Zinnia Demitasse
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Untitled Novel
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 19:55:10 +0000 UTCA/N: This is the first chapter of a book that I am working on. It has not been finalized nor is it finished yet. I just genuinely want to see if this is something that seems interesting to others or not. Thank you for reading!
Prologue
Balsa wood crashed upon the rocky shore, splitting apart with a sickening crack that thundered through the surrounding pines. The last vestiges of a chest laden with jewels were swept away, riches tumbling down to the bottom of a choppy river. Blues and reds and emerald greens, all sinking to their watery grave for the fish to feast on and the bottom feeders to admire.
The boat was next, rolling over a large tide and ominously groaning. It careened over a swell that reached up like a hand, perhaps to cradle the vessel to offer up to the Legends. Or maybe to simply bash it against dirt and loam until there was nothing left. Minette knelt within the boat itself, praying fervently that her death was not the Legend's will. Not yet. Not today. Her mourning veil was still over her eyes, sticking like a second skin to her cheeks and choking her as she sucked in another scream. With a white knuckled grip, she tried to steer herself to safety, but the rapids were far more than the gentle stream she had begun this journey upon and now frothed white at the mouth, hungry to claim another weary traveler too dumb to have thought about oars before leaving camp.
“No no no no,” was the only mantra that Minette could give as the river twisted and turned, large boulders sticking from the silty depths as monolithic reminders of how treacherous the water could be. Minette imagined them to have little signs carved upon them. Turn back now. Not here. Why the fuck did you get on this boat?
“I don't know,” she yelled out as she passed yet another faceless boulder, trying her hardest to reach out and cling to the slick surface. It kissed her palms in farewell and on and on the boat continue to spin. Down down down towards the crashing falls that she was not naive enough to think would be small.
She began tossing the goods she had been sent with, passing them over the side as a desperate offering as she continued to fervently pray. There was no Legend specifically that she spoke to. Beggars couldn’t be choosers in the face of a watery demise. But with each bit she tossed aside, she muttered to the pantheon, offering up stalks of wheat and bags of apples. She hoped, with the jewels now gone, the Legends weren’t disappointed that she didn’t have much more. There was no time to weave a tale for them and send it towards the stars. Night had not even befallen her yet. So instead, she tossed her bow, cursing lightly. It had taken a lot to smuggle that one on board, and there she went, just tossing it out like a stick from the top of the bridge. It would have to do because after tossing an already soggy loaf of bread, she had nothing more than herself.
Either the Legends did not see her offerings or they were allergic to gluten because the waterfall kept coming, and all Minette could do was hold on tight to the sides of her boat and scream herself hoarse as she went down
With a smack, she landed in the water, the boat tipping her into a tumbling roll through the froth. Breath caught in her throat as she kicked her legs, struggling to squint through the churning nightmare around her and find where the light was. The small dot ahead was nothing more than a wavering bit of off colored yellow, but it was all she had. Lungs burning and legs tangling in the bottoms of her skirt, she kicked as hard as she could, swimming towards what she hoped was the surface. Failing was not an option.
Dying was not an option.
So when the rock hit her smack in the side of the head, her world going watery, she angrily turned her thoughts towards the Legends once more.
This isn’t really fair.
Her world went dark.
Chapter One
“Loxley, if you come back here, I will beat you with a wooden spoon!” The man jumped from the front porch, mouth half full of biscuit. The sun was bright in the sky and the birds circled, hoping for some crumbs. Baker Tarlyn was leaning unconcerned out the front window, shutters flung wide open as she backed her threat with the very spoon in question.
Loxley grinned at her from a patch of golden light, his green tunic falling messily along his frame. “Fair maiden, how am I to get my fix of biscuits when you threaten such bodily harm.”
“Ye’ve had three now, son. Those are for the good Friar. Not for your dirty hands to be nabbin’ before they’ve even cooled.” Her tone was sharp, but a smile twitched at the side of her lips.
Loxley observed his hands with interest, searching for the dirt she spoke of. He would like to think of himself as a cleanly person. “My hands are not grubby. I take offense to such a front.”
“Then wash them!” The baker slammed the window shut with a humph, and Loxley laughed loudly as he heard the tinkle of coins. She was quick to yell at him, but never too proud to take the gold he set upon her counter each morning. A tidy sum that paid not only the biscuits he stole, but for the ones that Friar bought for the perish each day. In the end, Loxley ended up acquiring biscuits for most of the village and didn’t really mind the ruse of stealing them from Baker Tarlyn. Games were meant to be played, after all.
