A Fox Called Sorrow Read online

  “Not all cats fight,” Little Fur said.

  “Cats that do not fight are unnatural,” the cat countered, wincing as she lifted his eyelid.

  Little Fur said nothing. She was thinking of other cats she knew. “That is the best I can do,” she told the tomcat when she had completed her tending. “I am not sure that it will heal properly. Perhaps you had better come again soon.”

  The cat agreed languidly, but Little Fur could smell that he was not listening to her. Well, she could not make him come, and perhaps the eye would heal cleanly.

  Crow did not make another appearance until the sun was high overhead. Little Fur had washed her hands and was nibbling on some nuts from the squirrels when Crow landed beside her, fluffing himself up and rustling his feathers importantly.

  “Storm doing much damaging,” he began.

  “No trees fell, and what was crushed or flooded will grow again,” Little Fur said.

  “High houses flooded and some bits of them broken off and breaking other dwellings. Sky-fire burning some low houses,” Crow said, to make clear that he had been flying over the city.

  “The humans will rebuild,” Little Fur said. Humans were constantly pulling down bits of the city to build them anew.

  Having eaten the nuts, Little Fur went to see to her next patient, a seagull who had been dashed into the side of one of the high houses. The lower part of his beak was cracked, and Crow hippity-hopped over to watch as Little Fur pounded a lump of dried tree sap into powder. She added certain seeds and mixed everything together with water to form a strong glue. The crack was small, but it was better to fix it, so that it could not catch on anything.

  “You are far from the sea,” Little Fur murmured as she waited for the glue to reach the right consistency.

  “Cah! Wind catching me . . . from the storming,” the gull said. His words were even more scattered than other birds’, since his mind was full of winds and strange currents.

  Little Fur did not say anything else, because she needed the bird to keep his beak still. She held the beak firmly, sensing that the bird was distracted by a late butterfly dancing in the air. There was no point in scolding, because unlike Crow, who could force himself to concentrate, the seagull was incapable of remembering anything for more than a few moments.

  Little Fur was sorry that another great friend, Brownie, was not here. He could have held the bird’s attention by talking about waves. The pony had been born by the sea, and from time to time he returned there with his brothers and his human owner. “You must hold your beak open until the glue sets,” Little Fur told the seagull, and carefully put a pebble into the bottom part of his beak. “This will make sure you do not get the bottom of your beak stuck to the top.”

  “What if the beak sticks to the stone?” Crow asked. The gull gave him a wild sideways glare.

  “The stone is coated in dried glue, which is the only thing the wet glue won’t stick to. Now just sit quietly. It won’t take long to dry.”

  It was then that Ginger the cat appeared.

  The seagull hopped sideways in agitation, but Little Fur insisted there was no danger. “Can’t you smell that he won’t hurt you?” she asked.

  The seagull muttered indistinctly that the stink of the glue was too strong for him to smell anything else, but he was reassured by Crow’s lack of fear. Little Fur turned to greet Ginger properly, but before she could say a word, the gray cat spat out a sodden clod of mud and feathers.

  The clod shuddered. It was a baby owl so young that she had only a few downy feathers. Her enormous yellow eyes blinked blindly in the brightness. She uttered a soft whoo, then rolled over in a swoon!

  CHAPTER 3

  Out of the Wilderness

  Little Fur carried the baby owl to a nearby evergreen tree.

  “If I had left it cheeping where it was, a cat would have eaten it,” Ginger remarked, padding silently beside Little Fur.

  “The Old Ones would not have let harm come to something that needed healing,” Little Fur assured him as she cleaned and dried the tiny bird, who hardly seemed to know what was happening to her.

  Little Fur had a bird bring worms, but the owlet barely touched them. In the end, Little Fur put her in a nest that she kept prepared.

  “Can you remember where you found the owlet?” Little Fur asked Ginger.

  “I found her on the ground beside a broken human high house. Road monsters had been gnawing at the buildings,” Ginger said.

