“Do you see the image on the ceiling?” Gremian continued, ignoring the growing confidence in his servant while indicating towards a large circular mosaic with a regal looking fox set in its centre.
“Yes, a fox.”
“Not just any fox!” Gremian screamed. “That is the only image of Able in the entire Burrow that hasn't been defaced! There is a reason it is positioned there. And who is this vixen on the floor? Do you see the colour of their eyes?”
He grabbed Isen by the back of the neck and dragged him across the treasure pressing his back hard against the sharp colourful tiles on the floor.
“Yes, my lord, they are blue.”
“That's right! They are blue.” He scraped Isen's face along the floor, cracking and stretching his lips. “A traitor's blood to cleanse.” Do you see that written below the orb? I have searched this damn chamber since seeing that flame from that pipe over there so many years ago. Years ago, but I still do not know how to begin the cleansing. Figure out how to activate the orb and I will take care of finishing off the traitors within it when you do.”
Gremian dropped him heavily, crushing a small gold chalice, and turned to leave while Isen struggled to his paws from the floor. He stopped before exiting the room and spoke with his back turned away.
“If you take a tone with me, other than one of unwavering worship and awe again, you will find yourself alive but wandering throughout the burrow without a tail, a tongue, or eyes to navigate by. Oh, and I would approach that orb with care. I've never managed to get closer than three tail-lengths of it.”
Isen watched his master leave the room then scraped himself off the ground and tried to shake the soreness from his jaw. He stretched his neck towards the ceiling, past the series of tooth-like spikes which ran along the curve, and looked at another mosaic and the same fox at the pinnacle of the arch. Something was oddly familiar to him.
*
His sons sat around the darkened oak long table chatting about mundane things; vixens, Shadow Foxes, and hunting canines in the labyrinth. Gremian considered them with a long and loathsome expression. They occasionally brought up something of mild political interest, under the flickering candle light. Shadow Foxes came and went, bringing drink and replacing whatever food had been already consumed, while canines crunched the carcasses dropped by the brothers onto the floor.
“I saw some graffiti today,” Seaver the eldest began, speaking as he cleaned the last pieces of flesh from a pigeon. He was a beefy fox, all muscle and armour, his jaw fat and wide, and had a heavy voice, one used to shouting in practice yards or in the tavern over a pitcher of moth brew. “It said, 'Shadow Foxes for Food'. I have to admit I normally do not support unofficial vandalism of our Burrow but I find this to be an intriguing idea. What do you think, father?”
Gremian had sat for the past hour, leaving the pile of food before him untouched, staring at his sons.
“Dead or alive I care not. The Shadow Foxes are filth. You may sink to the level of eating such debased meat. I however am not so desperate,” he said, finally taking an economic nibble from a pigeon thigh.”
“I agree with Father. You don't get out enough, Seaver. Those slogans have been appearing throughout the Burrow for months,” Tilian, one of the middle brothers, fat and calculating, said, sneering at his older sibling.
“I wonder what it would taste like,” Rinan, the youngest and cruellest brother added, balancing his small frame on the thin back of his chair. “Eating a Shadow Fox isn't cannibalism but I bet if we ate one of you two, it would taste much the same.”
“Yes, Father, they are filth.” Seaver continued, ignoring the noises from his little brother while returning the glare of his middle brother. “I wasn't thinking for us, but there are scores of Shadow Foxes these days and should the other foxes run out of food, as they surely are going to do, for them it would be a healthy substitute.”
“Seaver, if you would like to initiate such a program I will leave it to you. I, however, think if the masses run out of food then they should starve. If they cannot provide for themselves, then they are of no use and should be eliminated, Shadow Fox or not. I didn't call you here, however, to discuss the merits of eating our slaves. I'm here to propose something to you. As I'm sure you've heard, my guards have failed to retrieve the Sky Fighter or Samson. I would like to pass this duty on to each of you. In your own unique ways you are the most skilled fighters in the palace. Go separately and whomever brings me the Sky Fighter and Samson, breathing or not, will have my blessing and the promise of this chair when I die. Is that clear enough for you?”
The three brothers looked at each other, some smiling, some frowning but all looking for an edge over the others.
“Very clear, father,” they said in unison.
“Good, now go, and leave me with my meal.”
*
Finally the staircase ended on a seamless trapdoor and after they opened it they found themselves in the familiar setting of the Inari barracks. As soon as they spilled out, they quickly went their separate ways with the promise of following Mercia's direction to the 'Stars of a Thousand Stares' in two weeks time. Scarlett gradually made her way back to Ursula's Island, Mercia to her demolition workshop, Roe to be alone, and Daegal quickly descended to the Inari spa hoping to find his employees having returned there.
Which he did.
Cedd lounged, half submerged under the hot water of Daegal's personal bath, along with several others. The rest of the Inari were spread amongst the other baths, all thoroughly enjoying the continuously flowing and replenished hot healing waters.
“Boss!” Cedd yelled, shooting out of the water and splashing back in, “You're back!”
Everyone looked up at once, some reacting and some remaining relaxed and indifferent.