With biscuits lining his pockets, Loxley began his daily round through the town. Large thatched buildings were set in trenches of dried mud, the logs covered with clay to prepare for the winter. The roads wound through the various huts, white daisies sprouting up in patches of clover greens. The businesses were interspersed within the village itself. A bakery next to a home of four. A tavern sandwiched down the alleyway of two houses built far too close together. Loxley had only been in Edwinstowe for a week or two. Long enough to know everyone's name, but not long enough to grow attached. The town itself was charming, but he knew he would be moving on. For the first time in his life, he was free. There was a south facing wind that called his name and he wanted to see how far he could venture before he ran out of world to traverse.
The trappings of responsibility had been tossed aside after long and weary years of service. For the first time in Loxley’s life, he had choices laid out before him. All of them inconsequential little options that amounted to nothing at the end of the day. He had never slept so good at night. Years of grueling tasks had wasted away his life, and Loxley had longed for the chance of a second youth. Or, at least the ability to slow down. To selfishly live how he saw fit.
Now, as he walked through the village, he tipped his head up at the sun, letting the warmth of the morning's rays surround him. A few more days in the village wouldn’t hurt. And the people could use the extra coinage that his presence would bring.
“Huey Carlson, your mama taught you better than that.”
Loxley’s ears perked up at the sound of a new voice. He had thought he had become acquainted with everyone in the town. For three nights he had bought rounds for everyone, memorizing their faces and their stories. Word got out, and even the children of the village were allowed up past dark to receive a bit of jam and honey mead from the new stranger.
“My mama ain’t here.”
“No. She is not. But I will take you by the ear and march you to her door. Shame on you for pulling this while she’s nursin’ a babe. You know better. Just because your Pa is off in the woods today does not mean you get to be a menace to the town.”
Loxley rounded the corner, finding the boy Huey. He stood at the edge of a well with something in his hand poised precariously over the side. His other hand steadied himself against the well's thatched roof, while both his feet were positioned to bolt if his assailant got too bold.
In front of him, a girl stood, her chestnut hair twisted down her back with little beads and baubles woven within her locks. She wore a cornflower dress with a mustard yellow belt. Her shoes looked three sizes too big and were unlaced, yet the way she kept her hands on her hips made her a menacing sight.
Loxley whistled lowly, catching both of their attention. Huey had the threads of panic lacing over his eyes as yet another adult entered the fray. The woman, however, held a flash of irritants.
“I would listen to her, lad,” Loxley said, nodding in the woman’s general direction. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look from a woman. It never ends well.”
The villagers all passed by the scene, either unconcerned or wishing to stay out of whatever was taking place near the well. In fact, the woman looked to be the only one that had any sort of ire for what the boy was about to do.
Huey’s eyes narrowed. He tipped his hand forward, testing the willpower of the two adults before them.
“Huey,” the woman snapped. “We are not doing this.”
Huey’s hand was wavering, however. Loxley didn’t know what the boy held, but the struggle of whether he should carry out his schemes was an obvious deliberation in his mind. “Says who,” he responded snottily.
“I mean, says that woman right there,” Loxley supplied helpfully. The woman half turned to him, her petal lips pulled in a thin line and her green eyes a mixture of confusion and exasperation..
“Thank you kindly for your help, sir. But I do have this.” It was a dismissive tone if he had ever heard one.
“Do you?” he asked. “‘Cause Huey there is about two second from poisoning the town water supply.”
“And you are not helping,” she hissed at him. Stomping forward, she barreled her way towards Huey, grabbing his wrist and pulling the vile for him. The boy had not anticipated her move and merely stood there for a long moment with an open-mouthed stare. He only yelled when she began to uncurled his fingers from the vile in his hand.
“Get off me!” Huey shouted. It caused a few more villagers to stop and curiously look. None of them had any intention to interfere.
“Get on home, Huey,” the woman said, snatching the vile and pocketing it. There was no real struggle in the end, and any villager that may have considered stepping in went back to their day.
Loxley however, did not move on. He stared at the woman before him disbelieving. “You just pushed a child. Is that allowed?”
“She ain’t pushed me,” Huey yelled at him. “You think I could be pushed around by a girl?” The woman looked at him with malcontent.
“If only you would be so lucky,” Loxley laughed. He pulled one of the biscuits from his pocket, taking a large bite. A snack and a show. By far the best breakfast he had enjoyed in the village yet.
Huey had already moved on, paying Loxley no attention as he pled his case to the woman. “It was nothin’ more than dye, Ms. Leaford. Just wanted Rachel Cornerson to understand that she don’t get to make fun of people anymore.”
