by s. Behr
“The fox.” My head jerked toward the sound. Surveying the long corridor, my stomach twisted hearing the innocent creature in distress. She squealed again making my heart pound. I could almost feel her suffering.
“She sounds hurt.” I might have been stupid to follow her, but my chest tightened with worry. That strange feeling that was like a deep urge suddenly intensified as if I was the one in pain. I wanted to go after her, but what could I do?
My father’s face flashed in my mind, and I flinched. What had I done to try to save him? Far worse than nothing, I had run. I had been a coward. But was that really what I wanted to be?
“It’s just a fox, Violet; she can find her own way. These mountains are too dangerous to go any farther. You need to go back,” my inner voice urged.
Just then, she let out a howl that was like a punch to my gut. At that moment, I realized it didn’t matter. My actions here wouldn’t change what I had done to my family, but if I did nothing for the kit, it would solidify the worst in me. She was a life that needed my help, and I had it to give. I could not leave her to die; I had to try.
I had no idea what this vision was, but I agreed with my inner voice; it could help me see in this dark tunnel, and that was enough for now. Taking several tentative steps, I stayed close to the wall as I headed toward her squeals. Each step I took may have headed toward danger, but it was one step away from being the coward I had been.
Her howls turned desperate, and even if she didn’t understand me, I still answered, “I’m coming.”
“Slow down, Violet,” he warned, but I didn’t listen. I could feel the fox’s pain, and despite the aching in my own shins, I ran.
At thirty paces, the hallway turned to the left, and I hurried down the path as it led around another bend. The tunnel twisted in a zigzag that almost made me dizzy as I turned right, then left, then right again, until suddenly a flash of white made me cry out. I fell to my knees and buried my face in my hands. The pain was just like when the lighting had struck by the river, but mercifully not as intense.
“Please, make it stop!” I begged. “You’re part of my brain, make it stop.”
“I can’t, I…” His voice trailed off, and he said, “Just breathe Violet.”
I obeyed his calming words, taking slow, deep breaths. The pain eased, and the light behind my eyelids dimmed to pinpricks, then faded to darkness.
“What is wrong with me?” I whispered, my fingers trembling.
I heard the fox’s howl echo as if she were in the tunnel with me. Her wounded cries reminded me why I was here, and any self-pity that lingered I forced away by pulling my fingers from my face and opened my eyes. Relief flooded me when I realized the pain and the colors were gone. More importantly, I was no longer in the dark. As my eyes adjusted, I found myself at the end of a tunnel that opened up into a cavern room shaped like a bowl, more than sixty feet across. In the ceiling, there was a huge hole that dripped with sunlight and runoff from the rain. Several terraces stepped down to a floor thirty feet below, each terrace at least five feet apart, and at the bottom level, crystal clear water had collected into a shallow pool surrounding a tiny island that was home to a copse of trees.
“There she is!” The tiny ball of fur was on the bottom level, trying to launch herself up to the next step of the terrace that was several feet out of her grasp. With each landing, she squealed, and her right paw never quite hit the ground.
“I’m here,” I called out. The kit’s ears snapped to attention, and her tail began wagging furiously. Limping toward me, she left a small trail of blood with each step.
“I’m coming.” I hurried around the edge, searching for a way down to her. The fox waded one foot into the pool, bouncing with excitement until she lost her balance and splashed face first into the water. She shook herself off and limped out of the pool.
“She’s hurt,” he said as if I hadn’t realized that already.
“One problem at a time.”
“Remember where you are.”
“You’re distracting me.” I scanned the sunken floor. The walls surrounding it were smooth, so getting back up on my own would be hard enough, but with an injured fox it would be an even bigger problem.
I surveyed the trees, eyeing the branches littering the ground. I spotted several that looked long enough to be useful. “Good enough.” Not wasting any more time, I shimmied over each ledge, and eased myself down until I made it to the last terrace. Lowering myself, I landed with a thud and a roll, followed by a fox nuzzling my neck, tickling me.
“That was lucky.” He sounded relieved.
The fox continued to snuggle me, and I laughed as her whiskers brushed my skin. “Well, I’m glad you appreciate all the trouble I’ve gone through for you!”
Picking us both off the floor, I walked to the center of the island where the light was the brightest. Sitting down cross-legged with her in my lap, I inspected her injury. “It’s really swollen. I hope it’s not broken.” The fox and I looked at her paw; there was a deep gash across her pads. I squeezed lightly just above the joint. She whined and jerked away, licking her foot while giving me an indignant look.
If it was broken, I didn’t know what I could do for her. I wasn’t a healer like my mother. “What were you thinking?” I asked, checking her for any other injuries, and she answered with a twitch of her nose. Finishing my inspection, I declared, “I think that’s the worst of it.”
Pressing her to me, I stared at the water next to us and the thirst I had ignored resurfaced. I stood and walked over to the shallow pool, bending down to set the fox on the ground. Checking the pool, I wasn’t sure if it was recent rainwater or something that came from the ground. I looked closer and saw there was a familiar oily sheen that reminded me of the dirt by the river.
