Raised by the Fox

by J Walker Bell

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Infant Dawn

  Edward heard crying. He turned slowly, his sharp ears pinpointing the location of the sound over the rest of the small noises of the camp. It was nearly pitch black. The moon would not be up until almost dawn. He located the sound beyond the ring of fires and down the slope of trees and rocks that marked the southern edge of the encampment.

  He made his way carefully, quietly, so as not to disturb those trying to sleep as he passed the fires and the huddle of carefully mended tents. Several of his Scouts were sleeping outside the tents. The night was cool, but not yet cold. Winter was still a month away.

  The softly crying figure sat on top of a large rock that overlooked the tree-topped expanse of marsh below. Edward could barely pick out the dim gray outline of the sentry, a long spear laid across folded knees, against the black night sky. He slipped up beside the rock. Despite his quiet steps the crying stopped abruptly.

  "What's wrong, Sandal? Why 're you crying?" He asked her. Edward reached up and touched a cold, exposed knee with one hand. He caressed a scabbed over skinned spot with his thumb.

  "I'm not crying, Edward," she said around a sniffle. Sandal wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  "Use your hanky, Sandal," Edward chided her. She complied. Edward broke the long silence that followed. "Sandal," he began, giving her knee a squeeze, "don't you know yer supposed to be cheerful! It's the Law!" He tried to keep his tone light, but he was worried.

  "I made the blood today ... first time, this eve, after meal," she finally said, speaking slowly, as if not sure she could finish the sentence. Edward flushed both hot and cold, suddenly embarrassed and frightened at the same time. His hand slipped off her knee. He stared back at the flickering lights of the fires and tried to think of a reply.

  "Ya don't hafta say nothing," she said then, losing her composure, and there were tears again.

  "It don't mean anything," he blurted out, ashamed that he could offer her no solace. "The Handbook ..." He began lamely.

  "There's nothin' in the Handbook for this," she retorted almost accusingly. Edward could not argue the truth in that. He felt her eyes on him, and looked up at her face. The night sky had turned the natural darkness of her eyes into haunting hollow spheres.

  "Edward, you know what the Tale says," she continued. "I hafta get preggers cause we got to get more people. I know that." She stopped to take a shaky breath. She placed her hand over the warm spot on her knee where Edward's hand had rested. "But I'm scared, Edward. I'll prob'ly die when I have it." They both remained in uncomfortable, painful silence as each weighed the burden of her sudden puberty. He wondered helplessly if he should pat her knee again.

  "Let's you an' me try, Edward, okay?" She suddenly pleaded, her voice barely a whisper above the wind through the trees. "We're a good team, ain't we? You and me, we been a pair for awhile now." She paused and hoped Edward would speak. He did not. "I don't want it to be no other guy," she finally said to fill the silence. The wind felt cold on Sandal's thin arms as she waited to hear Edward's reply.

  Edward felt frozen in place. Two images superimposed themselves in his mind: Sandal's soft young body curled warmly against his; and a tiny, bloody body grown cold and alone in his hands.

  "I can't," Edward mumbled and hurried away without another word.

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn'ta asked you," he heard her say desperately, "please come back." But Edward did not turn.

  "Bastard!" She hurled the words at his back. Edward did not hear. The fifteen year old gave in to the painful memories of another loving girl dead on the birthing cot and the still-born form that had been his son. He could not face that pain again, even if the Tale demanded it.

  The morning was damp and misty. Fog shrouded the wooded marsh below the Scout's position. Edward stood on the rock that Sandal had watched from the night before, using their one precious pair of binoculars to scan for movement on the slope. They had been skirmishing with the Forachers off and on for days. Mosquito infested and snake ridden, the Balsum Swamp was still home to both the Scouts and the Forachers, at least until heavy late summer rains had flooded the Scouts' camp and forced them into the hills. When the water receded and the Scouts tried to return they found that the Forachers had beaten them to it, claiming that all the swamp was theirs. The dispute was an old one. Today Edward wanted it settled permanently.

  "Patrol Leader," one of Edward's Scouts called up to him. Edward scrambled down off the rock next to his first class, Rocky, a burly thirteen year old who quickly raised a hand in a three fingered salute. Edward returned the salute.

