Mother Fox

Amidst the tapestry of the forest, the fox's amber-flecked eyes caught the girl mesmerizingly. Tufted, alert ears seemed to hold secrets of ancient bonds, unspoken companionship woven in the very threads of nature itself. 

At least, that was how she felt in dreams where the fox visited. Within daylight hours, her hand sought her pendant concealed beneath layers of shawl, shift, and kirtle. Could it be? No, just wishful thinking. 

In wakefulness, traversing these woodlands, she sensed that unblinking eyes were there, inside the fog cloaking the tree trunks. A pestering sense of dread settled in her navel, breaths in uncertain crests and falls. She was raised in servitude, but as children do, heard the stories of ghosts and demons who claimed the forest, creeping amongst shadows of dense trees. Some were known to drain virginal blood or drag wanderers into wild streams. 

Bound by gnarly rope, she endured the pain of overstretched arms secured about the horse’s neck. One of her captors, Tors, a red-bearded man who smelt heartily of mead and copper, cupped her rear with thighs as they rode. The other man, Caeldan, rode a gray mare, and was just as gray himself. Rounding out their company was an obsidian-haired woman with an upturned nose and haughty demeanor. A gemmed circlet adorned her and sapphires showered from delicate chains on her ears.

Resigned to riding in this horrid position, the girl sighed and glared at Tors. His lip twitched, bemused. As she whipped back to face forth, she heard his chortle. They traveled some hoofpaces after she first noted the eyes, leaking forth a moon-like luminescence. Now, they appeared to follow, still watching her. No, not like the moon. They glowed like the sentinel of the night sky but these ever-vigilant eyes held only pale, frigid observance. 

Reflexively, she caressed the pendant hidden inside her kirtle. As she grew, she heard less of the childhood stories of whimsy and caution, and their lessons faded into fond memories. Maidens of the forest lie at the roots of trees and claw their way to the surface to punish those with evil intent. She sometimes reminisced about morsels of such tales, casting a pensive gaze back at the echoes of her innocence. Amidst her meager compensation as a servant, any aspirations she once held unraveled with the passage of time, replaced by a sober recognition of her true place in the world. 

Haunting as the pair of ghostly orbs were, their owners  had yet to approach. Soon it would be nightfall. She would again forcefully help assemble camp. Tonight would be the fourth away from her cramped familiar floor pallet, alongside other maids on a dusty floor. 

She was soon stirring wild mushroom pottage and remnants of the captors’ provisions over a campfire. Caeldan, content in solitude, whittled at a chunk of knotty cedar, absorbed by the deft transformation. Evara, the woman, was disarmingly jovial during these hours of respite. It took less than a day's ride to unveil Evara's true nature as a sorceress, her arcane abilities veering from aiding those she deemed beneath her. She was content for the weary girl to prepare a meal for four rather than using her own conjurations. 

In the encroaching dusk, Evara alluded to the past, mentioning how she took coins from a village and left them with a decoy poppet imbued without enchantment to protect them from the entity claiming its occupants.

“Inspires much confidence” muttered gray Caeldan, spitting the titular phrase.

Tors spoke, “Ah, we’re no worse off than before, whatever happens.” He eagerly scraped up his pottage, firing occasional quips at the others. As the last morsel vanished from his plate, his voice carried a surprising note of gentleness. "You possess a rare beauty, you know," he spoke softly, his words a mere breath beside the crackling timber. "It's a cruel twist of fate that has brought us together for these purposes." 

The girl had released all sense of care during her servitude, and now, she was too physically worn to muster inquisitiveness about why she had been taken by the strangers. Inhaling the aromas of camp, she turned her gaze to the nearest copse, at the edge of the cozy glade where they tarried. She tousled back walnut hair and adjusted her shawl snugly about her shoulders to ward off creeping chill. Tors’ eyes blazed beside the firelight. She knew this kind of man, though a coarser sort than those who confronted her in noble houses. Nobles - she scoffed at the word - would corner unsuspecting serving girls, drowning in ale. 

Now, her hand crept to the safe nook near her breasts, stroking the pendant for comfort. Offering no retort, she reclined to her side, gazing into the fire until exhaustion took her. 

The world within her dreams was cocooned in a serpentine haze of purple-gray that undulated, filling vast expanses and intimate spaces. Vaguely aware of her own form, she felt as incorporeal as the mist shrouding the landscape. 

Then, before her, the swirling vapors drifted apart, minutely opening up further to reveal footprints. The earth before her bore the elusive imprints of the fox's passage, stamped into the terrain, whispering an invitation on an odyssey. 

What could she do but follow? All seemed lost in the waking world. 

Come, the voice whispered in her mind, carrying on secret winds. Follow my tracks. What else could you lose?

The maids of the forest can shift to animals, a memory warned her. The kindly old cook whom she spent early years with warned all children she managed of the dangers of slipping outside the country manor to wander alone. 

“Where are you? Could you not just come out on your own?” she called, shunning away childhood trepidation and superstition. 

No response came. 