  Little Fur stared. Ginger had not found the owlet in the wilderness, as she had supposed, but in the city, where the cat might have made a meal of it. Instead, he had carried the owlet to her in his mouth. Truly, he was unlike other cats!

  Little Fur turned to Crow. “Dear Crow,” she began, knowing how difficult he could be, “would you fly to the city and tell the owls that a nestling has been found and is safe in the wilderness?”

  For all her tact, Crow refused. “Owls hating crows because flock attacking Sett Owl when she being fledgling!” he said.

  “That was a very long time ago,” Little Fur insisted. “Just think, when she grows up, she will tell all of the other owls about the brave and heroic crow who helped her to return to her family.”

  But Crow was too much the master of such exaggerations himself to be swayed by Little Fur’s attempt. In exasperation, she summoned a starling. There was no use in giving the bird a complicated message, so she merely asked it to spread the news about the owlet. The day passed without any sign of an owl, and Little Fur guessed that the starling had probably forgotten her request. Checking on the owlet later in the day, Little Fur smelled that its tiny battered body was neither infected nor feverish, but she could detect the ominous scents of loneliness and neglect that came with the loss of a mother.

  Little Fur wondered what to do. If she asked another bird to deliver a message to the owls, the result would likely be the same as with the starling. The bird would forget to deliver the message or muddle it so badly that no sense could be made of it. That was how birds were—except Crow, whose powerful curiosity and extravagant imagination helped him think more clearly. He was the only bird other than an owl capable of carrying messages. But there was no point in asking him when he had already refused.

  The unease Little Fur had felt the night before was now stronger. The time had come to make another journey into the city. The thought of leaving the wilderness filled her with worry. She couldn’t get used to the smell of the roads that ran like veins through the human city, or the dreadful road beasts that prowled them day and night. And apart from the humans, there were trolls that roamed the city after dark and, of course, greeps. Worst of all, something might force her to break contact with the flow of earth magic. If that happened, she knew she would be severed from it forever.

  But the owlet needed her mother, and Little Fur saw no other way to help her.

  It was near dusk, the blue sky filled with delicate feathers of pink and gold, when Little Fur told Tillet of her decision. Tillet shook her long ears and bounded away to get the spare seed pouch she kept in her burrow for Little Fur.

  “Be careful” was all Tillet said as she watched Little Fur sling the extra pouch over her shoulder to hang beside the one she always carried.

  Crow was less moderate.

  “Craaak! This being the stupidest idea that was ever thinked!” he screeched. “City is being flooded! Too much raining. Buildings has been falling down. Terrible sickness is in city. Everyone dying!”

  “It’s a sickness among cats,” Little Fur said calmly, for she had heard of it. “And this will be a good chance to examine a sick cat to see if there is something I can do to help.” So far, she had seen nothing of the sick cats. The reports of a cat epidemic had come from cats like the tom. “I am a healer, after all,” she added when it looked like Crow was about to start screeching again. “Now I am leaving for the city. Do you want to come?”

  He glowered at her and flapped off in a huff. Little Fur smiled, knowing that he
would be waiting for her at the edge of the wilderness, as would Ginger. Little Fur put on a cloak made of a bit of human cloth that had been blown into the wilderness. She thought of the spiderweb cloak from her elf father, which had the marvelous property of weaving a grayness that made its wearer almost invisible. The last time she had seen the cloak it had been in the hand of an enormous cruel-smelling human who had tried to capture her.

  Little Fur’s last task before she left was to check on the baby owl, who was being watched over by two squirrels. The squirrels whispered that the owlet was sleeping, proof of the tiny bird’s bewilderment, for she ought to have been waking for the night. And no wonder the poor little thing was deeply confused—few birds had the experience of being thrown out of their nest in a violent storm, then carried around inside the mouth of a cat!

