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Fateful Adventures

Chapter 3: Preparations

As always, the formatting sucks here. Read the original saved formatting! (but remember to come back!) https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XCZdagZnfaT_aCTliOPBIteQRXPs4ya-L906XjLf-_A/edit?usp=sharing

The trip back had been fairly uneventful, and just a frighteningly bit tense. The ‘invitation’ hung in the air more like a threat than an important event or exciting journey. And, the ox was smelly.

“Why don’t you like the king?” He’d asked sometime after they’d rolled out of Goldenleaf in the late morning. “And how does he know you if he’s so far away and super important and you’re hidden in the woods?” Reasonable questions, he thought.

“It’s not that I don’t like him…” she mused. “He can be pleasant when he needs to be. But that’s just it. He’s also pompous and arrogant from years of rule. But he’s no fool. He’s actually quite wise, which is why he’s been able to rule so long. He’s cunning… I’m not sure how he knows about you so quickly. He has spies everywhere. So much for a quiet life ‘hidden in the woods,’ I suppose. As for me… well, when you live forever, you keep up on the politics of the realm, I guess. Know thy enemy, keep your enemies close, all those adages. He knows that too. We have a bit of a history. Thus, the other reason I keep to myself.” He had a feeling it was a bit more than she was letting on, but that was the norm around here. ‘Par’ for the ‘course’ was floating around his head for some reason but he had no idea what a par meant in this context… another mystery.

He felt a warm sense of home and belonging as their cozy little cottage slowly slid into view, just as charming and inviting as they’d left. The journey took a few hours even going at a brisk pace, so it was late afternoon by the time they’d rolled into the property proper. He’d slept through most of the journey (as he often did), so as they finally did arrive and the cart was put away, he was feeling pretty energetic. And hungry. He followed her closely, grateful for the chance to walk again at least until some other adventure stole him away, as she went about finishing the chores she’d missed while traveling The animals were fed, the rest of the plowing was finished, and the sheep were even sheared. Some eggs had built up in their absence, so that was included in their dinner for tonight.

As he sat eating a little treat---some smoked meats from Goldenleaf to go with the eggs, some juice, and a honey candy at the end, just for him, sweet and delicious---there seemed to be an unspoken discussion hanging in the air; questions he wanted to ask, secrets she wasn’t telling him, and neither mentioned it. One day, he would get the courage to ask. But today was not that day. He’d only just begun his life, and if what she had been saying was true, he had the rest of forever to ask these questions. He wasn’t going to upset the one good thing he had going for the sake of his curiosity. But he would ask. That much, he promised himself.

And now, Ash’ton lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling. It was a beautiful ceiling, to say the least; the starry night sky twinkled and shed the softest of light, not enough to illuminate the room, but just enough to keep the scary darkness at bay. It wasn’t the real sky, it was a simple magical effect, but it was breathtaking. He’d stared at the same sky for many moons, but on this moon, the gentle pull of sleep didn’t take him as he counted the stars. He sighed and rolled over, looking around the room.

A toy box in the corner, which imbued a sense of terror for a reason he could not quite place. His bed, on the other side---this side. A station for child care… which, thankfully, he no longer needed, much to his relief. A shelf on the third side, holding other little toys and knickknacks; a toy horse, a set of knucklebones, some hand made drawings, a vase of flowers. Tiny little touches of decoration and life. A clear crystal set on a frame that seemed to absorb light instead of reflect it. A few books he would assume are storybooks. The clothes he wore daily were quite simple; usually just a jumper, or a tunic and shorts, or a romper. Something easy for cover and to put on and take off by the adult. These were kept in the child care table that doubled as a dresser. Interestingly enough, the colors seemed to shift at her whim; one day, they were brown, the next, a bright red, and yet another day, a baby blue with yellow decorations. Magic, he assumed… he’d have to learn that some day. From the window, moonlight crept in stealthily, adding to the subtle glow of the stars, casting a U or an n shape (depending on how you looked at it) on the hard wooden floor, the silhouette of tree branches and leaves dancing about as if enchanted.

However… one thing gnawed at his curiosity. Any of the times he were allowed to walk around during the day, he’d always kept right by her heels. Not that she made him, of course… it was his natural inclination. But it did not lend itself to exploring. Tonight, he had the wakefulness and the urge to explore. He just had to figure out… getting down. He peered over the edge of his little bassinet, still feet off the floor. True to her word, his mother had bought supplies for a fresh new bed in Goldenleaf, but after the chores and weariness of getting home, it would have to wait, she’d told him. Which was fine… it was more of a pride thing, anyway. The bassinet was quite comfy, not that he’d ever admit it. But that still presented the challenge of getting down… one that was a tough prospect for his tiny frame. But he had an idea.

Gathering up his bedding, his blanket and pillow, he tossed them over the side to cushion his fall. Throwing his legs over the edge, he felt a rush of fear and just a hint of hubris as he hung off of the side, flailing his legs, dangling by his fingertips as they slowly slipped. He suppressed the urge to call out for momma’s help, taking deep breaths and calming himself. This wouldn’t hurt… much. He held his breath and let go. After an agonizing second of free-fall (that felt more like an entire minute), his legs were naturally the first to impact the soft bedding. Rather than landing perfectly and walking away as he’d imagined, his balance wasn’t developed enough to counter the shift, and he rocked backwards, first landing on his butt, and then his head thudded against the pillow, dazing him.

Despite the soft fluffy plushness of the pillow absorbing much of the blow, the hit still sent stars into his vision. Or maybe that was the ceiling, as he tried to quell the dizziness and blurriness swimming through his head. Don’t cry, don’t call mama, don’t cry, don’t call… he repeated to himself, wiping away the tears that were threatening to form. If he was going to feel older, he was going to act it, gosh darnit.

Ash’ton pushed off the floor and rubbed his head, trying to dispel the ill effects. In all fairness, it was a relatively soft blow that hadn't left much of a lasting impact, but being this young physically, even the smallest things had the biggest implications. Finding his sense of self now mostly returned to normal and the pain dissipated, he could focus on the task at hand. Walking was… well, not easy, yet, but possible if he was careful. He toddled over to the door and realized he’d almost just made a huge mistake. Thankfully, it was cracked a few inches. If it’d been shut, his escape would have been stymied, and he probably would have cried until she saved him from his own stupidity. Alas, his freedom had been secured.

