The Storyteller's Call

by Jo Grix

yteller’s Call

  Jo Grix

  Copyright 2013 by T. Jo Grix

  Hunting was a waste of time. Ash knew that, every hunter in the tribe knew that. They had been camped here for nearly two years, struggling to survive the drought that had turned their mountains into tinder, a fire waiting to happen. Still, that didn’t stop Ash from bringing his bow and arrows with him as he left the camp, his wooden recorder tucked into the special pouch on the outside of his quiver.

  After the tribe’s storyteller, Niven had died of the winter sickness, Ash had been called to take a position he still was not sure he was ready for. The tribe needed a storyteller, someone to remember and recite the stories of the past so that all children might learn from those who had gone before, and as Niven’s chosen apprentice these past five years, that role fell to Ash.

  Having survived sixteen winters, Ash was considered an adult hunter by the tribe, but he was also much younger than Niven had been when he’d taken the role of storyteller. That, coupled with his distinctive and unusual black hair and sky blue eyes, just highlighted the fact that his mother had loved a man out of the tribe.

  Ash jumped onto a fallen tree and ran lightly down its length, avoiding a thicket that had hidden the snake that had killed a hunter two weeks past. The action drew him from his thoughts and Ash sighed softly. He would never find anything to hunt if he did not pay attention to the world around him.

  As if the thought had summoned it, an animal’s cry of pain filled the woods, followed by a hollow thump. Ash drew an arrow as he turned. A fox was standing on the log behind him, one foot lifted up and his ear torn. He looked as if he had been through a nasty fight.

  Ash knocked his arrow, staring down the shaft at the pitiful looking creature. The fox stared back at him, tail tucked down, whole ear tilted forward. Blood from the torn ear dripped onto the log and Ash sighed and relaxed his bow. “I can’t feed you,” he told the fox as he put the arrow away, “I’m probably crazy just to think I can try to help you.” He crouched down, and the fox ducked his head for a moment, flicking his ear back and forth, as he peered up at Ash. Ash sighed and set the bow down with his left hand as he reached into the small bag at his waist for the supplies every hunter carried in case of injuries.

  The fox crept forward, left paw still held above the ground. “My name is Ash,” Ash said as he pulled out the small, leaf wrapped package that held some herbs that might help the fox. He unwrapped the package and picked out a deep blue berry.

  The fox flinched back as Ash reached out, “It’s all right,” Ash said, “I’m not going to hurt you.” He put the berry down carefully, “I’m trying to help you.”

  The fox watched as Ash drew back, but did not move.

  “As I said, my name is Ash, and I’m a story teller.” Ash turned to rewrap the leaf, watching the fox out of the corner of his eye. “I also hunt for my tribe. Most hunters would call me crazy for helping you, fox. I think the difference is that I don’t particularly care to hunt injured animals, it’s too easy.” Ash put the package away and reached for his recorder, “What’s the point in being skilled if you never use that skill?”

  “That is a very good question.”

  Ash jumped, his foot slipped and he fell backwards.

  Warmth surrounded him and Ash found himself being lifted back onto the log, “Careful there,” someone said, “wouldn’t want you to blame all of this on a bump on the head.”

  Once sure of his balance, Ash turned to look behind him.

  A little girl stood there, she wore a dress that ended at her knees and left her arms bare. Her midnight black hair was cut close to her face and dark eyes regarded him with lively amusement. She also had a scrape on her chin, skinned knees and a bruise on her lower arm. “Hi,” The girl said with a wave and a bright smile.

  “Hello,” Ash said.

  “Hi.”

  That was the third voice, a pleasant young tenor voice. Ash looked around the forest, but he did not see anyone.

  The little girl giggled, “He hasn’t figured it out yet,” She said, leaning to look behind Ash.

  Ash spun, but the only thing he could see was the fox, now sitting on the log with his tail wrapped around his feet. He turned back to the girl, “What haven’t I figured out yet?” He asked, “And who are you?”

  The girl curtsied neatly, “My name is Vanora, and I am the Goddess of the Winds.”

  Ash shifted his feet slightly, “Forgive me,” he said, “but I never expected a Goddess would be so,” he hesitated, looking for the proper words.

  “Cute?” Vanora said.

