Such heresy was not popular amongst the common foxes. A-konkon was considered mad, and for many seasons was regarded as an outcast, to be shunned and abused. Treatment such as this did nothing to make him contrite, and he continued to preach obscure and recondite theories about a superior Being under whose judgement all would eventually fall. A-konkon believed utterly in the purity of the soil and all things that sprang from it – except the works of man. These, he said, were a blasphemy and false in the eyes of nature.
‘A fox’s life should be based on the doctrine of asceticism,’ he told those who would listen. ‘A fox should practise frugality, austerity, and learn to do without such bodily comforts as warmth, food and shelter. A fox should deny himself material things …’
This was one aspect of his preaching many foxes understood and agreed with, but not to the extent A-konkon required. He told them that they should sleep in the open, even during the most inclement weather, and never, ever soil their bodies with the food of humans.
‘The impurities in such foul waste will stain your souls and the fox-spirits of the eternal landscapes cannot accept into their number such blemished creatures. You will be denied access to those grasslands and coverts of the world beyond death, the Perfect Here, and be left to wander, deaf, blind and without a sense of smell, the muddy wastelands of Unplace. Foxes of the Earth, go forth and gather seeds from the wind in your coats. Let the burrs from the bushes tangle your fur. Collect twigs in the beautiful rust of your brow, the white of your bib, and know you are nature’s children. You are the salt in the wound of man, because you have not kneeled before him. You are the clay which he has been unable to mould. Your face on the landscape is man’s failure to subdue all to his way. Your tail flying above the grass tells man that he has never gained complete control. You are nature’s blessed creatures, full and happy. You are the personification of autumn, you are the spirit of fire manifest. Go forth and roll in the wet clays, the saltings of your homelands. Let the mud of the ancients cling to your fur, dry on your jowls, and know that you are foxes.’
If nothing else, A-konkon gave his disciples and followers an image of themselves which they had not had since the time the little foxes stole the grapes. He told them they were not sly, sneaking creatures to slink over the world, but proud, keen hunters who could outwit even the most intelligent of all animals: the name-caller, man.
The fox-mystic was also a herbalist who prescribed remedies for fox maladies and advocated the eating of herbs as clarifiers, purgatives and energisers. This too, the other foxes understood, but not to the extent to which A-konkon took them. His depth of knowledge was awesome, even alarming if one started to wonder where he had acquired it. For example, he prescribed St John’s wort to banish bad moods, hemp as an aid to visions of the future, vervain to locate lost souls. Some foxes considered such uses of herbs to be close to the dark side of the moon.
On the other hand, much sensible advice came from the lips of A-konkon. He told his disciples and others willing to listen, to ‘Be in harmony with your body, be in tune with your environment, reject stress, and a negative outlook. View yourself and the world through positive senses. Hate is destructive to your spirit. Guilt undermines your efforts to become a better fox.’
However, except when being visited by an itinerant disciple, A-konkon slept in the snow and ice alone, and was despised for his rejection of the easy pickings to be found in and around human habitations. When others challenged him with the very real objection to his teachings – that weaker foxes might die when exposed to Ransheen’s savage breath for days on end – he replied that death was not a state to be kept at bay for the sake of life, that it should be accepted as a reward. Death was not a failure of the body and soul, but a victory over life.
Despite this personal belief, A-konkon would help ailing foxes where he could and proved to be a very able physician, albeit his patients were often very afraid of him. Sick foxes would reluctantly go to him when all else failed, to be told, ‘Go out and eat the fangs of the toothwort plant’ or ‘Eat some thyme, sweet cicely and tansy, in equal proportions.’ If a fox was having bad dreams, A-konkon might suggest placing a yarrow in the earth, to drive away any bad spirits that lurked there, but he was just as likely to order the fox to sleep in the open for a full month. ‘Wouldn’t some jack-by-the-hedge do the trick?’ one vixen asked hopefully, when told to stop weening one of her cubs that was showing signs of summer lethargy. She baulked at the idea of sending out her favourite cub to hunt for itself. ‘Vixen,’ he replied, ‘you can give your young feverfew, foxglove, hyssop or anything you like, including jack-by-the-hedge, but don’t come to me when it doesn’t work. I’ve given you my remedy.’ ‘But,’ she said, quite reasonably she thought, ‘you told O-lan …’ A-konkon gave her one of his withering stares. ‘All foxes are different,’ he said, ‘and so the cures for the same problems are different in each case. Your cub has darker ears than O-lan’s cub and therefore I prescribe a milkless period, not jack-by-the-hedge. Do you understand me now?’ The vixen replied hastily, of course, if that was the case she understood perfectly.
‘Now,’ said A-konkon, ‘for your own problems, worms in the belly and flatulence, chew alchoof, dock and samphire until the cud has the consistency of pond scumweed, then …’
Camio was talking to A-lon about A-konkon, one morning just after the rain had ceased and the smells of the earth wound themselves around tree trunks.
‘I admire him,’ said Camio, ‘but I can’t agree with him about the “human obscenity” thing. There are humans and humans, some good, some bad. Likewise, their influences, and they’re animals too – they are entitled to live in the world.’
