Tuesday 3 November 2009

Chapter Two - First Awakening

2. First Awakening

Night had fallen and the full moon glowed high in the cloudless sky. Light trickled through the leafless branches of Creedy Wood, creating patterns on the ground below.
Nestled deep within the woodland lived a hollow oak tree, crowned with a multitude of ferns. Standing upon a small, steep island, the grand tree had split the river Creedy for centuries. Entwined ivy and moss grew thick upon its cracked bark, as if giving the tree a warm winter coat. Hidden behind
the heavy curtain of ivy vines, the tree’s torn trunk marked the narrow opening to Sorrel’s earth.

Down below ground the vixen had just given birth to a litter of cubs. Three tiny black bundles of fur squirmed close to their Mother’s belly, searching for warmth and milk. Their eyes were not yet open and their coats would remain dark for many weeks before they would transform into a rich golden colour.

Although exhausted, Sorrel licked them dry with great tenderness, making sure each pup was thoroughly clean and dry. She wondered which cub had Steren’s spirit and how she would know. How she missed her mate. So much had changed and so suddenly. At least I am not alone and he’s still with me, she thought. New life is so precious. I will not lose you again, she promised silently. Settling down on her side, she let out a satisfied sigh. As the cubs noisily began to feed she hummed to them softly.

A dog fox crouched nearby and, although handsome, his dull golden coat betrayed a life filled with hardships. A thick scar slashed clean across his right hind leg, the stretched tissue showing through his thick fur. The injury still caused him discomfort and had left with him a slight but permanent limp. Wanderer’s hazel eyes watched Sorrel attentively and then softened as he looked upon the cubs. He wagged his white tipped, bushy tail and counted the new born pups.

The vixen finally managed to pull her eyes from her cubs and as she smiled at Wanderer she filled him with happiness. She was grateful to have him by her side. He’ll be a good teacher and Uncle for the cubs, she thought. He reminds me of Steren. Her throat thickened with the memory of her mate. Pulling the cubs closer, she covered them with her thick tail. She gritted her teeth and decided she would tell Wanderer her plan to keep them protected. As she whispered to him the old fox nodded his head, but she could tell he did not approve.

At midnight Wanderer gave Sorrel an affectionate goodnight lick and turned to leave the earth. Friends had arrived and they were gathering around the oak tree, eagerly waiting for news. As soon as the fox appeared, Silverback the badger moved forwards from the group. When he lifted his head to greet Wanderer, the three white stripes on his face showed up clearly under the moonlight. Whitetail, his mate, could not contain her excitement. She rushed towards the fox, accidentally bumping against Rusty the otter, who had been looking the other way. Rusty swished his long, rudder-like tail to regain his balance and widened his beady eyes, cackling at her in surprise.

On a nearby tree stump Dusk the buzzard fluffed his brown chest feathers, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His partner, Flow, chose to ignore his chuckle and watched the fox attentively.

The anticipation grew within the group as Wanderer moved to stand atop the mossy mound beside the oak tree. He gave the animals a wide smile, “Welcome friends. Tonight we celebrate! Three new cubs have been born on this day. They are healthy and I’m confident the spirit of their Father lives on within one of them. Sorrel is recovering and bids you all her heartfelt thanks for coming here tonight.”

Silverback the badger grunted loudly in agreement and nodded his head with great pride, “This surely is excellent news. I have waited for this day ever since my Father told me of your brother’s birth. A day he was never to forget. He must have stood here, where I stand today, years later…so many years.”

His voice faded and his eyes glazed over, as if he was revisiting a distant past. Then he blinked and looked upon each creature in turn, Dusk and Flow the buzzards, Rusty and Ava the otters, Wanderer and his own lovely mate, Whitetail. He beamed at them all and in a deep rich tone he spoke the traditional words, “We thank The Spirits for continuing the line. May the chosen cub follow in his Father’s footsteps and continue the legend under a new name.”

“Hear, hear” called out Rusty the otter, licking his lips. Each animal had brought offerings of food for the feast and the brown otter had his eyes on a particularly plump pike.

Ava stared at her mate and then turned to catch Flow the buzzard’s eye. Earlier that day the bird had been flying overhead when she had caught the enormous brown fish. Flow answered Ava’s despairing look by raising her lower eyelid in a sympathetic wink.

Wanderer and Silverback had been exchanging quiet words on top of the old mossy mound and now they turned to speak to the small assembly. The animals cut short their rumbling conversations, looking up at them expectantly. “Well,” said Wanderer. He looked down, clearly at a loss of where to begin. The badger deliberately placed his paw on top of Wanderer’s paw and the fox began again. “This is a great event, but we must also remember the terrible tragedy that happened yesterday. Sorrel needs our support, now more than ever. I am sorry to say she has not come to terms with Steren’s death.”

