The Fox

by Arlene Radasky

  “These crystals,” I told him, “are your link to your family, your life. They carry memories of who you were, who you are. They should be held near your heart.”

  His hand reached out and I opened mine to drop the stones into his. The words I had just spoken came from my heart, not my mind. They were out of my mouth before I thought of them. This was new to me. This and my earlier vision at the well had never happened to me before. It was unlike my passage dreams. I did not know what to think. Did I speak incorrectly? I searched his face.

  Lovern smiled. “Oh yes, you have gifts from the goddess. You did not know of my stones, yet you told me what they mean to me. Your gifts will become stronger as we work together.”

  He took the stones and held them in his right hand, and rolled them together with soft clicks. “I received these on my naming day. Conyn, my teacher, gave them to me and told me they represented the three goddesses, Morrigan, Macha, and Bodb, the triumvirate of Queen Morrigna. He told me that I was to be tested, and I would need these to give me strength. I think he knew about the battles and my journey. He often told me about events before they happened.”

  Lovern’s eyes stared out the entrance of the cave but seemed to be looking much further than the rain would allow me see. His eyes turned back to the stones. “I use them for meditation. They bring me closer to the goddesses and memories of my family.”

  He laid the stones on his lap, reached into his bag again, and drew out a piece of red fur. Fox fur. After caressing it with both hands, he handed it to me. His eyes held mine. As I took it from him, I remembered my first passage dream of him. The air around me crackled with excitement, and carried the strong smell of blood.

  “Oh, Mother Goddess! This is from the fox I watched you kill! I was there!”

  “I knew the fox I killed that day would mean more to me than just my naming animal. I kept a piece of its fur with me. Yes, you were there,” he agreed. “It is through our connection that we will work to find a way to protect your clan. We must, or what happened to my people will happen to yours,” he prophesied. He slid the crystals and the fox fur back into the bag. “This bag is all I have of my home.”

  I wondered what had become of his family and why he was so frightened of it happening here.

  The rain pulsed down outside the cave. The sky was bright with lightning and peals of thunder vibrated the air. We both whispered prayers to Toranis, the thunder god. Lovern reached for the cloth wrapped mistletoe and extracted a small sprig.

  “Mother Morrigna and Father Bel, protect us from the storm.” He touched the mistletoe to his lips and forehead. “I pray in your names for protection of this clan, this village who offers me a life renewed.”

  He reached across me, his arm brushing my breasts, and laid the mistletoe just inside the entrance of the cave. I wanted him to stay in that position. I looked at his lips and wondered what they tasted like. I had never thought that about any other man. He sat back against the wall. I hope he had not seen how I reacted to his touch. I had to do something, so I asked a question.

  “Lovern, why did you come here, to my village?”

  He sat silent. I began to wonder if he was not going to answer. Then, in a quiet voice, he told me his story.

  “I passed nineteen seasons in my mother’s village. She raised my two sisters and me, until I went to live with the druid. A wild boar, when I was but five summers old, killed my father. My mother, alone with three small children, knew times of strife and hunger, but we survived. But the last few years were beyond any we had ever experienced or dreamed of, filled with war.”

  His head hung, eyes to the floor of the dark cave as he continued.

  “My queen, Boudiccea, fought to overthrow the invading Romans, but she lost. As punishment, her daughters were murdered. She could not live with her failure and without her daughters so she took poison. The Romans raged and went on a killing and raping quest. They wished to destroy all of her loyal villages. We had escaped notice but then our chieftain decided to raid a Roman camp. It was a decision that cost too much. After the battle, the Romans came to our village. My mother was killed, sisters raped and taken as slaves. My teacher was also taken. I do not know if they live. Of my village, only I escaped.”

  We have not had any of our clan taken as slaves in my memory. My mother told me stories of when our clan villages were at war with each other constantly.

  “One of my uncles was taken,” she told me once, “and sacrificed at Beltane by another tribe. Beathan has called a truce with the local clans and we do not have to worry the way my grandmother and mother did.”

