“Another year and the struggle which was so great in the beginning begins to subside. Because of the efforts of everyone our lives here have begun to reach beyond survival, at first to grasp the the thinnest thread of happiness, a thread which became a rope, a rope which became a ladder until today we find ourselves standing unaided and with resolve amidst peace and prosperity. Every night I hope that what we have made here will endure and that the struggles of the past will be only a memory. Many have died this year and as always this celebration is for them.”
Nodding his head to Wyne, a great flame whipped around the spring causing mother Andsware to let out an excited yelp as she did every year. An up-tempo and cheerful melody came from the musicians as Berkeley yelled, “Time to eat!” and sauntered in, gleaming cheek to cheek, the fragrant stew of rats pulled steaming behind him.
The music built as the foxes dove and wove in and out of each other. They leapt into piles which broke apart as they rolled across the grass, only to rise again and continue to weave. Eventually a spiced cider was brought in as refreshment for all, along with moth brew for those old enough. The smells and the smoke hung in the hot summer air and no wind came to clear the valley.
Shon began to relax as the hours passed, allowing the celebratory atmosphere to sweep him up. He dove into the dance, relishing the relief from weeks of worry.
Roe and Mayda collapsed further up the hill hoping to find a patch of cool night air in the sweaty heat surrounding them.
“I'm so glad Shon is managing to enjoy himself a bit for once,” she said, breathing heavily through a smile.
“I didn't think he had it in him,” Roe responded.
“Just because he's serious doesn't mean he doesn't know how to have a good time. He was young once, you know.”
“I find that hard to believe. I think he was born ornery, and when he leaves us it will be with a general sense of dissatisfaction.”
“That is a horrible thing to say, Roe.”
They began to laugh together and suddenly Roe jumped into the air. Of all their senses it was a foxes' hearing which was the most keen.
“I heard something. Stay down.”
He looked across the valley past the party towards the secret entrance and could see a moving mass of shapes surging over the fences, over the hedges and out of the ground below. The sounds, the smells and the haze had rendered the foxes below senseless.
“We are being attacked,” Roe said, dumbfounded.
Leaping to her feet, Mayda followed his gaze, gasped, then barked as loudly as she could.
No one below could hear her through the festivities aside from Shon who, although he was wrapped in a distraction of good humour, always kept part of himself on alert. He immediately stopped, focused his gaze onto Mayda and Roe, then turned to look through the haze towards the oncoming army of Shadow Foxes. A sound of unrestrained rage shattered through the music, the laughter, and the smoke and brought the party to an abrupt halt just as the first wave broke over the crowd.
“Mayda, go to the exit above the training ground.”
“No, Roe, I am going to fight.”
“Do as you are told, pup!” he yelled as he ran towards the oncoming army, surprised to make out his uncle jumping over the flames and into the spring hole, disappearing into the deep water.
All of the members of their community had been trained to some degree by Shon, but the surprise attack mixed with a food and drink induced lethargy, meant they were momentarily taken off guard. Pandemonium ensued. Those on the outer rings lost their lives with a confused smile on their faces. Their sacrifice, however, banished the party from those in the centre bringing their bodies and minds into absolute focus.
Unarmed, Roe tore out the throats of three Shadow Foxes before spinning to face the enemy in support of the others. The scene was chaotic. Fur and blood flew through the air as the screams from foxes who had come too close to the flames mixed with the barks of battle. All were fighting including the old Cwene who nimbly pounced from fox to fox in a torrent of high pitched deadly yelps. Berkeley's massive weight crashed onto a pair of Shadow Foxes, his jaw snapping their spines in the same way he dispatched his rats. Mother Andsware wielded a sharpened knitting needle between her jaws keeping her rotund body poised in a fixed position and dispatching a Shadow Fox with each thrust of her head.
