Hunter's Moon

by Garry Kilworth

  HUNTER’S MOON

  Garry Kilworth

  www.sfgateway.com

  Enter the SF Gateway …

  In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:

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  The technology now exists to enable us to make available, for the first time, the entire backlists of an incredibly wide range of classic and modern SF and fantasy authors. Our plan is, at its simplest, to use this technology to build on the success of the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series and to go even further.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Gateway Introduction

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Part One: The Foxes of Firstdark

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part Two: Escape from Bedlam

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Three: The Coming of the Stranger

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Part Four: The Unremembered Fear

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Part Five: Terror on the Streets

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Part Six: The Time of the Dispersal

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Part Seven: The Palace of the Winds

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Website

  Also By Garry Kilworth

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Author Bio

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Fox ‘language’ involves sounds, movements, gestures, poses, scents, and probably other aspects not in this list, but for the purposes of this novel, fox language is English (except for a few words which have special meaning only to foxes). Other human languages are used for the various groups of creatures found between these pages, merely in order to differentiate between species. Words specific to foxes, such as gerflan (land forbidden to most humans, e.g. railway embankments) are apparent in the text, but the following names of the main winds may be useful to the reader at the outset:

  Ransheen – Winter winds

  Scresheen – March winds

  Switter – Spring breezes

  Frashoon – Summer winds

  Melloon – Autumn winds

  PART ONE

  The Foxes of Firstdark

  Chapter One

  Trinity Wood stood on a rise above a tidal river which wound its way over coastal flatlands. Its fox-spirits could tell you that it was an ancient knoll, its rocky ground untouched by the farmers that had closed round it since wolves had roamed the area. It was a dense place, grown to weakness in its centre where spindly oaks and blackthorns fought each other for light and space. Moving outwards, away from its heart there were small glades which encouraged bluebells and ferns, ground ivy and tussocks of grass, and the occasional solitary cuckoo pint. Among its inhabitants were wood pigeons, badgers, grey squirrels and foxes. O-ha had not been born there but had moved in shortly after the dispersal period, when cubs leave their parents.

  O-ha had found an old earth in the clay bank just inside the tree line. She had freshened it a little by scraping out the tunnel and chamber, but like most foxes was not fussy about the state of her home. The main priorities were that it remained warm and dry. It was simply a place of safety where a fox could sleep, hopefully without disturbance. Although she liked simple clean lines and might admire the earth for this reason, she was an untidy creature and any house-cleaning consisted of tossing rubbish just outside the entrance. Even that chore was done with an impatient sigh, as if she were wasting her time with trivial, unimportant matters while the world awaited great things from her. She was not unusual in these traits. Though personal cleanliness is important to foxes, the idea that one should spend time keeping the home tidy was dismissed with contempt.

  The entrance to the earth was almond shaped and around its roof arch was the strong protective root of a benign-looking oak tree. The oak had one of those sturdy squat trunks which brought its lowest branches close to the ground. On days when even the slightest breeze was blowing, the movement of the shadows from these boughs produced a camouflage effect which helped to disguise the earth’s entrance. This, coupled with the way the exposed root twisted over and round the hole, giving it an overhang, meant that any unknowing observer would have to be at eye level with the opening to realise that there was a hole there at all. The tangle of roots breaking the surface all around the matronly oak served even further to confuse any enemy out searching for the homes of foxes.

  To the other side of the earth’s entrance, beyond the star mosses which formed a padded area running eastwards, was an alder which dripped bright berries in the autumn. The cool forbidding shade of the oak kept this lesser tree, with its arthritic limbs, from encroaching on a space where it was unwelcome. Nailed to its trunk however, were the remnants of a barbed wire fence, which O-ha found to be a very effective back scratcher in the warm weather, when her fleas became too active.

  Since O-ha was an intelligent-looking vixen, with a glossy coat which varied between rust-red and grey, depending on the light, she was courted by at least three dog foxes. She chose a male her own age, a fox with humour in his eyes and a way of cocking his head to one side that turned her legs to willow wands.

  ‘I admire you above all other vixens,’ A-ran told her. ‘You’re bright, alert and … oh, dozens of other things. It would take too long to tell you all the reasons why you make me dizzy with excitement every time I see you.’

  When she gave him her decision, they were knee-deep in autumn leaves, and he showered her with them in his joy. The sky was alive that day, with rushing clouds which swept shadows across the land and produced an ethereal half-light full of ever-changing shades. They went out, on to the windblown grasslands, under this strange sky. There, they seemed isolated. His eyes danced with wild unusual pigment
s, reflecting the strange radiance which surrounded them.