“And you were going to do that by dumping it in the town's water supply?”
“It would dilute.”
The roll of the woman's eyes nearly sought out the sun. “You will be needing to go back to the schoolhouse, Huey. Yes. It would dilute, but there would still be dye in the water, and it isn’t going to wait around for you to seek your vengeance on Rachel.”
A deep frown appeared between the boy’s brows as he tried to find a way to argue her point. Whatever ‘crime of passion’ he had been about to commit followed the illogical lines of a young child who had been embarrassed. Sadly, Loxley could relate. When the boy looked properly chastised, he had to wonder if it was all for show. He doubted this would be the last of Huey’s nefarious attempts to thwart his enemy Rachel.
The woman let him go with a sigh, shooing him away. “Get back to your mama. And grab a parcel of dried fish on the way there. She needs to eat better with the new babe here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took off quickly, most likely not doing a word she said and instead finding himself in far more trouble.
The woman shook her head, watching after the boy before peering in the well to make sure he hadn’t done anything more. Loxley stood, watching her, bouncing back and forth on his heels. Whoever the woman was, she was new. Young and bright and with the softest face he had ever seen. He hadn’t realized someone could look like that. An eager and open heart that cared so deeply. Loxley was half tempted to take her by the hand and run away with her until they reached the moon.
“He’s going to attempt it again,” Loxley broached. The woman looked back at him, shocked to see him still there. “I know boys like that. Chastisement only heightens the desire.” If Huey had any sense to him he would do it in the dead of night.
“If he wishes to change his relationship with Miss Cornerson, then he’s going to need to come up with a better idea than diluted dye. It wouldn’t even tint white cotton with what he was going to pour in.” The woman sighed. Loxley couldn’t discern if she was more irritated at the boys attempts, or disappointed in how brainless the entire operation had been.
Loxley grinned widely, taking another bite of his biscuit. “Can I have your name?” he asked her.
The woman did a double take, looking around to see if he was speaking to someone else, despite him inserting himself into her affairs. “You may,” she responded cautiously. She stepped down from the stone platform the well had been upon. “It is Minette Leaford.”
“Minette Leaford,” he spoke her name slowly, trying to recall if he had heard it whispered through the town before. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting you. I thought that I had met everyone in this town.” Edwinstowe was not big by any means. While it did not boast the populace of some of the finer cities, it clearly did well for itself in trade. Loxley was almost surprised that it did not have more inhabitants, given its charm.
Minette cocked her head to the side and Loxley had the inane sense that he was being weighed. “You’re the one that has been inhabiting the tavern at night.”
It was not a question. Just a gentle statement of fact that made Loxley’s chest puff with pride. “I am.”
“Some people say you are going to rob us blind.”
His chest quickly deflated. That had certainly not been what he had been expecting. Most people within the village treated him with kindness. Going out of their way to greet him as he passed by. “Do they? Why? I’ve been practically throwing money at people.”
“Exactly,” she began walking away, leaving Loxley to follow in her footsteps. “One has to wonder where you have gotten such money. I have not heard of you before. Are you a noble in another village? A lord perhaps?”
“Devil no,” he laughed. “What a boring title that would be.”
“Is it?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as he hopped after her. “I thought all men aspired to lordship?”
“I am not most men.” A wagon rolled passed them, the driver nodding his head politely at Minette. Loxley reached out to grab one of the apples on the back of the cart. The produce headed out for trade was always the best.
“I see,” Minette replied, taking the newly procured apple out of his hand and placing it back in the cart without word. “Will you be staying with us long?”
The cart turned the corner, heading out of town. Most likely to travel the main road to one of the bigger markets. Loxley watched the apples disappear with disappointment. “I am unsure,” he told her. “I go where the wind takes me.”
“The East wind is steady today, in case you didn’t know.”
He snorted in laughter and while Minette was not smiling, there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Are you to be rid of me? We just met.”
“And already I have seen several of our hard earned goods enter your pockets.” She eyed his tunic and attached satchel. It was certainly heavy with produce and a small little iron fox he had seen on the windowsill or the local blacksmiths. His snatching tendencies were not even ones he was aware of anymore.
Minette had kept walking during Loxley’s pause and was now several yards ahead with no sign of stopping for him. “Wait,” he said, rushing after her. A few people raised their hand in greeting, in which Loxley greeted them back. But his eyes were set on Minette. “Will I see you at the tavern tonight? I was going to put on a show.” Perhaps he could rouse everyone in a round of song.
“As spectacular as that may be,” she said dryly. “I prefer my evenings of solitude.”
He laughed. “But everyone goes to the tavern.”
