Previously...

Yorres searched for Sluggs most of that night and into the next day before finally finding him in the most obvious of places: the mudpits near the pond. It had been raining that morning.

Sluggs was truly among the greatest of deer to cast a spell, even called the Glicthstag by many throughout the forest for his seeming ability to alter the very laws of nature at will. He was also a delightful and free-spirited stag, frequently found at play even as an adult, who loved nothing more than to get himself absolutely filthy by rolling in mud. Some deer said that the mudbaths kept him ageless, others that the baths were a mystical communion with the Earth itself which gave Sluggs his incomprehensible power.

Yorres, however, was of the opinion that Sluggs just enjoyed being dirty. Yorres knew that Sluggs’ easy-going nature belied the powerful forces under his command. It was quite a sight, I can tell you, to see a deer as fastidious as Yorres walking into the soft, cool, brown mudpit on that soggy morning. The look on Sluggs’ face seemed to hide a small smile as Yorres settled near him, perhaps knowing the younger stag’s dislike of the mud. It was impossible to tell, really, for Sluggs’ always had that same expression; a soft smile under half-lidded eyes, as if beholding some secret wonder.

“Fair morning to you, Sluggs.” Yorres knew not only that Sluggs was an elder, but also was as unflattered as he by titles and offices.

“And to you, Yorres,” Sluggs replied. “Fine day for a mudbath, yes? Though not for mudpies. The rain makes them fall to pieces no matter how much cattail I use.”

Yorres could not be sure if Sluggs was joking or not. “I have come seeking your counsel regarding a mystical matter,” he said at once.

Sluggs chuckled. “Of course you have. Oh, Yorres. Always such a serious student, more interested in chapter and verse than rhyme and reason.” He regarded Yorres coolly. “Tell me: can you yet hear the Green Voice as you did when you were a fawn?”

Yorres stilled himself, for this was no trick question. He quieted his heart, his breathing, and slowly made himself hear all of the sounds around him, the rain, the frogs, and the call of deer to one another through the wood. Yes, he could still hear it, throughout and within and beyond each of these was the voice of the Forest, called the Green Voice by forest magi. From birth, all fawns can hear this voice virtually all of the time, but many lose this ability during the transition to adulthood. To be able to hear this voice even into middle and old age was a prerequisite for one to become an elder.

“Yes. I hear it, though not as I did when a child.”

“Nor do any of us. As adults we must clear our heads of our own voices and the daily noise of unfolding forest drama.” Sluggs stared upward then, opening his mouth to catch the falling rain. Then he looked at Yorres again, asking “Tell me: what is she saying?”

Yorres said, “She is happy for the rain, which fills her ponds and feeds her roots. She anticipates the coming rut, and is excited to meet the fawns which will be born… She sings of the reeds and cattails and water lilies….” A pause, and then, as if in a trance, “She senses that Rowan is somewhere near her outer edges, that Rowan is about to leave. This makes her sad.”

“That is quite enough,” said Sluggs, sounding somehow simultaneously delighted and horrified. “Your art is growing. Tell me: do you still have the dream?”

“Yes, but master, please – I have not come to speak of these things. I have an important question to ask of you. May I ask it?”

Sluggs sat in stony silence in the mud. The sound of the rain on the pond shifted as the winds suddenly began gusting. “You may ask it,” he said after a moment, “but I may not give you the answers you seek.”

“Sluggs, tell me: what do you know of the Phantom Zone?”

“As much as any deer living, I can tell you. It is a place of ghosts and spirits, where our souls wait after this life has ended. Certainly you know this much. It is a place created by Gods, and was this place before this place was.”

“What do you mean?”

Sluggs considered, then said “Imagine a figure graven of wood or stone. Before the figure can be created, the stone exists and the tree exists from whence the graven image springs. This place was made of that place. In some areas of the wood, when the stars are right, the barrier between this world and that becomes passing thin. This we call the veil.” Sluggs paused momentarily as a mayfly briefly lit on his antlers, then flew away. “When that veil is thin, those who inhabit the Grey Lands may pass through it to wander beneath our bowers. While these apparitions may seem frightening or upsetting, they are, for the most part, quite harmless. Surely you remember the spirit of the young female killed by Baal?”

