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Long Lost

Chapter 13

Zeinara wasn't certain how she was supposed to wear the pelt. The fox hadn't told her anything before he simply vanished, and she still felt unnerved by his ability to do such a thing. As she fumbled with the pelt, she wondered if the fox wasn't watching her from the shadows and laughing. If the pelt was a farce, that meant he had tricked out of her pants for absolutely nothing. And the very thought infuriated her.

In sudden desperation, Zeinara put the pelt on her head and let the body of it fall down her back. She was about to hurl it off in frustration when she looked down . . . and saw her paws were white. She ran to a puddle in the mud, dropped to her knees, and gasped to see a fox's red face staring back at her. She had been transformed into a beautiful red fox with slanted amber eyes and a white stripe cutting from her chin and into her shirt. Her mane had changed from golden to white and tumbled from its bun to fall in loose strands around her face. She smiled at her reflection, silently thanked the strange fox, and rose to her feet and entered the gates. This time, there was no pain.

The bridge of light seemed endless, and even worse, seemed to take an endless amount of time to cross. Zeinara climbed higher and higher, and the closer she drew to the distant light at the opposite end, the more her heart soared. She was going to meet her mother! She was finally going to make the world right, make Etienne's world right. She was tired of watching in silence as her father suffered, and now she could finally do something about it.

As Zeinara drew closer to the end of the bridge, she could see the light getting brighter, and she realized it was not the light of S'pru. A being, an entity, was waiting there for her! Her heart fluttered, and she ran to the end, her mane and tail whipping back, her cloak flaring out behind her. The light did not hurt her eyes; it was soothing and loving and warm, like the caress of a mother's embrace, and when she finally reached it, she fell to her knees before it and bowed her head.

"I know who you are," said a heavenly voice, rising, echoing from within the twisting light. "And I know why you have come."

Zeinara bowed her head, letting the light wash over her. It was soothing. She had never felt so loved in her life as when bathing in that radiance. "Mother . . ." she whispered happily.

"No, child," the light returned sadly. "I am not your mother."

Zeinara's head snapped up and she hated the sudden tears in her eyes. "You're Azrian, aren't you?" she demanded through her fangs. "Of course, you're my mother!"

"No," the light said apologetically.

Zeinara gritted her fangs. "Yes, you are! You were my father's lover!" she accused. "Weren't you!"

"Yes," came the trembling reply.

"I came here to save you! It's my destiny!"

The light sighed, and the voice was sympathetic when it softly chided, "Foolish child. Who filled your head with notions of destiny? I am not your mother. Though I loved your father dearly."

Zeinara glared. "If you're not my mother, then who are you! Where is my real mother! Tell me who I am!" She sprang to her feet, and pulling the dagger, lurched at the entity.

The being gasped. "Don't, child!"

But there was no stopping Zeinara. She was wearing the skin of a goddess and Azrian's light could not harm her. She lifted the glass dagger and leapt through the light, squinting against her tears, squinting against her own rage. As she brought the dagger down, she heard a terrible scream, and she could see the goddess behind the light at last, the pretty red face of a fox twisted in shock and agony. Blood oozed from Azrian's chest like water. It plastered Zeinara's paws, but she sank the dagger deeper and twisted.

"A-Ahhh!"

"Tell me who I am!"

Azrian sputtered up blood. Her eyes were dull.

"N-No," Zeinara sobbed. "Don't die! It was supposed to make you mortal! Not kill you!"

Azrian's light faded, and Zeinara could see her clearly now. She was a red vixen, young and beautiful, with small red wings, and wrapped in a flowing white gown. Her red mane was so long, it fell to her feet. Blood gushed down her front, pushing in ribbons from the deep wound Zeinara's brutal strike had left. She staggered blindly, the wound in her chest flexing as she struggled to breathe. Zeinara fumbled to catch her, and they went down together.

"Please, don't die," Zeinara whispered and cradled the gasping goddess close. She was covered in Azrian's blood, her paws were shaking, and she kept hearing Nkwe's voice in her mind, telling her the bridge of light was not for her. Even the stranger at the gates had warned her not to come here. She looked at Azrian's distant eyes and already missed the soothing warmth of her light.

But something in Azrian's eyes clicked, and with her light completely dissolved, she sat up and looked at her paws in amazement.

Zeinara watched her anxiously.

Azrian didn't speak. She stared at her paws a long time, and Zeinara wondered if it was painful, becoming mortal, for pain and bewilderment flickered in her eyes. The goddess finally looked at Zeinara and frowned. "Why did you do this, child?" She blinked once and waited, looking at Zeinara intently.