“Obviously not.”
Loxley ran ahead of her, twisting his body and walking backwards. “Okay, so taverns aren’t your thing. What do you like? Maybe you and I could do something together and get to know each other.”
With a sigh, she stopped. They had come to the herbalists shop and Minette had one foot on the bottom step. When she turned to look at him, it was with tired eyes and a well-worn expression that she had touted towards most men. “I’m not interested,” she said firmly.
Loxley blinked, trying to understand her words. “In getting to know one another?”
“Yes.” With hands clasped in front of her, she obviously was preparing herself for a rejection so common that it had lost all meaning to her. “I am not looking for suitors at this time. Nor would I enjoy a dalliance with a man who is clearly a wanderer through our village. I am flattered by your interest but I do not wish to further it.”
There were a few men who were looking at Loxley with sympathy now. Perhaps they too had been on the receiving end of such a hollow denial. And while most would most likely posture at the rejection, perhaps even go out of their way to continue such an assertion as nothing more than her playing hard to get, Loxley only found himself smiling broadly at it.
“You don’t like me.” It was a marvel, really. A very intriguing one.
Minette sighed. “I do not know you. I am merely stating that I also do not wish to know you. I have other things that take my time and I am afraid that relationship are not something I can entertain at the moment.”
He was being turned down. Not that Loxley had been pursuing her but the fact that she was actively working to turn him away was delightful.
Loxley bowed, moving his hand in a flourish. “Lady Leaford, I do mourn the idea of never getting to know you and I will come to terms with that travesty late at night when the wind beckons me. However,” and at this, he looked at her with a wry grin. “I was wholeheartedly wishing to know you as a person, not as a lover. Though, the fact that you thought I was flirtatious flatters me to no end.”
It was enough to shock the apathy off of Minette’s face as she stared at him for one long moment, a blush ripening the apples of her cheeks.
Loxley stood then, and with great show, emptied his pockets and placed his stolen goods at her feet. “Apologies,” he told her. “For a great many things. If you do find yourself wishing for a wanderer of a friend, however, I do offer my services. Though, I must insist that it is strictly platonic.” He held up his hands. ‘Please. No weeping. I have other things that occupy my time and cannot entertain a relationship right now.”
Minette rolled her lips into her mouth, humbled and yet amused. “Well, then it seems we are both on the same page. Enjoy our town, wanderer. And pay the barmaid tonight for the sticky hands you have.” Turning, she took the last two steps into the herbalist shop, leaving Loxley alone on a busy, dirt strewn street.
“I see that you paid for our biscuits this morning.” Loxley turned, hearing the crunch of gravel as the towns Friar came up the road. The man was largely built, serving as not only a man of the Legends, but the local blacksmith as well. He stopped in front of Loxley, towering a good foot over him, his deep blue eyes softened from years of other peoples sorrow. “Thank you, for that, my friend.”
Loxley shoved the lasto f his biscuit into his mouth, grinning. “I do not know what you mean, good Friar. I stole these biscuits.”
The Friar chortled, nodding in agreement. Who was he to argue with such a thief. His eyes settled on the herbalist shop before nodding towards the overfilled window display. “I see you have met Miss Leaford.”
“I have. Helped her stop a child from poisoning the towns water supply.”
“Awe, Huey. It is sadly not the first time he had tried such a thing. Not a very inventive young man.” The Friar continued staring at the window where just inside, they could make out Minette behind the counter, helping the local herbalist, an elderly widow named Abigail, reach the top shelf.
“Why do I not see Lady Leaford out and about?” Loxley asked. He wasn’t fishing. Of course not.
The Friar merely shrugged. “I suppose she has her own proclivities during the evening. She spends most of her day running back and forth between the shops, helping where help is due. She’s a good woman, that one. I only wish I could get her to attend service more.”
That perked Loxley’s ears. “Not a fan of the Legends? I would think such a thing is mandated.”
“Faith is not mandated,” the Friar responded. “Perhaps I am simply old and set in my ways. I just believe that Miss Leaford takes on too much. I would like for her to see the good that she does for this community.”
Her laughter rang out from inside as her and Abigail leaned together conspiratorially, the two of them plucking herbs from bottles like schoolgirls with a vengeful secret.
“But, alas, she is not my ward. She is free to do and believe what she wants.” The Friar then turned fully to Loxley, the weight of his stare coming down on him in the way that only men of cloth tended to perfect. “Service is tomorrow. I did not see you at the last.”
“It would be because I wasn’t there.”
“But, you will be there tomorrow. Many of the town wishes to get to know our new citizen.”
