The Fox (34 page)

“Ah,” Finlay sighed. “I have a large one for the next dal. I would trade for a tiny bit of gold. I will lend you this bowl to work on.” He hunched up his shoulders and said, “If it is good enough, I may get more gold for it.”

I gathered his small tools and sat down at his worn, burn-spotted workbench. The bowl was smooth and heavy in my hands as I turned and rolled it to see what lived in the bronze. A picture was there. The fox stood on his hind legs, the front two resting on the trunk of a sacred oak tree, his tail fanned out behind him. In the tree rested a raven and, just below it, a finch with a crossed bill. The small bird had come to Lovern in a dream about Crisi. He told me its black wings had reminded him of me, yet the rest of the tiny bird’s feathers were the color of Crisis’ hair.

“It is small, lively, and twitters, like her,” he had said, laughing. “It is her spirit animal.”

On the other side of the bowl, I tapped out a standing bear with an owl perched on its left paw. It was my spirit family. I worked on it for two moon cycles while Lovern was gone. When I finished, Finlay gave the bowl to me.

“No one would trade for a bowl with your spirit animals on it. The gods wanted you to have this one,” he said. “I made another. I must have known of this end. I request flowers and braids on the new bowl. No animals.” When I started work on Finlay’s bowl the next day, my spirit bowl sat on the table next to me.

LOVERN

After our return from the
mor dal,
I spent many days preparing myself for the journey the king had ordered me to undertake. My mind seemed to be in three places at once. I knew I should be spending more time with Jahna and Crisi as well as the ill and injured, but the forest drew me in to meditate. I tried to interpret the message sent by the gods.

Sunlight hours passed quickly in the forest, and I often found myself there after sunset. The nights were cold and on many it rained, so I made it a habit to get to the small cave Jahna and I had protected ourselves in during our first storm together. I was safe in the small, weather-carved abode, and the memories of that first night we spent together were still fragrant in my mind. My heart and body longed for her, but I could not give in.

When I did allow contact with my family, I tried taking Crisi out as I had before our trip. She required more teaching; I wanted her to love the world around her as much as I. The trips stopped after she wandered off and I had not realized it until daylight was dimming. I spent many anxious breaths looking and calling for her before she stepped in front of me, giggling.

“Father,” she said, her face as bright as the spring flowers in the meadows. “I have been following you. I sat as quiet as a fox, as you taught me. I sat behind a tree until you started looking for me, and then I followed you. I laughed so I had to cover my mouth, but I was still very quiet! I am a good fox, am I not, Father?”

I picked her up and squeezed her to me, whispering my gratitude to the goddess for keeping her safe.

“Yes, you are a good and quiet fox. I expected to find my little bird, flitting and singing, but you have learned to be a changeling. You have done well with your training.
M’eudail,
beautiful girl, I have loved our time in the fields and forest together.” I had to explain why I would not take her out any more. I could not keep my mind on her and prepare for my journey. She must stay with Jahna now.

“The weather is too unpredictable. I do not want us to be caught outside in the rain. Your mother would be angry with me if I brought you home cold and wet day after day. You will stay with her and learn some of the art of healing and weaving. You should have skills from the forest and the home to live well in this world.” I knew I would miss her being with me.

I was alone in the cave the night the god gave me the dream about our Imbolc ceremony. Kenric, our chieftain, had started the training of his warriors and it was becoming more and more vigorous. Words passed from mouth to ear to mouth among the clan. Worries were growing about the advance of the Romans; the unknown was causing fear, which grew in the stormy darkness of this season. I dreamed about a ceremony that brought light into every home of our village. I would bless candles, light them from the oak Imbolc fire, and make sure all families had three to relight their home fires from.

Jahna collected the candles and all was ready for the ceremony when the sky opened with its worst storm of our winter. We gathered in Kenric’s home to light the ceremonial fire, and then she and I made our way out to the homes of those who did not come. We left light and words of encouragement. Many came up to me and asked me to pray for their farms and families.