The circular nature of the cabin lent itself to strange geometry, but thankfully his room opened up right into the den. The decor was much like his living space, but far more variety. One interesting note (there were many!) were faintly glowing herbs hanging from the ceiling, ethereal in their appearance. They were some sort of flower left out to dry, the petals still ghostly pale but discernable against the darkness of the cabin. Easy to miss during the day, as the natural light of the sun far outshone what they produced. Moonflower, if he remembered correctly. Good for tea. Next to them, a bundle of… clovereyes? Yes, that must be them, as they were looking at him. The four leaves attached to a central circular structure, white with a black dot, exactly as an eye would be. You’d expect them to all hang at odd angles the way they were bundled, but they were all facing him. When he walked over a few feet, they followed him. It was a bit spooky, he’d go so far as to say it instilled a touch of dread, like seeing the dark shadow of a monster on the wall before you realize it’s just a cloak.

But what else… he wondered. What could he get himself into that he dare not when she was awake? Perhaps something about the world. Answers. Or just anything, really. He had this sneaking suspicion that even though he was sentient and obviously intelligent beyond his years---er, months, she was trying to hold onto these early days herself, savoring them before he grew up and thus wouldn’t be her little Ash anymore. Which was fine. Usually. It was comforting, and his young physical self craved it. It was a blessing from whatever chaos he’d been thrown from before the void, his conscience knew that much. Treasure it, it told him. And he shall. But no harm in seeking out this new world he was part of.

As for how he was going to do that… good question. He waddled as steadily as his legs would allow, flitting about from object to object---as long as they were a foot and a half or less from ground level. A hearth, with curious blue embers that seemed to twinkle and spark on their own, freshly chopped wood in a little U shaped caddy next to it, and a small pot on a rack with other various pots and pans for hanging over a fire. She had an actual stove in the kitchen, so this one was for… herbs and stuff? Or long term like stew, perhaps. Or washing clothes… best not to get those mixed up.

One thing he did find within his reach was a bookshelf. She had a lot of books, and this one was just his height. Or at least, the bottom shelves were anyway. He pulled out a pear-colored book with a stiff cover, slightly worn. It had a dragon on the front, which he thought was cool. Opening it up, it contained no pictures but a sea of letters… that he could not read, apparently. The letters were there, plain as day, but the physical part of his brain hadn’t learned these symbols. He couldn’t process it even if he could read. He sighed disappointingly… so much for that plan. Maybe one of these books will have pictures in them.

The next book seemed to be a compendium of herbs, he flipped through the pages looking for interesting ones. He saw the moonflowers and the clovereyes, as well as a few other ones he’d seen growing in her garden. Even the golden trees of Goldenleaf were in the book. Pretty pictures but… not quite what he was after. A few more chapter books. One even had diagrams of a kingdom! Was it the one he was looking for? No clue.

However, there was one that caught his eye immediately as he pulled it from the shelf. It was a mauve colored book with a suave fox man on the front, not like he or Helena, but a red fox, which was misleading as it was the orange one with the black triangles on the snout. He was dressed in armor, but it wasn’t like the goons in Goldenleaf; it was a simple circular helm and more like chainmail armor with breastplate, and he was posing heroically as a battle raged on in the background, with another fox woman fox on the side, a wistful look about her. This one should have pictures for sure! As he pulled open the cover, he was immediately jumpscared by-

“Commander Ash’ton! You’re here!” The fox man praised in rushed thanks, staring not at the thing recording and/or observing him, but right at Ash’ton as he watched through the pages like a window.

“M-me?” he questioned sheepishly.

“Yes! We’ve been waiting for your arrival! Praise the divine, we need your help!”

“Wha… h-ho…” he was, quite literally, speechless. His knee-jerk reaction was how does this thing know his name? How does a book know anything?! But as the shock wore off, he realized that anything was possible when magic was involved, and now he was so curious, nay mystified.

“How do I help?” He asked the book eagerly, curling up on the floor and clutching it intensely.

“The enemy is moving north! Our troops are poised to intercept. Follow me.” The floating book-window flew behind him as he sprinted a short distance through the woods, coming upon a series of tents in a clearing. “Come come!” he urged, ushering Ash’ton inside.

“Commander Redwood! What news from your search?” a voice asked from a council of three other red foxes of varying heights.

“Lieutenant Sparktail! I found the chosen one, Ash’ton de Maevali the blessed!” They knew his… full name? He wondered if this artifact was actually dangerous, but he was in too deep now. “Come! See the map.” The book page window was pulled in closer, and he was shown a crude map with lines on it outlining troops and various locations. “Where do we go now, Ash’ton the Blessed?” The book sort of… paused, hovering over the map. He studied it as a few locations immediately stood out.

“What… do we need to do?” he asked the book.

“Show us where to move our troops, sir. We’ll follow your lead.”

“Uhm…” he wasn’t sure why they were trusting a ‘baby’ (as everyone seemed to see him), but probably part of the magic tailored to him personally. There was a group of red figures on the map, and a group of blue ones a distance away. He reached out and… his hand went through the book! He was able to grab and interact with the map stuff. He took the blue figures in his paw and moved them forward, and they moved in formation all on their own.

“Very good sir, a wise move,” Lieutenant Sparktail complimented. He had to admit… this felt fun.

“Where are we?” He asked, and they pointed out a tent icon on the bottom left. “And what do we need to do?”

“What would you have us do?” they asked.

“Uhm… we need to go fight!” He encouraged, and the book moved away from the map and back on the figures.

“Aye! A brave choice! We need to fight with the men and command from the front lines!”

“Yeah!” he agreed, really getting into it.

“Hold on tight…” Commander Redwood warned, and waved his hand before him. A portal opened up, the others hopped through, and then the book went with it. After a short transition, the images of a raging battle appeared before him. People were dying on either side, arrows in their flesh, blood everywhere. Wow. This was… graphic. Ash’ton wasn’t squeamish, but something about seeing blood and guts really sent an uncomfortable sensation through him. Maybe I actually am too young for this, he thought wryly. Oh, the irony.

The book followed Commander Redwood and Lieutenant Sparktail as they charged into battle, a whirlwind of steel. They felled foe after foe, not even breaking a sweat, until Lieutenant Sparktail took an unfortunate arrow to the chest out of nowhere.