Loxley tore his eyes away from Minette and Abigail, holding up his hands. “Ah, Friar. I think you misunderstand. I do not plan to stay long. I am just passing through.”
The Friar bowed his head in difference. “My mistake. But, if you are here tomorrow, I would like to see you at mass.” He looked through the window, noticing the way Loxley’s eyes hand gravitated back towards the woman within. “Shopping for a tonic, Loxley?”
Loxley shoved his hands in his pockets, taking one last look at Minette before turning. “Let me walk you back to your temple, Friar.”
As the two of them turned away from the apothecary, Loxley swore he caught a glimpse of green eyes peeking back at him through the window.
Loxley smiled as the East wind blew.
He could stay for a while. The wind was not that strong.
Chapter Two
Turning to her side, Minette coughed up a lungful of water, watching through bleary eyes as it spattered to the ground. She sucked in a deep breath, her arms shaky as they tried to hold her upright. Blinking, she looked around, finding a calm river shore covered in silt and washed up pieces of wood. Some of which looked suspiciously like her boat. It was with difficulty that she lifted her head and cast her green eyes to the water. She could hear the waterfall still, but it looked as if it was around the bend. Either she had the miraculous luck of floating here unconscious, or the Legend’s had heard her pleas.
Another round of bile and sickly river coursed through her, turning her thoughts away as her stomach heaved. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing in her own sick and so Minette only watched as the contents of her stomach washed away in the lapping water at the shore. She did not dare move her shaky arms, her world tilting each time she thought of doing so.
When she finally settled, she sat back, pushing her dark hair from her eyes. It had fallen from the ceremonial braid, leaving limp strands to stick to her cheek and neck. The ink across her knuckles were faded and scratched, blending in with the red nicks that crisscrossed along her body from the jagged rocks within the water. Her surroundings were mostly at peace, however. A canopy of verdant pines stretched towards the clouds, scenting the air with midnight fires and village gatherings. Minette could almost hear the laughter of those who would have come before her.
Shakily, she got to her feet, taking the edges of her heavy skirt and wringing out the wine colored fabric. It slapped wetly across her legs as she let it fall and Minette was achingly aware of the fact that the world around her offered nothing. She had no boat. No food. No direction. She was alone on this journey. She always had been. But someone in this world had seen fit to take more from her. Life was an unfair series of events, her father used to say. Minette had always been one to counter him, fixing a biscuit with a smear of jam. She was coming dangerously close to admitting that he may have been right.
Tipping her head back, she took a deep breath. She was too young to drown in a sea of hopeless doubt. Not while her village was dying. A deep sick rotting away at every man, woman and child. The ones that had seen her off stared at her with sunken, hopeful eyes and cracked lips. Minette could not remember what the picture of health looked like on her neighbors. It would have only been a matter of time before she succumbed to the disease, too.
“Okay, then. North. I walk North.” That was where the Council of Legends held court. A powerful group of delegates who presided over an elaborate castle full of riches and glory. A pretty thought amplified in every story book and tale told around the fire. Utopia, to most. The place where the elderly said they would retire to during the dawn of their twilight years. The destination that young couples strove for. The Capital.
Minette’s last hope in finding a way to live.
Later, Minette would understand the numbness that had overtaken her. Like the Legend Ehlene, she had walked out of the water, her life in ruins behind her, and continued on. The Legend of River and Ruin had been one of her favorites as a child. Now she was struck with the foreshadowing of what her favoritism had brought. The life she Minette had built was somewhere beyond that waterfall now, where people sat in silent prayer for her journey. She could not fail them. Just like Ehlene, she needed to pick herself up and continue on with her chin held high. With one foot in front of the other, she would make her way to the council, no matter the length of time it would take her to get there.
“Pst.”
Minette turned curiously, eyes searching for the breathy little hiss. It had been quiet enough that she thought it to be nothing more than a gurgle of water in her ears. Something wet was draining from the canal, and her head felt heavy with water she had swallowed upon her descent.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
When Minette turned again, her eyes nearly skipped past the fox. It sat upon a carved stump, motionless aside from the occasional twitch of its wirey whiskers. Minette’s eyes snapped back to it when she realized it was not running. Head cocked to the side, it stared at Minette, its body coiled in case it was greeted harshly.Minette could only blink at the animal in a kind of curious way that suggested she had perhaps hit her head harder than she thought.
“Nearest city is in the opposite direction.”
