The Fox

by Arlene Radasky

  She had coughed blood last month, even with our treatments. I knew from the experiences of the others that we could not stop the course of the illness, but I hoped we could slow it. We made her comfortable. I was selfish and did not want her to go before she held my child. I used this to explain the darkness in my mind.

  Beathan passed thirty-eight sun cycles, and was now the oldest among his warriors. He swore he had not lost any strength. However, he walked slower, and sometimes could not count hogs in a pen at a distance the way he used to. Streaks of white ran through his beard. He had shades of gray near his ears he tried to hide when liming his hair.

  The seanmhair of our clan was almost sixty sun-cycles and revered. A grandmother many times over, she revealed stories of her youth during our festivals.

  “My father and brother died in battle against other clans. My first husband’s head hung off the rail of an enemy’s war chariot, the fourth summer we were married.” She always started her tales with these sad memories. “You complain of hardships but you do not know of those we suffered when we were young.” The snowstorms in her youth were fiercer than ours and the stream flooded every year. “Beathan’s peace has made you soft. You may come to regret not having to stay fit by fighting every day,” she told us.

  She could not walk. Carried to the festivals, they said she was as light as a seed. She ate food that someone else chewed. Her breasts hung to her waist, and her face was lined with the tracks of many sorrows. Her hair, still long and plaited on top of her head in our fashion, was the color of the wispy clouds that came before a rain. Goddess be blessed, her mind was clear. She and I spoke often. She had in her memory many cures from the old times. Sometimes when we were together, she sat and stared at me.

  “Why do you look at me so, Seanmhair?”

  “I see no age in your face. It is the face of a youth. No age lines like mine. I see no age lines in your future,” she said. “Always be at peace with our gods. You will not live long.”

  I shivered. I have lived through nineteen growing seasons. How many more would the gods give me?

  A dal was called after our last Samhainn. All the valley clans attended the meeting. Lovern and Beathan represented our clan. It was there Lovern learned that the sea grass harvest on the coast brought in several rare kinds this year and that the tradesman who brought these to us died on his last trip. Lovern wanted to go gather the sea grass. We had many uses for it, such as thick-neck, aching of the joints, sick stomach, aches of the head, and the expelling of afterbirth. There were healing quartz stones on the beaches as well.

  “I have not seen the sea from this coast. I would like to go and gather as much as two ponies can carry. If I stay long enough to dry it before packing, I can bring more home.”

  “I cannot go,” I said. “Mother is not well and there are the plants that are ready to harvest here that I must take care of. The winter rains stopped early, and we will lose the plants in bloom if not gathered now. We need the seaweed. You must go. I ask that you take Braden with you for companionship and another sword if needed. I am afraid. The Romans are beginning to cross the line they have not crossed before. It is true, you will be headed away from them, but you do not know who might meet you in the dark.”

  “My wish is not to fight, but you are right. It is auspicious to have three go. I will ask Beathan for Callum to also accompany Braden and me.”

  Beathan was reluctant to let another warrior or pony leave his stable. He asked me whether I foresaw any battles in our clan’s future that might require the warriors Lovern requested.

  “I dreamed a badger was overtaken by a bear and two wolves. The dream ended with much blood, but the badger lay dead and three ponies were on the trail leading to our clan,” I responded. I saw the future more often now. I accepted it as another gift from the gods.

  “Unnh,” said Beathan. “There will be a fight. But, if you saw the badger taken by a bear, then good, I am the bear. I never lose a battle. My sons and other warriors who live under the sign of the wolf will be here. Braden and Callum have other signs. They can go, Druid. Take three ponies. Use your own backs to carry supplies or find a way to trade for another pony,” he growled and lumbered away to attend to the clan council.

  “To cross the mountains, gather and dry the sea grass, you will be gone at least three moons. You need something to trade for food and supplies. Take the blue dye and iron pin I use for tattoos. Copy the patterns and the spirals from our labyrinth that I tattooed on you, Braden and Callum. The symbols will be unknown where you go.” I traced one up his arm. “Warriors and others will want these and animal symbols. If you tattoo a chieftain or high warrior you can trade for a pony and come home faster.”