  "The advance group has engaged," Rocky told him. Edward nodded. "Get us moving, then."

  Rocky nodded and raced up the slope, his machete slapping against his side as he ran. In a moment Edward heard a chorus of kazoos sounding the march. The plan called for an advance party of twenty of the fastest Scouts to engage the Forachers head on with as much surprise as possible on the less protected Western edge of the Foracher camp. The advance party had slipped away before dawn. Edward was going to ram the rest of his Scouts -nearly fifty able bodies - right into the heart of their camp.

  Lizbeth, a six year old with her newest merit badge displayed proudly on her shirt, led Maggie over to Edward. He patted the old pony on the side of the neck and rubbed the itchy spot on her forehead at the roots of the mane. Maggie nickered in welcome. Edward smiled at Lizbeth and congratulated her on earning her horsemanship badge, and then gently reminded her that this was a Campaign Day and Scouts shouldn't be wearing any of their brightly colored badges. Lizbeth reluctantly removed her badge and stowed it carefully away, and then showed him the keenly sharpened pocket knife she carried in a pouch at her side. Edward admired her knife even as something within him found the scene vaguely disturbing and unsettling. He suddenly and very strongly wanted to snatch the knife out of her small hands. He shook off the feeling with effort. She was a Scout, after all, like the rest of them.

  By this time there was movement all around Edward as the Scouts started down the slope. Edward carefully checked his equipment and then mounted Maggie. He rode up and down the line of advancing Scouts, using hand and arm gestures - field signals - to keep them from straggling or advancing too fast. The kazoos were now silent.

  Satisfied with the quick but orderly advance, Edward trotted over to a group of Scouts pulling a cart. Inside the cart was a cleverly made catapult and several canvas bags that squirmed and writhed in agitation from the angry copperheads the bags carried. If the cart could be maneuvered close enough then they could use the catapult to lob the snakes into the Foracher's camp. He looked for Sandal and was surprised that she was not with the cart as she was assigned.

  "Where's Sandal?" Edward forced himself to ask the first class in charge of the cart. There were no secrets among the Scouts and it was embarrassing to ask after his girlfriend.

  "Traded duty with Mack," she replied, slightly out of breath with the effort of pulling the cart. Rachel stared back at Edward matter-of-factly, challenging him to object to the swap. Rachel wanted to be Patrol Leader someday, and made it a point to exercise her own authority where she could.

  This time Edward didn't even notice. He turned a startled look from Rachel to Mack, a thin, light footed nine year old struggling hard to pull his weight with the cart. The tenderfoot ducked his head when Edward looked at him. Mack had been assigned to the advance party.

  A pall of pessimistic premonition descended on Edward. For a moment he felt faint, and might have fallen off Maggie if the seasoned pony had not automatically shifted position to steady her rider's weight. His vision grayed and the Scouts around the cart became gruesome skeletal caricatures of themselves. They are all going to die, he thought. Sandal, Rachel, Mack, all of them; and I will be to blame. His hand crept within his shirt to feel the smooth steel of the handgun he kept tied to a rope around his neck. He won
dered if he was to die, would they live, and this terrible vision be no more than that? The blaring of kazoos cleared Edward's mind.

  The main body of Scouts were in range of the Foracher camp. He removed his hand from within his shirt. Edward wiped the hand hastily on his trousers and turned Maggie's head back down the slope. He prodded her to greater speed with his heel. The Scouts at the cart stared after him and whispered among themselves.

  The battle at the border of the Foracher camp had taken on a surreal look among the gray-green of the forest, the wispy remains of the morning fog and the pall from overcast skies. The Scouts and Forachers fought among the trees and the mud, yelling and slashing at each other with single-minded purpose and exuberance. There were screams of pain as well.

  His vision forgotten, Edward dismounted quickly and sent Maggie back up the slope. He pulled out his slingshot and started racing from tree to tree, taking up a position and firing carefully selected rocks at every unfamiliar face. His aim was good and Edward got caught up in the excitement along with the rest of them as he gleefully bloodied faces and broke bones with whistling projectiles.

