The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1) Read online

  Roe looked into his uncle's sorrowful eyes as he waited for a response but the aged Fox remained silent and turned back towards his book.

  “Go to bed, Roe. We will have a hard morning of training tomorrow. Take a bath. I'm sure you are right and everything will be fine.”

  Roe clenched his jaws, growling half to himself, “That is all you have to say? Nothing? You spend hour after hour every day in this den praying, keeping to yourself. You tell me you are looking for guidance. From whom? You won't even tell me what this great Art is!

  “I won't?” he whispered. Then boomed, “I do not because I do not know! No one knows! The great Art was lost long ago along with the meaning it brought to our lives! I look for that meaning as I sit in this den and how I can translate it to the rest of you and I look for guidance only within myself. Perhaps if you looked for guidance within, Roe, you wouldn't need to go anywhere else to find meaning. Now go to bed! Your stench is making me sick!”

  Flicking the scissors deftly with his nose into the air and catching them in his jaws, Roe turned to go and then stopped and said, “If you won't give me any answers, Uncle, then I will discover them for myself. I only stay for the others, not for you, and one of these days I won't come back from the piles.”

  “Roe,” barked Shon, continuing in a low growl, “bring those scissors with you in the morning.”

  Breathing heavily, saliva dripping from the tip of the scissors, Roe was on the verge of tearing his uncle's mound to pieces then running back inside and stabbing his uncle through the back. Of course he didn't. After two short breaths he ran with all his might through the wandering track of mounds and plunged himself violently into the cool spring waters. Thrashing and splashing violently for a good twenty minutes served to calm him down and to scrub him clean. When he staggered out of the pool, his legs shaking and chest heaving, Mayda was calmly sitting at the edge of the water whisking her tail and watching.

  “I know he means the best for all of us, but if you leave, Roe, I want to go with you.”

  Collapsing on the bank, Roe laughed and rolled over to look at her.

  “I'm sure you would Mayda, but your father is the best tracker we have and he would come after me and you and when he caught up, which I'm sure wouldn't take long, he'd hand us over to your mother who would kill us both.”

  She laughed quietly in response and said, “Then we are both stuck here for a while, aren't we?”

  “Yes, I suppose we are,” he said giving his sore back to the grass and the stars.

  Mayda stretched herself out next to Roe, not touching him but hearing the pounding of his heart. They both fell asleep for a moment until Roe started, then rose from the ground. He picked up the scissors sticking out of the earth and said, “Uncle wants me to bring these to training tomorrow.”

  She rolled over and looked at him hovering above. “Well, it looks like you may actually get what you want for once.”

  Golden behind the trees in the distance, a hot and lethargic sun began to rise and spread a warm light across the valley and the face of Mayda. He smiled at her and for a brief moment saw that beauty his uncle had been talking about. But it isn't enough, thought Roe.

  “Good night, Mayda,” he smiled. “I've had that bath and will be looking forward to that dance tonight during the festival.

  She watched him trot away into the sunrise and saw his shadow curl up below a pine tree higher up the hill.

  Roe fell asleep almost instantly. The combination of physical exertion, nearly being killed, and an emotional battle with his uncle left little room for insomnia. A small amount of sunlight filtered in through the branches of the tree above giving just enough warmth to feel like a thick soft summer blanket.

  A dream stuttered and slurred through his sleep as if burdened by the sustained heat of the drought, unable to start, and leaving him with a restless night and images of foxes yelping through a haze.

  *

  He woke slowly, the summer sun still high in the sky. Stretching out on the dry grass he felt a slight ache in the shoulder which counter-acted the slight ache of heart he felt as he remembered the argument with his uncle. Then he looked where he was. The same hillocks. The same trees. The same mounds and the same dead worms for breakfast. The same anger began to bubble up in his stomach.

  Taking the scissors into his mouth he trotted the short distance to the meal mound and was surprised to be hit by the waft of something delicious. A large white cast iron bathtub of rats sat stewing in the centre of the room. Checking that the cook was not around he quickly crossed over and grabbed a tail tied out of the water on a string to a smooth oak branch and tugged it free. The seasoned gravy dripped onto the floor as he munched on the tender meat.

  Berkeley wandered in with a pile of fresh herbs strapped to his back. Squat and shaped like a boulder, he was obsessed with food and its preparation. He waddled across the room saw Roe then screamed, “Those are for tonight! If you come eating all of them we'll have nothing for the celebration!”

  Throwing off his load he pushed Roe away from the cast iron bath where the rats were stewing.

  “Berkeley, they are excellent,” he said trying to smile as he chewed. “You really shouldn't leave something so savoury out and not expect a few scavengers. What is that, rosemary? The tail is especially nice and crunchy.”

  “Go...Go! I know they are good. I spent all night getting them ready. So, you can finish that one, “he said as he scrubbed his paws in a bath of warm water, “but if you want more to eat it will have to be the dried grubs as usual.”

  “Nope. This will do, actually. Fortifying stuff, Berkeley. Perfect for a hard day of training. I'll be off then.”

