left paw, perilous in battle and without equal in her kitchens,” she said, her mighty voice carrying across the surface of the deep. “You will not have her, nor will you use her for the fulfillment of your own selfish desires. She is the property of none but herself, and you would be wise to stand still in awe of her, a soul aflame in defiance of those who wished her evil. She has lived and loved, suffered and slain, desired and died! Thus has she laid claim to eternity, and thus have I chosen her to be my Whetstone, the one who sharpens my spirit!”

The Lady’s effigy burst in a shower of red droplets, tainting Vulpuz’s white fur with crimson streaks. Appalled, Vulpuz frantically tried to scrub the stains from his coat, but it was a meaningless effort. A grim voice caused the fox to freeze mid-stroke.

“Oi, fox.”

The otter Fleck had come to occupy the space between Willow and Vulpuz. His imposing figure radiated quiet strength. Without warning he leapt at the Great Vulpuz, his open paw contacting the fox’s face. With a cataclysmic whoosh, Fleck drove Vulpuz bodily against the surface of the blood sea, sending a wave of crimson liquid rocketing skyward. The otter warrior stood over the fallen ruler of Hellgates like a conqueror, the hood of his tunic swept back to reveal teeth bared in a roguish grin.

“Let her hear my answer with her own ears.”

Fleck’s spirit disappeared and the music ended in resounding echoes of grace. A jolt of understanding shot through Willow, and in a trice she knew how she had been lead to this place. She glowered at Vulpuz, who was attempting to stand after the brutality of Fleck’s assault. The fox had been soaked through, his iridescent fur matted with blood. Though he could feel its intensity, he refused to meet Willow’s piercing stare.

“That wasn’t Fleck I saw,” she accused, laughing bitterly. “That was you, wasn’t it? You tricked me.”

Vulpuz sucked in a painful breath. “I showed you what you wanted to see,” he hissed.

“You showed me what could be, not what is,” Willow corrected. “And I believed you. I would have listened to you, too, were it not for…” She paused, holding a grateful paw to her heart. “I do want to hear what Fleck has to say. I want to hear it from him, not from you. To do that, there’s someplace I need to be right now, and that’s fighting you alongside my Lady and ‘Dita.” There was a great sucking noise, and a massive, roiling wave of blood reared out of the sea behind her. Trapped in the wave’s enormous shadow, Vulpuz realized he had nowhere to run. Frozen in place, he could do nothing but cower as Willow delivered her ultimatum in a voice that could splinter diamonds.

“Get out of my head.”

The wave came down with the force of a collapsing mountain, stifling Vulpuz’s infuriated scream and banishing the ruler of Hellgates from Willow’s bloodwrath realm.

- - - - - - -

Her song complete, Nivedita took off at a loping hobble the moment she sensed that Willow had regained herself. Her spirit of urgency surprised Tuskan. He stumbled after her, the Lady’s knife falling forgotten from his grasp. Sheepishly Tuskan offered Nivedita his arm, and she accepted it with an appreciative nod. Her limp inhibited their progress, and the pair did not make it very far before the Wearet was beside them, scooping both rats up onto his broad back. The great beast swiftly covered the distance in leaps and bounds, tearing up the soil beneath his churning claws. He landed on all fours before Willow, bombarding her with clumps of wet earth. Breathless from the thrill of the ride, Nivedita tumbled into Willow’s waiting arms, her laughter shattering the somber mood.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Nivedita cried, nuzzling Willow’s neck with her nose.

“Yes, I am,” admitted Willow, “thanks to you.”

“What?” Nivedita’s bright gaze searched the mink’s face. “But it was all you!”

“Your song helped me see, ‘Dita. I’d still be listening to Vulpuz’s lies if you hadn’t sung to me.”

The female rat was astonished. “How… did you know it was me, singing?”

Willow lowered her forehead until it was pressing against Nivedita’s. “I knew,” she breathed. “I knew. Thank you.”

Nivedita was practically purring with happiness. The rat and mink paused, each enjoying the warm embrace of the other’s soul. Their cuddle was swiftly interrupted by the delighted gurgle of the Wearet, who attempted to curl his entire body around all three of them. It was a light-hearted moment of respite from the tense battle they had narrowly won.

Relieved, Willow had almost fully relaxed her guard when a terrible screeching sound assaulted her mind. The presence of a fathomless bloodlust became known to her, its depth and ferocity nearly stealing her breath away. Horrified, she glanced up to see past Nivedita’s head and caught sight of Vulpuz charging towards them. His mouth was wide open, teeth glistening as he hurled himself forward on all fours. This was a completely different Vulpuz from the malicious jester that had tempted her in her bloodwrath. His left eye shone with crimson fire, his sword and cloak utterly left behind in a fit of wrathful madness. Thinking quickly, Willow moved to shield Nivedita and Tuskan in the same second the Lady arrived. The vixen threw herself into Vulpuz’s path, bringing him to a sliding halt. Snarling and snapping, the ruler of Hellgates fought passionately against the Lady’s restraint. The red fox and the white fox grappled with each other, the latter attempting to sink his teeth into his opponent’s neck. An extraneous arm sprung out from the Lady’s back, catching Vulpuz’s ravenous maw before he could bite her.

The Lady shouted breathless orders at her companions. “I will handle this! Nivedita, Willow, go! You must reach the gates of Dark Forest before Fleck passes too far beyond the threshold! Tuskan, brave heart, accompany them!”

Tuskan realized that his mouth had fallen open, and he closed it before looking over at Willow and Nivedita. The pair were clearly hesitant to obey. Both of them sensed that something was about to go unspeakably wrong.

“Go, now!” The Lady’s footpaws began to score rivets in the ground as Vulpuz strained to overpower her. Like a stinging whip, her voice roused them all to action.

“There is no time! Make haste!”

Willow squeezed Nivedita’s paw. Concern showed clear on the lady rat’s face, but she was obedient. Moaning, the Wearet helped Nivedita to climb atop his back while Tuskan scrambled up beside her, the grizzled rat visibly shaken by Vulpuz’s beastlike fury. Though she was unhappy with the situation, Willow offered her mistress a final note of advice as the group melded with the mists of Hellgates.

“Be careful, m’Lady!”