  I had no memories like his. I could not compare his pain with any I felt. After a pause of ten heartbeats, his eyes looked into mine, and a spark of life flickered in their depths as he continued.

  “Before the last battles, Conyn told me that he had no more to teach me. He arranged to send me to a nearby village to learn more about treating wounds, to the healer Kinsey, well known in our land. He claimed he could heal all wounds except those that separated the head from the body. His village was spared the Roman raids. They brought their wounded to him, so great was his skill. The Romans needed him. I learned much. Then, news came of the raid on my village, the home of my mother, sisters and teacher.”

  “Why did you leave? Could you not stay with Kinsey and be free?”

  “The day the story of my village’s attack came, I ran home. Ashes and bones filled my home and the homes that were my village. I walked and cried for one whole day, looking for anyone left alive. One man, a farmer, had been hit on the head and fallen into a hole filled with animal waste. He had escaped the fires. He groaned and I heard him. It was he who told me what had happened to my family and teacher. I had carried and laid him under a shelter. I gave him drops of water to drink.

  “Then, a small band of Roman warriors came back to search for any left alive. The farmer told me to run as he scooted under some straw. I jumped into the hole I had pulled him from and pretended death. No Roman would crawl in after me. They found the farmer, killed him and threw his body on top of me. I did not move. I hid in a hole in the ground that stank of shit and death for one day. It was during that day I decided I could not stay.

  “That night, deep in darkness, the careless Romans asleep, I ran. The tree and star gods guided my feet.” His fist tightened around his memory bag. “Away from those murderers, the Romans. I will never forget the smell of my village. I dream of my sisters’ cries.

  “It took me three moon cycles to walk here. Months filled by hiding, eating berries, leaves, small animals, and stolen food. Three months of walking away from death, to life. To you.”

  He hesitated, took in a deep breath, and again sighed. I leaned forward, fascinated by his tale.

  “I came to the bank of the fast, narrow stream and waterfall –”

  My waterfall! I thought.

  “– hidden in the copse of birch and alder trees, near your village and I sensed I had finally come to a place where I would be safe.” He seemed to slump in a release of tension with these words.

  “I had decided the gods would bring me out of the forest when they knew it was safe. I had no desire to move from the spot by the stream.

  “While resting, I heard twigs break and leaves rustle. A strong odor of sheep floated in the air, and I knew a farmer watched me. I decided not to attempt to talk to him unless he came to me. I sat by the rushing sounds of the rapids and breathed in the peaceful clean smell of the nearby trees, meditated, and waited. The farmer was gone. My stomach rumbled from a lack of food, and I was dizzy from the lack of sleep. I wanted, needed this journey to end. I did not have long to wait. The scent of the pony came next.”

  He turned to face me with a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. It made me happy to know he finished his sad story and now was in a better place. He straightened his legs and wiped his nose as if he smelled the pony again.

  “A large form shaded the sun, and then I saw a warrior’s spear under
my nose. It was poised ready to plunge. Its tip broke the skin on my chest as it cut through my clothing.” Lovern reached up, and touched his chest where the spear point had left its mark. “The pressure was enough to tell me my life was in danger if I moved quickly. After many heartbeats, when the spear did not plunge deep into my heart, I respectfully looked up and saw him. He was a tall warrior whose feet hung low on his war pony.”

  Lovern’s chin lifted as if he were looking at the warrior now. “The hand not holding the spear was holding a short sword. His hair hung to his shoulders. His eyes impaled me from under the brush of his eyebrows. His tight mouth and set chin, almost fully covered in a thick beard, signaled me not to move.”

  That was how he met our chieftain, my uncle Beathan. I visualized this encounter. What a difference in this story of the two men meeting for the first time.

  “The warrior’s stern voice, as well as his weapons, caused me to listen carefully. ‘Where are you from?’

  “I told him I was a druid healer. I came from the south, escaping invaders.