They were terribly outnumbered and as Roe relaxed into the meditative dance of the hunter, Shadow Foxes dying from side to side, he saw on a hill behind them the moon silhouetted shape of a dozen armoured Foxes of the Light. The central figure in full armour and helmet was their leader. The Shadow Foxes had been sent as fodder to reduce their small number even more.
Seeing Mayda to his side virtually overpowered by a group, he ran to her aide only to see each of the foxes fall by the other half of the scissors he had left at the training grounds. She stood proudly above the broken bodies and flipped the tailoring sword in and out of her jaws as Roe reached her.
“Mayda, I take back whatever I said before about your training. You are truly skilled but you must leave now. Look above,” he pleaded, before turning and charging to meet the coming assault.
Just as he was wondering why his uncle had fled, he heard his name yelled from behind him.
“Roe! This is yours, my pup!”
He spun to see his uncle wet and dripping with a great silver sword clasped between his jaws. He threw the weapon into the air and Roe leapt to meet it dispatching several Shadow Foxes as he spun to the ground with it in his jaws.
Side by side, they charged towards the enemy soldiers unfazed by the superior forces. Shon was unarmed but not for long. Roe watched his uncle in seemingly slow motion as the blade of the first fox slipped narrowly past the old fox's snout. Turning his gaping jaws to the side, Shon took the throat of the attacking fox into his mouth and whipped it in a great decapitating arch. He pulled the sword free from the head, still dripping between his jaws, narrowly avoided the slash of another blade and placed the weapon comfortably in his mouth.
The foxes were good. Sent from London, they were a small contingent of the elite force that went to war and pillaged for the Chairman of the Council.
As the last of the Shadow Foxes were finished below, more and more defenders came to join the fight.
Roe saw several of his friends fall, their lives skewered by moonlit blades. His anger began to mount and a low grumble came from his throat. He slashed through their line efficiently with the light steel blade, all the while keeping an eye on the enemy leader. He crouched under the thrust of a blade, then whipped his front leg over and around it. Feeling it cut into his side, he forced it into the ground as he sliced the underbelly of the fox attacking him.
The battle lasted moments which stretched beyond time. There were only a handful of soldiers remaining when he looked with horror at Mayda approaching the commanding knight from behind. She dove at his side but Roe caught sight of him spinning away from the arch of her weapon. They fell together below a rise and as Roe ran to her aide he saw only the shine of the soldier's armour emerge. The leader of the attacking force, stunned by the level of defence, began to back away towards the tunnel exit.
Seeing the bloody form of Mayda on the grass below, he turned in fury towards the fleeing commander. What came next no one, not Roe nor Shon, could believe. The ground beneath Roe began to tremor slightly as his paws dug into the earth. The tremor flowed into his body resonating throughout his torso and emanating as a roar from his jaw which bent the grass before it, cutting a path across the earth, hitting the fleeing fox and sending him into the air like a strip of leather in a storm
The fox lay still only a few whiskers shy of the exit tunnel.
All turned to stare at Roe who stood stunned with the cracked earth extending jaggedly before him.
The battle was over and they found themselves in a sudden silence. Half of the community lay dead in the grass while the other half nursed wounds of varying degrees. All were shocked by the sound R
oe had produced. Shon was the first to break his gaze and run to the aid of Mayda.
Roe followed quickly behind, feeling an unnatural numbness wash over his body.
As he approached, he looked Shon in the eyes only to be greeted by a shake of the head and a resolute sorrow.
“Go to her, Roe,” he said, then trotted off.
She lay curled in a clump of white lilies flecked in red. A painter couldn't have asked for a more striking composition. A slow series of sharp breaths told Roe that she was still alive but barely.
“Was that you, Roe?” she whispered.
“I don't know what that was. Mayda...” He crouched next to her with his snout and his blue eyes level with hers.
“It looks like I'm going to be leaving before you after all...always knew you were someone special, Roe...don't waste your life. You owe me...but I would have liked to have gotten to know you better,” she whispered, struggling to gently touch her nose to his.
