Valient

Chapter 2

Sometimes I wonder whether I should have saved him. Whether I should have just let him go, trotting off into the forest. He didn't really need water. If I would have paused for a moment and thought, just thought about it: a fox who doesn't know how to find water? Then I would have realized.

But he was so beautiful, with his orange, silky fur, huge eyes that seemed to take up half his face, and a whispery way of talking, as if what he said was for you and you alone.

Yes, I think that was the moment I should have fled.

Everything changed after that.

*

Elaine's heart lurched as she discovered the cockroach underneath the baking tray. Immediately, her palms became sweaty, and her heart started pounding.

"Jasper!" she hissed to her mouser and best friend. "Jasper, get over here!"

But Jasper was off chasing field mice for his own breakfast.

Elaine wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead and a white smudge of flour smeared across her temples. The sun would be up soon, and the village needed its bread. She just couldn't start without killing this repugnant insect.

Just lift the pan and kill it, she told herself. Just take off your shoe, lift the pan, and kill it.

She bent over and undid the laces to her leather boots. Grasping one end of the metal tray, she lifted her boot in her hand, ready to bring it down and smash the cockroach. The disgusting little bugs were common enough; any place with food was liable to acquire some at some point. She still hated them.

Her arm froze. Thoughts of the demonic insect crawling up her arm paralyzed her. Tears began to swell in her eyes. She glanced over to the wall, the face of the king in his portrait staring back at her. His painting hung in every house in every village of the kingdom. He seemed to be judging her.

That makes two of us, she thought.

Her stomach twisted. She just couldn't do it. It was under the tray, in the dark, and she just could not do this thing.

Lift the tray, she thought.

Suddenly, of its own accord, the tray flew off the table, and clattered to the floor. Elaine screeched and the cockroach zoomed beneath the next hiding place, in the shadow of a bowl.

For a moment, Elaine was startled out of her fear of the cockroach. She glanced about, but no windows were open, and there wasn't a single breeze strong enough to knock the tray over.

What was that? She thought. Never mind, just get rid of the cockroach.

She couldn't do it now. She had lost all nerve.

"Papa!" she called. "Papa!"

A huge man with a bushy beard and salt-and-pepper hair entered the baking room.

"What is it?" he asked brusquely. "And what's all this noise?" Obviously, he was ready to start the day's baking.

She lifted her trembling hand and pointed at the bowl.

"It's under there," she whispered.

The man heaved a great sigh. With one fluid motion, he lifted the bowl and smashed his fist down on the insect before it could scurry away.

"Elaine, I've told you so often before: it's not going to hurt you. They don't bite, don't sting, don't do anything except ruin good bread."

She hung her head in embarrassment. "Yes, papa," she said.

"Now go, roll out dough, and put the loaves in the oven," he said.

"Yes, papa," she said, leaving for the kitchen.

All her life she had worked in this bakery with her parents. It was a strong, timber-made building, with a thatched roof. Her father and mother had built it themselves twenty years ago. It doubled as their house, with their living quarters in the back. Elaine loved it, and she loved the village she grew up in, loved the people she had known since birth. Nestled between the mountains and a great forest, the village had beautiful summers and harsh winters. The people were kind, as quick to share their food as they were to argue. Everyone knew everyone else, knew their stories, their embarrassments, their hopes, their failures. They were more closely knit than yarn on a loom, and Elaine knew her place in this tapestry. She would grow up, inherit her parents' bakery, probably marry Zachary from the next lane over, have five children, all of them boys, and grow old to see her great-great-grandchildren.

That is, if there is any food left, she thought. She had opened the cupboard and discovered that they were out of sugar again. They didn't even have honey to make sweetcakes.

She didn't really notice when it started happening. First it was the exotic fruits from the distant lands-purple plums, lemons as yellow as the sun, bright orangey-red mangoes-all of these started disappearing from the markets. Then, more common vegetables: celery, greens, turnips, parsley. One by one, they began to disappear, as if they had been bubbles, and each of them popped out of existence.

Then the rations began. Each family had their own ration tickets, and they could not renew them until the end of the month. Every month, the soldiers would come by their sleepy village, disperse the tickets, proclaim how great the king was to be so generous to offer such a magnificent system, the villagers all murmuring, "Yes, how great," and they would gallop off on horses that looked as finely fed as any noble.

Her family used to sell so many delectable items: cakes, pies, fluffy muffins, sourdough bread, pumpernickel, rye, bread with raisins and cranberries in the middle, bread with chocolate spun though, cupcakes, cookies, donuts, and more.

Now they sold bread.

Only bread.

Rough, dark, plain bread, the same type, every day.