Minette stumbled backwards. She hadn’t necessarily seen the little creature talk, but she could have sworn it was speaking to her. It lifted its paw, clicking the clawed ridges together as if to give Minette some time. How much time one needed to understand that a fox was speaking to them was not exactly measurable, but Minette thought her reaction was absolutely, in no way shape or form, an over reaction.
The rock hit near the fox, sending it skittering away with a yelp. Minette’s hand was still frozen in the air from where she had quickly grabbed and released the stone
“Begone, demon! I wish to make no deals!”
The fox yipped at her before rounding to another log, one a bit higher. Its white muzzle twitched as it turned a harsh glare down at her. “Is that how you treat defenseless creatures where you come from? Stoning them to death?”
“We do when the fuzzy little creatures are clearly not of this realm,” she shot back. She was sopping wet, standing in a forest, and yelling at a fox. The picture that made was not lost on her.
The fox’s tail whipped around itself and a small furrow came over the elongated snout. “That seems a bit much.”
“It is not.”
“It is.”
“No. You are only saying it is because you are the one about to get stoned.” Minette paused for a minute, perhaps hearing her own words. “Oh, that doesn’t sound quite good, does it.”
“Not particularly,” the fox projected to her. “But please. Continue to tell me how you club woodland creatures in your spare time. My schedule is free today.”
Minette huffed a little, dropping her hand to her side. She fought the urge to sweep away her veil, but couldn’t quite bring herself to the task. The sense of security it brought after all these years was sorely needed.
“Come now,” she told the fox, trying to keep her own voice calm. “You are being ridiculous. It’s not like I’ve ever spoken to a fox before.”
“Have you not?” The fox tipped his head to the side.
“Of course not. That is not a normal thing to do.” The village children had called out to the birds and squirrels quite frequently, but Minette saw it as only child's games. One that she herself couldn’t remember playing in her brief youth.
“Did you call me fuzzy?”
Minette took a hesitant step forward. The fox was staying remarkably still with an effort not to spook her. Now that it clearly didn’t pose a threat, she tried to get a good look at it. Wirey, ginger fur laid sleek over a medium-sized body. Flecks of white dotted across the chest and muzzle. She supposed that it, or perhaps he, given the voice, was a little bigger than the average fox. But not by much. Even that was an estimation given that Minette rarely had spent time studying the form of tricksters.
“I did,” she said. “Is that offensive towards a fox?”
“Maybe. I’d have to ask the other foxes.”
The sudden jolt of laughter that escaped her was unexpected and Minette found herself covering her mouth to keep the rest of it in. But as she continued to look at the fox, watching the way he returned her stare with mirrored curiosity, she couldn’t help the high-pitched laugh from escaping her. Like a bleeding wound, it gushed forward, unwanted, leaving Minette to feel slightly dizzy at its presence. She was talking to a fox and asking after it with mild concern. It warranted laughter. Laughter so intense, in fact, that tears began running down her face in an oil slick, smearing the makeup that had so meticulously been painted across her skin. Had to look pretty. Had to look presentable. Had to save everyone and everything while also throwing herself to the proverbial wolves, all with a painted smile.
“Ah,” the fox voiced to her. “So, are you just now coming around to the fact that you almost drowned?”
The stinging sense of water still coated her nostrils and burned down her throat. She could hear the rasp in each of her words as her lungs struggled to recover from the shock.
“Drowned? No. I can actually accept that,” she hiccuped, trying to blink back the moisture from her eyes. “It's the fact that I stupidly thought this journey would be easy. That I would take a leisurely four-day drift down a lazy river. I actually brought a book with me for some light reading.”
“Oh?”
Another item sacrifice to the Legends. Perhaps the Legend of Odar would enjoy the novel. He was said to be a scholar, after all.
“But it seems that that was not ever supposed to be the case. I mean, look at me.” She gestured down to the white blouse she wore with the lace bell sleeves. The crimson ankle length skirt and the leather wrapped sandals. Her hair had been adorned in flowers and her skin soaked in oils. “I was the sacrificial lamb. They knew. Oh, they knew. The boat started taking on water within a few hours. Not from the river itself. Not from a storm. But because of the sheer weight of what they sent with me. An offering, they said. A present to give to the Legends.”
“The Legends?” The fox's tone grew harder at the mention of the deity’s. Minette giggled to herself as she wondered if woodland creatures had the same religion as humans. Perhaps they had a fox god of their own that they dedicated their life to. “All of this is for the Legends?”
“Did I not just say that?” She was struggling now, her breaths coming in short rasps as pain sliced through her ribs. She stumbled backwards until she hit a tree, sliding down it in a deep display of panic.