  “Yeah, great! Just eat and run! Don't savour the flavours! Don't appreciate how they linger on the tongue in a multitude of layers. Go to your training. I'm sure it's a much more valuable use of your time.”

  Roe trotted out into the dimming light, a few stars just beginning to escape from the daylight sky, while Berkeley's voice continued to rumble and complain from behind him.

  Prepared over the course of many years and improved upon as Roe and the community grew, the training grounds were situated in a v-shaped pocket at one end of the valley. High stone cliffs in the grip of several large oak trees at the top meant that one end of the grounds was a trap but also allowed for the use of elevation in an attack. Between the walls were a series of trenches and other obstacles giving a varied terrain. An oak rack held a variety of wooden weaponry at the entrance to the grounds.

  Shon's dusty red shape sat in meditation within the centre of the v-shape. As Roe approached from the far side, Shon lifted his head and watched him. Once he arrived, ten tail-lengths from his teacher, he placed the scissors on the ground and waited. Finally, deciding his uncle would not continue until he had done the traditional five minute meditation, he closed his eyes, brought his front paws together and tried to focus on his breathing. His anxiousness turned the five minutes into an eternity.

  A short grunt from his uncle indicated the meditation was over. Roe instantly leapt into the first form. Legs and paws tucked tight in the body while flying forward through the air with his jaw spread wide and teeth bared, it was called the 'the many pointed arrow'. It was a basic attack and only a ruse given his uncle's choice of position under the cliffs. A natural fox can jump over four times their own height into the air. A freed fox born from the Light of London, however, can double this and even quadruple it with the right training. His uncle remained seated, motionless beneath Roe. He shot his legs out and ran further up the cliff watching his uncle still and silent beneath him. He gauged his uncle's position, formed a pointed cone with his four paws and dropped in a flash towards him.

  He met the ground hard, his uncle having moved slightly to the side, and recoiled back into the air, narrowly escaping the snap of a jaw. He flipped over backwards and landed facing his uncle again as they began to circle each other.

  They continued to attack and parry for sever
al minutes until both were winded. Once he had managed to throw Shon into the trench and nearly had him cornered before the older fox kicked his face into the side of the earth and then leapt to safety. Fitting a pair of wooden swords between their jaws they sparred for half an hour neither managing to get the upper hand. Both were covered in a thick coat of dust from the brown earth and weapons were scattered across the training grounds as they finally collapsed in exhaustion.

  “How much longer shall we continue, Uncle? You asked me to bring the scissors. Are we not going to use them?”

  Trying to catch his breath, he replied, “If you need to, Roe, feel free, but let me tell you this; never present a blade unless you intend to use it.”

  Taking a flat piece of metal into his mouth, Roe undid the central screw releasing one of the blades.

  “Are you sure you don't want the other?”

  Remaining silent his uncle stared at him inviting the attack.

  “I have no problem using it, Uncle,” he said, as he clamped his teeth upon the metal and charged.

  For a brief moment he didn't think his uncle would move and that the blade would sever the throat of the only family he had. Roe wavered. The hesitation was what Shon expected and in that brief moment he took a mouthful of dust and dirt from the ground and flung it into the eyes of his nephew. With an uncontrollable reflex Roe lowered his head to his paws and pitched forward, the blade gouging into the earth and popping angrily from his mouth. The next thing he could feel was the cold steel of his own blade pressing against his throat.

  “You are skilled with a blade, pup, whether it is wooden or steel, but until you master cunning, your skills are meaningless,” he hissed as he plunged the blade into the ground next to his nephew's head.

  Roe rose from the ground trying to shake the dust from his eyes while his uncle circled him.

  “You fought well today, however, and I think we've done enough. Clean out your eyes and get something to eat. Mayda passed by and must be with the others by the pool.” He considered the winded fox for a moment then continued, “she is a good vixen, Roe, and I will be upset if you break her heart.”

  “Me?” Roe laughed. “The only fox that's going to break her heart is herself.”

  “Just because you don't think you encourage her doesn't mean it isn't happening.”

  “Uncle, I'm not going to take advice from you on the opposite sex. I think you should stick to fighting and should I need love advice I'll seek it from mother Andsware before you.”

  Shon paused for a moment then laughed, “If you seek the advice of mother Andsware, she'll have you wedded with pups before the end of next season.”

  “Probably best if I just stay away from the vixens altogether then.”

  “Probably, Roe.”

  Although the tension was ever present there was a brief sense of reconciliation from the night before.

  “Listen, I am sorry I came down so hard on you last night.” Shon took a deep breath of cool air and sighed. “Perhaps it was unjustified but I sense something isn't right. It feels as if something is coming.”

  Roe focused on his uncle with a sudden concern.

  “What is it? Do you have any idea what it could be?”

  “I don't know. I was getting old, Roe, sixteen years ago. Now I am ancient. My instincts aren't what they used to be and if I gave credence to every ill-feeling I've had these past years, the entire community would be in constant battle dress. For me though, be on your guard tonight.”

  He drifted off in thought and mumbled as he started off, “I'll be underground for now meditating. Something is wrong. Something is amiss...” Then he stopped, turned, and with the most lucid look Roe had seen all year said, “There will come a time, Roe, when all of your skills will be put to a very real test. Do not go looking for it, for it is already looking for you.”