“Nooo!” Commander Redwood howled out, “Lieutenant!” He ran to his battle buddy, sliding down on his knees and checking the wound.

“I’m… done for…” Sparktail lamented, coughing blood. “Take care of Maiden Marie for me…” and then he collapsed. Dang, this was… brutal.

“What use is winning the war if everyone you love is dead…” Commander Redwood asked mournfully. This seemed like a perfect spot for his input.

“You fight for those too weak to fight,” he offered. “You fight the evil because it’s the right thing to do.” It was cheesy and a bit trite, but he wanted to try it. It sounded cool.

“Yes, of course…” he agreed, slowly standing up and shouldering his spear. “We fight… for others.” Turning to the battle at hand, he raised his spear high. “For the people! For our friends!” he charged off, and the pages went blank. He wondered if it were over, or if he failed, when it faded back in, in a city. It was Commander Redwood, walking up to a house. The door opened, and a cute looking woman fox stepped out of the door.

“Redwood…” she breathed softly. “Where’s…?”

“He… fell in battle,” Redwood offered, choked with emotion.

“Oh redwood…” she sobbed, falling into his chest.

“It was then, with Ash’ton the blessed to guide me, I wondered to myself what to do next…” he heard Redwood’s voice, without actually seeing him speak. Ash’ton realized that this was probably the book’s cue to pick a plotline.

“Your best friend told you to take care of Maiden Marie,” he reminded Redwood. “You have his blessing. Be with her.”

“Yes… that feels right,” Redwood thought back, hugging Marie close. “Marie,” he said. “Lieutenant Sparktail spoke of you in his dying words. He loved you to the end.

“That’s my Sparktail…” she sobbed. “But now that he’s gone… who’s going to take care of me now? I’m lost, alone in the world…”

“I’ll be here, if you’ll have me.”

“Oh Redwood…” and then they shared an impossibly sappy kiss. Ash’ton didn’t know if it was his physical age or the fact that he was a boy, but he stuck his tongue out at this, finding it absolutely gross. The book faded out again, and the next thing he knew, he was overseeing a council with the King of this fictitious land as Redwood filled him in on what was happening. The next part of this book was actually incredibly boring, and Ash’ton had to admit he fell asleep a few times, even when asked for his input. As his waking memories turned to dreams, the last thing he remembered was someone asking him Ash’ton? What do you think? Hello?

“Ash’ton! You poor thing, what are you doing out here on the floor?” Asked a concerned yet urgent voice ask, rousing him from his slumber.

“Mmmm…?” he answered blearily, face down on the pages of a book, using it as a pillow. He felt a bit stiff as he’d fallen asleep on hard wood with no bedding, and a bit cold. “I wah…” he wanted to say ‘I was just reading this book,’ but he wasn’t conscious enough, yet. However, upon looking down, a dreadfully gruesome sight greeted him. It was Commander Redwood, decapitated at the hands of the enemy. A tiger stood with his head on a pike, triumphantly. There was text over the window, probably a ‘game over’ sort of screen, but he couldn’t read it. The sight actually made him startle a bit, crying out in surprise, pushing it away.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Helena answered, gently picking up the small fox and comforting him. “It’s just an old book.” She picked it up and glanced at the pages, and the grisly sight. “Oh, you found this book,” she noted, and then did a little tsk as she read the text. “Ah, you got that ending…”

“What kind of book is that?” He asked as he was carried back to his room to change into day clothes, more out of morbid curiosity than concern or fear.

“Oh, just… an old war novel, political intrigue, romance, all in one. Something I was trying, once upon a time.”

“You wrote it? Or…”

“Yes, I carefully crafted the spell, which is a lot more tedious than it sounds. When you have too much time on your hands, you get creative. Oh.” She’d finally seen his escape attempt as she crossed the threshold, and he looked away sheepishly.

“Couldn’t sleep…”

“I understand,” she said, flicking one of her tails as the bedding jumped to life and made itself at the same time she was dressing him. “I’ll set your bed up after we deliver that ox.”

“Today?”

“We’ll deliver the ox today. Hopefully. It won’t be as fast as Il’ishna obviously, the ox is going to walk so slowly. Though I suppose I could enchant it…” she mused. “Yes, that might work…” he had no input on this since he wasn’t knowledgeable, so he changed the subject.

“Momma, can you teach me to read?” Her expression softened and she chuckled.

“Of course, my darling Ash. I had already planned on it, but it seems you’re growing up faster than even I imagined.” This delighted him greatly for many reasons; she recognized he was definitely older than he seemed, and he got to learn basic literacy! He could feel his tail twitching, even though it wasn’t a conscious choice, and it started wagging back and forth excitedly. After a quick breakfast for him while she prepared for the journey, it turned out they were going to ride Il’ishna after all as she called and he quickly appeared at her side.

“What about the ox?” He asked the obvious question, as it was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, well you see, I didn’t feel like leading an ox ten miles through the wilderness and across the river after all, so that’s where this comes in,” she noted, hooking a finger under her robe and revealing the necklace underneath. He’d briefly seen it here and there, but now that she was showing him, he could see it clearly.

It was a string of mostly multicolored glass beads, interspersed with oddities of varying natures. Some runes carved into tiny stones, fangs of various creatures, randomly colored crystals (some that glowed softly of their own light), stones of all shapes and colors and consistency. And, at the end, half-hidden under her robe, a treasure just barely graced his vision, yet drew him in all the same. A clear glass crystal, roughly the size of his fist, set in a silver wire cage dangling from the bottom of the cord. It was so translucent it was almost invisible, but it was what was inside that was truly mesmerising. A point of light, glowing brightly. And though it was trapped in a relatively tiny setting, the longer he looked at it, the more deep and vast and infinitely unfathomable it grew, consuming his entire vision.

“Not that one,” she noted with a hint of amusement, folding her robe over it and breaking the spell it had on him. “This one here.” It was one of the random glass beads that also seemed to glow of its own accord, lost in the assortment of interesting trinkets it was until she pointed it out. “I stored his essence until I call upon it again. Simple, easy, convenient.” He was now intensely curious about something else, and his nature got the better of him.

“Could you do that to me?” Realizing this sounded like a request, he quickly added, “i-if you had to. Like for an emergency.” She laughed again and the necklace vanished beneath the robe.

“If worse came to worse, I could, but… you wouldn’t enjoy it, I promise you that.” She left it at that as she mounted the mighty courser, taking him with it, and the proverbial bullet shot through the forest, blazing the trail at breakneck speed.

