The Fox

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The Fox Page 18

by Arlene Radasky


  The torchlight created long shadows as she leaned her body to rest on the wall. She groaned and straightened her legs. Her knees cracked as she stretched.

  “Aooow! My knees ache all the time now, not just in cold. I cannot walk the distances I walked as a youth. My body sounds like rocks falling down a cliff with all its bangs and gurgles and clicks. Forty-three winters have worn this body down.”

  I knew our world was filled with lives as tragic as mine, but I could not understand someone else surviving the same guilt I carried since Beathan’s death.

  She wriggled her rump as if to soften the hard ground. Her long fingers ran through her hair and she started her story.

  “It has been this color since I was a child. In the beginning, it was the color of Haye’s. Black. Not black like yours. Yours reminds me of a glimmering raven’s wing,” she said, touching a strand of my hair, lying on my shoulder. “No, my hair had ribbons of copper in it. Mmm. But, I stray from my story.

  “When I was young, my parents died in a village three days’ ride from here. Raiders from the sea destroyed it. Only a boy and I escaped. Everyone else was killed by them.”

  “Oh gods,” I said, beginning to understand.

  “No, no, child. Do not be distressed. It was long ago. I am at peace with it now.”

  She took a strand of white hair and began twirling it around her finger.

  “We heard they were coming. A man ran in from a neighboring village. They had just been raided. My father decided to hide me in a hole he had dug in the field behind our home. As he lowered me, he saw the boy run by and grabbed him. My father ordered me to take care of him.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her face as if to rub the memory away. “I did not want to take care of the smelly, wriggly boy who lived with the tanners. My father covered the hole with sticks and leaves. The dust fell through and got into my eyes.” She looked up as if looking for the roof of sticks.

  “He finished the covering and told us to be very quiet. ‘Do not come out until I or mother come back to get you,’ he told me. Noise exploded around us and the ground shook with running ponies. We heard many screams, then one last woman’s scream. She called for her husband. Early in the raid the boy was in tears, and I feared he would cry out. I covered his mouth with my hand. He tried to break away from me, but I was bigger and had a tight hold on him. I was so scared we would be caught. My father told stories of the sacrifices of people caught in raids like these, and I did not want to die. The boy was struggling so I-I stuffed the hem of his tunic into his mouth and sat on him.”

  I grew cold with a premonition of her story.

  “After a few minutes he stopped struggling. Later, I heard the ponies and the men as they left our village. Father had not come yet, so I did not think it was safe to climb out. We stayed through the night. I fell asleep, sitting on the boy.”

  She looked at me, her brows creased in concern and said, “He could still give us away, and I could not let him do that. When the sun came up the next morning, my hunger, my need to pee, and the ache in my legs would not let me stay in the hole any longer. I stood up, pushed the sticks off the top of the hole and turned back to the boy. The sunlight streamed in on the body that I had sat on all night. He did not move. I had traded his life for mine.” She stopped at this and murmured a short prayer to Bel.

  “Now, I was alone,” she said. “I climbed out of the hole and walked to the front of the burned lodges, calling for my father and mother. I found them, the parents of the boy, and all the rest of my village. I found the bodies. Their heads were gone. My mother and father’s blood dripping heads now hung on the raider’s walls. I was the only one alive.”

  As she spoke, a shadow came over my eyes. The smell of food and sounds of happiness around me were gone. I heard only the sword as it passed through Beathan’s neck and smelled Beathan’s blood as it poured over me. I steadied myself against the wall; I did not want this horror to overcome me. “No, no, no,” I whispered to myself. When my vision cleared, I saw that she noticed my distress. Nodding, she continued her story.

  “I stayed there for two days, in shock, wandering around and eating what I could find. But, the need to live is powerful. I went into the forest to find food, eating grass and worms until I learned to trap small animals. I ran from anyone who came close, until the druid found me. He talked to me for days. I came to trust him. I told him my story. He and I lived together as husband and wife for fifteen sun cycles until his death.” She sighed. Her hand touched her hair, stroked it as if in memory, and confessed, “It turned white the first full moon after my parents’ death. He loved my white hair. He loved me.”