  “Young,” Ash added at the same time.

  Vanora gave him a whimsical smile, “People never really pay attention to children, Ash. I find that the anonymity of this age to be refreshing, especially given that children are more inclined to just be a friend than to worship me.”

  Ash studied the little girl, “I’m sorry, but I am having trouble believing you.”

  “Perhaps this will help,” Vanora said, and she snapped her fingers. The little girl changed, becoming taller, her black hair lengthening and becoming curly, her face sharpened as the softness of childhood faded away. The adorable child became a beautiful woman, with the same clear sky-blue eyes, “Better, my Fox?”

  “I, yes,” Ash agreed slowly.

  Vanora smiled, “It’s all right to doubt, Ash. Your people don’t have much truck with Gods as I remember.”

  “No,” Ash replied softly, “we don’t.”

  “My Lady,” the tenor voice said, and the fox slipped around Ash, still on three legs, “if you would?”

  Ash stared at the fox, and then shook his head. He must have fallen, or eaten something bad, because there was no way that a fox could talk.

  “My apologies, Gavin,” Vanora said and ran her hand over the fox’s head and shoulders.

  Instantly, the injuries healed themselves and the fox spun in a circle, “Thank you kindly, gracious Lady.”

  “Enough,” Vanora said lightly, and tapped the fox on his nose. “You don’t need to flatter me, child.” She glanced side eyed at Ash, “This is Gavin, one of my Companions.”

  Ash tilted his head, “I’m sorry,” he said, “but, I’ve heard of Vanora the Wind Goddess, one of the traders that brings leather work, he said it comes from people who follow you.”

  “My Clans,” Vanora said with a smile.

  “Yes,” Ash nodded, “but that’s all I know.”

  Vanora nodded and gestured, “I am the Goddess of the Winds,” she said as she began to glow, “I dance on the East Winds that bring the ships home to port and race the North Winds that bring snow and ice. My frowns blow the storms that bring winter’s ends, and my laughter is the gentle breeze of a Summer’s morn. I travel with thirteen companions, the Owl, Eagle, Raven, and Hawk who protect my winds, the Wren who bares my messages, the Wolf, Stag, Badger and Lynx who best resembles the seasons fair, and the Dog and Cat who remember my people best of all.” The red fox yipped and chased his tail three times.

  Vanora laughed and patted the fox’s head, “Yes, my Fox, you are my cunning companion, who finds the secrets and achieves the greatest ends in the secret ways.”

  Ash frowned, “Forgive me, Goddess, but you said thirteen, and that was only twelve.”

  Vanora glanced up at him and frowned, “You were doing so well. You can just call me Vanora if you want. I told you, I want friends, not followers.”

  “I will try my best,” Ash said.

  “And you’ll laugh at my last companion,” Vanora added.

  If she had not of been a Goddess, Ash would have sworn that she was pouting. “I will not,” Ash said, “I promise Vanora. I may be surpri
sed, but I will not laugh at you. Not when it clearly means so much to you.”

  Vanora sighed and turned to reach behind her, “This is the last of my companions, Hamish.”

  In her cupped hands was a hedgehog.

  “A hedgehog,” Ash said flatly, struggling to keep his amusement from his face. “May I ask why a hedgehog?”

  “To remind myself,” Vanora said, “that no matter how my Brothers and Sisters annoy me, or how pompous they act, if I approach them in the right way they are, if not soft, easier to handle.”

  “Besides,” the hedgehog announced in a surprisingly deep baritone, “when those idiots really annoy us, then I can go sit on their chair. Being sat on is never comfortable, but the way they howl is most satisfying.”

  That did it, now Ash laughed, clutching his side and rocking back and for a bit. Finally he calmed down, “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.”

  “And you understand the difference,” Vanora said approvingly.

  “I guess this would be the best time for me to ask what you want with me,” Ash said finally.

  Vanora sighed and lifted her hands so that Hamish could settle on her shoulder. “Yes, I believe we must.” She began to pat the fox, “The trick is finding the right point, Ash.”

  Ash nodded and waited.

  “I guess I should start by saying that this world is very young,” Vanora said, staring away into the forest. “As worlds get older, their patterns and purpose become set and rarely change. Some worlds are Dark,