Yorres nodded. He had indeed been one of many deer to see the ghost fawn. It made his hackles rise just remembering her empty eyes and plaintive wail. Baal, in one of his fevered rages, had trampled the poor fawn to death near the crying idol. There had been much weeping and gnashing of teeth over this crime, for it had been time out of memory since a fawn had died in such a fashion.

“Sluggs, tell me: Might a deer pass through the veil from this side?”

“Absolutely. In fact every deer passes through the veil – once.”

“Hm.” Yorres considered this briefly.

“Tell me Yorres, why the sudden interest in matters of the dead?”

Yorres carefully described his vision of the white fawn behind the veil.

“Most curious,” Sluggs mumbled. “Most curious indeed. Tell me, what is your interpretation of this vision?”

“I… I hesitate to even guess, master.” Yorres turned the symbols over in his head once more, then replied, “It would seem, to my mind, that there is a message for me on the other side of that veil. A message either from this fawn or about him – there was something so damned familiar about him!” Yorres stood again and paced, mud dripping from his form. Sluggs regarded him beatifically. “If I could pass through the veil, even for a moment, perhaps I could learn…”

“Take care, Yorres,” Sluggs said solemnly. “Those lands are no place for mortal deer.” Sluggs stood as well, shaking wet mud in every direction. He regarded Yorres closely now, looking deep into his eyes, seeing confusion, doubt, curiosity. “What I tell you now you must never repeat to anyone. It is possible for a living thing to pass into Limbo and live, provided one is either immortal or has the protection of a deity with power in that place, but know this: only one has ever gone that way and lived to tell of it, and he has been dead to this forest, Lo, these many years. My master’s master, whose name I could never quite pronounce, with the blessings of the Twin Gods themselves, no less, passed through it. I cannot quite recall the reasons why. He performed a unique ritual on Samhain, when the veil is thinnest, and, with the blessings of the Gods shining about him, he passed through the veil.”

Yorres eyes swam with ideas, Sluggs could see. His mind was racing, calculating, considering. Sluggs continued, “15 Years he wandered in that place, Yorres, only to return empty handed and disgraced. The elders had forbidden him to go there, you see. He was censured, Yorres. They banished him.” Sluggs walked into the shallows of the pond as he spoke, and Yorres followed. They sat and bathed in the cool water for many minutes before Yorres spoke again.

“Could the ritual still be performed?”

“Of course, though I doubt you have the talent to open it alone.”

“Would you…”

“Aid you in rending the veil?” Sluggs laughed out loud. “No. No, I think not. What is it you hope to gain, Yorres? Information? It seems a silly thing to trade one's life for.”

“But you said…”

“Yes, the Gods did once grant their blessing for such a pilgrimage, but have never since.”

“Has anyone asked?”

“Yes. I asked them. Once.”

“And? What did they say?”

Sluggs sniffed, shook his head and replied, “They said:

‘It is forbidden now.
Did your master not tell you?
The way is shut.
It was made by those who are Dead.
And the Dead keep it.
The way is shut.
Until…’” Here his voice drifted off.

“Until what?”

“Never mind. It was not meant for foolhardy deer to pass beyond the veil on missions of mere curiosity.” Sluggs stood very suddenly then, saying, “Pardon me, Yorres, but our conversation has made me quite tired.”

“Of course, Sluggs,” Yorres stood himself, a bit annoyed with this development. They bowed briefly and embraced, and then Sluggs trotted away into the woods. Yorres shook himself vigorously until he was almost completely dry.

“Until what?” he asked no one in particular, then suddenly cried “Damnit! Rowan!” as he broke instantly into a gallop, racing to the edge of a forest with no end.

Continue to Chapter Five