  Little Fur laid her hands on the evergreen tree in which the nest sat, and sang a plea to the earth spirit to watch over the owlet. She felt the whisper of earth magic through the tree and under her bare feet, reassuring her that the owl would come to no harm. She sent her thanks into the tree, along with a message of love and farewell to the Old Ones.

  At last, Little Fur set off for the outer edge of the wilderness. She reminded herself to keep her feet—or some part of her—on the ground. If she lost contact with the flow of earth magic, even for a moment, she would not be able to return to the magical wilderness. She deliberately frightened herself with this thought in order to make sure she was properly careful.

  Little Fur pushed through the voracious creeper that knitted all of the trees and bushes around the wilderness into a nearly impassable wall of green. She came out in a place where fields stretched away to distant fences. Beyond were rows of low human dwellings.

  Little Fur’s feet sank deep into the rain-soaked earth as she crossed the fields, heading for a lane between the low buildings. Once in the lane, she could hear the muted sounds of humans going about their affairs. She was not afraid, because none of the dwellings opened onto the lane. Nevertheless, she was careful, for there was always the danger that a greep might be in the shadow of one of the trees. Having been captured by one once, she was always alert for their rotted-fruit smell.

  Ginger was waiting near the end of the lane. Behind him lay three black roads that had to be crossed before they could reach the beaked house where the Sett Owl lived. Little Fur had come this way many times, but the ugliness and stench of the black roads always made her feel sick. She had just stepped onto the grass path between the road and the fence that bordered it when Crow appeared with his harsh cry of greeting. He landed on a peg that jutted from one of the tall wooden poles that humans planted along the black roads. These poles were connected by long thin lines of metal that sometimes sang eerie mindless tunes in the wind and at other times gave off sparks of sky-fire.

  “Where we going firstness?” Crow asked as if he had never opposed the journey.

  “The beaked house where the Sett Owl lives,” Little Fur said. “While I speak to her, you can look for new places for me to plant seeds on the way back.”

  She set off at a trot along the verge. It was not long before the grass narrowed to a seam poking up along a path beside the wooden fence by the edge of the road. The path was human-made of the hard gray stuff which her friend Brownie called cement. (Being a pony who lived with humans, he knew a great deal about them.)

  Little Fur carefully followed the seam of grass, knowing that it would widen again. Soon they approached the pipe Little Fur used as a tunnel under the black roads. Tonight the hollow where it emerged brimmed with muddy gray storm water.

  “Maybe there is another pipe,” Ginger murmured.

  “Faraway is being other pipe,” Crow muttered.

  Little Fur sighed. There was enough of a gap between the top of the pipe and the swirling surface of the water for her to get through, but the water was so deep that she would have to swim. She took off her two seed pouches and slung them around Ginger’s neck. Then she drew a deep breath and stepped into the water. It was very cold, and the earth magic in it was thin because of the poisons the rain had washed from the road. She gritted her teeth and went deeper.

  Little Fur did not look back to see if Ginger was waiting, for her senses told her that he was already crossing the road. Being an animal, and a creature born in this age of the world, he would not be harmed if he lost touch with the flow of magic for a while. But she willed him to make haste, because crossing a black road was very dangerous. Road beasts raced along them at terrible speeds, and their glaring eyes were as hypnotic as a snake’s. Of course, Ginger was used to crossing black roads, but Little Fur was always glad when this part of the journey was over. Crow was in no danger, naturally, because he could fly.

  The tunnel widened, but in flattening out it left less space for breathing. Little Fur had to lie on her back to keep her mouth above water. Fortunately, a slight current carried her along. By the time she reached the end of the pipe, her neck ached from holding her chin up, and she was shivering with cold. Ginger had to help her from the water with his teeth and claws. He offered to lick her dry, but she refused, saying she would warm up soon enough.