  She gave herself a dozen practical reasons why he was the best mate for her, dismissing his claim that she was a romantic. In the warm damp grass, they tumbled and nipped each other, finding excitement in touching even though it was not a time for serious mating. They learned the intimate details of each other’s bodies, the scratchscars on O-ha’s nose, the small ‘v’ that had been clipped from A-ran’s right ear, both the result of hunting play with siblings. She thought the small white patch on his flank unusually attractive, and he remarked on the sleekness of her muzzle-hair. They found other things upon which to comment, almost always favourably.

  A-ran changed his name to A-ho to reflect her family name as was traditional among foxes. It was a heady time for both of them. They were young enough for most ordinary experiences to be great new discoveries. Their parents, they told each other, were all right in their way, but somehow lacked the clear thinking and reasoned judgement which they themselves possessed.

  ‘I suppose they were quite well thought of in their day,’ said A-ho, generously, ‘but that was ages ago. The world’s quite a different place from what it was half a dozen seasons ago. The hunting issue for example …’

  And O-ha would lie beside him in their earth, adding her observed opinions as if they were the only ones which an intelligent fox could possibly contemplate. Occasionally, in the darkness, she would lick his nose, or he would rest his head against her slim shoulder. They were entirely comfortable in each other’s company, to the exclusion of the rest of the world.

  ‘Do you love the smell of pine needles?’ she might say.

  ‘Pine needles? Wonderful aroma. I’d go out of my way to get a good whiff of pine needles – and sap.’

  ‘Oh yes, the sap too …’

  And they would both marvel at their compatibility, how they both liked the same things, disliked the same things, how startlingly lucky it was that they had each found someone who liked the scent of pine needles, ‘… especially in springtime.’

  ‘Undoubtedly the most effective time for sniffing pines.’

  Were there ever two foxes more suited to each other in the whole history of the world? Was there ever a pair whose opinions on life matched each other’s so sharply, so precisely? Was there ever a more intelligent vixen, or wise dog fox, given that they were still quite young and willing to learn? Never, they agreed.

  ‘Of course,’ said A-ho, ‘these observations are for our ears only.’

  That autumn was a magical time for the two new mates. There were golden scents to the air and hunting was good. They lived almost constantly in each other’s company, though when the colder weather came and Ransheen cut through the grasses, it was necessary for them to go out alone sometimes.

  It was mid-winter and the air was still, clean and sharp.

  A-ho had been keeping close to her side for many days and his rising excitement was indicated by the way he carried his tail: high, like a bushy pennant. O-ha was keenly aware of her mate and was sometimes irritated by him as he persistently brushed against her, leaving her hardly enough room in the earth to move a paw. His bright eyes never left her and though he might be the handsomest dog fox in the known world, she felt she could not draw a breath, but A-ho was there to watch and assist her. She felt the atmosphere was claustrophobic and tense. She too was aware of a stirring of excitement in her body, but there were limits to her patience, and once, he had even tried to mount her before she was anywhere near ready for him and she had to snap at his flank, making him back away in disappointment.

  However, today her body felt warm and sweet, and she was aware that she was putting out a fragrance which had turned the brightness in his eyes to a hot fire. She waited as he shadowed her every move, his body language full of curves, soft displays.

  Suddenly, she rose to her feet and went to the exit to the earth, licked her nose, went through the rituals to test the wind for danger, then slipped outside. As always there were a thousand scents vying for her attention, which her brain filtered automatically, so that the important ones received priority. A thousand scents, most of which were too subtle or too weak for a man to detect.

  Although it was cold the sun shone down with winter hardness through the trees of Trinity Wood. She found a patch of grass and stood there, letting the weak rays warm her fur. A-ho was right behind her.

  After a few moments he came up beside her and touched her flank with his forepaw. She could feel him trembling and an electric shiver went through her body. A-ho nuzzled her, under her chin. She could feel his hot breath on her throat and his tongue wiped a swathe through her soft fur. She made a sound in the back of her mouth.

  He was rubbing against her now, licking and nuzzling, running his paws over her back. She liked it. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the rippling sensation that travelled through her limbs and torso. That was nice. He was nice. Opening her eyes again, she looked at him. He was strong, proud and magnificent. His fur was fluffed and clean, his dark ears erect. His firm jaw was the most handsome thing about him. No other vixen had a dog fox like her’s, such a wonderful mate. She nipped him sharply, to demonstrate her affection. How lucky she was to be the centre of attention. It was obvious to her that the whole world might collapse at that moment, and A-ho would not notice. He could see only her and he blazed like a high, hot fire on the grass, warming her with the red flames of his coat, ready to burn deep inside her body.