  I nodded. She understood. She lived through a horror as great as mine. A sense of relief and perception filled my heart. My grief was lighter. I raised my hands to my face and tears came to my eyes. I could almost believe Lovern would continue loving me. I stopped crying and looked up to see her watching me with kindness.

  She awkwardly rose to her knees and with a smile said, “As much as I enjoy the company of my family, sometimes we just need to be with quiet animals that cannot sing, talk or drink mead.” She leaned over to me and touched my chest where I had wiped the blood from my palms. A surge of energy came through the tips of her fingers to my heart. Her green eyes burned into mine, and her thin mouth broke into a grin.

  “You are a healer,” she said. “I saw your decorated leather pouch. We are sisters. I am a healer too. My name is Rhona.”

  “I am Jahna. Thank you for your story. It lifts a burden.”

  “Life goes on, my child, life goes on.”

  She walked to the opposite wall of the small stable, stretching as she moved. “We hunt bears and they are many this year. I know there are hardships to endure. The gods and goddesses have wars to fight, and we often are caught up in them. For now, my family is not in the sight of angry gods. I pray that it may be so for a long time.”

  I shivered with the thought that came. “The slave who took me told me the Romans were coming our way. We can prepare for them and fight until they leave,” I said with hope.

  “Sometimes, all the preparations we make cannot help,” she said as she handed me a skin filled with a liquid. “This is from my healing spring and is pure. Wash and drink. I will bring you an infusion I make from a plant brought from the seaside. It never fails to bring sleep.”

  “If that is true then I will be in your debt,” I said, bowing my head in respect to her. “Thank you. I will stay the night here.” The loudest noises were the ponies munching their dried grass, a sound more inviting than the laughing voices I heard emitting from the dwelling nearby. “I do not want to seem inhospitable, but I do not think I can sit through the music and laughter in the chieftain’s lodge. Will you tell my whereabouts to Kenric and Finlay? Will Logan be looked after?”

  “Yes, I will speak with your men, and the boy will have a place to eat and sleep,” she responded. “I will leave you here to make yourself comfortable, and I will bring food and the drink.”

  “Thank you.”

  She left. I heard the soft neigh of a pony and an echo in my ear.

  “Sometimes, all the preparations we make cannot help.”

  CHAPTER 13

  JAHNA

  75 AD July

  I readied the dried grass under my cape for sleep, Beathan’s bronze bowl next to me. Rhona brought back a small roasted fowl, bread, and two containers of drink on a wooden plank. A mug and a small cup of clear liquid sat balanced next to the food.

  “Here is mead to quench your thirst and the infusion for sleep. I used only a drop of the oil as it can also cause death.”

  “What is the name of this plant? There are many that cause death but few that will also allow sleep,” I asked as I ate.

  “Hemlock. Tales of ancient use come with it. Drink it after you eat and are ready for sleep. It will come soon. The oil is bitter, but I mixed in honey to sweeten it.”

  She pointed to the package on my cloak. “Is th
at the gift you take to Beathan?”

  “Yes. I adorned it for him,” I said, handing it to her. “The oak was the tree he adopted for his family.”

  She nodded as she unwrapped the soft leather. “It is a good gift. One that will honor him for all time.”

  Rhona stayed with me as I ate and drank the bitter infusion. I laid down, enveloped in the odor of the ponies and the peat smoke from the dwellings that surrounded me. It was but a few moments until I fell asleep and dreamed.

  I stood watching from a distance and saw the stone dwellings, the homes of Haye’s clan. People moved quickly. Gathered food lay in bundles, and weapons glinted, tied to the backs of ponies. Men and women were readying themselves for battle. Loud shouts rang from dwelling to dwelling Haye’s war chariot stood outside his lodge with two ponies throwing their heads in impatience. Haye stepped through his doorway and behind him came his son, Eanruig, and Haye’s wife, Nairne. Eanruig was older than when I saw him today, but not yet an adult. Both he and his father were bare-chested, and their faces and bodies dyed woad blue. Limewater stiffened Haye’s black hair. Bronze and leather shields, swords and dirks were strapped to them. I felt excitement and fear.