“Cedd, get out of my pool, you impertinent little pup. Find me an attendant, then you can scrub the training pools as punishment. I'm sure it has been a holiday since I've been gone,” Daegal said, addressing the room, “ but after I've had a little rest it's back to work for everyone. Gremian has some plans that affect us all and we need to find out exactly what they are.
Cedd trotted back in, with a large vixen following behind him.
“Frayn! Thank Able you haven't left! No one has strong enough paws to pound out this tension other than you. I'm going to soak for a bit, then I want you to pummel me like you've never pummelled any fox before.”
Frayn smiled then flexed her muscular legs and cracked her paws in anticipation. Cedd picked up a scrubber sponge and trotted despondently off and up to the training grounds and its storehouse of recovery pools.
*
Long and wide and neatly organized, it had taken years for Mercia to set up her workshop in such a way that her explosive experimentations could be completed in safety and in secret. Made from a portion of Hantsa tunnel which had been filled long ago, but which still had the tram rails running along the ground at its centre, it had taken her a long time to clear a large enough portion to make it usable.
She breathed in the sulphurous air and smiled at the comfort the stink brought.
“Finally, I'm home,” she said to herself.
The last week had been difficult for her. She could feel the bond between her and Sky being broken by the hatchet which was Scarlett. Or at least that was what she imagined was happening.
“She's practically his sister. I mean, I know they aren't actually related but they effectively have the same father and that makes them siblings. I mean, how messed up is that?”
Picking up a small charge she had been working on before the recent events, she quickly repaired the loose contact and strolled casually over to an arch which she had painted with the words 'The Proving Grounds'. She pushed the top of the metal cylinder, which made a satisfying click, held it between her jaws for a few relaxed seconds, then tossed the charge under the arch and down the padded tunnel. She strolled for cover to the edge of the arch and calmly covered her ears.
“I'
ve been looking after Sky since he arrived out of the mud. He's always trusted me more than anyone else. Well, me and Daegal.”
Gnarled white padding flew past her out of the tunnel from the explosion and she quickly returned to the opening sniffing the air and checking the damage.
“Not enough of the good stuff. Come on, Mercia! These little bangers need to shock a dozen Shadow Foxes out of their fur.”
She went back to work at her desk, flicking on a small lamp powered by a thin coil of exposed wire wrapped around a fat heavy square battery.
“Vixen...the truth. Out with it vixen...the truth. The truth is you love him and you always have. The truth is also that you never really had him. The truth is she is a much better match.”
She split open another metal cylinder, drawn from a large pile, then impatiently threw the two pieces to the desk hitting the exposed wire from the bounce and causing a bright spark.
“Oops, that could have been bad,” she said, looking at all of the explosives littered about her desk.
“Fine,” she said, gently placing her paws on the table. “She can have him but if she hurts him, physically, mentally, whichever, she's going to find one of these stuck inside her with a very short fuse.”
She laughed a little to herself, a laugh which quickly dissolved into a heaving sob.
“Besides, just because you don't want me, Roe, doesn't mean I am going to stop taking care of you.”
*
Roe wandered for hours deciding that his best disguise was dirt and faeces. He walked boldly and unhidden amongst the crowds of starving foxes in the lesser burrows and the burrows of the increasingly hungry elite.
Images of the past few days swirled in his head, and he made no effort to organize himself out of the confusion. He stumbled into others and found some small relief at the bottom of a bottle of illegal moth brew, dispensed by the withered hand of an ancient vixen from a spout set in a crack in the wall. He paid with a scrap of bread and a half eaten dehydrated fish.
“Thanks pup. Here, have some more on me,” her voice scratched as she filled the broken glass bottle he used as a mug.
He careened away, falling into the wall and into a muddy puddle. He wasn't alone. Starving foxes were scattered here and there and he was just another pile of fur amongst the despair. He started to grind his teeth and began to sob and with each tear he purposefully hit his head on the hard stone floor, until one hit too many brought on a sudden and much desired unconsciousness.
Stars were everywhere burning between the spaces of black. Above, behind, below and in front of him he was floating in the heavens. He felt peace and comfort under the million glaring eyes and spun his head to look at them all. Suddenly, he looked forward and was surprised to be looking into the blue eyes of a fox his age seated directly in front of him. They were both suddenly on a dusty and beaten dirt floor, within a wooden room, the stars now painted on aged black boards above them and on the walls surrounding them. The other fox tried to speak but no sound came out.
He tried again, without success, and looked more puzzled than upset. He smiled and looked at Roe.
“It seems I am limited in terms of what I can say,” he finally managed.
His voice was elegant but generous. The voice of someone you would be justified in devoting your life to. A life that would not be wasted.
He tried to say something else but smiled at the unsuccessful result.
“Have you the Art of Destruction?” he managed to say with a satisfied smile.
They both looked up as the painted stars began to vibrate, animated on the wood, and to shine with an unnatural intensity of light. Roe tried to respond that he did not know, when suddenly the stars became separated from the walls and hung in the around them air for a quiet second, before exploding in blinding balls of white.