  Suddenly, he was behind her, and the skies turned crimson and the grass began to crackle beneath her. She let out a short yelp: he crooned, once, and after a few seconds it was over, but it felt good and sweet and there was a taste in her mouth like windfalls coated with honey, which lingered for some time afterwards.

  After a while, the world righted itself and she was able to look at her mate again. She studied his long, pointed muzzle, the black-tipped ears, the russet coat. He seemed happy. He lay on the damp grass, his narrow, foxy eyes drinking in her form, and his tongue lolling out.

  ‘Put your tongue in,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because …’ She looked around, wondering if they had been observed. Not that she was worried about others witnessing a very natural act – they would not be interested anyway – but her curiosity was back, now that it was over.

  A-ho let out a triple bark, and then a loud scream, before giving her his cocked-head look which he knew always endeared him to her.

  ‘All right, tell the world,’ she said. ‘If you feel it’s necessary. Personally, I don’t. They can all see what a tremendously virile fellow you are.’

  ‘It’s traditional,’ he remarked, casually.

  ‘Is it,’ she said, flatly. ‘I wonder who started that tradition? Some poor dog fox who had only just learned to play “wind in the trees” with his new mate, I suppose?’

  She was teasing him.

  Over the next three days they made love on several occasions and each time it was as good as the last: not better, but certainly as good. The sky changed colour many times. The air seemed to have promises hanging in it like lanterns of fruit which had hung in the autumn trees, filling the world with heady scents.

  Yet Melloon had long since departed, leaving bare damp trees, dark with fungi, and bushes without berries to blood their branches. Sodden leaves covered the floor of Trinity Wood and there was great competition for meat amongst the predators: the owls, the hawks, the weasels. O-ha’s diet consisted of three-quarters meat. She had to be sharp. There were birds about, in the winter, and on days when the ground was soft there were earthworms to be had. Or she would steal winter cabbage from the havnot, the farmlands around Trinity Wood. Shortly after the mating season was over, she found a fence full of gubbins, the fox word for animals killed and left by humans. These were old crows and stoats hung on fence wire. She cached some around the area, marked the place, then took one home to A-ho. He thanked her by licking her ear. Now that the mating was over, there was no strain in the relatio
nship. They could touch and be touched without any thick syrupy feelings interfering with their affection for one another.

  Inside her, there were changes taking place, which were pleasant. She looked forward to warmer weather and Switter, the spring breezes. Many of the meadows around Trinity Wood were still old grasslands, and birds such as the partridge were still able to find the sawfly larvae and leather-jackets which fed only on certain plants and without which they could not survive. There were still hedgerows and ditches, necessary to birds, mammals and reptiles. The hedgeless landscape and sterilised new grasslands were moving in but had not yet overtaken the area around Trinity Wood.

  The wood itself was an old-world mixture of coniferous and deciduous trees – yew, cedar, juniper, oak, beech, alder – and not one of the man-made silent forests of sitka spruce, where pine needles suffocate any undergrowth and the insects necessary to animal life discouraged from moving in. Silent, utterly, unerringly, silent. In the new pine forests the shadow was heavy and forbidding, the neat rows of trees so close together that a rabbit could not squeeze between them. In Trinity Wood, the shade was light, and the arrangement of the various trees, satisfyingly untidy.

  Of course, O-ha and the other animals of Trinity Wood took all this for granted, even though itinerant beasts brought warnings of an outside world that was being reshaped to suit the comfort and needs of those ugly bipeds whose hairless, featherless bodies were draped with loose-fitting cloth, and who showed their teeth even when they were not angry.

  Not in our time, they said to themselves and to each other. The woodlands and fields will not change in my lifetime.

  True, said the widgeon, whistling on the wind.

  And in a voice like two pebbles being struck together, the stonechat agreed.

  The shrew, the grasshopper, the bark beetle, the fox, the squirrel, the gregarious rooks and solitary crows, the shellducks that nest in old rabbit holes along the ditches, the adder, the smooth snake, the magpies who form ad hoc, mysterious parliaments in open fields, to conspire and discuss revolution, the winter balls of ants in hollow logs, the tree-creeper, the nightjar, the hare and the rabbit, the badgers, the robin that sings for eleven months of the year and falls to silence in August, the rafts of coots on the river …