Her eyes closed and her breath drifted away. Baring his teeth, Roe hissed, “You are wrong, Mayda, we are both leaving today and when I go I will find who did this and I will make them suffer for what they've done.”
“No...Roe...don't. For me, please, find another way...another way.” She took a last deep breath and arched her head back, skyward, between the trembling paws of Roe and exhaled. “It's the sun, Roe, behind your head...you are standing amongst the Light.” She smiled, slowly closed her eyes and was still.
Gently placing her head back to the ground, he gathered as many of the lilies as he could before sprinkling them across the peaceful form of her body and collapsing next to her again.
“I am so sorry I wasn't able to protect you.”
A commotion behind him took him from his grief to see his uncle dragging the armoured soldier by the neck to the firelight.
Roe stared at Mayda as the voice of his uncle roared across their once peaceful valley.
“Look at me. Get up and look at me!”
Armour clinking the soldier rose off the ground and stared at Shon. Those who could stood around the two watching, breathing, waiting.
“Do you recognize me?” Shon asked.
“Yes. You are General Samson,” cracked the soldier.
Gasps and hushed whispers rushed around the assembled crowd for they had all heard of the legendary general, treasonous and executed.
“Yes, you have found me. Was I the one you were seeking?”
“Yes. Gremian sends his regards.”
“Gremian? What is going on Shon?” He heard the others ask.
“Silence all of you,” Shon growled. “I have a message for your beloved leader. You are free to go but tell him I am leaving this place. Tell him that it took him fifteen years to find me and it will take another thirty for it to happen again. Tell him to come himself next time so I can take his other eye.”
Grabbing the leather straps keeping the soldier's armour in place he tore them away and said, “Leave now but you leave to confront your master unarmoured.”
The soldier looked at them and with a heavy breath started off. As he approached the exit tunnel he turned to face the carnage of Shon's Spring.
“For what it is worth, it is an honour to meet you, Samson.” He stood in place for a moment, bowed his head, then limped through the hole and out of sight.
Samson looked at him for a moment then turned his back to face the crowd of foxes that had gathered around him.
“Listen to me. All of you.” He paused for moment looking at them, struggling to put together the right words. Finally he began almost angrily. “I let you arrive and stay at this haven, against my better judgement and this is the result. I have brought this upon you and now I will leave tonight.”
“You are our leader Shon, I mean Samson. Are you truly him? The general Samson?” the wounded Berkeley spoke, with an edge of panic, while being held up by a weeping Andsware.
“I am and I was never meant to be your leader. Cwene has long been more of a leader to you than I have. It is with her you must trust your future. I am sorry I have lied to you. I am sorry I cannot stay to help rebuild or even to dress the wounded. It is far too dangerous for that. I must leave and I must leave now.”
He looked at the beleaguered crowd who, all but Cwene, stared back at him. She was looking at the village and was already planning how to put things right.
A fox brushed him with a paw as he turned to go. It was Wyne who started to follow him as he made his way up the trail, keeping a few paces back, when he stopped near Roe still keeping his vigil over Mayda.
“Roe. Throw me the sword,” he commanded without turning towards him.
Roe looked at the gleaming silver sword nestled in the grass and felt a shudder go through him. He couldn't imagine that only hours before he longed for this type of battle. For this taste of death.
He put it in his mouth and angrily tossed it towards his uncle.
“I don't want it and I never want to see it again.”
Picking the sword from the ground, Samson looked to Wyne a few tail-lengths away.
“This is yours now, Wyne. Learn how to use it before you pick it up in battle. Someday perhaps it will fall to you to defend this village. It is a Guardian's sword and was made by the lost Art.”
He turned to Roe, still hunched over the form of Mayda. “Roe, it is true you will not use this blade again, but there will be others, many others. Yours is not the luxury to grieve. Leave that to the village along with Mayda. You are coming with me.”