Her family had to raise the price several times. What could they do? With food and supplies drying up, the ingredients were much harder to find. The king now took a greater portion of their wheat in taxes, and they had to raise the prices of their bread just to pay off what they owed to the king. Some days, they couldn't even afford to eat their own bread and simply drank broth for the night. The villagers all grumbled of course, and they had a right to. Her father had always tried to keep the same price, no matter what, but the king's taxes were about to put him and his family out of business and onto the streets. The villagers loved each other, and so lined up for blocks at his bakery every week whenever they could spend their rations.

Elaine sighed. We'll be able to serve sweetcakes at the end of the week. But first, concentrate on today.

She just didn't know that she would be visited by something bigger than a cockroach.

*

They're coming. I know I have to go faster, have to speed my way through forests and over mountains, across lakes filled with monsters with ten tentacles and through swamps with boglight, tiny incandescent orbs ready to lead you to your doom.

But I am an old woman now. I'm frailer than I once was, not as sharp or quick. I know I don't have much time left, before the Great Sky Spirit comes to bring me home. Yet I cannot waste time complaining or pondering over what once was.

There is only now.

They already have four, and two are hidden somewhere they can't find, where she can't even find them. If I don't move as fast as I am able, they will capture her and all will be truly lost. We will spend one thousand years under the thumb of bitter rule.

I can't talk to you anymore.

I must fly.

*

Elaine was quite sure she did not hate her little brother.

Most of the time.

Sometimes.

Just not right now, she thought, as he repeatedly stepped on her foot while he was carrying supplies to and fro from the front room of the bakery.

"Oops," he said, each time he did it. He circled round and round, stomping on her foot and grinning with malevolent, ten-year-old glee.

Elaine breathed out slowly. She had been trying to not let Daniel get the best of her; her mother was always scolding her for losing her patience.

Her mother entered, carrying a basket of freshly-baked loaves. The homey scent of bread filled the room and made Elaine's mouth water. How she missed the days of eating slice after slice with lots of butter. Now they were lucky if they got butter once a month.

"How are we doing?" her father said, bent over some parchment, with a pencil gripped between his fingers. Most of the villagers did not know how to read and only signed their name with an "X" on important documents. Elaine always thought her father and mother were brilliant for knowing how to decipher the strange symbols on the brown parchment. When she saw others struggling at the market, pretending they knew how to read as merchants handed them receipts, Elaine was deeply grateful that she had been taught this quiet magic.

"One more, and we'll have caught up for the week," she said.

"Good, good," he murmured, going back to his ledger.

Elaine continued rolling out the dough while her parents poured over the accounts. Her arms ached in a familiar way. Bread was tricky; if you did not massage it just right, it would play tricks on you in the oven. Her father always said that bread was like a horse: you had to befriend it before you could tame it.

"Mother, may I fish with Zachary this afternoon?" she asked. Her arms burned with the effort and she stopped, wiping a bit of sweat from her forehead.

"Ask your father," her mother responded automatically.

Elaine fought the urge to roll her eyes, as she knew she would receive a sound refusal if they caught her doing that. "Father, may I please fish with Zachary this afternoon?" she said, resuming her rolling of the dough.

"Come back one hour before sunset," he said.

"One hour?" Elaine said, disbelieving the injustice of returning one full hour before sunset. Others her age could stay out at least until the moon had risen halfway through the sky.

"Elaine loves Zachary," cooed her little brat of a brother.

"Hush," she said.

"Elaine and Zachary, Elaine and Zachary," he sang in a baby voice. He made kissing sounds and began to chant again.

Shut up, she thought. Shut up! She glared at him. She felt a warm feeling well up in her, a tingling that started from the soles of her feet and seemed to vibrate through the top of her head.

Suddenly, he fell silent. He looked at her with horror and clutched at his mouth.

Wondering if he could breathe, she rushed over.

Daniel opened his mouth and then he could make sound again.

"Motherrrr! Elaine did something to me!" he wailed.

Both parents looked up. Her mother's gray hair made a wild halo around her face, and her father's stern brown eyes looked ready to dole out punishment.

"Elaine," he said in a tone that brooked no discussion or argument. "Go fetch more wood for the ovens."

"But I didn't do anything!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even touch him!"

"Liar!" he shot back.

"Enough!" cried their father. He looked at Elaine. "Wood. Now."

She gave a great sigh and stomped out the back door.

Fuming over her i***t of a little brother, she began to pick up logs for chopping. She knew this was a special punishment, for going into the woods meant facing beetles and spiders and icky mushrooms that didn't do anything, but they looked absolutely revolting. Plus, she knew that somewhere in these woods lived an old hag with a house made out of candy who ate children. She had heard that she ate at least two children last month, twins who had the misfortune of being poor and their stepmother was wickedly jealous. They said the old hag never left her house, that she was trapped there by a spell, but you never knew who could come along and change that.

Not even the scent of crushed grass and pine could soothe her wild thoughts. It wasn't fair that she should be punished for something she didn't do (but why did he suddenly go silent?) and not be able to stay out at a decent hour, as if she were a tramp, roaming the woods.

