The Treasure

Georgia Faire knew how this was going to end. It was like the way the rain knew it would once again join the sea. In a hunt, the fox was the target. The howlers were the deathly arrows honing in to pierce her and finish the dirty work, and behind them was the hunter, strong enough to collect the spoils for his own treasure chest. Georgia knew how it went because she had, for all her previous life, been on the good side of this hunt. She imagined what it had felt like to stand beside her father and listen to him as he taught her his majestic ways.

“They search until they can smell it,” he would tell her, beaming with pride in his dogs. They were better known to the hunter’s daughter as the bodies that kept her warm during winter nights. “Then they follow the scent to where the fox is.”

When she learned what happened to the beautiful red demon, she felt her heart might die. She felt the same now, with the screams of the dogs grabbing at her footprints. If only she could be herself again. It would be so simple for her father to realize his mistake. He need only return home and find her bed empty, her clothes unworn. He need only watch her, and surely he would be able to tell that it was her underneath the coarse fur.

Somehow she knew that he would never recognize her again.

The things around her were dark and shapeless, twisting and trying to form things that were only slightly familiar. She saw the floral pattern of her house’s walls, a pale violet background and dancing green vines. Before her hung a golden mirror. She stared at herself and saw that her nose was slightly elongated. Her chin and high cheekbones were darker than the rest of her skin. A snout was forming around her nose and mouth. Her jaw was nearly white, and her ears were tipped with black.

Terrified, she tried to see if anything else had changed. She was dressed as she imagined a pirate would be on an adventure on the high seas, with pale blue ruffles cascading down her breast like a fresh waterfall. Her sleeves buttoned just below the elbows, and her orange pants hugged her waist. Her hair was untied and tucked behind her long, almost pointed ears. It looked like waves of the licorice candy that her father sometimes bought for her when he sold venison at the market. The bouncing waves smelled of the treat, as well.
Someone was calling her name, but she didn’t recognize the voice. She followed the short hall to the front of the house, where the forest was beginning to grow from the walls. Shadows of wide leaves fell over her and cushioned her steps on the yellow carpet. The smell of licorice changed, then, and she was drawn back into the house. It almost tugged her along, whispering her name and daring her to come closer. She was entranced. What was at the end of the tunnel? How would this end?

The distant sound of hounds barking threatened to snatch her attention, but she pressed forward until she was in the den. Her black boots, constricting her calves and ankles, made a solid sound each time they struck the ground. Sitting on the fur rug was a small, orange fox. Its triangular head was cocked to the left, its flashing eyes locked on Georgia’s.

“Hello,” it said. Its sharp teeth sparkled in an inhuman smile. “Thank you for your body.” Its laughter sang like tinkling bells all around her, swallowing her and drowning her in sound.
Then she awoke.

Georgia wanted to be a pirate. She imagined the cool, spraying mist in her face, the crashing thunder of waves beating against her ship as she sailed past the horizon. The first oceanic tale she heard was the one told by her father over her fifth autumn feast.
The venison glistened with juices under the shadow of his dark beard, and warm soup reminded them of their fortune against the impending frost at their window. Around him gathered his wide-eyed family – then consisting of only Georgia and her mother. Throughout their lifetimes, they would always look to him for wild stories and great tragedies.

“The ocean bandits glided on the edge of the fog, wary of what might lurk inside.” He peered with a cool blue eye across his feast-laden table. “Little did they know that the prince of the desert lands had knowledge of their whereabouts. He had been tracking them for weeks, driven by his lust for their stolen prize, the princess Morani.”

Georgia’s mouth was snapped shut, her eyes pressing on her father’s. Her concentration was single-minded, blocking all else but him and his story. She needed to know the end of it, just as she would need to know the end for the rest of her life. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge of the next step would claw at her mind, dragging her through the years of her childhood. Every book she read would begin with the last page, a large part of any story only coming once the surprise had been spoiled.

“The prince had a special sword. Do you know where it came from?”

It was his wife who guessed first. “Morani’s father, the king?” Georgia watched her mother’s face for a moment, taking note of the light in her eyes. Her father’s reply was negative; that was all she collected, being enchanted by her mother. She had never seen her like that before, smiling and glad to be beside her husband.

“He got it from the fox queen of the ice-lands,” he said in a soft murmur, conquering his daughter’s attention. He had been watching her, seeing her as she saw her mother. He smiled when their eyes met. “Do you like this story, pumpkin?”

She nodded solemnly. Of course she liked it. “I want to be one,” she proclaimed with rosy cheeks.

“One?” he sat back in his chair, ready to let her take the spotlight. Storytelling could wait. “One of what?”

“A pirate.” She twirled her spoon around, watching its stem dance with the steaming ribbons rising from the surface of her soup.

He grinned and imagined her dressed as an adventurer. She wouldn’t wear her hair in those beautiful little braids anymore. It was almost a pity. “You think you could handle the excitement?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded matter-of-factly and kissed her spoon’s edge. The heat scalded her precious lips, but she didn’t cry. She only waited for it to cool down. “I’m going to be the best pirate there ever was.”

A small, rusty creature stood alone in the wet winter night. Her paws were invisible and dark beyond her long legs, naturally stained with the earth she had been digging in. Her bushy tail swished absentmindedly between her hind legs, dripping with mud. With dark eyes, she stared down at the freshly turned earth.

All through the week, pregnant clouds had rested over the land. The wooded hills rang with the music of many singing birds. Droplets streaked through the night and splattered on the ground all around her. One of the fox’s ears swiveled to catch the sound of a wet twig breaking. She turned her head, black eyes coldly searching the land. A tree nearby had deep marks in its white bark, shaping the letters “G. A. F.” She smelled the air and received nothing but the overwhelming clean of rain. There was another sound then, this time closer to her position.

