Fantasy Creature Spotlight: Foxen

by Gilbert Peppers

  Chapter 2: The Hunt

  Elk are difficult creatures to stalk in the open grassland. Their acute ears and sense of fear led to the development of excellent defensive herding over their evolution. Maoh kneeled in the grass, attempting to remain as silent as possible while advancing on his soon-to-be dinner. The agile creatures grazed quietly. Winter fast approached and the females needed extra fat to survive their long-term pregnancies.

  The hunter picked an older target, male, with enough meat on him to feed Maoh for a week. He expertly maneuvered around the pack until he crouched less than thirty feet away from the elk. His magnificent sword could fell the beast in one stroke but he needed to catch it first. To do that, he prepared a special spear with a net on the tip to pin down his target. He only had one chance to hit his mark so his throw needed to be perfect.

  Maoh waited for the wind to slow before lining up his shot. His legs sprang forward, launching his body up to a throwing position. The surge of movement empowered his back as he arched forward. His arm whipped across his eye line and propelled the wooden shaft through the air. As his muscles rippled from the exertion, the elk perked up and began their desperate escape.

  His target stumbled before it could react, giving Maoh’s projectile time to ring true. The biting arrow pierced the great elk’s flank, crippling it. Even with such a wound, the elk could easily outrun Maoh for many hours, but the net whipped forward and covered the animal. Shock and pain felled the creature long enough for Maoh to reach it and end its pain with his sword. He ignored the rest of the herd as they fled.

  He cleaned his sword and drew out his knife to harvest the meat. A low growl from behind signaled that Maoh was not the only one wanting dinner tonight. His sword appeared in his hands instantly during his spin and leap. The brown bear stalked over to the site of the kill and sniffed the fallen creature. It pawed at the net plaintively before letting lose a roar of annoyance. Maoh figured the bear might leave it at that and return to its home in the forest. Unfortunately, the bear had other ideas.

  It turned and looked straight at the patch of grass hiding Maoh. Had it sensed his presence in some way? Perhaps the wind carried a slight scent from him to the bear. His paranoia ended months ago when practical survival trumped his fears of the wild but he could swear something sentient drove the bear towards him then. He abandoned his hiding place while enough room remained between him and the bear to allow him to run for the forest. The problem with bears is that they can climb trees. His only chance to escape lay in finding a hiding place somewhere in the wood.

  Suddenly the bear stood on its hind legs and addressed him.

  “Maoh Blackwater,” the bear called in his native language. “I bring you a message and a warning.”

  Maoh halted in his tracks and listened very carefully to what the bear said. It showed him images of his village, his family, the spirit shrine. They overflowed with wild animals rampaging down the paths. Big cats, hyenas, wolves, bears, and other creatures Maoh did not recognize tore through the structures as if searching for something, food most likely. What drove the wildlife so mad? Maoh needed more information but the bear refused to converse beyond relating the facts.

  The spirit of the bear vanished into mist before Maoh’s eyes. He returned to his fresh kill and cut a few slices of meat to pack for his journey home. Several weeks of open ground lay between him and the village. He needed to move quickly and pack lightly. His run home proved uneventful beyond simple travel. Part of him blamed his own fear for the vision. That part of him refused to let go of his former life and settle into his new one. It screamed loudly as he reached the flattened ground where his home should have been.

  Nothing remained of the village beyond paw prints and animal droppings. The tracks spanned the entire length of the village clearing. No worked wood or raised stones marked houses. Whatever unattended farmlands remained overflowed with weeds. He found no trace of bodies or blood anywhere. The village seemed to have completely vanished.

  He spent hours going over the tracks, trying to find a pattern to the attack. Nothing made any sense as if the spirits grew angry with the village and razed it to the ground. After searching the entire clearing a second time he found familiar Foxen footprints leading out of the village. The single line of prints led toward the spirit shrine. One of the elders likely fled there to ask the spirits to aid them. Maoh remembered the way without having to follow the path precisely.

  The little shrine lay in a heap outside the cave. Whatever attacked it left it as a warning to any brave enough to follow. Maoh ignored his fear and stepped into the cave. He found more tracks on the dusty path. Inside the cave, the statues lay tipped over and broken. Grandpa’s banto blade lay near the fire pit. It appeared his pleas for help went unanswered. As in the village, Maoh found no body.