‘Live, yes,’ replied A-lon. ‘but not claim most of it for themselves – even areas they don’t use. And you must admit, some of that food they throw away does terrible things to the gut.’
‘Only if you’re not used to it.’
At that moment, a vixen walked out of the trees, on her way back to her home. Camio’s legs went a little shaky, but since he was sitting he was not too worried about it.
‘Hello,’ he called. ‘How are you?’
O-ha looked up, though she had obviously smelled and heard the other two foxes from some way off. She followed her nose and came up beside them.
‘I’m very well – thank you for asking.’
‘We – we were just talking about A-konkon, weren’t we A-lon? About his ideas …’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you wouldn’t agree with him, of course, coming as you do from another land.’
Camio did not see what that had to do with his beliefs, but he did not want to antagonise her, so he said, ‘Well, there are aspects I don’t think are particularly relevant to our situation.’
‘What about dogs?’ she asked. ‘A-konkon maintains that dogs are no longer true animals, that every vestige of purity has been drained from them and that they have become something other than real creatures, something apart from nature – unnatural beings.’
‘Bit strong, I would have thought,’ said A-lon, bravely.
O-ha said, ‘Oh, you think so? Well I know one hound that isn’t natural …’
‘Sabre,’ said Camio, ‘the ridgeback at the manor house.’
O-ha drew herself up.
‘Yes, Sabre, and if my mate were alive he would have found some way to repay that particular beast for the death of our cubs – he would have …’
A-lon interrupted with, ‘Oh, come on O-ha, A-ho would have done no such thing, and well you know it. What can a fox do against such a creature?’
Camio said quietly, ‘He killed your cubs?’
‘He didn’t actually kill them, but he was responsible for their death, and I’m sorry there’s not a fox around with enough courage to put an end to him. We all know our strength is limited, but there have been foxes with enough art to get around that drawback. Clever foxes …’
‘Like your A-ho?’ said Camio.
‘I think so.’
He turned to her now. ‘If someone were to destroy this beast for you, no doubt you’d be eternally grateful?’
‘Of course,’ said O-ha, stiffly.
‘I see,’ said Camio. He looked rather grim. She wondered if she had gone too far this time, and was about to retract much of what she had said, when he spoke again.
‘Well, you two, I’d better be on my way. I’ll see you soon.’
With that he walked down the slope, towards the river which sparkled in the morning sunlight.
For a while there was silence between A-lon and O-ha. All that could be heard was the crickets in the wet grasses, and the birds yelling at each other in the tree-tops. Suddenly, A-lon said, ‘I think that was the most despicable thing you’ve ever done, O-ha. I used to like you – admire you, for the way you conducted yourself after the death of your mate – but that was really low.’
O-ha looked at him in surprise. She had never heard anything so heated come out of A-lon before, and she did not know what to say for a moment. She had no idea what he was talking about.
Finally, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
There was condemnation in A-lon’s features.
‘You don’t understand? Let me enlighten you then. You’ve just sent a good dog fox to his death. I can tell you that he’s probably on his way down to the manor now, to attempt the impossible – to try to kill Sabre. And all to satisfy this bloodlust of yours, which you insist on nurturing like a litter of cubs, keeping it hot in your mouth like stale breath. I don’t want to have any more to do with you.’
O-ha faltered. ‘He – he wouldn’t do that?’
‘Why not? It’s the only hope you’ve ever given him. I’ve seen vixens plant themselves in his path, and he’s ignored them, keeping this ember alive within himself, a small glow of hope that one day you’ll change your mind and accept him for what he is. Your bitterness will be his death, though.’
She felt, amongst the confusion whirling in her brain, a terrible fear. She did not understand what A-lon was talking about. Why should Camio want her to ‘accept him’? Surely all this was nonsense on A-lon’s part? Yet the dog fox before her looked deadly serious.
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘I can see I’ve upset you, but – oh, I suppose I went a little too far, but he – he annoys me so much. He won’t go down to Sabre. Why should he?’
A-lon shook his head impatiently.
‘You still haven’t got it, have you? You’re not trying to tell me that Camio hasn’t asked you to become his mate.’
A-ho shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Well, yes, but I expect he’s asked every available vixen within the vicinity at some time or another. He’s that type of fox. You can see from just looking at him that he makes up to females at the least opportunity. One can’t take flatterers seriously.’
‘Sometimes you exasperate me beyond reason, O-ha. I’m glad you’re not my mate. Let me tell you something about this Camio. To my certain knowledge he hasn’t “made up” to another vixen in the region once. All he ever talks about is you. In fact he’s quite boring about you. And let anyone try to say a word against you – let them try to tell him you’re not worth the effort – and he looks them coldly in the eye, and says, “I must have been mistaken. Excuse me.” and walks away. You have the feeling that at such times he’s holding himself in check, a hair’s-breadth away from attacking.’
‘You told him I wasn’t worth the effort?’ she said, indignantly.