“Momma, what was that glowing thing on your necklace?” Ash’ton asked as they trotted into the homestead of Old Man Winters, hopping the stone wall with ease. He hadn’t wanted to break the silence and the flow on the way over, but now that they were mostly stopped, his burning desire for knowledge had returned.

“There were a lot of things that were glowing,” she commented, guiding the courser up to the cabin of their ‘nearby’ neighbor. Technically true, but- “But, I know what you speak of. It’s…” she paused, and so did Il’ishna, flicking his ears as he pawed the ground. “I do not say this lightly. You are a part of me, and I am a part of you, and I will teach you everything I know and more. One day, you will wear this necklace. But that day is not today. There are things that would put you in danger to simply know them.”

“How can knowledge possibly hurt you?” He asked, not quite understanding the concept.

“Well… the knowledge itself is fine, for the most part. But there are those out there that would wage war for something like this. One of the duties of being a guardian, to keep things like this safe. If they knew, that you knew…” He suddenly understood what she meant. “There are also evil, malicious things in this world that pierce your mind and exploit your knowledge for themselves. I would rather them not have the temptation. For now, it is nothing to worry about.” There certainly was a lot of mystery surrounding her, and a lot to worry about! Things he couldn’t even know? Things entire wars would be fought over, all dangling around her neck? It was far too tempting. But when she was in this mood, nothing would pry the answers from her.

With nothing further to say, she hopped down off of the mount with him in tow, setting him down beside her so he could walk. As she did last time, she rapped on the door and, just as much as last time, found no answer. Her tails swayed to and fro as he followed along behind her on their way around the house; he often made a game of trying to catch them, always just out of reach as they flitted away from his paws as if they had a mind of their own. It was silly, but it pleased him greatly in ways he couldn't quite explain.

The sound reached his ears first, the rhythmic sawing of wood assaulting the stillness of the glade with its jagged rasping pitch. It was the scent of freshly hewn logs that danced behind moments later like a bit of sugar to compliment a morning tea. The back yard was a mess; stray pieces of wood and limbs and bark strewn everywhere, logs pared down to boards and then bisected into smaller pieces and fitted and tossed aside, iron bands and rivets in piles waiting to be used, and one man at the head of it all, a grumpy old mole with a large saw and a body that was wrinkled and silvered all over, yet strangely muscular and spry. Several scars crossed different parts of his body, betraying a hard life yet unknown to Ash’ton.

“Return of the fabled kitsune,” he noted, not even looking up from his work.

“Hello Charles,” she greeted in a friendly manner, observing his work.

“How was Goldenleaf?” Having cleaved this section of wood into the shape he desired, he finally tossed the saw aside and straightened his back to look at the two, groaning.

“A story I'll have to share over lunch.”

“That bad, huh?” she gave a chuckle instead of a verbal reply, and he let out an exhausted sigh. “Alright. I'll fetch the vittles, you fetch that ox that you brought, aye?”

“Wouldn't dream of any less,” she offered, already heading to the barn.

“Mind the nails, lad…” Mr. Winters mumbled as he shuffled back towards his house, and Ash’ton did just that, focusing on the ground in front of him as he took step by step in the direction that mother had gone. He scanned the ground intensely, making a game of it. He found no less than three bent nails, clutching them in his fuzzy little paws as he crossed the barrier into the animal keep. The old smashed door had been cleared, the gore was cleaned, although the smell still lingered. Curious animals came over to investigate as a goat squared up with him, ready to play (or to defend its turf), but Helena dismissed it with a quick shoo.

“Whacha got there?” she asked, and he held up his prize to show her.

“Some nails.”

“And where'd you get those?” she asked with a laugh.

“The ground.”

“Oh I see. Would you like me to hold them?”

“Uh huh,” he answered, and she gently took them, studying them for a moment.

“Huh,” she commented curiously, and then disappeared them into her robe. “Wanna see something special?”

“Yeah!” he answered eagerly, his ears perking as his tail swished behind him.

“Alright, stand back,” she warned, and he did just that, scampering to the edge of the barn (much to the annoyance of some chickens). “Observe…” she whispered in an enchanting mystical tone, employing again that same technique of slipping her finger under the neck of her robe and drawing the necklace out to expose the many colorful beads. Finding one in particular, she spoke a precious few words in that ancient mysterious language, unknowable and untranscribable, the chant of her voice causing magic to swirl and pulse inside the glass orb suspended on the string. As she invoked the magic, it slowly drew itself out of the sphere, forming physical strands that interwove and knitted themselves slowly into a solid form in the empty space in the barn.

Ash’ton was positively entranced, he couldn't look away if he tried. The ethereal energies coalesced first at the bottom, forming what he instantly recognized as hooves as he realized what was going on. The ox! The energy worked its way up quickly now, ending with a flourish at the horns. As it stood there for a moment, dazed and confused, it suddenly became aware of its surroundings.

The ox suddenly went wide eyed, twisted and roared, bucking wildly and flailing about, and Ash’ton had serious concerns about being crushed as he quickly scurried behind a wooden stall to hide while he poked his head out to keep an eye on the rampage.

“Shhh… relax…” he heard Helena say, and the ox slightly slowed as if considering the request, but continued to buck. Sleep… he thought he heard, but it was more like he felt it as she soothed it in the magical tongue. Rest now… She danced and dodged and nimbly moved as it tried to rush her down, and as it rushed past, placed her paw upon its head and gently stroked it. The ox jerked as if it’d been grabbed by a rope, and then slowed down in a sluggish manner, folding its legs and laying upon the ground, putting its head down. It gave a snort and then a deep breath, and he realized with amazement that it had actually fallen asleep.

“What did you do?” He asked as he timidly scooted back out into the open.

“Oh I just sent him to sleep, not to worry. He was understandably quite upset from the whole experience, he just needs some rest. He'll be right as rain in no time.” Ash’ton scooted closer and gave him a gentle pet as the ox’s massive chest rose and fell.

“I heard it!” he exclaimed eagerly, looking up at mother excitedly.

“Heard what sweet pea?”

“Heard you use the voice! Or whatever it is you do…” he replied sheepishly.

“Rea a Le Du Mana. The fabric of the world. You heard it?”