She shivered away the thin veil of droplets that coated her blood-stained fur; they sparkled as they met the earth. If she was going to have to run, she wanted to lose the weight of the rain. She glanced down at the unmarked gravesite, wondering why this had happened, and then dashed away.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Georgia’s father rested his warm palm against her brow, gently pushing her dark hair aside. He looked over the curves of her features, the long nose and plump lips that they shared. She smiled at the intensity in his eyes, one that only showed when he was on the hunt. She could feel the warmth drifting off him, the love he had for her.

A heavy blink closed her eyes. She felt like she had drunk the moon, and it filled her stomach to the brim. Her mouth hardly opened when she spoke, for fear that she would unleash beams of blue light. “I’m tired,” she said. In a rush of wakefulness, she inhaled deeply. A deep smile stretched across her face. Her father always smelled of pine and happiness. When she was encircled in his sturdy arms, she felt like the forest was embracing her. In the morning, the first thing she thought was whether she could see him. Her world revolved around him.

“You should get some rest, Georgia.” He spoke gently, pulling the hand-sewn quilt toward her shoulder. His wife was a skilled tailor; she made most of their everyday clothes out of the skins he brought home.

“Okay, Da.” She was almost old enough to marry, and yet he cared for her as if she were a babe. He made breakfast for her in the mornings, he showed her how to use a bow and arrow, and he trusted her with the privilege of helping raise her little brother to be a man. George had told her, years before when little Kath was born, that she held the entire world in her arms. If she only embraced it, it would truly be hers. She believed everything he said, in her waking mind, and in her slumber.

The earth was a calm cathedral around her. She panted for breath among the dirty roots of the fox hole, her tail wrapped tightly around her body. She curled in on herself, trying to regain composure. The hounds yelped and scratched at her hiding place, but their anger was futile. She wouldn’t come out for hours, and they couldn’t pace that long. Within a few minutes, they were gone, their barking now replaced by the soft patter of rain.

She thanked her luck with every quick breath as she looked around the darkness. It smelled strange in here, like thievery. She imagined this was what the end of the world smelled like. With confusion swirling like a tornado in her brain, she lost consciousness.

When her eyes opened again, it was night. The forest’s song surrounded her, swelling inside her and drawing her out. She breathed deeply and found her senses alive with all the smells of the woods. The wet earth rose and stroked her fur. The cool air tickled the long hairs in her ears. She padded contentedly along, looking curiously at the world around her. This was a very strange picture, the ground this close to her.

A tree rose before her. Its light colored bark shone like a beacon in the silver moonshine. Carved into its skin was “G. A. F.” Her father’s name was George Alec Faire. A faint longing filled her heart, but she ignored it and turned away from the tree.

There was a flash of movement before her, and she cowered against the ground. She gave her best snarl a try and sounded more like a twig being dragged against a tree’s bark. Her pelt bristled with moisture as she glared up at the person who seemed ready to attack her, but she froze once she recognized who it was. There were the crescent-moon cheekbones and the pointed chin her mother had stroked to put her to sleep. There was the dark hair she could no longer feel or braid.

The girl showed a familiar smile with a sick twist. It spoke, and its voice was that which told Georgia’s thoughts. “Thank you for your body,” it cackled. The fox’s spirit instantly grew fascinated with the sound of its own words, the vibration of its voice, and began mumbling things. Georgia grew angrier by the second. This creature had stolen her.

She shivered pitifully in the mud, her head racing with human thoughts. The fox may have stolen her body… but it also gave up its old one. Georgia was the fox now, and she needed to take advantage of what she was given. Her father had always told her, “When it rains and you don’t want it, use the sound to cover your steps.”

The human body was counting its fingers. Georgia glared up into her old face, wishing it was still hers. She knew that it wasn’t, and it probably never would be. The time it would take to learn how to regain her body from the fox was more than she wanted to waste. It would try and live out her life, perhaps even endanger her family. She thought of little Kath, unwittingly asking to play with her. What if the fox chose to give him a torch? What if it told him to swallow poison and tell him it was juice? Her heart cried out as she imagined the fox stabbing her father in the back. There was no way she could let that happen.

Anger and sadness choked her. She felt tears gathering in her large eyes. Goodbye, my body, she whispered in her mind, my life. Then, she darted forward. She knew from experience that the thin leather of her trousers could be pierced by the smallest point. She snapped her fangs down on the human’s ankle, and suffered a violent thrashing. Her body flew to the side, where she rolled and slid through the muck.

“I’ll kill you!” it screamed at her, lips pulling into a sneer. It launched itself at her, grabbing hold of her throat and pressing her into the ground.

Georgia whimpered, wiggling her body in the slime, and stared up at her old face. She slipped right out of its grip, and instantly leapt on the opportunity. She scrambled onto its back, her unkempt claws digging into its back, and clamped down on the nape of its neck. She felt flesh pop and twist in her teeth, and she tasted the hot blood as it flowed over her fur.

The girl shrieked and tried to reach around at her, but she was out of its range, and her jaws were locked. It started to roll on the ground, trying to crush her into submission. She huddled close against its back, only sinking her teeth in deeper until she felt a hard snap. A sickening crunch rang out into the night, and Georgia felt she might vomit. Warm blood stained her muzzle, filling her head with a sickly dizziness as she stumbled away from the scene.

The fox had stolen her life, and in turn, she had stolen its. She remembered all the tales her father had told of pirates reclaiming their lost treasure, and not one of them had included anything like a fox.