Vulpine Summer

Esme woke. She hurt. Everything felt bruised and her whole body was awash in goosebumps from the water that covered her. Very slowly, she peeled her eyes open. Her vision was blurry at first and gradually focused.

Swaying grass and trees surrounded her and strings of black hair covered her eyes. Insects roared in the dawn heat and birds twittered endlessly and the distant grumblings of cars were brought in by a gentle wind.

Carefully, Esme pushed herself onto her knees, sinking further into the water. She gazed about in confusion, not recalling much at first. She didn’t quite understand why she was naked, covered in mod, cuts and on a riverbank. And then suddenly she remembered everything.

Her heart jumped to her throat.

‘Fox.’ She murmured in fear.

Billy had sold them out and worn out Absolon. They had been found by the White Wizards. They’d run and Fox had been shot twice before they jumped into the river.

Shaking, Esme scrabbled to her feet, barely keeping balance as the wet mud slipped beneath her. She looked about wildly. She couldn’t see Fox, only the river, trees and the edges of Alton. Panic took her. Where was he?

Despite the sun, Esme felt cold. She shivered and hunkered down, covering her nakedness as she thought hurriedly. She had to think quickly. Absolon was with him, tired and unable to move, along with her Grimoire. She was vulnerable. Worse, if she didn’t find Fox soon, he could die and she’d be lost.

And Fox would be dead.

She shook away the stab of fear and pushed away the grim images from her head and furrowed her brow. It took a few seconds to recall she wasn’t entirely naked. Dangling between her small breasts was the whistle and pouch holding her precious stone.

She scooped the whistle up between her long fingers and twirled it in the morning light. Two mouth pieces, one made of steel and the other of wood. One Spirit and One God. She wouldn’t call Everwood, not when his life would be on the line, and River Oak had only given her the ability to call for help from other Spirits around her; a cry they could ignore. She had little choice though.

Placing the metal mouth piece between her lips, Esme blew. She blew hard and long until her lungs gave out, desperately pleading that any Spirit nearby would listen. A shrill, eerie sound whistled from it, causing birds to take to the air and flee. It wasn’t normal. It was magic.

Esme stopped to breath, sitting curled up on the banks of Willow, waiting. No one came. Heart sinking, Esme blew again. And again. And again. Fox and Absolon had to be found. She needed them both.

She kept whistling until her throat was raw, her lips parched and her eyes filled with tears. Nothing was responding to the sorrowful tune. Nothing.

Esme dropped the whistle to dangle between her breast. She had run out of ideas. Without her Grimoire she couldn’t use magic. Without Absolon, she had no protection. Without Fox, she had no guide. She was stuck and lost without even clothes to dress her. It was over.

Feeling overwhelmed with despair, Esme sobbed into her knees, curling herself into a tighter ball. But her tears came to a sudden stop when a voice spoke.

‘Why does it cry so pathetically?’

Esme’s head shot up and instantly her gaze was locked by pale eyes. Peeking out of the river’s surface was half a face. A Spirit’s face.

‘Who are you?’ Esme stammered.

‘River Willow, Spirit of this domain.’ It slithered out of the water, revealing blood red and golden orange scales, pale white skin and a masculine body. Tiny water Sprites clung to his thick tail, laughing and giggling, which he pulled off to drop into the water with lazy motions. ‘What is it called?’

‘Esme Dupont but Spirits call me the Bloxham Sprite.’

The Spirit bowed his head sagely. ‘This one has heard of the name. The god of the Everwoods has spread tales of it.’ His white eyes stared at Esme with a very bored expression. ‘The whistle it blew, it called to this one. Willow heard the magic in its tuneless cries, the hidden demands for a Spirit to come forward. It is made by one like Willow. Who made it?’

‘River Oak.’

She didn’t know if she knew the name, he gave no indication, but it was likely. The Willow and Oak rivers joined at two different points and shared the same Mother River, River Redwood.

River Willow tilted his head and reached out to touch the whistle. His pale long fingers brushed the mix of wood and metal and the fabric of the pouch. His bored features were broken by stark surprise but it was only briefly. He pulled away and folded his arms over his thick chest. Esme was worried he wasn’t going to help her after all but she was wrong.