“Yah! When you were convincing it to sleep and stuff…”

“Hmm… to be attuned so young…” she pondered in a thoughtful tone, before breaking into a proud smile; “You are my son!”

“Does that mean I can learn magic?!” He asked excitedly, practically bouncing. She gave one of her oh-you're-so-cute laughs and ruffled his head fluff.

“Yes, my little love. In time.”

After backtracking to Mr. Winter's house (he counted five nails this time!) they entered to one of the most delectable smells one can imagine: meat roasting over a stove with herbs or other aromatics to readily enhance the experience. Mr. Winters was tending the kitchen, mumbling something about wrangling one of the chickens as a treat for them since they had come all this way. Helena took her seat across from him, out came the smokeweed pipe, and the exciting ox magic from earlier morphed into story time about Goldenleaf, and the gossip of every person you could think of, and if that wasn't enough, even the weather! Admittedly, she had not told him about the king's meeting, he noted.

“Gonna rain soon…” he noted, looking out of the window.

“I thought as much,” commented Helena politely.

“Ma can I go explore?” He implored, wiggling impatiently in her lap. Not that he didn't enjoy small talk, but honestly, there was a limit! Helena appeared to consider this for a few moments…

“Oh, let the lad go,” Mr. Winters agreed with the wave of his ginormous wrinkled paw. “I don't know if you've had any children in your ten lifetimes, but there's no talking him out of it.” Score one for Mr. Winters!

“Oh, I've had children,” she noted, ruffling his head fur again. “But, you're probably right. Don't go far, Ash. Lunch is almost ready, okay?”

“Kay!” he agreed exuberantly, rushing off the moment his feet touched the ground. The house itself wasn't very big, but it had walls separating some rooms which he darted around. Interestingly, he'd missed this in the excitement of his first visit: numerous wooden figurines could be found everywhere and in every nook and cranny, of all sizes, even some larger ones that required their own floor space. Every possible species, from felines, canines, mustelidae, lapines, so many birds, but most of them were moles. Many were obviously feminine, including one of the floor size models, which at his current (tiny) size, was about as big as he was. It was scary at first, coming face to face with a lifelike rendition, but also hauntingly beautiful. He remembered what Helena had said about his wife passing… could this be her?

His suspicions were all but confirmed as he happened upon another carving on an end table. It depicted a husband mole and wife mole, happily embracing, smiling as if posing for the carving. They looked so realistic and full of life… he ran his paw over the intricate woodwork, a wave of emotion rolling up his throat as he felt for the old man. He broke contact with it and ran off before he could think about it too much.

A door leading to another room, when pushed open, revealed a sleeping area with a large bed and a chest at the end, an end table, and that was about it. The whole place smelled of wood, of earthy, smoky tones, and… the distinct smell of inhabitation. Probably Mr. In Winter's bedroom, he scurried off so as not to disturb it.

Yet another door, this appeared to be a workshop of sorts, and also the source of the figurines as several were laid out as before with stacks of project wood lying ready nearby to be transformed into their own works of art. Something on the bench caught his eye, but the seat was far too high for him to climb.

Think, Ash’ton… you may be small, but you're smart. He looked around the room, and his gaze settled on the project woods. Of course! There were stacks of smaller chunks off to the side, which he quickly repurposed into a set of makeshift stairs. Even so, he barely managed to scramble up the hard wood stool, which itself was only just tall enough to give him a view of the contents of the table before it. Several tools littered the surface, many chisels and knives of varying sizes and awls, wood dust and shavings, and scraps. Several figures lined a shelf behind the tools, and among them were depictions of… his face turned scarlet and his fur turned bottlebrush as he realized there were figures of his mother among them, with some of those being tastefully nude. He had a feeling he was never meant to see that part, and he would have been just fine with that.

However, one of the unfinished pieces caught his eye as he turned away from the other models. It still had work to be done near the base and around the tails, but it was a clear lifelike rendition of Helena smiling and holding something in her arms… him. A miniature perfect rendition of Ash’ton smiled mid laugh, reaching out towards the model maker as if alive and frozen in time, ready to jump out at a moment's notice.

Ash’ton wasn't sure what to feel in this moment… gratitude? Flattery? Gratefulness? A mix of all three? Or… familiarity, perhaps? He had only known of him for a few days, and he'd already made this…

It was a very personal discovery, and Ash’ton suddenly felt a pang of guilt, like he were intruding on this man's sacred sanctuary without permission. He scrambled down his makeshift ladder and put all of the pieces back, turning to the room as he was about to leave.

“S-sorry…” he mumbled to the room itself, to no one in particular, hoping that it would communicate its feelings to the inhabitant when the time came. As he plodded his tiny paws back towards the other two to ask about lunch, he heard them talking and hid behind the wall for a moment to see what they were conversing about.

“...and now I have to deal with this summons, so I'll be away for a while…” so she had told him after all. Made sense. There was a moment of silence, and right as he was about to make himself known, Mr. Winters spoke up.

“Helena…” his voice sounded pained, and a lot more grounded. There was none of his bluster. “...I'm dying.” The weight of the words were a physical force that slammed into his chest, threatening to knock him over. Dying? It couldn't be! Mr. Winters was healthy and muscular and snarky! That wasn't what people who were dying were like!

“How long have you known?”

“I've felt it for a while now. Slowly getting worse.”

“I could sense it.” What? She could sense it and said nothing?!

“Thank you for not… you know.”

“I try to let nature take its course, when I can. Saving people from the natural cycle isn't usually my thing. But if you wanted…”

“No,” he answered brusquely, “no need for that. My wife passed on long ago, I'm ready to join her. I'm just sitting here waiting to die anyway, might as well accept it. “

“So what will you do?”

“I don't want to die alone… might move to Goldenleaf, if you'll help… I know you've already helped more than I can repay.”

“I'd be happy to, Charles.”

This wasn't fair! He'd just met old man Winters and now he was going to… go away? Just like that?! It wasn't fair! He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, and for once in a rare moment, he didn't care if he gave into his childish behavior. Let him have it, his younger self could take this one.

“Mmm. Better get that lad of yours. Lunch has been ready for a while…”

“Ash’ton?” his mother called after a moment, but he couldn't answer if he wanted to, as the sobs escaped. “Ash’ton?” More urgent. “Lunch is ready!” But it would not be him making the first move. He heard footsteps on wood, and then a warm, comforting voice and strong arms lift him out of his torpor.