Roe took one last look at Mayda and at the village that had raised him from a pup, then to his uncle and said, “Yes I am, Samson.”
Wyne remained motionless, staring at the sword in the grass, unwilling or unable to approach it, as the two foxes vanished from the village forever.
*
They fled into the night, grinding their exhaustion away with their sorrow. Travelling east along the stream they never spoke or looked back. The small tributary eventually opened out into a larger river where Samson uncovered a small driftwood raft tied together with a thick plastic rope. Pushing the craft into the swift current, the older fox jumped on board followed by the unquestioning Roe.
For days they drifted along the river. Never stopping. Sleeping when the sun arose and keeping a silent vigil when it was replaced by the moon. They drank from the dirty water of the river never feeling fully quenched and ate whatever river creatures they could reach from the raft whether living or the floating dead. The hills faded away and were replaced by bridges and the constant noise of automobiles. Hantsa occasionally watched them float past and stared as if they were creatures out of a dream.
On the third day Samson stopped the raft amongst a tuft of over-spilling grass just before they entered an even larger river.
He jumped onto the sandy bank leaving Roe alone on the raft while holding the painter to the ground with a paw. On the verge of joining him, Samson let go before Roe could jump. The raft immediately started along the faster flowing river and Samson kept pace with it along the bank.
“What are you doing, Uncle?”
“Roe, I was never meant to be a father. The time has come and you must go alone now. You must go to London and I cannot go with you. I must seek answers elsewhere. ”
“Samson, how can I possibly go on my own? I know nothing about the Great Burrow of London or even how to get there”
Samson struggled to keep up with the craft and shouted as it drifted into deeper waters.
“You are strong and you know more than you think. All waters lead to London and all roads lead to...well, somewhere else. The Hantsa call this the River Thames and it will flow to the Great Burrow.”
“How can you leave me like this?” he barked savagely.
“As I said, Roe, I was never meant to be a father to you! Use your training if you must and be cunning. Be always cunning. You must find Ursula. She will tell you the circumstances of your birth and of your father and mother! She will give you your answers. I am
a soldier, Roe, and you will always have my sword. I am sorry.”
He turned away from the river and ran into the brush, the voice of Roe calling from behind.
After calling and half falling from the raft Roe finally collapsed, dizzy with the weight of his life turned on end and dumped upon him. He lay there for several hours without moving until a stirring trembled in his belly and he rose to smell the air. It was polluted but held in it something new, something charged with a different kind of energy. He was full of sorrow and he was beaten but he could not control a slight smile at the prospect of the unknown.
*
A screeching seagull woke him as he drifted into a sodden bank. After nearly a week on the water his coat was thick with a stinky green grime. He leapt from the crumbling raft and began scrounging in the muck struggling to find whatever sort of wiggling life he could get a meal from. The sun had just gone down and the tide was far enough out to give him a vast shoreline of possible food. Just as he was about to dive his snout into the mud at a fairly promising looking crayfish a great weight hit him on the side and sent him sliding across the plain of mud leaving a gummy trail in his wake.
He stumbled out of the muck only to find himself looking at the largest fox he had every seen in his life, along with several other foxes, dishevelled and dirty but clearly of the Light.
One of the group wearing a tunic of patchwork said, “It looks like we have a straggler from outside, doesn't it?”
“What shall we do? Make him part of the gang? Conscript him, that is,” said another following next to the big one.
“We could, pups, we could. But I'm going to give this one a test myself. An examination, shall we say, before admittance.” The large fox considered Roe, the worn gold embossed attire making him look slightly regal.
He rushed suddenly and surprisingly swiftly at the muddy stain that was Roe only to find the smaller fox had leapt above, sending the larger sliding onto his shoulder.
“Is this a test of combat?” asked Roe. “You should know I've been floating for days with little to eat so I'm not likely to be much sport.”
The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1) Page 8