  The Forachers fell back in panic and Edward abruptly found himself with other Scouts in a soggy clearing among the Foracher tents. There were a few Scouts from the advance party that had also made it this far. He did not see Sandal, but he did not have time to look too closely. Two Forachers entered the clearing. Edward recognized the Foracher Leader, but his attention immediately focused on what his companion carried in his arms.

  "Scatter!" he yelled. He slipped and fell as the rest of the Scouts bolted toward the cover of the trees. The second Foracher raised the gun he held, snapped the magazine lever, and began firing.

  The initial rain of bullets from the uzzi cut down many Scouts. The second Foracher advanced rapidly, a gap toothed grin on his line-less boy's face. He fired at the terrified Scouts found huddled behind rocks and strafed their backs as they fled. The two Forachers advanced on Edward as he struggled to untangle himself from both the rope around his neck and a neckerchief that threatened to strangle him. He fumbled desperately for the gun with mud slick hands as the boy Foracher swung the uzzi in his direction.

  Crazily, then, the Foracher Leader grabbed for the gun held by the second Foracher. The boy and the Leader struggled with the weapon momentarily until the astounded boy released the weapon to his Leader. Edward saw his chance. He freed the gun from around his neck and leapt to his feet. Edward flinched at the thunderous sound when he fired, but his aim was as true as the rocks from his slingshot. The face of the boy Foracher imploded from the impact of the bullet and he crumpled instantly. Edward swung the pistol around. The Leader had the uzzi raised and aimed at Edward. Muzzle faced muzzle. Neither fired. A bare ten steps apart, the two stared over their sights at each other.

  With a clearness of sight brought on only by his nearness to death, Edward could see the faint wisps that were the beginnings of hair on the Foracher Leader's chin. He's older even than I am, Edward marveled to himself. Even more surprising and unsettling was the look in his eyes. Those eyes were dark with feral brooding and a near rabid madness. Coloring even that dark look, however, was an anguish that touched shockingly close to Edward's own dark musings and the nightmarish visions he had been having lately.

  The Foracher Leader lowered the uzzi until Edward could see his face. He softly spoke words that Edward strained to hear. The Foracher Leader then turned the uzzi on himself and pulled the trigger.

  The Forachers surrendered. By early evening the Scouts had gathered the remaining Forachers into the clearing to view the body of their dead leader. Rocky had pulled down the Forachers' flag and they had watched the green four leaf clover symbol with the faded white 'H' on each leaf burn on the bonfire. The Scouts' Patrol banner was raised in its' place.

  In his tent, moved from the hillside down into their new camp in the clearing, Edward could see the flames from the bonfire flickering against the rough fabric of the walls. The closed tent flap and sweaty bodies made it hot and humid. He and all his first class were arguing over the fate of the Forachers. Edward raised his hand with three fingers extended for attention. The others immediately quieted.

  "Take'em in," Edward urged. He was sitting on the pony's saddle, which he planned to clean and oil as soon as business was over. The pistol was again safely around his neck and the uzzi was tucked into a saddlebag. He did not know for sure why he wanted to take the Forachers in, but he was growing increasingly certain that he was on the verge of some revelation that could lift him or destroy him. Yet Edward's mind felt sluggish. He didn't want to have to think.

  "We got nineteen dead," argued Rachel flatly, the cart first class who did not get a chance to use her snakes, "most from that gun which they knows is not allowed."

  "I used a gun, too," he reminded them.

  "They used theirs first!" A couple of the others said simultaneously.

  Edward shook his head, still able to vividly picture the blood blossoming as the bullet struck the Foracher's face.

  "It's still ..." Edward tried to explain the wrongness he felt, but others joined in and drowned him out.

  "They went to the Places, too!" This outburst was from Rocky. As evidence he held up a portable player with the flat circular music disk still inserted. "And there's other things in them Foracher tents."

  Going to the Places was bad. The Tales spoke strongly of avoiding all cities and towns- anywhere people had lived and where there were Bad Things people used to hurt each other. Some Bad Things were described, such as guns, but the Tales were pretty vague about other things. It was best just to avoid the Places, and especially not bring out anything from the Places. Dan'l, the most junior first class at ten years of age, stood up. The tops of his hair brushed the roof of the tent and sweat immediately popped up on his forehead from either nervousness or because of the rising body heat.