  Such strangeness required greater knowledge than his to understand. He sat down at the fire pit and started the vision quest ceremony. The small fire paled in comparison to his last time here but he felt confident he did not need large flames for his mission. Soon enough he found himself in a perfect duplicate of the cave, untouched by whatever ravaged the village.

  “Took you long enough,” Grandpa complained.

  “If you are here…” Maoh left his sentence incomplete.

  “Yeah, I didn’t let them take me in one piece,” Grandpa confirmed. “I’m as dead as dead gets. But you can do something about the others.”

  “The other villagers? What about Mother?” Maoh asked.

  “Alive as far as I know,” Grandpa explained. “Taken in the middle of the night by hundreds of beasts, no one could defend against it. I fled here, hoping to find help, but you already know I failed. I do not know why the village disappeared but I can point you to someone who can find out. Far to the north, a spirit walker lives in the arctic tundra. Their fishing village lies along the coast. Seek out the spirit walker and he will guide you.”

  Grandpa’s spirit faded as the last embers of Maoh’s fire died. He needed to prepare for a long trip again. It seemed that his destiny never let him stay in one place very long. He carefully placed Grandpa’s banto blade against the wall to mark his final resting place and left the shrine behind.

  Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and the cold winter left patches of snow in Maoh’s trail. He pushed further north as the sun sat lower and lower on the horizon. Soon he crossed the boundary of the wood and trekked across open tundra. On the verge of starvation and exhausted to his core, Maoh nearly fainted when he recognized the first glimmers of a fire on the horizon. Beyond the small blinking light appeared a vast body of water, the ocean. His trip finally reached its end.

  The local people stirred as the strange person stumbled into their village. His ragged clothes and deathly complexion left them wondering if perhaps he carried a plague. One family dared to care for him through the next night and day until his fever finally broke. The brown bear visited his dreams, warning him of greater danger ahead. Maoh woke in an unfamiliar bed of soft feathers. He lay in a small tent with little dressing. A half-eaten bowl of food sat on a short stump near the bed. His grumbling stomach demanded he eat it despite the foul odor rising from the contents.

  He stirred from his bed and dared look around the village. To his astonishment, his saviors looked unlike anything Maoh imagined. The small bird-like people waddled around on short legs. Their flattened arms looked more like flippers but their fingers appeared quite dexterous. Ignoring their stature, the penguin people worked industriously to carry freshly caught fish around the village. A great sailing vessel bobbed in the water by the docks.

  Others worked to move ice and snow off the tents that had accumulated from the previous night. Some carefully climbed across great nets strung into the ocean several feet off the shore and collected the fish trapped there. Their entire lifestyle revolved around fishing it appeared. Drawings of fish or fishing activities decorated the tent walls. The penguins appeared completely at one with their surroundi
ngs. Someone noticed him and cried out in a shrill squawking language. Several of the bird people ran towards their respective tents but one elderly looking female approached him bravely.

  “I am village elder,” she stated in broken Foxen language. “I know why you come. You seek my son, the spirit walker.”

  Maoh nodded his agreement and attempted to explain the reason for his journey. The old penguin attempted to understand him but most of his story proved impossible to translate. She recognized he suffered a great loss and that he now walked on a soul journey seeking redemption. Her son, the spirit walker, just arrived that morning on the large ship. They would leave tonight, as soon as they restocked. His rescuer claimed the timing of these events signaled the will of the spirits. Another of the penguins raced to the woman’s side and squawked urgently. They exchanged heated squawks for several moments before the elder turned to Maoh and smiled as much as her beak allowed.

  “My son is happy to take you on his ship,” she explained.

  Nothing in their conversation indicated the other penguin’s expression of joy. Maoh figured the elder selectively chose her words for his benefit. Grandpa told him to find the spirit walker and this appeared to be his only chance. He swallowed his pride and thanked her. The boy showed Maoh through the village silently. He pointed to the sailing ship and said something resembling the cry of a wounded hawk. Maoh assumed it meant the name of the vessel. His best approximation of the word sent the sailors into a frenzy of stuttering chirps, this species way of laughing.

  The ship itself was sturdy, if a little small for the frame of a full-grown Foxen. The penguins, despite their odd shape, made excellent seamen. Their wide bodies and short legs provided extra balance on the open sea and their flipper arms looked ideal for swimming. Maoh’s new companion showed him to a small cubbyhole and indicated it was for sleeping. Another stop on the tour showed a large stock of fish. Their diet apparently did not include much variety. Maoh’s journey began again as the vessel cut ropes and gently sailed away from the penguin port.