  “He told me that the gods looked with favor upon him that day. He introduced himself as Beathan, chieftain of his – your clan. He pulled back the spear that had raised blood on my chest, sheathed his bronze-hilted sword, and called his dogs from the copse. Two of them came, each almost as big as his pony.

  “He told me to give him my dirk until we reached his lodge. I would ride behind him, weaponless. With the threat of his spear and the dogs at his side, I obeyed. Beathan then told me, ‘Our druid is dead. Our gods directed me to you. You will perform the Samhainn ceremony on the morrow.'”

  When Lovern mentioned the Samhainn ceremony, Sileas’s face and the promise I made to her came to mind. I needed to remember to tell Lovern about Cerdic’s illness.

  “Beathan reached under my arms and lifted me off my feet,” Lovern continued. “I was deposited on the pony as if I were weightless. The sun was in the sky at mid-afternoon, glistening off the damp autumn leaves. We rode for an hour with no conversation between us. I observed as we rode. It was foghara, the harvests were in, and the fields were empty. We passed farms with generous stacks of hay and cornstalks that shared the stables with the ponies and sheep. The harvest was good; the goddess was happy. I heard pigs screech and smelled the blood of butchering float on the air. It was time to prepare and salt meat for the cold days. As I bounced on the pony’s back, I filled myself with thoughts of the ceremony. Samhainn, the time that lies between summer and winter, light and darkness, the new beginning to the year. I silently prayed to the gods and goddesses, asking them to honor and protect the people of this clan. In exchange, I would light the giving fires and perform sacrifices. I also prayed that this would end my journey. I hoped I could stay with this clan, and again be a healer.”

  Pausing, Lovern reached above his head, pushed against the roof of the cave and stretched. My legs were beginning to cramp so I stretched them also. The incessant pounding of the rain had lessened.

  “We came to the fort and the pony carried us up the hill to the enclosure’s open gates. I remember how loud his voice was when Beathan called others to come to his lodge as we entered the hill fort.

  “All the lodges we saw, the farms and the homes on the hill, could have been from my own village. The ride took us past the corn-drying kiln and your well. Dogs ran through the center courtyard and Beathan’s dogs took off yelping in chase. The odors of peat smoke and cooking meat made my mouth water. I heard women calling their husbands and children to dinner along with a clamor of goats, ponies, chickens, dogs, and pigs, living together in the fort.

  “Men came to him, all wearing capes of the same plaid as their chieftain. They yelled greetings and raised their empty mugs in a salute.

  “His pony stopped in front of his lodge. Beathan lifted his leg over the pony’s withers and slid off. He turned and encouraged me to do the same. I slid off and fell to the ground, weak with hunger and lack of sleep. Beathan laughed like a coughing bear in the spring.”

  “He snores like a bear in winter, too!” I said.

  “I know, I sleep in his home now. Sometimes I cannot sleep through all the noise.” Lovern shook his head and smiled.

  “Beathan carried me inside his warm home that smelled of smoke, and cooked meats-life. You served me and I ate, my strength returning. Then I watched you dance and heard your voice. I grew weak again.

  “When you walked me to the stables and told me your name, I had to grit my teeth and use all my strength to stay standing. How could it be, in the entire world, that I would finally meet you? You were as real to me as my mother, yet I knew you only through two day-dreams. Strange incidents that seemed real yet unreal. I had felt safe and secure during the events, never in danger or helpless. I was connected to you, in my heart. I was named Fox because I know to follow my instincts, and when my life was threatened, I traveled for months, never doubting my journey or the path it took. Now I know it was to find you. I am home.”

  Here, he paused, twisted towards me, and cradled my face in his gentle hands. “I do not know why you dreamed of me, but I do know that we are fated to be together. The gods, and my heart led me here, and now it is up to us to find out what we are destined for,” Lovern concluded.

  “But what is our future?” I asked. “Why did it take the loss of your family to bring us together? It saddens me to think that they are gone in such a horrific way.”