The fox jumped down from the stump, turning in a circle before coming to sit at her feet. Minette had a small urge to crawl away but fought it. Afraid that her body would not listen to her efforts.
“Why do you need to see the Legends?”
“Because,” she said, trying to calm down. “My people are dying. I am headed to the Council of Legends to beg them for help. We can see no other way.”
The fox went eerily still, their brown eyes flitting about. Birds chirped in the trees above and for a minute, Minette wondered if she had imagined it all. If perhaps she really was having a one-sided conversation with a fox. A side effect from taking on too much water. Or, worse, she really was sick and had been left in her own bed. Perhaps this was the end of her life. An elaborate hallucination that would end with her walking through to whatever afterlife awaited her.
“Why do you wear a veil?”
Minette jumped. He had gone so long without talking that the sound of his voice felt especially loud to her now. “A what?”
“A veil.”
The shroud that had gone over her head had dried to her skin in areas. It was the one thing she refused to take off. When they had shipped her off on the boat, they had tried to take it from her. There was no good reason to hide such a pretty face. Especially now. But she had kept it. Minette would allow them to dictate everything else in her life, but she would not do this.
“I’m a widow,” she told the fox impassively. She leaned her head back against the bark of the tree, and closed her eyes. Her limbs felt incredibly heavy, and the water that had stung her lungs and throat had left a tightness in her chest.
The fox blinked, head dipping down and shuffling back. He made small little marks in the dirt. Sharp claws digging into the ground with anger on her behalf. The sentiment was one that Minette couldn’t ponder on too deeply. As much as she wanted to close her eyes and dream this entire situation away, she couldn’t let herself give in to despair.
Rising, she sucked in a deep breath, straightening her veil and looking at the world around her with a renewed sense of determination.
“Well,” she said after a prolonged moment. “It was nice to meet you.” She tipped her head towards the fox and then began walking.
There was a skittering of rocks behind her as the fox chased after her, yipping in warning. “You are just going to keep going? Even after knowing that your village tried to kill you.”
A furrow creased between her brows. “Maybe they didn’t try to kill me. Maybe I misspoke.”
“Hell of a way to misspeak.”
Her village was kind. Minette was born there and had learned to walk on the very paths that wound through the huts. The women of the village had took care of her while her father was away, and she had played with the children near the waterwheel for most of her youth. Life had moved on, and they had all grown, but the town had not become cruel. They had become desperate. When the children started dying and the grieving widows came out of their houses, begging for a respite, there were not a lot of options laid before them. Minette had not volunteered for the journey, but she also could see no other way.
Chin up, she continued to walk. “I was upset. I was not thinking clearly” The boat had been adorned with gifts and rolled out like a pyre. The entire village had come out to wave her goodbye. Or at least the ones that could stand did.
“What do you mean by your village is sick.” It was apparent that this fox was not planning on going anywhere. The woods were thick and covered in overturned logs, tiny mushrooms sprouting from rotted logs and moss draping over trunks like a waterfall. Minette shivered.
“I mean just that. They’re sick.” She looked around, trying to gain her barrings. Her husband had taught her to hunt one winter. Showed her the ways to navigate the woods if she were ever to become lost. “At first, we thought the plague had hit us. Or perhaps there was a bad batch of venison. But it ached through our bones all through Spring. Killed off most of the farmers in the Summer. And now, we are in Fall with barely any crops to show for our spoils. Half the village has taken to bed. And babes are being born still.”
“Can’t a physician do anything about it? A witch doctor, perhaps.”
“We’ve had several come look. But the neighboring towns no longer are sending anyone across our borders. They will not trade with us. There are signs that have been posted that warn travelers to stay away. We will not survive the Winter like this.”
An isolated town was as good as dead. With the increase in tithes that had to be paid to the capital, even if a village wanted to help, they may not have had the means to.
“And so you seek the Legends?” The fox sounded dubious.
“Of course I do. Who else would we make our plea to?”
A few rocks skittered across the dirt as the fox nudged them out of her way. He then ran in front of her with a burst of energy, hopping up on another fallen log to watch as she wetly continued to trudge through the woods. “You expect them to listen?”
“We are a pious community. We pay our taxes. The huts are filled with good people. Each neighbor is willing to give the shirt off their back for the other.”
“And you assume the Legends will take that into consideration.”
“Of course they will,” Minette huffed. “It is in the teachings, is it not? Wouldn’t they help a dedicated community over an unfaithful one?”
Ahead, the pines twisted together in a gnarled mass. Twigs and large fallen branches had taken root in the saplings over the years, creating a large wall as the trees grew up around them. The woven wall was seven feet high and who knew how thick. Minette looked down at her boots. Pretty white ones that the town herbalist had given to her before her death three days ago.