  Roe watched his uncle's urgent gait drift into the gathering dark, then he shook his head, and trotted eagerly down the valley towards a refreshing swim, unaware of how soon that time would come.

  *

  Commotion around the spring hole had reached its annual peak. As a community of foxes usually quiet and reserved, the celebration didn't mark any important event or prodigious individual but rather was an affirmation of life and the only real party they had all year. As such, twelve months worth of individual frustrations and rivalries came brimming to the surface usually over the most trivial of things.

  “Yes, I know we did it that way last year and it didn't work then and it won't work now!” screamed Cwene at a momentarily stunned Berkeley. “If you present the food to everyone before the speech no one will focus on Shon. They will be struggling to be closest to the tub for seconds and thirds and fourths.”

  She was wiry and old with her once rouge coat developing a dignified grey fringe. Berkeley, a Goliath next to her, cowered above and stammered, “But if we do the food after, then I'll miss the speech because no one else can shift the tub.”

  “The sacrifices we have to make for the community are insurmountable, I know, but I think you'll get over it. Now take the food back and I'll give you a signal.”

  Frowning, Berkeley wavered between defiance and terror and just as he looked about to contradict her, she put on a pleasant smile and sighed.

  “Berkeley, the speech isn't the only reason. You put a lot of work into your rats and wouldn't it make all the difference this year to make a grand entrance getting the spotlight you deserve? Hello, Roe.”

  “Spotlight,” Berkeley repeated, his eyes glazing over and tongue licking his lips. The potbellied fox was mollified and Cwene knew it. She had already shifted her focus onto the dishevelled Roe.

  “Yes. Perhaps you are right. Come on, pups, help hitch me back up. Lets present the meal properly,” Berkeley said, putting the thick leather harness in position on his back, readying himself to pull the tub below ground.

  Roe watched them leave trying to ignore the critical gaze of Cwene directed his way.

  “Surely you aren't planning on taking a bath in the spring now? We've just spent the entire morning cleaning it and setting out the oil ring.”

  Looking over her should he saw the same question on the faces of the dozen or so foxes, clearly exhausted, scattered on the grass.

  “Um, well, of course not. I just wanted to see how things were progressing here before going down to the river. Looks like things are in good order, Cwene.”

  “They would be if we had a little help! So go get cleaned up, then come back here and help Wyne to connect the oil feed. ”

  Slipping back through the same tunnel as the night before, he waded into the river below the hill. The water was clean but not nearly as pure as the spring above. Given the small amount of rain they'd had, the summer heat had reduced the river to half leaving muddy banks on either side of the entrance tunnel. He headed upstream for several hundred tail-lengths before he found a pool with sufficient depth.

  Foxes are naturally great swimmers and he plunged in, floating near the bottom to let the swift cold current wash the morning's exercise away. He stayed below for a long time. Long enough for another fox, hulking and large, to emerge from the woodlands, see his tracks in the mud and his blurred form below the surface. Had he come up just seconds sooner he would have seen the other fox, with the narrow black stripe along its spine. He would have seen it as it gazed along the tree line following Roe'stracks to the secret tunnel. Had he arose moments earlier he would have heard the crunch of leaves as the Shadow Fox sprinted away into the night. But by staying below he had rendered his senses useless.

  *

  Set into a clay and stone lined pit on the top of a mound, the gravity fed communal oil supply provided lighting via a series of copper pipes to the entire village. Gathered continually during the course of the year the oil was a mix of engine oil and fat drippings from a mix of roasted rodents. Normally they would never have lighting in the open but the annual celebration was the exception everyone thought worth the risk.
/>   A trench had been dug circling the spring, which had been carefully filled spoonful by spoonful from many trips to the oil pit. At one end of the spring a small knoll of soil had been gathered. Wyne, the youngest fox in the village stood on the opposite bank of the spring from this mound. Once given the signal for the celebration to begin by Shon he would touch a torch to the ground igniting the streak of oil and the ring. The depth of oil in the trough would feed the flame for several hours. Once the flame finally did die the party would come to an exhausted end.

  Several foxes sat apart from the thirty others around the spring. They beat a haunting and steady rhythm with their tails on a series of large and small plastic rubbish bins while a few others rang a variety of old bronze tarnished handbells.

  Shon hopped onto the low earthen pulpit, the music lowering with his entrance. A single note came from his throat in harmony with the bells and he began to sing. It was a tune well known to most foxes and as he progressed the other foxes began to join in.

  A rush in the wind

  And a starry golden night

  Lost and alone

  is the fox taken flight.

  They are coming

  They are coming

  Ten canines in a row

  And a Hantsa in a cloak

  As black as a crow.

  Afra was her name

  From a lost distant den

  And she fell and she fought

  Into a hidden glen.

  Trapped and alone

  She looked to the sky

  For her mother was the moon

  And she taught her to fly

  Now forever and forever

  All foxes who do roam

  Need only look up above

  And the moon and her Afra

  Will always guide them home.

  As the singing came to an end so did the music and Shon stood looking at the foxes below him.