The animals glanced at each other, each feeling the pain of Steren’s passing. A tear squeezed through Wanderer’s tightly closed eyes. Only Silverback heard him whisper, “If only...if it weren’t for my injury, I could have done something.”

Looking skywards the fox opened his eyes and continued at a volume the others could hear. “She has asked me to tell you, to ask you that the truth of their Father and of his reborn spirit be kept from the cubs. The legend must be kept silent for the time being.” He added, “She doesn’t want them to know of Man’s sport for hunting foxes either. That is until she decides they are old enough or the time is right.”

Wanderer hung his head low, his nose brushing the soft tips of moss. He looked weary. Below him the animals’ surprised expressions indicated this was the last thing they had expected.

Dusk raised his brown and white speckled wing to show he wished to speak. Wanderer gave him a slight inclination of his head.

“It must be painful for her, but she knew Steren’s destiny was to pass on his spirit into one of their cubs. This new generation must have been chosen by The Spirits. We all feel such joy to know Steren’s spirit has begun anew. Why does this not comfort her?” He fluffed his feathers, “We are all here to help and support your family, but I am not certain this is the best way forwards.”

After a long silence the animals turned back to wait for Wanderer to speak. Instead Silverback chose to defend the vixen by saying, “Sorrel was in love.” He threw up his striped face to gaze upon the luminous moon. “We all know how much love meddles with the mind. She is grieving. We cannot blame Sorrel for wanting to protect her cubs. They have just been born.”

The badger’s shoulders shook and his thick silvery coat rippled down his spine. He looked upon the animals and spoke steadily, “Let us see how time helps to heal her wounds. Eventually she will see that they need to know, that they must know. There will be time to prepare Steren’s heir, I promise you.”

The buzzard looked around him and then at his mate. He nodded his head slowly, “Yes of course, the cubs’ upbringing must be as their Mother wishes.”

A few hours later the celebrations began to wind down and the animals prepared to take their leave. Rusty the otter had just wolfed down a smelly pile of fishy remains and he spluttered loudly.

“Wait!” he gargled. Closing his eyes tight shut he swallowed again and let out a dry cough. “Be warned!” he spat. “The rivers are rising higher this year than we otters can ever remember. I reckon if things don’t calm down just one freak storm could cause all kinds of flooding. I fear Oak Tree Island might go under.”

By this time the otter had successfully gained everyone’s attention.

His whiskers quivered as he bared his teeth, “I blame Man and his meddlesome nature. Tearing up the land and wasting our water, never considering the consequences! Man has already broken nature’s balance. A balance all us wild creatures tried so hard to respect and protect. All for nothing! To be torn down!”

Rusty’s face was screwed up in anger. “Every year my winter home has been flooded! My Father never had this problem, it’s so unfair! All I ask for is warmth and shelter, but apparently this is too much to ask,” he snapped.

Still scowling heavily he concluded, “All this human destruction and greed was bound to lead to disaster for us all.” Without another word he swished his long, thick tail, propelling his body towards the water. The remaining animals looked quite taken aback and Dusk politely hid his smirk beneath his wing.

Ava the otter shook her head slowly, “You know what he’s like, always making a mountain out of a mole hill. I’m certain nothing untoward will happen,” she added.

Wanderer looked at her sympathetically and replied, “Don’t worry Ava, the cubs will be protected. Thank you all so much for coming, I’ll bid you farewell.”

The buzzards flapped up to their nest and Dusk called down, “Flow and I will keep lookout, get some rest old fox.”

Wanderer smiled broadly as he watched the badgers strolling across the river. Once the animals had disappeared he turned and quietly padded into the opening of Oak Tree earth.

Careful not to wake Sorrel, Wanderer breathed slowly and deeply, treading lightly down the tunnel. The warm, pleasant smell of the new family filled his nose as he entered the den. He sighed happily as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. All three cubs were snuggled together beside their Mother’s belly. He watched them sleeping and listened with amusement to their squeaking snores.

His face glowed with pride as he pondered, “The hunters will soon have an even greater fox to chase. I wonder which of you will take the place of honour, my brother’s spirit.”

A moment later he noticed one of the cubs was stirring. Although a newborn cub he wriggled and rolled away from his Mother and then shakily started to sit up. Much to Wanderer’s astonishment the cub wobbled back to sit on his hind legs and swayed slightly.