  Bags filled with dried pork, barley, and bitter vetch to quell hunger, barely gave room to sit on the three smallest ponies from Beathan’s herd. When I saw the size of the ponies, I went to Beathan. He told me that Lovern was lucky to get them and if I complained again, he would find even those small ponies lame and unable to travel.

  “Uncle, you are a very stubborn man. We have done much to help your clan, our clan. Lovern is going on this journey to gather healing plants and yet you do not wish to make the trip easy. If you become ill in the middle of the night, remember that I sleep deeply and will not get up until the sun does!”

  I slammed his door as I left. His laughter and “I never become ill!” followed me.

  Braden, the warrior I fawned after like a puppy in my youth, and Callum gathered at our door at dawn on the next morning. I studied Braden and compared the differences between him and Lovern. Braden was much thicker around his waist now, and his nose was always red. These were signs of much mead every day. He was noisy and was always fighting. He was a good warrior but not a good husband.

  Lovern had passed twenty-three sun cycles. His body was still lean. Quiet, he often meditated. He drank mead sparingly, and ate lightly. He and I kept many long hours, but our energy did not lag. He was the perfect mate for me.

  The sun peaked over the top of the mountain behind Lovern and his hair glistened with the red gold of its light. I handed him the small jug of blue woad dye, stoppered with a piece of oak branch, and my sharp iron pin. It was threaded into a piece of my plaid.

  “Keep these near your heart. They will remind you of me through the long nights you are gone.”

  “Ahh, Jahna. I have traveled before and have never forgotten you. Do not my homecoming nights, wrapped in your arms, prove that? My body sometimes remembers even when I should be thinking of other things. This is the longest time I will be gone, but I will return to you.”

  I smiled, my throat catching my breath, not allowing me to speak. I swallowed my tears.

  He pulled a small leather bag from his tunic. “I made this for you. You will have our labyrinth with you always. Your stone is beautiful but too large to carry,” he said smiling.

  It was fashioned after his memory bag; its labyrinth was smaller but more detailed than his. I clutched it close to my heart and bit the tip of my tongue, tasting blood, so I would not cry and spot it with tears of loneliness.

  I drew my dirk, raised it to the hair that fell around his shoulders and cut off a curl. A lock of my own raven black hair joined his. I mixed them together until his gold sparkled amid mine. I kissed it and then handed half to him. We opened our memory bags and placed the precious token inside.

  “We will be near each other always,” I said.

  He gathered me into his arms; his nose buried in my hair, my head filling with his scent and whispered, “Your hair smells of the heather in our bed. If you need me, I will feel you. Dream of me, Jahna. Ask me and I will come. Just dream.”

  He mounted his restless pony, turned, and said, “Do not be at odds with Beathan. He is stubborn, like you, but he is my friend and he has given us much.”

  I nodded. He rode to the gate where Braden and Callum were waiting and the three trotted down the trail, away from me.

  Lovern had been gone one ful
l cycle of the moon. Twenty-eight sunrises. I counted his absence by sunrises because each greeted me after another restless night without him. I worked hard to pass the days.

  Sileas told me we needed to re-supply our meadowsweet. The deceptive meadowsweet, cursed in my memories. I could not smell or think on it after this day without gagging. Its creamy blossoms, though sweet scented, released a strong odor when crushed. It was used to relieve headaches, fevers, and pain. The flower was blooming in the meadow near the creek at the edge of the forest. I had been there often but never ventured farther. It was a full day’s ride from the hill.

  Beathan gave me the use of one of his older ponies, a mare that gave birth to many strong colts. I was not in a hurry, and her gentle ride would help the time pass. I was ready to spend the night there, alone, and ride back the next day. If Beathan had known I was going alone, he would not have allowed me to go.

  I told my mother I would be home for the next day’s evening meal and put some dried pork and bread in my pocket. It was a warm day. I did not take my cape, but dressed in the green dress Lovern said turned my eyes mistletoe green. I smiled at the thought and slung my memory bag over my shoulder.