“My poor baby! What's wrong Ash? Did you hurt yourself?” She did that thing mothers do where she rocked him and patted his back steadily, which normally would have elicited a shy protest, but as before, he let her (and his other self) have this. It helped calm his physical form, but not the shock he was still reeling from in his emotional turmoil. He thought of telling her the truth, he really did. She did nothing wrong, it really couldn't be helped. And yet… he didn't want her to know that he knew, not yet. He would process this on his own time. He was her son, she said it herself regularly, and if she could be a fox with many secrets…

“F-fell and h-hurt m-myself,” he cried, trying now to quell his ragged breaths. It would be okay, now that she held him. It always was. He mentally kicked himself for that excuse, now she would never let him explore on his own again. Such was life…

“My poor baby…” she repeated again, rubbing his head. “It'll be alright. It's just a little bump. Mama will kiss it better.” Remove… injury… he felt the spiritual pressure impress upon him, and then she gave him a soft kiss to the head. Seeing as how he wasn't actually injured… whatever she'd done didn't have much of an effect, but he was feeling better, at least.

“Th-thanks mama… I'm okay now.”

“That's my little Ash,” she replied, and he could feel them moving on. “Let's get some food hmm? You'll feel better after a meal.”

The journey home had been fairly uneventful. He still felt rather glum at the prospect of losing one of the only other people he knew in his small little world, but he could, he would, be strong about it if he wanted to prove he was more than just a child. But why should he? Why not just accept his fate and enjoy life's comforts? Because it wasn't who he was, he decided. He was sent here for a reason, and he has to discover it, no matter how long it takes.

Just as old man Winters had said, it had started raining before they left. But, as everything else it seemed, this too she had a spell for.

Water… refuse… area…

He felt the magic shift, and a layer of air seemingly cushioned the rain away, creating a rather mesmerizing looking dome around them to keep them dry. As Il’ishna trotted up to the silhouette of the house, he heard mother make a sound like a mix between annoyance and contemplation.

“This will be interesting,” she warned as Il’ishna continued up the path to their home.

“What is it?” He asked as a knot of worry formed in his stomach.

“We have visitors. Probably stray hunters who mean no harm. Still, I would ask that you do not let them know that you can speak. The less people know of you, the better.” Fox goddess of many secrets. And he took after her in so many ways.

“Okay momma,” he whispered. She gave him another kiss on the head.

Physicality… change…

A swirl of energy wrapped around them, and suddenly, the striking figure of the white kitsune spirit was now a mix of dull grays, with a singular tail. Upon approach, he could now see two horses outside of the front door of their house. There were many furs stacked on large overflowing saddlebags; fur trappers and far travelers in it for the long haul. The horses didn't seem too concerned as the equine of impossible strength and stature wandered up beside them, paying them no mind.

Be still… speak… show…

Helena placed a paw upon the head of one of them, and the eyes seemed to glaze over. A moment later, she released her hold.

“As I thought. Be still, Ash. I will send them on their way…” There was a glint in her eye, a mischievous smile played at her maw, showing her toothy fangs. “...after a bit of fun.” He simply nodded as he was instructed not to speak, and she stroked his ears to assure him, placing him in her robe upon her back for safekeeping. He wondered what kind of ‘fun’ she could possibly have with two stray hunters lost in the woods, but suppose he were about to see. He hoped it wasn’t anything too harmful…

Upon entering the house, he could already hear them. Two voices, back and forth.

“What the hell is this?”

“I dunno, pass it here.”

Helena made her way through the abode, coming into plain sight of two felines who were in their kitchen, running through the drawers and making a mess. There was already a sizable pile of leftover food on the table, with mud tracked everywhere. Their clothes were soaked, simple affairs of breeches and a shirt and cloaks, with one bow apiece resting on their backs. One was dark gray, and one was a ginger orange.

“Begging your pardons, sirs,” Helena offered meekly, and two bows trained themselves on the pair in an instant, one twitch from impaling them.

“Well well, what do we have here?” The dark gray one said, and they both stowed their weapons. “This your cabin?”

“Yes sir, built by my husband who sadly passed this last year and left me all on my lonesome.”

“What a damn shame,” the ginger offered, “to leave such a pretty little thing out here with a child.”

“It's been hard, but I've managed well enough.”

“So you have.”

“And what, if I may ask, brought you two fine young gentlemen to my house today?”

“Rainin,” retorted the gray one. “Out hunting and got soaked. Took shelter in this here cabin, no one was home. Just a quick stay, nothin’ more.”

“You two are from the Northlands if I'm not mistaken, yes?” she asked as she fetched a strange looking candle from a shelf, placing it on the table. It was an unusual looking candle, blue in color, twisting in a spiral.

“Aye… and what if we are?” There was enough ambient light from the windows and from all the enchanted lanterns and the fireplace that a candle wasn’t exactly warranted, and yet she still made a show of transferring the flame from the hearth to the candle, lighting it into a bright orange.

“What kind of weird candle is that?”

“Just a gift from a friend. Something to burn on stormy days to keep the evil spirits away, think nothing of it.”

“Right…” he said suspiciously. “Evil spirits. So why’s it matter where we're from?”

“Well, beggin’ my pardon sirs, if I may know your names-...”

“I’m Donnie,” said the dark gray one.

“Matais.”

“Just call me Kitstune,” she noted, and they made a weird face.

“You don’t look like you have nine tails to me.”

“So you do know the legend,” she added, taking a cleaning rag and attempting to hand it to the man, who was demonstrably unimpressed.

“I don’t ‘do’ women’s work,” he rebuffed, not even taking the rag.

“It’s a children’s tale,” added Matais, leaning back in one of the chairs. “The spirit in the woods leads travelers astray, confuses you with magic, yada yada.”

“Is that what I’m known for?” She teased, already working at scrubbing some dirt from the floor.

“Lady, I don’t think you’re quite right.”

“Perhaps not. But it's still good to know.”

“Why do you want to know about the Northlands?” the other questioned, returning to the original query.

“Well, it seems to me,” she commented as she continued to clean the floor of the mud they’d tracked through the house, “if you’re from the Northlands, and you’re all the way down here, you must be from Pravansk, or thereabouts.” The other two looked around uncomfortably. “Now I may be a simple woman, but even I know the Hunters Code. If you find an abandoned cabin, take what you need, replace twice what you took.”