Exhaling slowly into this slumbering realm, she then followed the tracks. They led over a trickling rivulet, teeming with vibrant fish. The prints curved through a meadow rich with wildflowers and amidst a glen of frolicking deer. The fog rolled away as she continued, this world of dreams cautiously unveiling itself. Soon, an immense valley opened up, home to a lofty cliff face, towering up into a swirling sky. 

Nestled snugly and unassuming against the cliff stood a cottage, its chimney exhaling a cozy blaze. Windows radiated a golden glow and fragrant bellflowers swayed along the path that wound towards the oaken door.

Her feet carried her through the cottage door without hesitation.  

A caress of hearthfire embraced her, dispelling the persistent bone-deep cold that had plagued her waking hours. "You've arrived," a voice weaved through the heart of the flames. Tongues of fire soared outwards as though to greet the tall bedraggled girl, their forms mimicking graceful fingers unfurling like blossoms. 

Looking about the cottage to search for a speaking figure, she confirmed no such person existed. Again, the flames spoke, tendrils dancing as recognition began to unfurl, tugging at the edges of her memory. 

“You’ve grown so much,” were its next words. 

Years of heartache poured forth, tears tracing loss and toil upon her cheeks. 

In response, the glowing fire within the hearth emitted embers whirling about her, as she fell to her knees a few paces away, overcome. As embers landed upon her skin and hair, they did not burn but warmed her as an enveloping hug. 

Finally, after the sobs subsided, she lifted her gaze, “Mother?” 

Embers danced as the melodious tone responded, “I am here,” then, “Now, wish as I might that we visit, there is no time.” 

“Mother- my captors- they have evil plans for me, I know they do”. 

“Quiet, now,” came the affectionate timbre, “This is why you found me. I have a gift for you.”

The flame in the hearth crackled more audibly than before. A globe of flame shot from the hearthfire, launching to the floor. The orb took form and unfurled itself, first a bushy tail then four paws stretching outward from within the spherical shape. 

The fox that curled before her yawned, showing gleaming teeth and a delicate rose tongue. Her ears flattened then pricked up, alert and welcoming. Amber-flecked eyes leveled with the girl’s. 

Drawn to the creature through an overwhelming sense of comfort, the girl rocked forward on her knees. Reaching out, the captivating animal lifted its pointed muzzle to meet her. 

“Take her with you” spoke her mother’s long-ago voice from within the crackling flames. “She will know what to do. But don’t forget- rules are different here. When you reach the end of the path, open your pendant so she can awaken with you.”

“I don’t want to leave you again. My life since those monsters burnt you–” 

“There is no time. Remember, touch your pendant and whisper ‘Mother Fox’ when danger seems utmost. She will come.” As suddenly as the powerful hearthfire had greeted her, it dwindled inside its stone alcove. 

Pushing past grief, she slowly scuffed her boots and rose to face the door. The fox awaited her, auburn tail kissed with frost. Those amber eyes calculated her but the tail flicked, an expression of companionship. 

“Thank you for your guidance. I’m coming.” The exquisite animal tilted her head at these words, attentive. With emboldened strides to the door and another swish of the fox’s tail, they moved back the way she came. 

Outside, the night was deepened and the moon spilled beams upon the ethereal dreamscape. Following the cliff’s slate cathedral, they curved back toward the path which led to the cottage. Tawny-hided deer dozed in their glen, fawns suckling bountifully from the does, whereas before they had cavorted when the girl meandered through. Now, the rivulet was calm with only sounds of serene trickles. 

The fox plotted onward, marking the treeline with her bewhiskered face then proceeding through an archway that the girl had not noticed before. Between two magnificent oaks the fox led her. Just as they passed beneath the oaks’ enmeshed crowns, within the branches facing the forest’s heart, the fox’s trot haltered. She turned her delicate snout to face the girl. ‘Mother Fox,’ remember to touch your pendant, came the mellifluous voice. 

Before the girl could form an utterance, she found her fingers tapping open the pendant’s secret compartment, and the fox’s form flashed before dissipating into gleaming fractals. Sparkling with the glow of hearthfire, the embers soared toward her chest and vanished upon contact with the silver pendant.

With a start, she awakened beside the campfire. She laid on her side, her bound hands a pillow beneath the tangle of hair. A scuffling sound came from the direction of her feet. Blinking hazy sleep from her eyes, she saw the sorceress Evara kneeling before the fire, chanting to it in a lilt, pouring an indecipherable substance into the flames from a metal chalice. She smirked and turned her head slightly to stare at the girl. Returning the chalice to her cloak, the sorceress wiped hands on skirts then stood up. “Tomorrow eve” she said, “That’s when your fate will restore what the world owes us. Thank you.” 

In response, she felt a rising courage that was not present before she fell asleep. Instead of the silence she gave her captors thus far, she shot back, “Perhaps it is you who does not know what awaits you in these woods.”

Evara scoffed, tossing inky hair over one shoulder, as Tors emerged from the shadows of a tree cloaked in night. He kept watch from a hideout where he could not be observed by the others. Placing his hand on the witch’s elbow, he announced, “It’s getting closer. Time to ride.”