Zeinara didn't have a chance to respond. Fire burst across her back, licking through her fur in a sudden agony that tore screams from her mouth. She clawed at her face with shaking paws and could feel Mohaua's pelt pealing off. It fell away from her cheeks and curled off her paws, tumbling in scraps of shredded skin across the sky.

"No!" Azrian shouted.

Zeinara screamed wretchedly as the fire consumed her, wreathed and twisted as it snaked hot around her eyes. Beyond the flames, she could see Azrian conjuring water with a determined frown. She blasted Zeinara with it and the flames extinguished, but it was too late: with the pelt destroyed, Zeinara could feel the light of S'pru burning her from the inside. She collapsed on her side and curled up, trying to claw the agony from her belly. It were as if a flame had lit inside her and were tearing her up, cutting a needle-sharp hole. The pain became so intense that she thrashed wildly and found herself falling off the bridge.

Zeinara heard Azrian scream at someone, "Catch her!" She kicked against the sky as she soared down and down, fighting the burning in her throat as if they were paws around her neck choking her. She couldn't breathe. She was going to die. She was going to hit the earth far below and every bone in her body was going to shatter. The shrinking terror of it nearly paralyzed her. But somehow, she knew it was better than burning alive in the light of S'pru. She closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate. And then she felt strong arms tighten around her and her body abruptly halted so hard, she choked. The arms were hard with muscles and large enough to consume her.

Zeinara opened her eyes and went still. A winged fox, large and handsome, had caught her in his arms. He was red, but his mane was fair and there were black blotches through his fur, his wings were large and golden as the sun, and something about his face was . . . off. He didn't quite look like a fox, and the scent of him was not unlike Etienne's.

Zeinara stared at her rescuer in amazement, and he looked back at her, just as flabbergasted. Behind him, she could see Azrian standing with someone on the bridge, yet another female fox, only she didn't have wings.

"Take her to Aonre, my son!" Azrian called. "She can not withstand the light of S'pru!"

Her son? Zeinara thought, and her ears pricked forward as the realization hit her: she was looking at her brother.

The male's ears flattened, and when he glanced back at the young female standing with Azrian on the bridge, Zeinara knew he did not want to leave her behind. But he could not fly back to the bridge, as doing so would have harmed Zeinara. He hovered there, uncertain and anxious, and his indecision reminded her so much of her father that she thought, Yes. Definitely my brother.

"Take me to Aonre!" Zeinara snapped at the male.

The male scowled at her, but he didn't have a chance to argue: a ball of fire came rocketing at the bridge and hit Azrian and the other vixen in their backs. The male's eyes shrank with terror as he watched them plummeting toward Aonre, screaming and on fire.

"Hold on," the male whispered grimly to Zeinara, and she obeyed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Clutching her tight in his arms, he spread his wings and turned, diving fast after the females.

Zeinara found soaring through the sky exhilarating - and terrifying. She thought the male would drop her, but his arms were strong. They plunged through the sky, and before long, Azrian and the other female drew close, their screams only matched by the roar of the flames devouring them. Azrian was trying to fly even as she was burning. She managed to pull herself out of the fall, flapping her wings frantically, summoning water that barely hissed out the flames that tormented her. Zeinara thought flying and casting magic in the midst of such pain must've been a real feat, but Azrian had almost managed it.

Squinting against the flames, Azrian reached for the young female plummeting beside her but missed when the girl dropped away.

"Kayya!" the male bellowed. His eyes - one blue and one gold - were horrified to see the young vixen slipping.

"Ettoras!" the female screamed. "Save me!"

Zeinara saw a tear filled the male's eye. He frowned with determination and soared faster.

The plummeting female screamed in agony as the wind beat her burning body. She was so badly burned, she was only a ball of black and tattered fur, a scorched mane, and a ragged tail wreathed in flames. And the male was crying freely to see her in such a state. He pushed his wings back flat and soared for her with all his strength. Zeinara saw him reach for the female. The female reached back, tears in her eyes. And just when it seemed the male was finally going to save his friend - a ball of fire hit him square in the back.

Zeinara lost her grip and was snapped from her brother's arms as fire licked across her face. She could barely hear his screams above her own as she dropped away. The earth below was coming up fast. Trees and little rivers, fields and miles of forest. She was going to fall into those trees, and if the gods were merciful, she would be impaled on a branch and die immediately. She closed her eyes as the first branches reached up, and she hated herself for not listening to Nkwe, for not listening to Mogethis, for not listening to her father, for not listening to the damned stranger at the gates.