‘No, but I now agree with the fox that did. Because of his feelings for you Camio has gone to fight Sabre, and good as he is, the fox will not win, can’t win. We know that.’
A chill went along O-ha’s spine. Surely Camio only admired her the way he admired all vixens? Was it possible that he found her so attractive that he would … that he would die for her? Foxes didn’t do such things.
Then she remembered A-ho, and she knew that she herself would have sacrificed her own life for her cubs, if that would have saved them. This was serious. She had done a very silly thing. If Camio was besotted, not so much with her, of course, but with the thought of having a mate, and he had foolishly believed she would make his ideal partner, well, it was possible he might do something stupid.
‘We must stop him, A-lon. We must stop him.’
‘Too late for that. He’s gone. I couldn’t catch him, and neither could you. I hope you’re satisfied.’
With that, the dog fox walked away, towards his own earth, leaving O-ha feeling wretched and miserable. Of course, she told herself, she knew what she had been doing – trying to make Camio feel small – and she had gone too far. That he should take her words seriously, she had not considered. A-lon was right, it had been a terrible thing to do. Her mind had been twisted by all that hatred and now it might lead to the death of a fox she … she did not particularly think a great deal of … oh yes she did, it was time to stop lying to herself. She admired him greatly. He had been through terrible adversity and had survived – not only survived, but was a balanced, considerate, kind creature. A little undereducated perhaps, and rough around the edges, too persistent in his pursuit of her, but nevertheless – ‘Oh, no!’ she cried, ‘what have I done?’
There was only one thing to do. She had to go to the manor house and either stop Camio from doing something foolish, or help in the enterprise, if it had already started and could not be halted. She set off at a fast pace in the direction taken by Camio.
Camio, in the meantime, had gone not to the manor but to seek out A-konkon. He wanted to speak to this prophet among foxes, to try to understand the vixen he wanted so much. If he could not receive any insight into her complex attitude towards him, he would abandon all attempts to reach her and spend his time mooning around the landscape looking for something easier to understand, like the meaning of life.
Why, for instance, was she trying to bait him? He could not think she was serious about asking any fox to go down and fight a dog like Sabre. It was like asking a hedgehog to attack a wolf. In an act of open confrontation the odds were impossible. Yet she had thrown this challenge down at his feet. He wanted to understand why she did these things.
‘You come to me asking for information I cannot give,’ A-konkon said to Camio. ‘One animal can never fully understand another, unless he or she has a duplicate personality of the other and goes through exactly the same experience at the same time of the season, at the same age … I could go on, but you must by now see it is impossible. We are all different – we react differently to various circumstances. Basically, we all seem the same, but though our differences may be subtle, those subtleties become as insurmountable as the sun itself. We can try but we cannot hope for success.’
‘That’s a pretty bleak picture,’ said Camio, despondently.
‘It is indeed, but a true one. My advice to you is to become celibate – a state in which I have kept myself since birth. Unions soil the soul …’
‘But there would be no new foxes, no cubs born, if everyone felt like that.’
‘You talk as if procreation and continuation of the species is a necessary thing. The world will still be here when we’ve gone. It isn’t necessary for a single fox to inhabit the earth to ensure that the sun rises in the morning, or to keep water in the rivers, or to bring rain from the sky.’
Camio did not agree with this but there was something about A-konkon wh
ich deflected argument.
A-konkon filled the silence.
‘To me, the most noble creature on the whole earth is the snake – the adder is closer to the soil than any other beast.’
‘Except the worm,’ interrupted Camio, without being able to help himself.
A-konkon gave him a bland stare.
‘Except the worm, which is not a true animal.’
‘Or the mole,’ said Camio.
‘The mole,’ spat A-konkon, ‘to the infamy of its kind, insists on burrowing through gardens desecrated by humankind, as does the worm,’ he added, as if he just realised this fact. ‘Only the snake remains aloof and for this reason it is hated and feared by humans.’
‘And because its bite is poisonous,’ said Camio.
‘That too,’ replied A-konkon, after another long stare, ‘but that is its defence against the poisonous nature of man. The nagas, the snake, has its spiritual homelands under the earth, or beneath the waters of rivers and seas. These the serpents keep holy by denying access to humans or any of their minions, such as the dogs. Such a place is rich in pure thought and the snake-spirits there dedicated to the expiation of evil wrought here, on the surface of the world. Ever since man split the tongue of the snake by planting sharp grasses where the serpents lick the dew, nagas has kept distant from him and managed to remain pure in spirit. Of all the animals only the physical form of the serpent is eternal. Nagas alone shall inherit the earth, because he has maintained the proper spiritual distance between himself and the poisonous odour of humankind, the stink of people whose houses and machines breathe foul gases into the air, whose waste pollutes the waters of A-O and whose bark wounds the ears of all those who have to suffer its sound.’
‘I once knew a keeper that I quite liked,’ said Camio, reflectively. ‘She never tried to stroke me, and when I rubbed against her leg, she allowed me to do so. She had one of the softest barks I have ever heard – quite pleasant to the ear – and despite my snapping at her on several occasions, she showed nothing but kindness to me.’
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