He blinked his eyes in surprise, and then quietly stepped forward to sniff the cub, whispering into his fluffy ears, “I remember you.”

Wanderer’s face was a picture of joy as he walked up the tunnel and into the open air. Leaping onto the mossy mound he lifted his head to gaze at the night sky. As he looked upon the moon he felt certain the cub’s future was going to be extraordinary.

“And it will have to be,” he growled.

On his way back to his own den he peered through the leafless trees and spied rain clouds approaching. He felt a shiver ripple up his spine. By the time he’d arrived home the wind had increased and the branches were scratching against each other. He didn’t like the eerie sounds. Pausing, he stared watchfully at the raging sky.

Back at Oak Tree earth the cub sat for some time, trying to make sense of the dark and mysterious world. I must remember who I am, he thought. Where was I before I came here? He simply couldn’t think clearly.

“I know... something,” he groaned. Soon his thoughts exhausted him so he returned to the warmth of his brother and sister. Releasing a loud sigh, he slipped into slumber.

Sorrel was sleeping a soundless, deep sleep when suddenly she had a strange sensation of being pulled through the darkness. What’s happening? she wondered. Why can’t I wake up? She began to feel afraid.

Then a very familiar voice spoke into her ear. “I am here, beautiful mate. You have nothing to fear, though I cannot stay in your dreams for long. Open your eyes and you shall see me.”

Chapter One - Eclipse

1. Eclipse

The sound of the hunter’s horn cut through the air as the Huntsman rallied his foxhounds. His grey horse sidestepped when he leant over to speak with his Whipper-in. The foxhunt had been going well. For the past two hours they had been on a long and twisting chase after a vixen but it seemed she had managed to escape.

More than twenty brown, black and white hounds circled the grasses, their soft velvet ears hanging low to the ground, helping to stir up the scent. The Whipper-in shouted to a dozen straggling behind, urging them to join the rest of the pack. The Master and his assistants, wearing smart red coats, scanned the field with practised eyes.

The vixen, Sorrel, feared for her life. Bursting through the next hedgerow she began tearing across yet another grassy field. Her wet coat glistened momentarily as sunshine burst through a gap in the clouds. Her pointy ears twitched constantly and were alert to every sound.

Am I going to escape this time? she wondered. She was aware the weight of the cubs growing inside her was slowing her down. Her swollen belly brushed against the grass as she ran. Tears filled her eyes when she thought she might never see her mate again. She and Steren had been so hopeful to rear another generation. Gritting her teeth she dug in her claws to gain greater speed. Faster.

The horde of mounted riders joined the head of the hunt, yelling and hollering. All eyes searched the countryside for a hint of their quarry. The Huntsman pictured the landscape as a map in his mind, weighing up where the fox might be. When he remembered a long wooden fence running along the hedgerow he called again, directing his pack towards it. The Master and riders held back, waiting expectantly.

The throng of hounds approached the hedgerow, their tails wagging continuously. Each sensitive nose sniffed loudly along the ground. One of the more experienced hounds stood up on his hindquarters against the fence, showing off his white legs and underbelly. As he lowered his brown head onto the timbers, saliva splattered the wood. Called Raiden by his master, he searched for a taste of the scent.

Suddenly the familiar odour of the vixen filled his nostrils. Flinging his head skywards, he released a blood-curdling howl. Immediately the pack joined in with a deafening chorus and the hounds started leaping into the air. The sound of baying hit the riders like a wave. The air tingled with tension and the mouths of the riders fell open.

“Tally-Ho!” cried the Huntsman and the pack surged forwards. The hounds moved together, each head bobbing to keep check on Raiden’s position, for he was following the scent.

Some of the hunters galloped after them. Others followed more slowly, shouting, “Get that Charlie!” and “Forrard!”

Sorrel checked the distance between her and the hounds. A grim expression appeared on her attractive face for she knew the hunt had found her trail again. No. She pushed harder. I will see Steren again, she vowed silently. The cubs must be saved. She knew she had to keep going until she could run no more.

Less than a minute later the hounds barged clumsily through the next hedgerow. Still fresh with Sorrel’s scent, they bayed louder with excitement. Behind them the mounted Huntsman and a small number of riders approached. Their horses leapt over, kicking up huge clods of mud. The pack continued its noisy run and the riders shouted from behind.

Through field after field, the hunt charged on. Half an hour later the cries from the hounds began to rise as they sensed they were closing the gap. Then the Whipper-in caught a split second glimpse of the vixen and bellowed, “Holloa!”