‘What does the Bloxham Sprite have need of?’ He drawled.

‘A man and a Watchful Sprite fell into your river. The man was bleeding badly. I need both returned to me.’

River Willow pulled a face. He didn’t seem to like things asked of him. ‘Yes. This one recalls the bloody human with flaming red hair. This one got rid of it. It was upsetting this one’s children.’

Esme’s features perked up instantly and she pushed herself awkwardly to her feet. ‘Take me to him.’ When the Spirit’s bored eyes narrowed, she paused, realising how rude she was being and bowed instead. ‘I request the Spirit Willow to take me to the wounded man, if it so pleases him.’

Willow seemed appeased but annoyed. He huffed then pulled himself out of the water, revealing the entirety of his lengthy tail and its fiery scales. Very slowly he swam above the waters up stream. Esme followed hurriedly, not having a care for her nakedness at all. All that she cared about was her dear Absolon and her wounded guide.

She belted through the trees, stumbling over roots and pebbles, scrabbling against the mud and gravity that tried to pull her into the river’s grasp again. Twigs and sharp rocks dug into her soft feet, making her wince, but not stopping her. She fought hard to keep going and not fall behind Willow’s swift pace.

Eventually, growing closer to the edge of Alton, Willow stopped. He came to curl above something further upstream, peering down curiously. At first Esme thought it was nothing but a bundle of cloth until she noticed the tell-tale red hair.

It was Fox. He was motionless and face down on the bank, sodden and filthy from mud and blood.

‘Fox!’ She cried as she hurried to breach the distance between them.

She dove to his side and, very gently, pulled him onto his back. Instantly her heart sunk. His skin was grey and sickly and burned to the touch, his expression slack. Blood was congealing in his shirt, turning it black from gore, and she couldn’t tell whether it was sweat or river water that covered his skin. She pulled away his shirt as carefully as she could, ripping it in places, and her hear sunk further as she scanned his body. The wound on his shoulder was ugly; ripped through and weeping yellow puss. She pulled his sodden bloodstained shirt away further. The second wound was worse. The bleeding had slowed but the skin was decaying quickly, brimming with purple veins and fussed over by flies.

‘Oh gods.’ Esme whispered and placed a hand against his forehead. He was boiling. She watched his chest and how slowly it laboured, how his eyes flickered beneath his eyelids wildly. She gently took his face between her small hands and rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs. He felt so clammy beneath her skin.

‘Fox. Fox, can you hear me?’ She said softly.

He didn’t respond nor give any indication he could even hear her. He just continued to shiver, burn and bleed. She shook his healthy shoulder and lowered her face to his.

‘Fox!’ She shouted.

This time he seemed to peel his eyes open. There was no focus though, he looked at nothing as they swivelled. The fever that racked through his body had completely taken him.

Fox was on the brink of death. It made her chest hurt. It clamped up, twisting uncomfortably, as panic and guilt began to fill her. He was dying because of her. Because she had blackmailed him into helping her and he had tried to protect her. She couldn’t let him die. The idea made her sick.

Esme looked up to Willow pleadingly but the Spirit simply shook his head.

‘This one is of the river. Willow does not heal nor mend, simply brings life for fish, algae and insects and the trees on this one’s banks.’

Her heart stuttered. That wasn’t the answer she wanted. She needed Fox to live. ‘You cannot do anything?

Willow tilted his head. ‘This one may keep the blood flowing through its veins but no more. The sickness will kill it still.’

‘That will be enough.’ Esme replied. It had to be.

Esme spied the pack not far from Fox, obviously torn loose from the current and tossed out by Willow. Was her Absolon still inside? She scrabbled over to it and wrenched the soggy bag open. Inside she could only see wet clothes, pouches of money, ruined food and her Grimoire but not the Sprite.

‘Abolson?’ She called.

Something shimmered in the bag and Absolon revealed himself. His white body shivered and his blue eyes opened like tiny lights, peering up at her with a nervous air. The moment he registered who she was, he whistled happily.

‘Oh Absolon.’ She scooped him up and cradled him against his bare chest.