  At the meadow, I tied the pony on a bush near the creek. There was long grass for her to nibble.

  The day was beautiful. The harvested flowers gifted the air with the aroma of cleanliness. I filled and tied my cloth. Finches flitted from branch to branch on the edge of the meadow in a great chorus of feeding. My pony joined in the sounds of nature surrounding us. She gave a soft, contented whinny. I arched up, my arms stretched over my head to the blue sky, and took in a deep breath. The warmth of the sun filled the air. Overhead, I followed the hunting glide of a falcon. Sometimes I likened my passage dreams and visions to being able to fly like a falcon. When I had passage dreams, I was out of my earth body and able to go great distances unencumbered. I gave thanks to Morrigna. I had one regret: I wished to share this day with Lovern.

  When my right leg gave way, I fell to the ground. Not understanding what happened, I looked at my leg and saw an arrow piercing my thigh, from back to front. How did it get there? Swift pain took my breath and senses away, and then I smelled him.

  The rancid stench of rotting eggs and piss blanketed me, and I vomited.

  “Bitch. That is no way to greet your master.”

  The first time I felt him there was more pain; he grabbed my long hair and jerked my head back. He stood above me, the bow and unused arrows in his other hand. I had a quick view of a short, unkempt man. My last sight before I fainted was his black-bearded grimy face, broken with a sneer.

  I woke to the jolting gait of my mare. I was loaded across her back, and tied ankles to hands under her belly. I groaned as I tried to move my head around to clean air. My leg burned as nothing I had ever felt before. I saw blood dripping from my foot and knew my wound was bleeding.

  “Shut up, bitch. Do not cry out. It will not help you.”

  I felt a sharp pain behind my ear and then nothing.

  The sickening, rocking motion had stopped. I was off my pony and lying on the ground. I smelled the earth as well as the foulness of the man. I tried not to move as I slowly opened my eyes. The light was dim, but I could see a hollow under an overhang of a hillside. He had built a wall of branches and logs. I looked further and saw I was alone, so I tried to move. My leg pounded, and I had an intense thirst; my mouth was sticky.

  The arrow was gone from my leg. I had treated a similar wound in a warrior’s leg who had been shot while hunting. The arrow was not difficult to remove. He lived. I had hope.

  My bone was not broken, but I could not move my leg without the risk of fainting from the pain and restarting the bleeding. It was wrapped in a dirty rag. I prayed blood poison would not take hold, but in this hut, poison thrived. A thought ran through my head. I might not live long enough for blood poison to be a worry.

  My hands were tightly bound in front of me with a braided cord, tied to an iron ring and attached to a peg in the ground. I tugged, but it was secure. Startled, I watched as the corner of the wooden wall lifted and the man crawled in.

  “You are awake. Good. I want you to feel what I do to you.”

  I tried to roll away and fold my knees into my belly, but I cried out at the sharp stab of fire-like pain. I watched in horror as he came closer.

  “Don’t worry, bitch, you will not need to move. I will move for both of us,” he said with a yellow grin.

  The dim light filtered in through the wooden wall, but it was enough for me to see him. Long, greasy, mouse-brown hair covered his head. The angular bones of his narrow eye sockets jutted out above a beard that hid the lower part of his face. His lips were barely visible through the tangle. His pitted and scabbed nose ended in a point. He panted through his open mouth and I saw the holes of missing teeth. I smelled rot in his breath as he drew closer. He used his gnarled and filthy hands to drag himself across the dirt to me. He carried my small dirk clasped in one hand and the other, open on the ground, had only three fingers and thumb. The first finger of that hand was missing, gone at the joint. I recognized that sign. He was a slave.

  “You are mine. I am owed,” oozed out of his mouth.

  Burning bile rose into my throat as he crept closer, like a venomous snake.

  Never before was I this afraid. I had no way to protect myself and would become his victim. I knew the deep fear of feeling lost-the fear of a soul dying alone.