  “I have learned that the gods reveal their plans at their will. We do best if we do not question them. We must go, it is late and your uncle will send men after us if we are too long.”

  The rain slowed to a drizzle and we left the cave. Droplets gathered on my eyelashes, fell to my face and I blinked in the muted light. We reached the tethered ponies. He came up behind me and turned me to see his tender eyes. The warm fingertips of one hand lifted my chin and the others traced my cold face, from one cheek to the chin and back. His damp body still smelled of bees-wax and acorns. His hands had touched my face and heart.

  I fell in love with him at that instant. His breath was sweet when his lips touched mine. A contract was sealed. I felt a shift in my life and future with that kiss. The old druid Ogilhinn’s vision for me had come true.

  My path was now clear. No longer would I weave wool.

  I would weave love and, unknowingly, acceptance of death.

  CHAPTER 5

  AINE

  April, 2005

  Jahna first came to me when I was ten. I don’t mean she knocked on my door and asked me to come out and play; I mean she slipped into my mind. My first waking dream. I was awake but it almost seemed dreamlike.

  I’d heard adults use the term “invisible friend” and chuckle when talking about their children. My own Mom and Dad used it when I tried to ask them about what had happened to me. She’d come to me when I was studying in my room. At first, I was a bit disoriented, maybe dizzy. Then it was as if I had an echo in my head. I didn’t know how else to explain it.

  I looked through my eyes at the normal mess in my room and it was familiar, yet unfamiliar. I was off-balance. It was like I had never seen the room before but I knew it was mine. That was until I looked at the hand-mirror my aunt had given me the Christmas before. It had been framed by wood that’d been painted copper and made to look very old. I – she seemed to recognize it.

  Just before she left, I heard her whisper a word in my ear: “Jahna.” I thought it was her name; at least, that was what I called her. As I remembered it, I wondered why I wasn’t afraid. I would be today, if it happened to me for the first time. I’d be sure I had a brain tumor or was going crazy. But back then, I felt calm, and at peace, when she left.

  I was okay with it until I started asking around to find out if anyone else had ever felt this way. Mom put her hand on my head to feel for a fever and Dad and Donny laughed. I asked my best friend at school, but never mentioned it again when she made up a hurtful rhyme and teased me in front of the boys.

  Jahna came abou
t once a year after that. She never spoke to me except to whisper her name. A few pictures came through but usually it was just feelings. I was wary of the visits at first and then came to look forward to them. She stayed for just a few breaths and then left me with a longing to know her. She seemed to glean thoughts from me and even prompted questions. I think she helped find my career.

  I’d developed my hunger for history early. My aunt was the keeper of the family papers and she’d shown me a letter that she said was hundreds of years old. After reading it, I decided to trace my family line. I also knew I wanted to hold ancient things in my hands, and study archaeology.

  The second time she stayed for more than a second was the first day in my class on Ancient Celts in Great Britain. It was my favorite class at university. Marc was there, sitting next to me, and I’d felt an excitement on that day that I hadn’t felt about any other period of history. The moment Jahna was inside me, the era seemed as if I had lived through it. The pictures in my text were familiar. I knew I would specialize in that period.

  From the beginning, she seemed to be about the same age as me, a child at first, but now I saw her as an adult. It was as if I were reading a novel, putting faces on the characters. I’d done that for Jahna. In my mind, she looked like me. I could almost see her face as I searched for her in my mind. Were our faces similar? Did we share my straight-as-a-stick coal-black hair, my hazel-green eyes that I always wished were blue, my round face and big mouth? Was she tall, or short like me? I had never seen her, only sensed her, but she was a part of me.

  When I married Brad, she stopped coming. Jahna was one of the many things I thought I’d lost through my marriage. Then she came back last year while I was working with Marc on the chieftain’s tomb. A weight had lifted from my heart.

  Now, Marc and I were back in Scotland. He’d gathered a crew of students and had come to help me get my site started. We were settled into a country inn, not far from the farm where the hill was and were ready to start work tomorrow.