He added, “I hope you’ll remember your promise, for we are the ones who did the drudgery work. Taking the girl from servants’ quarters of a well-guarded home. We put ourselves at peril guiding you through these woods.” 

The witch scoffed, “I’ve nothing to fear in these woods. Even if the forest maids dwell here, as legends say.” She sauntered off to prepare her horse for the day’s ride. 

This day, their course was through barren lands, far less green than their previous envelopment by the forest. When evening fell again, they found themselves entering another woodland. Shadows of the trees created a dappling effect on the moss-covered carpet of the forest as the sun lowered further. 

Only one of the four travelers did not cheer upon arrival to an altar of sorts. Although it consisted of slabs of stone resting at the edge of a tranquil pool, lily pads drifting along its surface and a small waterfall set further back into the crystalline precipice, that was when a sense of dread stabbed into the girl’s gut. Kicking at the horse, she thrashed feet and her bound hands about the creature’s neck. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad, love. At least it will be done with” smirked Tors.

Evara quickly swung down from her horse then stormed toward the captive girl, “No more need for platitudes and pretending.” She effortlessly conjured a sleek-edged blade  and cut the girl free. 

Before she could think of scrambling from horseback, Caeldan snatched her about the waist. “Would it do us good to let you get away now?” The men pressed in on either side, settling upon the ground to guard her though she knew it was not for protection. She was to discover how they intended to harm her. Her eyes roved over the pool and its altar-no clues awaited there. Barely imperceptibly came a soft unearthly hum from the woods around them. Craning her neck, the girl thought a pair of orbs emitting white light watched from the tree depths. 

Evara, on her knees beside the pool, reverently arranged items for ritual. She sang in low tones as she sprinkled various powders in her chalice then tossed them in flourishing patterns on the water’s surface. She brandished an ornate dagger, drawn from the pouch secured to her belt. 

Voice surging prominently now, the witch called, “Come now, and bring her.”

The men obeyed, Caeldan providing a guiding arm across her back, but Tors shoving her shoulders roughly. Exhausted and wrapped in her shawl, she sprawled at the edge of the pool next to Evara, the men hulking over them.

The witch met blade’s edge with the alabaster palm of her hand then sharply flung outward to scatter crimson blood into the pool’s still waters. Without halt, the men offered each of their hands, eagerly, as though having rehearsed. 

Once their palms had dispensed of blood, issuing to the waters beneath, the witch lifted her head to level with the girl’s eyes. 

Evara’s eyes were a startling shade of cornflower, but hardened, reflecting the cruelty she had treated her prisoner with thus far. “My beauty, your sacrifice will provide us with the power we seek.” Tors hooped and shoved the girl closer to the sorceress. Though her heart thundered painfully in her ears and simultaneously seemed to stop, the girl owned knowledge her would-be executioners did not. 

As she had tumbled to the ground, she reached down to grasp her long-cherished pendant, the only gift she managed to hide away all these years from cruel highborns and thieves. The pendant was the shape of a fox, beset with amber-inlaid eyes. She recalled the warmth of her mother’s voice in her dreams and the vixen who had shown her the way. Beneath her shawl, face on the forest floor, she uttered, “‘Mother Fox.’”

Vibrations akin to the pulse of an ancestral heartbeat resonated from the land itself. Gusts blew forth, stirring a conversation between rustling leaves swirling from the depths of the towering ashes and oaks. 

Before their moonlight-filled eyes could be seen, the forest maidens heralded their own spectral arrival with hair-raising melodies intended for haunting and hunting. 

One could not tell how many of the specters approached. They came into view, as if pouring from the roots of the woodland itself. Claws were used to drag their ghostly forms across the forest floor with fury, upon the group beside the calm pool. Spidery tresses made entirely of shadow flowed about them in their wake. 

It was not the sorceress who had summoned them with her possessive, selfish magic. Leading the charge of the phantoms was a small fox. Her head aloft and proud, she darted from the underbrush and made a direct line for the girl, whose captors had ceased securing her. A fear arose in them unlike any they anticipated. 

Tors was the first to lose his composure. “I didn’t- this wasn’t my-” were his final words as he was struck by an onslaught of spectral gales pouring forth with the forest maidens. A scream burst forth as their host engulfed him. 

Evara, her bloodied dagger slipping into the lagoon at the initial moment of terror, lost balance and plunged into the water. Her limbs waved wildly, luxurious cloak and gown shrouding her. Then, the maidens shrouded her too. 

The girl, receiving a tender touch of the fox’s snout to her cheek, did not wait to see what the maidens had in store for the Caeldan. Instead, she spurred off in the direction from which the fox made her path, toward the trees from which the phantoms spilled forth. 

In a rush of frosted tail and rumpled skirts, they trampled over mossy chasms of twisted tree roots, which appeared as though powerful claws ascended from the dewy soil. The girl, staying on the fox's heels, had little opportunity to reflect on the truth of the forest maiden's resting places beneath the ancient tree roots. She had found the truest friend,  and they were making their way to freedom and a life beyond her imagination.