  "The Tales say," he began earnestly, and all quieted to listen, "that when People gather together in Places they like it at first. The People make Good Things to help make things better. But the Good Things are always used to do Bad Things that hurt People. Then those People make Bad Things to hurt back. Adults did this to each other all over the World, and taught their Children that it was Right to do the same thing." The Scouts nodded in agreement. Dan'l sat down.

  "Throw'em out," Rocky advised. "They're Bad. They don't follow the Law."

  "Burn'em all," suggested Rachel with conviction. "They'll just come against us again. And they killed Sandal."

  "Yea," several said, a low chorus gaining strength. They all leaned forward as one and looked at Edward expectantly.The Forachers had a bear that they kept on a chain. They released it against the advance party. The bear was now dead, but it had mauled five Scouts, killing three, before it was brought down. Edward had personally prepared Sandal's gruesomely mangled body for cremation. He was responsible for her death. If he had not been such a coward she would not have gone with the advance party. Sandal had been hurt and mad at him and swapped duty to make him worry. Now she was dead.

  Edward looked at the eager faces around him. They were flushed with their victory of the day. Nineteen Scouts and fourteen Forachers were dead. Some others might still die from hurts they could not mend. He had led them to this. He was responsible. He did not know if there were any words to make them understand this. Once upon a time he would have sided with Rachel. Now he thought of knives in small hands, and shuddered. If he did not say something, though, Rachel's words would convince the rest. He took a long breath.

  "Destroy all the stuff from the Places," he told them. "Take their fighting weapons, but leave enough for hunting. We'll keep the little ones and drive the rest away in the morning." Edward waited for the objections to die down. "They won't come against us while we got their babies. Dan'l, what does the Tales say about the little ones?" Dan'l rose again.

  "The Tales
say the Little Ones must be protek... protected. The Little Ones are all that is left of Inno ... Inno ...." Dan'l paused and struggled with the word.

  "Innocence," Edward filled in.

  "The Little Ones is all that's left of Innocence in the World." Edward looked hard at Dan'l. The boy flushed with embarrassment at the scrutiny and sat down. Dan'l was still an innocent, Edward realized. Most of his other senior Scouts had lost or were losing that capacity. Edward felt the loss of it in himself keenly.

  "What do you think we should do, Dan'l?" Edward surprised himself by asking. The others were no less surprised, staring first at their leader and then at Dan'l, the junior first class. Dan'l turned an even deeper red, appalled at the attention, but bit his lip and became serious as Edward remained silent and waited patiently for Dan'l's reply.

  "I ... well, I think havin' more babies around would be neat." Someone laughed. Edward nodded and looked thoughtful. Rachel started to speak but Edward signalled her to keep silent. She pouted but held her tongue.

  "Who would take care of 'em?" Edward asked.

  "Uh, I guess we'd have to keep some o' the Forachers around for that." Dan'l shrugged his shoulders timidly.

  "And who would provide food for the Forachers that we kept?"

  Dan'l's voice got quieter. "Maybe the rest of the Forachers?" Edward smiled. The effort cost him almost more than he had left. A numbing defeatism was creeping into his thoughts. It was useless. He had failed.

  They were lost and it was his fault. Edward plowed forward stubbornly, anyway, despite the uselessness of it all.

  "So you think that to protect the babies we need to keep all the Forachers?"

  "Hey!" All eyes turned to Rachel. "Edward, you said we'd only keep the babies."

  "Is that what you still think we should do?" She glared defiantly at Edward, unwilling to back down. "Scout Law requires that we be brave," he said, staring at Rachel but including the others. "You have all been that today. It also says that a Scout is kind, and helpful, and friendly. Does it say anything about selfish or cruel?" Rachel looked around at the other Scouts for support. No one spoke up. Somewhat to Edward's surprise, Rachel relented. She shook her head in defeat.

  "Then it's settled." Edward turned back to Dan'l. "Dan'l, I want you to go talk with the new Foracher Leader. You know her, don't you?" Dan'l nodded.

  "We was born on th'same day. She's the best turtle catcher in the Swamp." He grinned. "'Cept me."

  "Good. Tell'er what we agreed. Think you can get her to okay it, too?"