  Hayes spoke. “The King has called us. We must go quickly, Nairne. I must take those who can fight, and I chose you to guard the children of those who go. We will come back when the battle is done. We will have a celebration to honor Morrigna, may the Goddess protect us. We will chase the invaders off the land and will be rewarded by our king. Be glad we go!”

  In the shadows I saw the white hair of Rhona, Haye’s mother. I turned to face her. Bent in grief, she cried out, “Have I not given enough of myself? Must I lose also my son and grandson?” Many ravens flew overhead, and I shivered.

  No one answered her. The stone dwellings were empty. Moss grew on the fallen rocks that were once walls. Roof slates fell into the centers of the lodges. Heavy dust covered the fire pits. A cruel winter wind blew Rhona’s white hair around her face to catch itself in her tears.

  I woke with the bitter taste of the infusion in my mouth. I had not had dreams of the man I knew and feared but instead, I had a vision of a future I did not want to know.

  Rhona sat near me, touching my shoulder as I sat up, the dawn’s light just reaching the village.

  “Your face twisted with a dream,” Rhona said. “I am sorry. I thought you would not dream of the man who haunts you.”

  I could not tell her that I dreamed of her son’s death.

  “Rhona, do you know where Beathan’s tomb is?”

  It was still dark as I wrapped my cape around me and picked up the bowl.

  “Yes, I have visited there. He was a man I respected in life and in death.”

  “Will you take me if we both ride my pony? I am ready to go now. I do not want to wait for Finlay and Kenric. They will come later.”

  We rode a trail that was steep at times, but my pony never faltered. I was seated behind Rhona. We spoke no words; we communicated by touch. The sun rose hot on our backs, and we stopped at a creek to wash and drink. We would eat after the gifting. Bracken and blooming heather surrounded the trail. Crossing a moor, I could see the hills that were the feet of the stark mountains behind them. The hillside where Beathan’s body lay buried was a mountain foot. Covered in creeping juniper and blue harebells, color filled the spaces between the quartz-filled granite rocks and boulders strewn about the ground. The clean smell of recent rain was in the air.

  Rhona sat holding the pony while I slowly climbed to the entrance of the tomb. The side of the hill was steep and covered in loose shale. I carried the bowl, a small piece of peat, a coal from last night’s fire and a live pigeon Rhona had given me. I finally came to the ledge in front of the entrance of Beathan’s tomb. I stood, caught my breath, and leaned on a large boulder that had been rolled to block its entry. I could not get in but that was not important. I would leave the gift outside the entrance. Beathan could see it from the Other World.

  I dug a hole using my hands and small sword. As I lifted the bowl to the sky, it caught sparks of sunlight and reflected the color of Beathan’s hair. He was watching. His hand was warm on my shoulder.

  “Beathan. A gift to you for the gift of my life. You exchanged your life for mine. I honor you and say you will be in my heart forever. We sing songs about your bravery and drink toasts made in your name.” The last tears I cried for Beathan fell as I continued. “I offer this bowl to bring you happiness. May you drink mead from it. May you dip honey from it. Watch over us, your clan and the clan of your wife. I feel unrest is coming and we will require the help of the gods. Please make them aware of my request,” I called, remembering my dream.

  I tucked the bowl, wrapped in my cape, and the soft leather snuggly into the hole, covered it with dirt, and rolled a large stone over it. The entrance looked undisturbed.

  After gathering small twigs, I retrieved the live coal from the moss it was nestled in and blew on it until it and the twigs caught fire. The peat began to smolder. I laid hemp on top, and the smoke began to writhe around me. I unwrapped the pigeon and held it securely in my left hand. I lifted my dirk to the sky and called to Andraste and Caswallawn, the Goddess and God of war.

  “Hear me, O God and Goddess. If we must fight, make us victorious. Help us defeat our enemies. Help those who die in battle cross the river easily.” My dirk found its way to the pigeon’s heart and blood began to drain from its body, covering my uplifted arms. The smell of the blood, the mixture of the sweet hemp and acrid peat smoke carried me to a passage dream.