“Ah, that’s more of a guideline…” he reasoned, taking one of the random fruits he’d looted and biting down. A jellyfruit, as it were. “Besides, we didn’t take much.”

“Just enough to put me out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts? It’s barely anything.”

“I live on my own, with my child. ‘Tis hard enough as it is.”

“Alright, so what do you want from us? Just let the rain clear up and we’ll be on our way.”

“And you’ll hunt me some game to replace all the food you’ve been eatin’?”

“Yeah. We’ll do that. Right as the rain clears up,” said the dark gray one, Donnie. Out of the corner of his eye, Ash’ton noticed the subtle change of the candle, perhaps because he was conditioned for such things. The flame turned from its standard bright orange to a dull red.

“And you… promise?”

“Of course. Promise. Out of your hair as quick as you like.” The candle deepened. Having wiped up most of the filth in the kitchen, Helena moved over and trailed her fingers along his shoulder, a gesture he accepted with a toying smile.

“You wouldn’t lie to a poor lonely woman, would you?”

“No, ma’am… wouldn’t dream of it.” The candle flickered.

“Donnie, what the shite is with that candle?” The ginger cat demanded, and the gray cat in question finally looked over, scowling.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Evil spirits…” Helena whispered, drawing close to his ears with her muzzle, hands on his shoulders, practically whispering into his neck.

“Now I don’t know if I believe all that bollocks…” he mentioned with an unsteady expression.

“That’s alright,” Helena noted, straightening up and smiling, “they still believe in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The other questioned as he too nibbled on a random piece of cheese he’d picked up.

“If you jump off of a cliff, what happens?”

“Obviously, you’d fall and die. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, say you didn’t believe in such bollocks as a ‘force’ that ‘holds’ things down on the land. You don’t believe in silly things like that. You jump off a cliff. What happens?”

“Well… I suppose you’d still fall.” Helena simply winked as she returned to her duty, drawing some water into her wash tub.

“Do you mind if I… use a bit of magic to speed things along?” Helena inquired, and one of them rolled their eyes as the other looked annoyed.

“No wonder you live alone,” Matais noted. “You’re positively touched in the head.”

“Just doing what I can,” she teased, flicking her tail about and twitching her nose, as her cleaning implements came alive; the rags drug themselves onto the floor, the brushes scrubbed the dishes, the straw broom scratched the floor, the water in the tub sloshed.

“Wot the shite!” Donnie jumped up from the table and skirted away quickly, drawing his bow. Matais appeared at his side, doing the same. “What kind of evil foul spirits hath possessed you for such a thing!”

“I thought I told you,” she scolded, eyes glowing in red, a wicked grin playing about her face. “Seems the men of the North need to be reminded why you show respect to the spirits in the woods…”

“Let’s get the feck out of here,” Matais put forth, turning to leave. But as he did, all of the doors and windows in the cabin slammed shut forcefully, sending a rush of air throughout, and wooden bars fell into place, sealing them off. The two cats nocked arrows in their bows and took Helena in their sights.

“I will warn you only once…” she said slowly, deliberately, “you let those arrows loose… it will be the last thing you do before you die screaming.” Even Ash’ton was now feeling scared. He’d never seen her so… hostile. So sarcastic, malicious, malevolent. He wasn’t the only one shaking, as their arrows wobbled so violently from their unsteady hands that they dropped them immediately, forgetting their bows and backing up cautiously.

“I think it’s time we learn about offensive magic,” Helena noted softly so as only to him, and raised her paw.

Dominate… Form… change…

Magic whirled around the cabin and in the blink of an eye, wrapped the two up as they shrank just as quickly, leaving only two small frogs in the place where men once stood. They flailed and panicked and tried to jump away, but they were not used to being frogs, and only floundered. She let out a hearty laugh that shook her form and filled the cabin with noise and mirth, raising her other paw, and up they went, floating gently.

“Ah, I’ve missed doing that,” she noted fondly. With another gesture, she brought the levitating amphibians closer, about a foot from her face as they continued to flail and croak and struggle.

“Shush now,” she scolded, and to their credit, they stopped croaking. “I would have been perfectly fine letting you walk out of here of your own free will; I would have even sent you on your way with a care package. However, I don’t like being insulted in my own house.” The two creatures trembled. The candle was burning bright orange once again.

Memory… forget… location…

A dreamy look played about the frog’s faces (if you could even call it that? Hard to tell the expressions of frogs) and they seemed to fall into a trance. Helena took the opportunity to swipe them both into a burlap sack, pulling the string closed.

“...and that’s that,” she said matter of factly, as all the doors and windows unlocked. Ash’ton still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to talk or not… they still weren’t fully gone. Instead, he pointed at the bag and held up his paws in a ‘I don’t know?’ kind of gesture.

“They’ll be alright,” she promised, shaking her head like she were letting out her hair, and her fur color returned to normal pristine white, tails fanning out behind her. “They’ve been put to sleep. They’ll be back to normal in an hour, have a vague recollection of what happened, but won’t remember this place. With any luck, they’ll tell everyone they know of their harrowing experience, and the legend will spread.”

“Is that good?” He asked, assuming that the ‘no talking’ rule was over as they’d been magically put to sleep and couldn’t hear him.

“If you thought there was a chance you’d get turned into a frog from wandering into a random cabin in the woods, would you think twice?”

“Fair enough…” he reasoned.

“You were never in any danger,” she continued to explain. “Even if they had, by some miracle, been able to loose those arrows, I have so many wards in place they would have exploded before they got anywhere near us.” That was comforting, at least. He nodded.

After the little showdown that led to their untimely transformation into frogs, Helena tied the sack containing the pair to one of the horses, and then smacked both of them on the flank with a shout; not enough to hurt really, but enough to startle them into action, sending them fleeing into the treeline. She gave another chuckle, finally letting Ash’ton wander around on his own.

“Now I have to actually clean the mess they made…” she noted wryly, pulling Ash’ton back into the house with her.

With the ‘distractions’ out of the way (he was still a bit wary, understandably) they could actually start preparing for the summons proper. Stacks of feed were left out for the animals, a spell cast upon them to release only on the proper days. In much the same way, watering cans and shears were enchanted to tend to the plants, given specific instructions for action.