  "Sure," Dan'l said confidently. "I'll tell her else she'll never get a chance to beat me at catchin' turtles."

  "Good again. I think that'll work just fine."

  Alone in his tent, Edward took out both the handgun and the uzzi. He laid them on the floor of the tent and stared at them for a long time. He could hear Dan'l outside the tent coaxing a younger Scout into practicing Speaking the Tales for the rest. Edward left the guns where they were for the moment. He pulled over a bottle of oil and a rag and began methodically cleaning the pony saddle. He half listened to the little girl- Lizbeth the pony keeper, Edward knew- nervously Speaking for the combined group of Scouts and Forachers. When she came to the part about the Purge, however, Edward spoke the words to himself along with Lizbeth. He followed along with her mistakes and remembered the ones he had made at that age.

  "The Tales says that Adults started deciding that they was responsible for the, uh, for the ..." She stamped a foot in frustration, "for causing all the Innocence to go away." Not word for word, Edward thought, but she understood what the words meant, which was the important thing.

  "The Adults started committing ... they killed themselves 'cause they made their Kids lose their Innocence, too, and some Adults started breaking the Bad Things. Whole bunches of Adults started killin' themselves like it was a religion. Then one day there were no Adults no more, only Kids, and the Kids stayed away from the Places 'cause there are still Bad Things there. That was called the Purge, and it was supposed to let Innocence back into the World."

  Edward was listening intently now. His hands worked oil into the saddle leather with the absent proficiency of long habit. Outside, a few heads turned in the direction of his tent.

  "Kids grew up, though, and did Bad Things. And they taught other Kids to do Bad Things, too. Then they saw what they did and killed themselves, too. The Tales says that's what's still wrong in the World, and until grown up Kids can know Innocence there will always be Bad Things."

  Lizbeth stopped Speaking. There was silence outside the tent. Edward finished his work on the saddle. He rummaged in a knapsack for a moment and then pulled out two well thumbed books. One was hard bound. The faded letters on its' cover read 'Scout Handbook'. The other was a digest sized, poorly printed pamphlet that had already lost much of its' readability. That no longer mattered, however; the Tales were well memorized by the Scouts and even verbally added to as the Tales suggested to maintain a running history of events. Their Scout Patrol had once been part of a Troop. There had once been a Scoutmaster who had left that long gone Troop this pamphlet.

  Edward picked up the uzzi. He carefully took it apart and stacked the pieces on the oil soaked rag. Next he picked up the handgun. He remembered the look of anguish in the Foracher Leader's eyes. The Leader had known his own lost Innocence, and had quoted part of the Foracher Pledge to Edward even as he prepared to end his own life: "My hands to larger service, my health for my club and my world." He'd then added his own eulogy: "My life for failing to teach it." Edward thought of poor Sandal and of thirty-three dead Kids. He was responsible for all of that. There was no Innocence in what he had made happen. There was failure in not properly teaching Scout Law. He thought also of the Scouts and Forachers sitting together around the fire instead of killing each other. He was responsible for that, too, and thought about how precarious that union might be. Edward looked into the muzzle of the handgun and thought about Innocence.

  Lizbeth was sitting at the edge of the fire basking in the compliments she had received for her Speaking. She had her tiny pocket knife out and was admiring the way the fire's light flickered across its' brightly sharpened blade.

  "Pretty," she said to no one in particular. A hand reached around her and plucked the blade from her hand. She twisted her head up to look at who had taken the knife. Edward kneeled down beside her.

  "It's a good knife," he said to her. "I'll trade you."

  "What for?" She wanted to know, sure of the value of her knife and an excellent trader. Edward reached into his breeches pocket and pulled out his best possession and handed it to her.

  Lizbeth held the marble up to the fires' light. It was perfectly clear; not a single bubble marred its' inner surface and within it danced a kaleidoscope of colors. Sandal had given him that marble.

  "Double pretty," Lizbeth decided. "Okay." Edward pinched Lizbeth's cheek and reminded her that it was time for bed. She bounced to her feet and went off to check on Maggie first.

  Edward heard Dan'l on the other side of the fire. As he walked over to thank him for a job well done he tossed the oil soaked rag wrapped around the pieces of the uzzi and the handgun into the fire.

  THE END

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