A voice floated in the fading light, “Use it...use it...use it to find us.”
Roe awoke breathing heavily and with the groans of the foxes still scattered around him. All delirium brought on by the moth brew had been washed clean from his mind and body by the dream. He got up and felt sober and began to head back down the tunnel.
“Hey...” a pup managed to say, huddled next to the wall. “Do you have anything in that pack? I don't have much but maybe I could trade.”
Roe looked at the fox, leaning like a stick, and saw another fox dead in his arms.
“It's my sister,” he said. “She didn't wake up this morning. Can't you help us?”
Taking out whatever food he had left in his pack, Roe pulled the pup, with his sister, away from the others in the tunnel, and gave him the food.
The boy devoured the food defensively as Roe watched him.
“I know you. You are the Sky Fighter. Everyone is looking for you,” he said between mouthfuls. “We were from a good burrow and we used to watch you fight from our own box at the stadium. My sister would like to have met you.”
“Finish the food, then take your sister to the black tunnel, if you can, and tell Eorl that Roe sent you. He will give her a proper burial. Afterwards, find the Inari and give them this.” He brought a small silver medallion. “This is the Inari mark of protection. They will take care of you from now on.”
“Thank you,” the pup said. “Even though there is a reward I'm not going to report seeing you. Thank you for helping me.”
Roe smiled.
“This is only the beginning.” He said turning to leave. “I promise.”
*
Scarlett spent the first several hours at home playing with her feral nieces and nephews, allowing the stress to be worked away by the clear joy of the animals. Her mother was right. The self-awareness of the Foxes of the Light caused nothing but pain and despair. Embracing the ignorance within our natural instincts was the only cure.
She was sweating heavily and the scar on her face was sore. After putting the foxes to bed and reporting to her mother and Samson, with the sneaky Spencer eavesdropping from around the corner, she plunged into a cool rain-filled pool and allowed the water to wash away the physical evidence of the past few days.
There were two issues she felt she needed mentally to deal with before getting out of the water. The reality of her father's arrival and how she felt about Roe. Ripe and swinging overhead, the moon gave off enough light so that she could have read a book if she wanted to.
She looked at her claws, soaked and dripping black water from their torn and dishevelled tips. Not the claws of a glamorous vixen, polished to a point and painted in bright unusual colours. She had the claws of an animal, clamouring to survive in the earth. She put one of them to her forehead and drew down the length of her scar with the blunt point. It had happened many years ago now, but the skin under the overgrown white fur still became sensitive when she over-exerted herself or let her emotions get the better of her.
She dipped her head back in the water and sighed.
“There has been far too much sighing lately,” she said to herself. “Still he is a great fighter. It is ridiculous. He should be a brother and nothing else.”
“But he is not your brother,” a voice boomed quietly behind her.
It was Samson carrying a metal bucket sizzling with several glowing hot rocks at its bottom.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to overhear your whispers. Now that I have, however, there is no point in pretending I haven't.”
“You're not one for pretending ever are you?”
“Unless its for the pups and part of a festival, no. Lying only delays the inevitable and makes the delay unbearable. Here, I thought you might like to heat the water now that you've washed off the worst of it.”
“I never take a hot bath. It dulls the wits and swells the wounds.”
Samson looked at her face, his eyes following the white tear down its centre.
“If we cater to our wounds all the time we neglect what really matters: focusing on the future. Your muscles must be sore. I have found a hot bath cures more than it causes harm and will leave you the m
ore refreshed tomorrow.”
She looked away from him, shut her eyes, calmed her breathing which had risen with his arrival and focused her mind away from the pain of the freezing water.
“I'll leave it to you then,” he said placing the bucket close to the edge of the pool and within reach of her leg.
“I never pretended to be Roe'ss father, nor did he ever see me as such,” he said before turning his back on Scarlett. “He knew I wasn't even his uncle. He called me such from a pup out of habit only. His parents had done the same.”
“Yet you trained him as a father does,” she said, rising out of the pool.
“I trained him to survive in the face of a world that wanted to kill him.”
“All those years and you were a father to no one. Not me. Not him.”
“I have always been your father, Scarlett. Even if it had to be only in my heart.”
“Then show me you have something to offer me, something other than just your love.”
“You want a lesson?”
“I want a lesson.”
Slowly a grin crept across Samson's face as he backed away and faded into the dark.
“Your first lesson: find me.”
She leapt after him only to find the bark of a tree staring at her from where he had just been.
She sniffed but couldn't locate his scent. It was as if he had switched it off or let it drift into the mist.
Suddenly she felt a sharp sting in her shoulder, and heard the sound of a pebble landing in the grass.
“If that had been a knife, you'd be dead now.”
The voice had come from a branch high up behind her and she flipped into the air landing on it. It still swayed from Samson's silent retreat.
“I was thinking more of a face to face fight,” she said to the dark, balancing on all fours.
“You are good enough with a sword and brave enough to face a foe in a fight, but your mind moves too fast. You have never found the peace which is needed in a fight. If you do, you will find invisibility and need only face your foes at the time and place of your choosing.”
The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1) Page 27