“Suppose I should actually ward the premises…” she mused. “Don’t want another incident like before, when I’m not around to intervene.” After walking to the theoretical center of the space between the buildings, she poked around at the earth with her foot.

“I think it’s about right here,” she noted. “Haven’t done this in a fair few years.”

Earth… excavate…

She made a hand motion, and the topsoil shifted and fled like a crowd from a fire, revealing an old wooden trapdoor, the size of which could probably fit Khora if he’d wanted to drop down.

“Ah, there it is,” she noted, pulling on an iron ring, and opening it to reveal an absolutely massive crystal larger than she was, set upon a plinth of stone, deep in the darkness.

Rise…

The stone groaned and grinded and slowly rose up at her command, like some morbid corpse rising from a grave. It painstakingly peeked above the ground, and then inch by inch, clawed its way into view, ending fully extended into the air with the plinth about a foot above the trapdoor.

“Crystals are useful for storing magical energy,” she noted, though he’d already gathered that from various other devices she’d primed, such as the greenhouse. “Give them a little instruction, and they carry it out until they run dry.” Helena struck a pose, raising her paws to the crystalline monolith, and began chanting. Even though he was slowly attuning to the Rea, she went far too fast for him to pick up on everything she was saying, though he noted a few words.

Area… shield… enshroud… protect… repel…

They were warding spells, he reasoned, and quite complex ones at that. Like a sunrise slowly filling the black night sky with soft oranges and purples, the crystal slowly came into its own color, a soft purple starting deep inside its mass, growing steadily until it was a shining beacon. The whole process took several minutes and at the end, Helena lowered her arms with a weary sigh, slumping.

“Whew,” she noted, “I had forgotten how much energy that needs. Easy enough. A fraction of my being.” Was it a brag? A bluster? Or just honesty? It would forever be a guess.

“Now Ash,” Helena noted as they were now settling down for supper around the table, “There are things you must know before we set out.”

“Yes momma?”

“As before… it would be best if you didn’t speak, or show your true age. You see what happens when people fear the unnatural or the unknown.”

“Yes momma…” it was a bit bumming, having to act so childish, even though technically he was, but he understood.

“I’m sorry, my love. It’s for both of our safety.”

“I understand.” He shoved a bit of meat she’d roasted into his mouth, savoring it. He was happy he was allowed meat now, after the Goldenleaf incident.

“This is the biggest city in the land, perhaps the world, so far. There will be many, many people. So much more than the festival, every day, without special occasion. Don’t be scared, my son; no force in all of the heavens or all of the plane of Tera will be able to separate you from me. Remember what I told you in Goldenleaf… it’s not an idle threat. It’s a reassurance, a promise.” I would burn them all to save you. He remembered it starkly. It was almost… flattering, in a way, that one being could care about him so strongly that they would put others in harm's way. No one else loved me like that… he heard the doubts creeping up. Of course not, this was his mother, who else would? He felt that it wasn’t exactly what his subconscious meant, but as was the norm now, he couldn’t decipher it. So he ignored it.

“I love you, momma.” He simply answered, to convey his deep gratitude.

“I love you too, more than you will ever know.” She gave him a kiss. “There is one more thing.”

“Yes, momma?”

“The King… will probably see through the ruse. He’s very powerful, and very cunning, as I’ve mentioned. Even so, it is imperative you let me do the talking. This is a… delicate situation.” Honestly, he’d been a bit excited to meet this ‘king,’ it felt like a special occasion; but the more she talked about him, the more nervous he was growing. She made him sound evil. What if he was an evil king? He shifted about worriedly.

“We’ll be fine,” she assured him, caressing his ears. “Everything will work out in the end.” It always did.

With the final preparations made, there was naught to do but actually do. The place of choice was not the caravan, the large cart known as the Box, or Il’ishna, however it was in her workshop. In a wide open space, away from obstructions, a circle was drawn. The sight of such sent deep reverberations through him, a shock of deep dread, heartache, and fear. But why? Remember… he struggled to pull up memories of the before times, but they were hazy, as if half of himself were missing. He remembered the circle, though. Into the circle, and then… the void.

“Momma, we’re not going to the void, are we?” he asked shakily, suddenly consumed by terror.

“What? Oh, no, my little love. You remember that, do you?” He gave a weak nod. “That was a one-time thing, I promise. You were a very good boy, and you fixed it all on your own. There is no need to ever return there.” Fixed it…

“Fixed what?” he asked, and she tutted as she drew the magic circle. “Something important. Something only the Lord of Creation could tell you. Even I cannot accurately describe it. But that day will come. It is not for right now.” That was her way of shooting it down, like she always did. It put a sour taste on the whole thing, but he tried to let it go.

“Okay, momma.” She ruffled his hair, which did little to quell his feelings. She knelt down and cupped his face in her paws, coming nose-to-nose.

“I will tell you, everything and more, when you’re ready. We are part of each other, remember?” Ash’ton nodded. “It does me no good to keep secrets from you. But a fledgling bird does not jump out of the nest without wings. It has to wait until it can fly. Understand?” He nodded again, and she kissed his nose. He had to admit, it made sense and made him feel better about it, even if he was still mildly disappointed he’d have to wait.

“Good boy.” Helena continued her rune circle as Ash’ton observed. Despite feeling the Rea when she spoke it, he still couldn’t… read. They appeared as squiggles and runes to him, but he knew they meant something to her, at least. Satisfied with her work, she pulled out the scroll that the guard had given her days ago.

“This is a teleportation locus,” she informed him, unrolling it. “Think of it like a house address. I cast a spell, invoke the scroll, and it takes me to the exact location specified.” He nodded, not in any position to argue. “Though I could be petty and teleport on my own… but no matter. I’ll use it as a show of good faith.”

“Could you teleport to Goldenleaf?” He asked. A reasonable question, he thought.

“I could…” she noted. “But I’ve long held the belief that I should try to live as close to normal as possible, to keep myself grounded. A philosophy I’ve developed for myself over many lifetimes.” Fair enough, he thought. He nodded.

“But for now… the King expects us, and so we shall appear. For this, I need you.” She picked him up, holding him solidly in her arms. “Hold on.” He held onto her, and she onto him, as she chanted a spell, using the scroll as a focus. Right before they were sent through the ether, he saw her fur color change again, back to that gray pattern with the singular tail. Before he could register this though, he felt a familiar and dreadful tear in reality, and in the blink of an eye, they blinked out of existence.