“Druid Lovern,” one said. “Pray for fertility for our animals. We ask for a new calf this spring.”

“Yes,” I answered. “The prayer has been spoken. If the gods are willing, you will get your new calf and many piglets this year, Arden.”

I must leave soon,
I thought. I could not promise new animals to those who might have to go to war soon and may not come back to farm this land. I could not go on with my routines with the knowledge my family and others may be in danger. I had to go quickly – as soon as this storm calmed.

At home, wrapped in blankets to dry and warm ourselves, I held Jahna in my arms. “The winter will help hide me. I must go now. I will not return for several moons, and our people must be given time to prevent a war or to prepare for battle, whichever the gods will ask of us. If I wait longer, we may not be ready. I must break my promise to you and leave you alone. I ask the goddess to watch over you and Crisi.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes,
mo dhuine. A ghaoil.
My beloved husband, I hate your going, but yes.”

We became one repeatedly that night.

The next daybreak, Crisi noticed we were preparing my bag for travel.

“Father, where are you going? Are Mother and I going with you?”

“No,
eun,
I am going alone.”

“But Father, I want to go. Are you going for a long time?”

“I may be a long time. You must stay here and help your mother. And you must help Logan learn his birdcalls. Remember, he did not know as many as you on our last journey.”

“But why do you have to go?”

“Crisi, sit here with me.” We sat next to the fire pit where Jahna was adding dried juniper berries to the soup. “Do you remember the foxes we watched this spring? The father fox came out of the den after the kits were born and started hunting. He had to protect and fed the mother so she could make milk for her young. For days, he would bring her small voles and mice, leaving them at the door of the den. On his last day, he brought a rabbit and seemed so proud as he carried and laid it at her door. Then the badger came out the bushes and attacked him; the badger wanted the kits. The father fox fought very hard, so hard that he wounded the badger bad enough and it left. But the father fox was also wounded. He crawled under the bush near the den and died.”

“Yes. I remember. We buried him after you took his tail and made your armband.”

“Yes, that is correct. The mother fox was alone and had to go hunt for herself. She had to leave the den everyday for food, or she would not have had milk for her young.”

“Oh, Father. The badger came back and stole her babies while she was gone that day. I cried, but you said it is the way of nature. Sometimes the way of the gods is sad, Father.”

“Yes, I agree. Nature can be harsh. Now think. If the mother and father fox had known if the badger lived close by, do you think they would have dug their den there?”

After a few breaths, her face in concentration, she answered. “No, Father. If they had known their babies were in danger, they would have moved. I wish they had. Next time, I will look for the badger and if it is there, I will leave the foxes a message not to stay.”

“Ah, you understand. Sometimes, if knowledge is known before an event, we can prevent sad things from happening. I am going on a trip to learn some information that may help stop some bad things. The gods have asked me to go so they can protect us, their kits.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, I understand, Father. When will you come back?”

“I pray to the gods, soon. But, if I must stay away, I want you to remember how much I love you. And always, in your heart, know that I will see you again. I will never be far from you if you think of me.”

I thought of a remembrance to give to her. My pipe. I had been teaching her to coax notes from it. She would practice while I was gone. I smiled at the thought that Crisi would also remind Jahna of me – I hoped not badly – when she played. I handed my pipe to her. “You have started learning to make music on this. I am giving it to you. I want you to become a good musician, so you must practice often.” She started blowing into it, producing notes shrill enough to make my teeth hurt. “Crisi, I think it would be best to practice out in the stable and then when you are ready to play for your mother you may come in. For now, play only outside.”

She had gotten over the sting of my leaving and scampered out the door to play the pipe. I watched, wondering how grown she would be when I returned. If I returned.

The next morning, I donned my oiled cloak over several layers of shirts and pants. Jahna had asked for boots from Finlay, whose feet were larger than mine, and lined them with otter skins she had been saving to make a hooded cloak for Crisi.

“These will keep your feet warm and dry. When you return, I can still use the skins. Do not lose these,” she warned.