Absolon sighed and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Last night he had not only fended off a savage knife attack but protected Fox from a hail of bullets. She felt awful. He went above and beyond what his small magic could offer and she had pushed him to it. Absolon had felt no need to protect Fox, only Esme, but he raised a shield at her pleading demands after she watched two bullets punch through Fox in a splatter of blood. The sight had terrified her and sent a flare of anger and pain through her. She didn’t listen to Absolon’s refusal, only pushed for what she wanted.

‘I’m so sorry Absolon.’ She cooed as guilt began to grow at seeing how weak he was. Both he and Fox were wound badly in their attempts to protect her. ‘Rest now.’

Absolon whistling sleepily and was very quickly asleep. She settled him on the bank’s grass and dove into the bag again, yanking out a shirt and a small pocket knife. Instantly she was hacking at it, turning it into shreds.

Pulling her makeshift bandages into her chest, Esme returned to Fox’s shivering side.

‘It’s going to be fine, Fox. I will make you well again.’ She whispered and set to binding his wounds as best as she could.

She was gentle, especially when he grunted in agony, a sound which tore at her, but she kept going. Binding the wounds was the only thing she could think of but it wasn’t going to be enough. She knew this. Willow was right. The gathering infections and hot fever were going to kill him. Fox was dead if she didn’t get help.

She knew no one in town though. Billy had betrayed them and she didn’t want Fox anywhere near hospitals or clinics. The police knew he was hurt badly and needed medical attention. They would be waiting for him.

She smoothed down his red hair and shushed him softly as he whimpered in his fevered sleep. She watched his face, how grey and contorted it was. His usual expressions were gone. His sly smile and sharp green eyes were replaced by the grimace of incoming death. Panic was beginning to swell strongly enough to make her breathing stutter and her eyes touch with tears. She had no idea what to do. Her Grimoire didn’t have any simple healing spells, let alone anything that could do complicated healing like he needed, and she had no medical skills.

‘Do not die, Fox. I need you.’ She whimpered.

In that moment an idea came to mind. Warbler. He ran a clinic in town and was Fox’s friend.

But so was Billy, she thought.

Esme shook her head hard. Warbler was the only option right now. He was a high-member of the Fingers and a doctor.

‘Willow.’

‘Yes.’ He replied, slithering down to level his face with hers.

‘I need to get help. Can I leave Fox with you?’

Willow pulled a face of annoyance but bowed his head all the same. ‘Yes, this one will take care of the dying man.’

She smiled in relief. Finally, something was going her way. ‘Keep him alive as long as you can. I won’t be long.’

Willow grunted. ‘It will be done.’

She was instantly rummaging about in the bag, pulling wet clothes to cover her small body. Dressing was hard. Everything clung to her, making it difficult to pull the shirt into place and the trousers up above her waist. Willow noticed her difficulty however and pulled the water from her clothes with a swift motion of his hand.

‘Thank you.’ She mumbled and turned to crouch beside Fox.

She swore he was greyer and the sweat on his skin was glistening. She touched his forehead then his cheek, noting he felt warmer.

‘Stay alive Fox. Stay strong. Warbler will help you soon.’

Fox said nothing in return and only grunted in pain, making her reach out to touch his hair in comfort before standing aside. Willow pulled Fox into his lithe white arms and reared up over the river.

‘This one will take the Bloxham Sprite’s friend into this one’s domain. The Watchful one too.’

Esme frowned, glancing at the vague sleeping shape of Absolon. She had hoped to bring him with her but he was still exhausted. She couldn’t and wouldn’t push him anymore.

‘I will return.’

Willow bowed sagely then, very rapidly, sunk beneath the water’s surface. She watched as Fox’s grey, pained face vanished; quickly being eaten by the water. Willow’s Sprites followed, a pair carrying Absolon with them, and then they were gone. Nothing disturbing the water, nothing but the churning rapids.

Esme shuddered, suddenly fearful as she gazed up at Alton, a place that was going to be crawling with Wizards and enemies out actively hunting her. Fox wasn’t there anymore, showing her how to slip passed the police and armed with his glove. Absolon wasn’t there with his warnings and shields. She was alone with nothing to defend herself with. But she had to do it. If Esme wanted Fox to live, she had to get to Warbler.

Clutching at her whistle and rock and scooping up her pack, Esme made her way upstream and towards the jaws of Alton.