The Huntsman joined his cry, further driving the pack forward. Bred for their stamina and outstanding sense of smell, the hounds were now locked onto their target – and they knew it. The musky scent of the vixen filled Raiden’s nostrils as they tore along a muddy track.

Sorrel’s muscles were almost bursting and she was panting hard. Her paws felt as heavy as lead as she laboured onwards. Desperation to save her unborn cubs overwhelmed her. Voices began arguing inside her head. Run to the river, run to the woods, run to the farm. She cried out for her mate. Misery clouded her mind. Soon she was running blind and heading straight for Raddon Hill. Then through the thick daze she heard her name being called again and again.

She heard the cries of “Sorrel, Sorrel!” once more and then she realised the sounds were not in her mind but travelling on the wind. Still running hard up the steep hill, she turned her face sideways and spotted the familiar silhouette of Dusk the buzzard. The large brown bird was a family friend and they shared an unusual bond – both families had made their home on Oak Tree Island. She watched him hanging easily in the blustery skies before sinking her head as she continued to climb.

Dusk had been flying extremely high above the valley, his wings tickling the clouds to hide him from any hunter’s eyes. The valley of Creedy spanned many miles around him: endless fields of pasture stitched with hedgerows, scattered clumps of trees and the dark shadow of Creedy Wood. Nearby two horses quietly grazed while next door a farmer herded some sheep with his sheepdog. Across the landscape the unmistakable glistening snake of Creedy River brought life and abundance into the valley.

The buzzard’s wingspan was at least twice the length of the vixen yet his feathers barely moved as he hovered. When Dusk’s sharp eyes saw that Sorrel had spotted him he began his descent, sweeping down in several elegant steps. He adjusted his wings to circle low above the vixen’s head.

Dusk called down to her urgently, “Sorrel, the hunt is gaining, Steren knows and he says that you must return to the den. He has a plan Sorrel! I promised him I would fetch you. Please, you must go back to the island.”

The vixen managed a sideward glance to her friend, but her half closed eyes and lolling tongue indicated she had little energy left. The buzzard chose to stay with her until she reached the immense peak of Raddon Hill.

She almost tumbled down the other side but finally she made it into the wood, scattering fallen leaves as she went. What Steren is planning? she wondered. Will he be in the den or is he going to draw the hunt away?

Her heart was pounding as she ran through the shallow river surrounding Oak Tree Island. Climbing the mound she rushed through the narrow opening into the oak’s hollow trunk. The ivy that hung across the tree like a curtain rustled and waved, then lay still. Before peace could return the hunt entered the wood in an explosion of crackling branches and leaves.

Down beneath the ground Steren, Sorrel’s mate, was waiting for her. In his heart he knew what he must do. As the vixen burst into the den he immediately comforted her, licking her face all over. He was a very large and handsome fox, though well past his prime. The depths of his hazel eyes betrayed his inner wisdom and were filled with adoration for his mate. His furry head rubbed against hers and she sighed contentedly.

As he moved backwards slightly Sorrel coughed out a wretched tear. “Please no,” she stared at him with agony in her eyes.

He nudged her sympathetically but his expression was determined. Looking deep into her large brown eyes he said, “My love, I feel in my heart that now is my time to depart. Please do not be afraid, for we knew this day would come. My spirit shall return, just as I have many times before, reborn within one of our cubs. The cycle must begin anew.” He paused, for tears were streaming down Sorrel’s face. Delicately he licked them from her fur and gazed into her eyes for the last time, “I know you will take care of our cubs. Be strong. I must go now.”

Sorrel watched through watery eyes as her mate vanished from the den. Her heart was filled with pain. Tears fell and her throat felt thick. She could not bear to imagine a life without him. Her legs shook violently as she tried to stand up. Letting out a frustrated whine she collapsed.

Steren breathed deeply as he poked his head through the gap in the hollow trunk. He could easily smell and hear the hounds searching the wood for Sorrel’s scent. Choosing a direction he headed off into the trees. As he ran silently through the leaf litter he was surprised to feel an inner calm and strength. He looked around, are The Spirits beside me to help me through to the end? he wondered.

Memories of previous meetings with the hunt flashed before his eyes. For many years he had answered the Huntsman’s call and lured the hounds away from other foxes. He had become a legend in his own lifetime. Countless lives had been saved. Now he felt his old age looming and he knew, though he did not know how, that it was the moment to move on.

He thought of Sorrel and felt a sudden stabbing pain in his heart. Out of all of the trials in his life he realised this was the hardest. How can I leave her behind? He swallowed. Now is not the time to be afraid. As he continued through the trees he wondered about the new life ahead of him, reborn into one of Sorrel’s cubs. He wished he could take his memories with him, but he knew The Spirits would not allow it.