Missing my bracelet again, I couldn’t check to see if it was safe to drink, but I was too thirsty to care. The fox, once again with her look of determination, gingerly limped toward the trees away from the pool.
“Where are you going?” I followed her through the copse. Along the back wall, there was a hidden pool of water. Unlike the rest of the room, the floor around it was dry. This water seemed to be coming from beneath the ground. “A spring! Did you know this was here?” She laid down and curled up. Her eyes flitted from me to the spring and back. The spring was a miracle.
On my hands and knees, I took in a long drink. The water was sweet like it had been filtered from the glaciers themselves. My father had once brought water back from Cana saying it was the best in all Amera, but this was better. I drank until my stomach was full and took a few more gulps for good measure.
The fox watched me with an amused look on her face as I collapsed beside her. “You had me worried,” I told her. “I don’t know how you knew this was here, and I’m sorry you hurt your foot, but I really needed that. Thanks.”
We both let out a long sigh, and the fox closed its eyes as if her mission was accomplished. I watched her closely, waiting for each breath.
“She’s going to be all right,” I said, trying to convince myself.
“There isn’t anything more you can do for her here.”
“You couldn’t give me one minute to soak in this tiny win?” I grumbled.
“It’s dangerous for you to stay here too long. You need to find a way out.”
“Okay boss, I’ll get right on it,” I answered, closing my eyes.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours,” he answered.
The fox in my lap was still sleeping soundly and growing warm. “I think she has a fever.” I carried her over to the spring and sat trying to get her to drink, but she refused. She curled into an even tighter ball that confirmed my suspicions. “She needs a healer.”
“You need to go home,” he countered.
“She’s going to need some food.” Ignoring him, I picked up a rock and squeezed it in my hand until it hurt.
“So do you.”
I couldn’t remember
the last thing I ate. Then, suddenly I did and the wall of emotions I had bricked around my heart crumbled.
“Why?” I yelled, waking the fox. “This is the first morning I can remember without my mother.”
“You didn’t know this would happen. Any of it.”
“But I was terrible to her; I yelled at her. Thousands of mornings, she brought me something I loved because she loved me, and I yelled at her.”
“There is no way you could have known.”
“Does it matter? She deserved better. He deserved better. Two of the greatest Amerans alive—” I froze when I realized I didn’t even know.
“Vi. I—” he tried to say.
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay. It won’t ever be okay again! What am I doing? I left because I thought it would keep everyone safe. That they would all better off without me. But out here in the Wild where no one is supposed to be, I still cause pain!” Looking at the fox in my lap, my heart broke all over again. “I should have drowned in that river,” I cried.
“Violet what happened was an accident. I know you can’t see that right now. You did not want to hurt your father. You always only want to help people. You’re hurting right now and confused, that’s why you ran away.”
A lump in my throat the size of a plum kept me from replying and allowed him to continue. “Your parents for all their love never really prepared you for the world outside of your realm. I know I’m just a voice in your head, but please believe me when I say that you’re a good person, Violet. You didn’t want this to happen, and someday you’re going to have to forgive yourself.”
“Forgive myself? How?” Knowing he was wrong, I seethed. “I ran away because I was afraid. A coward. Who would forgive that?”
“You don’t know until you face it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
My whole body began to tremble. With a long-drawn breath I whispered, “Right now, there’s hope. If I go home and confirm what I already know... If he’s alive or…” Shaking my head, I couldn’t finish the sentence, not even the thought. I swallowed and whispered, “No one will ever trust me again. Why should they? I don’t trust myself.”
“Violet… You are going to make it through this.” His voice was gentle but didn’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. Everything in the last day felt like it was some wild, impossible dream, but it was real, and it was happening.
“Violet—" he tried again, but something inside me snapped.
“I don’t know what happened! I don’t know what is happening! I feel insane and not just because I hear your voice, but because until yesterday, I could barely sprout a seed. Now? I don’t understand. How could I have done that?” The memory of my father’s easy smile, leaning against the wall, watching me as I attempted to grow a row of seeds in the flower box flashed before me. Then, in painfully slow motion, my mind replayed the eruption from the oak, the savage branches as they pierced through him.
“It was an accident,” he said with care.
“Does it matter? I had no control. I could feel it,” I cried, remembering. “When I try to use my abilities to do anything, even as simple as conjure water, it feels like a huge rubber band is wound tight around my chest. During the Criterion, I was so frustrated. Angry. The council, the panel of professors, the general, and Crest Ryan, the reporter! All of them staring at me. It was unbearable. I stood there doing what I always do, but then it was like that band broke and I felt it. It was like nothing I had ever felt before,” I whimpered.
“What was different?” he asked, his tone still as gentle and patient, the usual can I trusted.
“The energy was everywhere, my skin, my muscles, in every fiber of my body.” My fingers trembled as I remembered vividly how the air around me seemed to vibrate. I could feel it even now. “But then, it was suddenly too big, and it just exploded,” I choked out. The image of my father, the way his body was pinned to the balcony floor made me want to vomit.
“I should never be allowed to use my abilities ever again,” I moaned.