  He was on me. I could not move. His filth-encrusted body rose to half-sitting as he reached over and cut off the green dress that Lovern loved. I screamed and writhed and he hit my face with a closed fist. His rough hands covered my breasts.

  “The bitches at the camp were not like you. Dirty camp followers. They gave themselves to who ever had money or food. Not loyal to anyone. You, I will not share.”

  His mouth covered my breast, and I screamed as he bit me.

  He struggled to get his ragged tunic above his waist and when he had it tucked into his belt, he forced his knees between my bare thighs. The only covering I had now was the filthy bandage around my wound. I could see his swollen penis, as he held it in his hand, ready to force it into me.

  “No! No! No! Morrigna, protect me!” I cried and tried to squirm away. My tied wrists and his body weight stopped me. The goddess must have been sleeping; she did not come. His full thrust into me and his weight on my wound pushed me into oblivion.

  It was dark when I became aware again. I heard him snoring in a corner of the hollow. The cave filled with the acrid smell of his piss and rotting teeth. I rolled to my side and vomited again. Only bile came as I had not eaten nor drunk for many hours. I had no hunger, but my thirst was overwhelming. I knew it came because of the loss of blood. My swollen hands and joints began to ache from not being able to move freely. I was desolate, without hope. Abandonment, thoughts of no rescue, fueled the fire of my fear. I had no idea how far we were from the clan and did not know whether my blood left a trail to follow.

  Then I remembered my labyrinths. Both my stone and the bag Lovern gave me. A hollow feeling of loss twisted my gut when I realized I might never see my memory bag again. If I stayed at this level of consciousness, I feared I would lose my mind. I had to escape. I brought my painted stone into my mind. I pictured the red and blue path surrounded by nature as I had painted it. I placed my forefinger on the path and followed as it led to the center, back out, and then in again. My breath calmed, and my muscles relaxed. Sudden wavelets of fear ripped through me, but I was able to contain them, to allow myself to fall into a light sleep. I had some control over myself. He had taken my body, but he could not capture my mind.

  The sun rose. I was still alive. He sat near me, drinking from a flask.

  “Please,” I croaked, my voice dust in my throat. “May I drink?”

  He threw the flask to me, and I grabbed it with my swollen hands, barely able to hold it. Two swallows of water were all he gave me.

  He laughed and again
crawled to me. I screamed as he bit my other nipple.

  “I can have you at any time. I am as good as those cursed Romans and their whores,” he said as he lifted his bare buttocks over me. He was ready and groaned and pushed into me. His thrusts were uneven and shallow at first but as he continued they became faster and deeper. His weight crushed the air out of me and caused my leg to pound. My eyes closed, and I tried to fly like a falcon. I begged the gods to let me escape.

  When he was done, he lifted off me, his penis small and drooling. He rolled back to his corner and sat up.

  “Please, more water. My wound. I need to drink,” I whispered.

  He lifted the corner of the wall that was his door and left. In a few minutes, he brought back the flask and gave it to me. It was full, and I drank it all. I vomited.

  “Gods curse you. This place is small enough without your messes.” He untied the cord from the iron ring, leaving it attached to my wrists. He tugged and I crawled, forced to move like a worm, leaving the tatters of my green dress behind. He was unhappy at how slow I moved and when we were outside, was angry.

  “You are not worth all this trouble. I will kill you soon and leave. The Romans are not far away. They will find me if I stay.” He tied me to another iron-ringed peg pounded into the ground near the cave entrance.

  “If my clansmen find you first there will be nothing for the Romans to find.”

  He stood and kicked me in the stomach.

  “Shut up, bitch.”

  I vomited again and fainted.

  He was on me when I awoke. Finished, he rolled off, stood and pissed. I don’t know why he told me bits of his story. I hated his voice and wished he would choke while he talked.

  His voice was gravel in my ears. “I was once a great warrior for Queen Boudiccea.” Lovern’s queen, I realized. “When she killed herself, I tried to escape but they caught me and cut off my finger.”

  Was his story supposed to make me feel sympathy for him? It did not. If I could have reached my dirk, I would have cut his throat and drunk his blood with no regrets.