When he rounded the edge of the wood he caught sight of the riders milling around at the bottom of the hill. He stopped for a moment, keen to come up with a plan that would mean his mate would be safe. His eyes rested on an enormous tree that had been split by lightning. One of the tree’s side branches had been peeled off and it was sloping towards the ground. A plan started to form in his mind. He nodded his head with renewed determination. I must defeat the hunt to save Sorrel.

He trotted into the field and sat down in the long grass. Almost a minute passed. He breathed deeply, savouring the scents floating by. Then lowering his golden head, he brushed his nose on the jewels of dew hidden deep in the grass. His wet muzzle, which had turned white with old age, dripped slowly. Finally he opened his jaws and released his loudest, deepest howl, raising his head up to the skies.

Shouts immediately echoed around the valley. The Huntsman blew his horn, sending tingles down all the hounds’ spines. Their powerful bodies jerked into action and they began charging towards the new quarry.

Steren turned and raced towards the broken tree, dashing up the branch and onto the boughs above. Moments later Raiden and his hounds arrived and they surrounded the tree, leaping and howling with excitement. Two of the hounds jumped onto the sloping branch but they struggled to keep their balance on the uneven wood.

Raiden raised his enormous head and shouted, “Come down old fox, I think now is your time. You are defeated!”

Steren stared straight into the hound’s eyes and called down, “I know you, Raiden.”

The large hound was speechless and stepped backwards. No fox had dared to utter his name before.

Steren barked, “I have led you and your pack at every meet and left you tired and hungry! Even now I could outrun your trusty hounds, but I know it is my time. I shall return and I believe in my next life I will see your hunting and killing come to a rightful end.”

All of the hounds looked amazed and Raiden became filled with anger. He barked furiously, ordering his pack to silence the insolent fox. The eager hounds dug their claws into the split branch and began to climb. One of the younger hounds got his paw trapped and wobbled precariously. He struggled in panic, knocking the other hounds. Two more got caught. All tangled, the three hounds lost their balance and fell off the branch. Trapped securely by their ankles they dangled high above the ground.

The Huntsman approached the tree. His lips curled in anger as he saw his hounds hanging helplessly. They whined plaintively.

Steren made the most of the confusion and ran as nimbly as a squirrel through the branches. He bounded onto the largest bough that reached far into the meadow. As he neared the tip he leapt into the air. The riders gasped in surprise as they watched his golden body flying over their heads. The fox landed cleanly, his legs running the moment they met the ground.

A loud cracking sound quickly followed and the riders watched in horror as the dead branch collapsed. Startled yelps and whines filled the air. The hounds limped away from the broken wood, whimpering pitifully.

The Huntsman shouted orders to his hounds and loudly blew his horn. Raiden quickly responded and turned to chase the fleeing fox. A few others answered the call, but for many today’s hunt was over.

Steren sprinted up the steep sides of Raddon Hill. As he ran he pictured Sorrel by his side. He imagined they were free from Man and his hounds. Slicing through the thick grass he began to pick up speed. His legs used up every last piece of strength within him. He stared straight ahead and his jaws locked together. When he reached the summit he gasped at the expansive view surrounding him. From the top of the hill he could see for miles around: endless fields, mounds, countless smaller valleys, towering woods, towns and villages.

He looked to the horizon and saw the hills of Dartmoor. Staring longingly at these distant mountains, he sensed their magic and importance. I believe my spirit belongs there, he thought. For a moment he felt like he was flying towards Dartmoor and dancing above their majestic rocky Tors. He had never felt more at peace.

Hearing his heart thumping, he turned to meet his adversaries. Clearing his mind of fear, he waited. Raiden, the most formidable hound, had reached the crest and was gaining speed. His ears slapped his head and muzzle as he raced towards the fox. As he opened his jaws with a snarl, he revealed a nasty, yellow set of teeth.

Behind him a rider appeared on a black horse covered in white foaming sweat. The man raised a long black-barrelled shotgun and took aim.

Peace began to return to Creedy Wood. Beneath the ground, Sorrel closed her eyes as images of Steren and their wonderful life together flashed before her. She prayed to The Spirits, asking them to return him to her, safe and unharmed. In the distance the Huntsman’s horn began ringing out in victory. Pain rushed into her heart. Her whole body shook and tears streamed down her muzzle. She wrapped her bushy tail around her body and she whimpered in the darkness. Then she felt a wave of tightening inside her belly and her eyes opened wide. The time for the cubs’ birth had arrived.

Monday 2 November 2009