If he spoke, I didn’t hear it; I was unraveling all over again. I swore and begged the Earth itself. What I would give to take it all back. A chance to see them again, whole and happy. To see my father, my mother. The siblings I would never meet. For them to be alive and healthy; to love me, I would do anything.
The trembling evolved into shaking that I couldn’t control. It was all too much; even this tiny kit was suffering because of me. The grief, the fear, the hunger, and the aggravation boiled over inside me, and I launched the rock in my hand right at the wall in front of me. It hit with a resounding thwack that echoed throughout the room. I froze with instant regret, as the fox went rigid. Crinkling sounds echoed through the cavern as the ground beneath us began to tremble. I stood, picked up the fox, and held her close.
“What have I done?” I gasped.
“Violet get to the trees!” my inner voice commanded as the rumbling grew into a cavernous roar.
Without hesitation, I sprinted toward the trees. The cracking grew louder, and the floor beneath my feet shook. I unzipped my jacket, and the fox yelped as I stuffed her in. “Sorry, girl,” I said, climbing into a nook in one of the tree’s limbs. My eyes grew wide as the wall I assaulted split open with a thunderous crack. My arms and legs squeezed tight, choking the life out of the tree limb I clung to as the floor crumbled, and half the room fell away.
For a spacious second, we were caught in the weightlessness of a free fall. The tree lurched to its side, toppling over and downward. The momentary floating was suddenly broken by a crash and a snap. The treetop bounced in midair as the roots doggedly held firm into the hard-packed soil, now twenty feet above us. Finally, coming to a rest, the tree gently swayed as the branch we clung to stretched and sagged.
The air was thick and mottled with dust. Drops of water fell upward to a rock that grazed my head. As we dangled, twisting around and around, I realized it wasn’t the room that was upside down, it was us. Coughing, I carefully untangled my legs and lowered them to the ground. I stood frozen, listening to rocks settle until finally, the cave was silent. Bouncing my weight on the rocks under my feet I hoped they wouldn’t give way. The fox peeked her head out with a sneeze, immediately following up with three more. She wheezed a terrible whine and began to shiver. “Oh, girl,” I said, feeling her agony.
Prying my fingers apart, I released my last hold on the tree. Hoping the ground would not fall out from underneath us, I pulled the kit out of my jacket. Cradling her, I inspected her injury. My stomach twisted when I saw that her foot had swollen even more, and her ankle would not bend.
“This is bad.” I cringed.
“That was close.”
“That was stupid.”
“There were better options.”
“Thanks,” I frowned. “How are we going to get out of here?”
“It’s getting dark. You should probably wait until the morning.”
“She can’t wait while I just sit here.” I pressed my lips together, livid that the tiny kit had to pay for my stupidity, again.
If screaming would help, I would have, because I really wanted to, but I was not going to risk my voice vibrating off the walls and causing the cave to crumble even more.
“One wrong step and you could fall through even farther or worse,” he countered, trying to reason with me.
I let reality sink in, and begrudgingly I settled on a rock and waited. The dust in the air danced with the light, hypnotizing me for countless minutes as we sat there in silence. Eventually, I noticed the fox had grown still.
“Stay with me,” I whispered, holding my breath until I saw her chest move as she took a shallow breath. “Again, this was all my fault.” The guilt gnawing at me was worse than hunger. “I don’t know what to do for her.”
“You’re already doing it. Keep her warm and comfortable.”
My grandfather’s face on the balcony flashed behind my eyes, and my lips pressed
together. Once again, I had done enough.
Spotting a pile of leaves that were slightly better than the tumble of rocks, I carefully moved across the rubble and sat down. My mind dazed and filled with anger was still defenseless against the exhaustion I felt in every bone in my body, and before I could help it, I followed the fox into a dreamless sleep.
Warmth and cold took their turns invading my sleep, but soon I was hot. Too hot. Opening my eyes, I saw the light of the cave had changed. The sun had set, slept, and risen again from the east. I roused slowly, realizing the little fox was my source of heat.
“She’s burning up. I shouldn’t have slept so long.”
“That was passing out. You needed the rest.”
“What I needed was to get out of this cave at first light,” I argued as I surveyed the room.
During the night, the air had cleared, and the dust had settled, coating everything. I studied the walls, looking for the best way to climb out, and when I spotted it across the room, I froze.
“What is that?” my inner voice and I asked at the same time. I squinted and blinked to be sure that I wasn’t hallucinating. My eyes flitted around the room. The sky above was blue, and the room was ash gray covered in dust. But in the shadows of the cave, perfectly out of place was a door.
Rays of sunlight cut through the dimness of the cave bringing the door out of the shadows. At first glance, it seemed ordinary—ordinary despite being in the Wild Steel Mountains, ordinary despite thousands of years of unforgiving weather. It was still in one piece, five feet wide and twice as tall.
“What is this doing here?” I murmured standing two feet from the enormous slab of material I did not recognize.
“And intact,” he added with resounding awe. The door itself was the same dull gray as the rubble piled waist-high on either side. Thick layers of dust and time coated an intricately carved façade that upon closer inspection was more than just patterns or designs. Dozens of perfectly square sections were filled with tiny letters from every alphabet I had ever seen in the archives and a few resembling art more than words.