Zeinara hit the tree like a rag doll, and pain exploded across her body in a web of agony. She tumbled down and down, taking leaves in her mouth, hissing when thin branches slapped her across the face in ribbons of blood. As she fell, she could see the tree turning black where she touched it and dully realized that she was killing it. Somewhere nearby, she could hear the young female screaming, could see the fire licking and dancing in the corner of her eye. She hit the bottommost branch, bounced off, and slapped the ground hard. Pain tore its way up her spine, and the ache spread from her neck to her limbs like little rivers of fire. Lying on her back, she could hear the distant screams of the young vixen, and then she saw her, falling like a shooting star through the branches - directly for her. Zeinara didn't think she could move. She lay there and closed her eyes, and the female slammed on top of her in a heap. "Umpfh!" The fire hissed out.

Zeinara's pain redoubled. In the silence that followed, she thought the fox was dead. She coughed and her throat felt torn as she whispered, "A-Are you alive?"

The vixen didn't answer. She was so burnt and black, she was hardly recognizable as a fox anymore. Zeinara struggled to lift her paw, and though it caused her great pain to do so, she touched the vixen's mane in sympathy.

"The shooting star!" shouted a voice. "See? I told you!"

Zeinara heard bushes rustling, then the sound of feet. Oh god. Who had found them? What was going to happen to them now? She closed her eyes as strangers gathered around her and the vixen, casting their cold shadows across the sun.

"They don't look very alive," said a skeptical voice, a female's voice.

Zeinara opened her eyes to hear the female and paused. A pretty white vixen stood over them, her lip curled in a sneer, her eyes black as wet earth. She was carrying a walking stick and was wrapped in a short deerskin dress. Feathers dangled from her ears and from her throat, and her long white mane was loose and wild around her shoulders. Zeinara could see her pretty face between the undersides of her high breasts and went still, lost in her beauty.

"They were the shooting star from my dream," said another voice, this one male.

Zeinara followed the sound of the voice and saw a male fox standing over her. He was completely black, wrapped in bear furs, his chest bare between the opening of a brown fur vest. A long flowing black mane fell thick and curly behind his shoulders, and a white circle was painted around his left eye. He had no weapons save a walking stick, and Zeinara knew instinctively that his magic was stronger than his brawn. Not that he needed brawn. What was clearly his protector stood at his side: a big black male, towering and muscular, wrapped in bear furs and carrying a spear. She almost jolted to realize the towering male was a _Beauceron_dog, silent and still, and staring directly at her.

The three strangers stared in silence for a time before the white vixen spoke again. "So what did your dream mean?" she demanded, her lip curling derisively. "Were we meant to find these two and care for them? They fell from S'pru. That can't be good. The Second Light usually casts _criminals_down here."

The sorcerer shook his head, his black mane tumbling behind him. "They are not criminals. And even if they were, we should help them."

The white vixen snorted derisively but did not protest.

The sorcerer stared at Zeinara. "Let's hurry before whoever harmed them comes looking for them. Lift the vixen, Gallus. Nice and easy."

Zeinara stiffened when the black dog passed off his spear to the female. He leaned down and carefully gathered the injured vixen in his arms. The vixen moaned as the dog cradled her to his chest, looking down at her in sympathy.

Zeinara was alarmed to see the vixen taken from her and coughed, trying to protest. Her silent struggle caught the attention of the white vixen, who cocked a brow and said, "I'm not carrying her, Asres. Nope."

The sorcerer laughed softly. "I know. You will carry my walking stick," he said and passed said stick to the female. He looked down at Zeinara and his eyes softened. "Something tells me I should be the one to carry her anyway."

Zeinara went still when the sorcerer carefully lifted her from the mud. Her head dropped weakly against his shoulder as he paused to look into her face. She saw something kind and nurturing in his eyes, eyes that stirred in her memories she could not recall having before. She could hear Nkwe sobbing, and a female's voice saying it would be alright, that someone was going on to her ancestors. She was in someone's stiff arms, flexing pudgy paws and gurgling like an infant, and she was breastfeeding milk that was turning cold . . . and Nkwe . . . Nkwe was crying.

I don't want you with your ancestors, Taiga. I want you with me.

"Her eyes are . . . familiar," the black fox said and smiled uncertainly at Zeinara.

"Sure you can carry her?" teased the white vixen.

The sorcerer laughed softly, though he did not take his eyes from Zeinara. "I think I have always been carrying her," he said. He smiled at Zeinara. "For twenty years now."

Zeinara's lips managed a quivering smile. And looking in his eyes, the feeling of being long lost vanished, and she suddenly knew . . . she was found.