  I looked through Aine’s eyes at Beathan’s open tomb. To be able to see it through her and know our life story continued was a blessing from Morrigna. Beathan would be remembered as a warrior and chieftain. Tears came to my eyes with this understanding.

  I willed her to find my bowl. I took her to the stone and watched as she lifted the bowl from under it. She saw the oak tree I had engraved. She held the bowl I made up to the sun. It reflected the color of Beathan’s hair. I knew then she would help keep Beathan’s memory alive. My heart filled with peace. I paid my debt to him, and Beathan was a fair man and would forgive me my guilt. Now, I could forgive myself.

  “Jahna. Jahna, are you well? We awoke before daybreak and found you gone already.” Finlay and Kenric knelt next to me on the ledge and spoke at the same time. Logan was slipping his way up the hillside. My fire was out, and the pigeon blood dry on my arms. My passage dream was gone.

  “Yes, I am well. I pleased Beathan.” I smiled at them both. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. We can go home now.”

  Logan clambered up to the ledge just then and touched the stone covering his grandfather’s grave. He turned, grinning at his accomplishment and was ready to go down, just as fast. His quick slide down was followed by our evenly measured footsteps. We spent another night with Rhona’s clan and continued on our way the next morning before daylight.

  Arriving at our trail, I looked up at the gate of our hill fort. There stood a sentinel waiting for us. The sun was in my eyes and I could only see that he stood like a warrior, tall and straight. The hot summer breeze wore the smell of crushed acorns and bees. My heart lurched in my chest. I gasped–I knew who the man was.

  I could not go up the hill. I slid off my pony’s back. Kenric leaned over and scooped my pony’s reins and Logan. He and Finlay rode on. They stopped at the top of the hill for a moment. The tall man and Finlay exchanged words. Kenric nodded to him.

  Mouth dry and moist hands, I waited. Lovern turned and walked to our home. I followed, limping up the hill with trembling legs.

  I had forgiven myself for Beathan’s death, but could Lovern forgive me?.

  CHAPTER 14

  AINE

  May, 2005

  I jerked awake, knowing I would have to fight my way out of here. I’d behaved and was a good patient for a week, but I’d decided to rebel and was itching to go. Marc had been restricting my movements but no more; I was vacating this in
n today.

  George had received a grant for us several days ago. It was enough for us to stay for the rest of the summer. Things were changing at the site, and I wanted to see it. I’d been cooped up here too long.

  My room was littered with clothes; jeans and button up shirts were strewn across the floor and bed, all too hard to put on. I finally surrendered and, with great trouble, pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I couldn’t even get a bra on. It hurt too much to twist and reach behind yet.

  Marc walked in just as I finished dressing, carrying a cup of steaming coffee.

  “Aine. What are you doing?” His forehead creased with concern, his tone gentle, yet impatient. “You’re not supposed to be going anywhere. The doctor told you to rest. I think you should be inside at least a few more days.”

  “Yeah, Marc, I know. But I have to go to the job site. I want to see it. It seems like weeks that I’ve been away. That coffee smells delicious. Can I have a sip?” I took the hot cup from his outstretched hand and sniffed the adrenaline-starting steam. “Mmmm. How can someone who doesn’t drink coffee make it so perfect?”

  “Well,” said Marc, “you aren’t a coffee gourmet and she makes it strong, just like you want it. If you stay here one more day, I’ll have her make you coffee all day long.”

  “No, even that isn’t enough to keep me here. If you make me stay, I’ll tunnel out. I really want to see what you all have done to my dig.”

  He compromised. “Ah well, okay. But promise me, if you feel the least bit tired you’ll let us bring you back.”

  I endeavored to finish dressing but couldn’t lift my arm over my head without pain. I tried to hide my grimacing face in the sweatshirt. I didn’t want him to see how much it still hurt to move. “Oh, damn it. Marc, can you help me, please?” I sighed and stopped struggling. “I’ll be careful. It’s been seven days, and I can’t stand the inside of this room or any room in the inn anymore. I promise not to do anything strenuous,” I said, sweatshirt piled in my lap.

 

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