“My feet have never been so well taken care of,” I replied.

“Your feet will walk a long distance. You must take care of them. If they freeze, you will not be able to travel. I beg you to get home, Lovern. I will look for you every day. I have something to add to your labyrinth bag.”

I handed it to her. It would be the last thing I added to the pack I would carry on my back.

“I cut some of Crisi’s hair. She is with Eiric, playing with her children. I hope she is not blowing that pipe you gave her. I am afraid we will her hear untamed music for the rest of the winter. She loves it so.”

She opened my bag, took out the locks of hair she had mixed before I left to gather sea grasses and added some of Crisi’s golden red to my rust-colored and her raven’s-wing-black hair. I grabbed her hands and kissed the tears that ran down her cheeks. She retied the red thread and returned the precious packet to my bag.

“I will caress it when I rest, to think of you both. Jahna, I must tell you. You are a beautiful woman. When we married, you were a girl.” My hand rested on her shoulders and I looked into her tear-filled eyes. “Now, the knowledge of helping those who are dying, and becoming a mother, have added lines of wisdom to your forehead and mouth. I will miss tracing those lines with my eyes and lips. I love you fully. It is because of you and Crisi that I take this journey.”

She tied the hood of my cloak under my chin. I enfolded her into my arms but could not feel her body heat through my clothing. We kissed deeply. I turned, and through the fort’s gate walked away from my home.

I was glad the tall mountain was behind me when I started. I did not want to climb it in the snow that covered its top. The hills that lay in front of me were treacherous enough. I stayed away from clans I did not know. Alone, I would be suspect and maybe killed. It was safer to walk a longer distance around them.

The weather was fine and clear for the first seven sunrises after I left. My progress was good. I did not know how far I would have to go, but reckoned to reach the village I lived as a child would take seven more days in weather such as this. I traveled faster than the first time I came this way. At that time of my life, my spirit was injured. Then, I hid during the days and traveled only at night.

After escaping the Romans who killed my mother and captured my sisters, I was not a whole person. Then I found Jahna. The gods had led me to the person who had spoken to me through her dreams, and we had created a life together. Jahna and I knew that our souls belong to the gods. I was now their messenger.

Rain fell for the next three days and I slipped and slid up and down the rocky trails that took me in the direction of the Romans. I slept under rocky outcroppings and in depressions of the earth and ate food from my travel bag. Water was not a problem. If I thirsted, I opened my mouth and rain fell into it.

Finally, the clouds emptied. I tied a snare, trapped a rabbit for dinner, and started a small fire, only enough to warm the meat of the rabbit and me. I knew I was close to the Romans, as I had seen trails and the spore of their horses. I was even more careful now.

On the next day’s walk, I started across a gully. A small herd of sheep were scattered across the hill on the other side.
It is the wrong time of year for sheep to be pastured,
I thought.
Where is the shepherd?
Leaving sheep scattered and alone was leaving them open to become food for the wolves.

I heard a shout. Not knowing who it was, I crouched, my feet soaked in the frigid stream that ran through the bottom of the gully. Another shout led my eyes to the boy. I carefully looked around for anyone else. No one else was in sight, so I started for the boy. He huddled in the middle of a pile of boulders that had rolled into the gully from the hillside.

His words were not ones I knew. They brought back the sounds that flooded my ears in my village that horrible day so long ago. The commands of the Roman leader were in this tongue. Bile rose in my throat. How had this boy learned this foul language? He looked to be one of our people, not Roman. I did not want him to know where I had come from, so I spoke with him in only the language of my mother. He was not moving. As I got closer, I noticed that his arm was trapped between two large boulders. He was a boy of about ten seasons.

“Shhhhh, boy,” I said. “I will help you.”

He stiffened, cried out, and lost consciousness.
Not good,
I thought.
I shall have to move the rocks, and I must have his help to get him out.
I pulled out my water skin and dribbled water on his lips. He woke up and opened his mouth. His thirst was great.