  They set off again, going back the way they had come. The grassy seam was thicker than on her last visit. Little Fur was pleased that some of the seeds she had planted on the other side of the black road had blown here and taken root, drawing the flow of earth magic and strengthening the grasses.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Beaked House

  Little Fur smelled the road-beast feeding place long before they reached it. Where the fence angled back, she peeped out at the bright, flat-roofed house with its strange metal wings held motionless on either side. Dazzling streams of false light flowed out into the darkness, for its walls were made of the unmelting ice humans made. A smaller black road curved in from the bigger one to pass under the metal wings of the bright house. Two giant road beasts sat under the wings, letting humans tend to them. After some time, they roared to life and sped away. One large road monster remained, but it looked soundly asleep.

  “They will not see you,” Ginger murmured, so gently that Little Fur guessed he could smell her fear. “The false light dazzles them.”

  She gathered her courage and stepped out onto the stubble of grass that ran along the fence. The rest of the ground was covered with cement. They had almost reached a gap in the fence when Little Fur saw a human sitting with its back to the fence.

  “Don’t worry,” Ginger said, and slipped by her.

  Little Fur’s heart was in her throat as the cat approached the seated human. The human noticed Ginger and reached out to stroke him. Little Fur began to move, step by careful step, toward the gap in the fence. Soon she was close enough that the human had only to turn its head to see her, close enough to smell and be smelled, but its attention was completely focused on Ginger. Little Fur smelled its longing to take him home.

  Reaching the opening safely, she stepped through, making sure that she could feel the flow of earth magic before she lifted her back foot. She went a little distance from the gap and sat down to wait for Ginger, wondering why humans always wanted to own what pleased them. When Ginger leaped over the fence, Little Fur got up and they set off again across another field.

  “The human smelled sad,” she said.

  “It smelled of too much being alone,” Ginger answered. “Many humans do not like being alone. It is one of the things that can turn them into greeps.”

  “Maybe that is why the human smelled of wanting to keep you.”

  “Humans think nothing will stay with them unless it must,” Ginger said.

  Little Fur pondered this until they came to the stand of pear trees at one corner of the field they had crossed. Some goats were moving around under the trees and the nearest came trotting over. Little Fur could smell the reek of humans over its strong musky scent, and the distinct smell of wildness that all young things gave off. She offered her hand and the kid sniffed it.

&nb
sp; “You smell of troll,” said the kid.

  “I have troll blood in me,” Little Fur admitted, “but I am not a troll.”

  The kid snorted. “Once trolls tried to catch me. They smelled of hunger and deadliness and hate.” She gave a snicker of laughter. “My mother tells me that I must be afraid, because fear will help me to run faster. But I can run fast without being afraid.”

  Little Fur wondered if the kid was telling the truth. Usually, trolls loathed the rich flow of earth magic summoned by growing things. Yet the kid did not smell of lies or even of exaggeration.

  As if she sensed Little Fur’s thought, the kid said, “When my horns are long, I will escape from this stupid flat place and climb up to the clouds. My mother says that all the world is flat, and humans are the masters of it. But I dream of going up and up, to where there are no human masters, and the dream burns me, so that I know it is true.”

  “In the wilderness where I live, there are no “In the wilderness where I live, there are no humans,” Little Fur said. “But you would have to cross black roads to reach it.”

  “Does the ground go up to the sky there?” the kid asked.

  “Not to the sky, but—”

  The kid cut her off scornfully. “Then I will not come.” She gave Little Fur another close look. “What has troll blood yet is no troll? Is it a riddle?”

  “I am an elf troll,” Little Fur told her, wondering what a riddle was.

  The kid considered this for a moment, then trotted away with an incredulous snort.

  Little Fur went to the nearest pear tree and laid her palm against its bark. Like all trees seeded in the age of humans, it was not completely awake, but she had once taken the seeds of this tree to plant in the grove of the Old Ones, and she wanted to give it news of them. The pear tree stirred and Little Fur was startled to be offered a fleeting picture of herself planting the seedlings. The Old Ones must have sent the vision into the flow of earth magic. Little Fur shivered at the thought of the Old Ones communing with the earth spirit about her.