Bending down, she pulled them off, tying the laces together and tossing them over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” the fox asked.
“Climbing.”
“The thicket wall? You can’t climb that.” He scrambled off his log, running through her legs as if to stop her.
“I climbed tress as a child. I see no difference here.” When she placed her foot on one of the rungs, she felt the foothold give out beneath her. Maybe not much like the trees after all. But Minette was undeterred. She continued to climb until she reached the top, her heart dropping.
Gnarled woods stretched out before her, twisting together in a sea of fog, dipping down into river beds and rerouting the stream to rush up and over large stone boulders. Blackbirds sat high upon the wall, cawing at her presence. When Minette reached out with her palm, testing the stability of the wall, another set cracked beneath her. Green eyes darted in a last effort to find a path, as if one would simply be illuminated for her. But the more she searched, the darker the woods seemed to look.
“You said there was a city nearby?” she called down to the fox.
“There is.”
“How far?”
“Depends on your walking speed. I would give it a day or two.”
Climbing back down, she dusted the dirt and debris from her. “Is it on the way to the Council of the Legends?”
The fox bowed his head. “Yes?”
Minette put her hands on her hips. “You lie.”
“Well, yes. But you don't need to go to the council anyway. Trust me. They aren’t going to be the ones to help you. I can take you to the city though and find a doctor there. One far more trained than the village ones.”
Minette didn’t feel like she needed to debate the ethics of following a foxes advice when it came to medicine. It was a given that the Council was going to be a better bet than a city that may or may not be willing to follow her back for an impossible cause.
“I thank you for your offer but I decline,” she told the fox curtly. “I will be continuing with my original plan to go forward towards the council.”
“You saw the thicket. How do you expect to get through there? Your people were right. The river was the correct passage. By foot, you won’t make it.”
She looked steadily ahead of her, trying not to let her trepidation show. “I’ll just have to go through the thicket then.”
“Through it?” Laughter rang in her ears. She swore she heard the swallows joining him in his amusement. “Do you have black magic that I do not know about? Perhaps you can make yourself into a field mouse. Or fly like a bird high over the land?”
She cast a disparaging gaze down at the fox. “I do not appreciate your capriciousness.”
“And I do not appreciate your naivety.”
Minette turned towards the woven thicket, walking along the line of the wall in an effort to find the opening. There was a small one not far from her. The tiniest place where she thought that maybe the thickets looked a bit thinner. That would be her point of entry.
“Goodbye, talking fox,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I am sure I will think of you as a fantastical fever dream.”
Just as she was about to enter, the fox bounded in front of her, crouching on all fours. “I’ll go with you.”
Minette paused. “Why?”
“Because I cannot just let an innocent walk into the unknown woods. You would have no way of getting out. You would perish in there.”
Now of that, she had no doubt. It may have been the closest to truth she felt the fox and spoken. There was little in the way to guide her out here and with the thicket overhead, she didn’t know if she could even rely on the sun or the moon for passage. She was already marked by death, and life had been so very very long in too short of a time. The cold was a terrifying thought, but at least it was a direction.
But then this little fox creature sat before her, offering. He very well could have been nothing more than a manifestation of her ending days. She still was not ruling out that she was back in the village, sweating through her bedclothes, her veil now a death shroud around her face.
Or perhaps, the fox was a gift from the Legends. A little spirit to help guide her. There were rumors of them, at least. Animal companions that the Legends obtained. Little spirit folk that would enact their bidding. The pantheon worked in mysterious ways and Minette had prayed. She had offered. She had even bled.
She looked down at the fox, swearing that she saw some amount of loyalty in his eyes. A deep well of desire to help this drowned woman who he had fished from the river.
“Alright,” she told the fox slowly. “But no trickery. You will take me through these woods and towards the council.”
“I’ll take you through the woods.”
“Council,” she demanded.
“That’s negotiable.”
“Council,” she said again, this time more firmly.
The fox spun around, fluffy tail flicking back and forth. “We’ll see.” A whistle echoed through her mind as he slunk down into the underbrush. Minette was a fool for following. Though, it was better to be a fool, than to never have tried at all.
Comments
Zinnia Demitasse
I added a second chapter because I realized that was the one that I wanted people to get to.
Zinnia Demitasse
Oh, there is for sure a certain folklore this is based off of. :)
Bethany Hopkins
So intriguing ... The name Loxley and a friar in the story makes it feel very folklore-y :)
Sphinx
I'm intrigued. I'd like to know more about these characters.