She heard a rustling to her right. She swung around, brandishing a stick, to ward off any animals that might come near. Of course, she wouldn't ever actually use the stick; that would mean getting close to whatever it was. She would just wave it around and hope it would leave.

Whatever it was, it must have wandered away, she thought and turned around.

A fox stood before her.

She jumped and raised her stick.

"Shoo," she said. "Shoo!" She ineffectively waved the stick around a couple of times.

The fox yawned. It came closer and sniffed around her ankles.

The familiar paralysis came over Elaine. She should have run while she had the chance. Now the fox was going to bite her and tear her apart.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

The fox glanced up at her. He was a beautiful dark auburn, almost scarlet, with eyes as orange as a sunset. "Why would I hurt you?" he said. "I need your help."

Elaine peered at the little fox. Talking animals were not unheard of, although she had never met one.

The fox gave a little shake of its tail. "Will you please help me, kind stranger?" His voice was surprisingly deep for a fox, full of mirth and not a little mischief. Yet, for how deep it was, he had a whispery way of talking. He crept closer, limping slightly, and pushed his head against her leg. His fur felt as smooth as silk.

"My mother said that I should not talk to strangers," she replied. She wanted to help the fox, she really did, look he was so cute and those eyes were so big and so beautiful...

"What is your name?" asked the fox. He sat down, looked up at Elaine.

"Elaine," she said.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Elaine," he said. "My name is Renard." He stood up and gave a little bow.

"Hello Renard," she replied. She glanced back to see that she was still in sight of her parents' bakery.

"There," he said. "Now we are no longer strangers."

Elaine peered at the little fox. She bent down and reached her arm out. He trotted forward, still limping, and allowed himself to be petted. His tail swished and he gave a little yip when she scratched underneath his chin.

"How do you need help?" she asked.

The fox turned once around in a circle. "I have traveled a long way and am not familiar with these woods. Would you show me where the river is? I am so thirsty," he said. He also held up a paw. "And I am hurt."

Elaine stood. "Yes," she said. "Would you like me to carry you?"

The fox nodded, and she scooped him up in her arms. She took the stick from the ground and waved it in front of her as she walked. To the fox, she looked like some ridiculous human who had lost her wits.

"Child, what on earth are you doing?" he said.

"I'm afraid of running into spiders," she replied. "Sometimes you can't see them and walk right into them. This knocks their webs over before I run face-first into them."

The fox only tsked and snuggled closer into her arms. There were tall weeds, and thorny stalks that Elaine avoided. The long grass was scratchy, but Elaine was glad to stretch her legs before the day began.

Soon they came to a little clearing, where a stream trickled by merrily, clear as light, cool, and sweet.

"Just be wary of the river mermaids. They'll pull you under if you're not careful," she admonished.

"I didn't know they came this far inland," said the fox, bending to drink. He began lapping the water delicately.

They stood together silently for a while, Elaine simply listening to the sounds of the forest. Hummingbirds zipped by, frogs croaked, and a fawn stepped lightly up to the river to drink as well. A fat bumble bee buzzed by, and Elaine held out her hand to catch it. These bees had no stinger, and if you were lucky, they would leave a small gift of honey right on your hand. Another enormous bumble bee buzzed by and the twins landed on her outstretched hand.

As Elaine looked closer, she saw one of them was wearing a tiny top hat. The other crawled around on all six legs, then stood up abruptly on its back two. The one in the top hat took a tiny violin from behind its back and began to tune its strings. The other bee began to put on a tiny pair of dancing shoes. When the first bee began to play, the other danced a jig, right on top of Elaine's palm. The song was merry and the bees frolicked for a few minutes. Elaine's heart felt light. Even the fox jumped around in time to the music, his paw apparently healed. When they finished, they vanished in two tiny puffs of smoke. All that was left was a small gold coin.

"Bumble-dee-bees are said to be good luck," said Elaine, slipping the coin into her pocket.

"Yes, you'll need it," said the fox.

A shadow passed over Elaine's heart. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that dark days are coming for you. They're coming for us all." The fox looked up at the sky, as if it were going to fall down on them at that very moment.

"Do you mean the season of wheat? It can't be any worse than last year-"

"No, silly girl," snapped the fox. "This is bigger than your growing season. This is about the whole kingdom.

Elaine gave a huff of impatience. "Can't you explain any more?"

"No, I can't," said the fox. "And I must be going. Thank you for the water. Beware the coming days." He sped off into the forest.

Elaine began to walk back to her house.

What was that? Dark days? The kingdom?

She had nothing to do with the kingdom. She was just the daughter of a baker. Thinking of the bakery, she ran back to her house, taking special care to walk the path that she already had, so as to not run into any spiders or their gross webs. Surely whatever dark days that lay ahead couldn't compare to the lashing she would receive if she did not chop wood for the ovens.