I don't own Doyle or The Secret Saturdays.
I do own Benton, Corbin Revan (look up the meaning to find the pun) and his son Zander, and Faizura "Fae" Tailor.
Episodic, blah, blah, blah. You know the drill.
Again, Doyle is not named. The reason will be mentioned in Chapter 21. He should not be named until Chapter 23.
Demon (chap 16): What kind of cookies?
Stray
The boy woke up shivering.
The first thing he noticed was that he couldn't move; something large was wrapped around him.
The second thing he noticed, when he tried to move, was that the something was much warmer than outside.
He actually paused his struggles, trying to decide if he should just burrow deeper into this wonderful warmth.
Caution won over comfort, and he pulled free just enough to look around.
The warm thing wrapped around him proved to be a pile of blankets; nearby, the fox was similarly covered.
They were still by the lake, but the snow had been cleared away. A fire burned just a little ways off.
That fire worried him. Rocks surrounded it so it couldn't spread; it didn't burn high enough to burn the trees above. It didn't look dangerous; it didn't look natural.
It looked controlled. And a controlled fire meant....
"You're finally awake," the man said. He smiled, apparently unaware that the boy had spooked. "I'd started to think you meant to hibernate."
The man stood up, with the slow, practiced movements of a hunter who did not want to startle his prey. He walked around the fire, toward the boy.
The boy stumbled free of the blankets and backed away from the man...and immediately froze. He knelt on the cold ground, shivering, his arms wrapped around his body as he tried to figure out why he didn't have any clothes on.
The man reacted with alarm, though he tried to avert his gaze. The man took another step towards him, and the boy backed away again, keeping the fire between them, though just to the side, so he could watch the man without blinding himself. The man halted, mid-step.
The fox watched with mild curiosity. It waited to determine if the boy was in danger of more than freezing.
"Please," the man said. "Please, boy, get back in the blankets. You...your clothes are still too wet, and...and you'll freeze like that." He pointed at the blankets, still moving slowly. "Blankets, warm. You understand?" He took a step back and pointed at where the boy's clothes lay, on one of the rocks near the fire. "Wet, cold." He pointed at the blankets again. "Warm," he repeated.
The boy made no move, and the man pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a migraine. He gave the boy another cautious glance, then frowned in thought. There was something familiar about this boy; the man had never met him, but he seemed to recall hearing about a kid matching this one's description.
The man glanced around, and his eyes fell on the boy's wet clothing. Fae. That outfit was one of Fae Tailor's. Then this boy must be....
This boy must be that Gypsy lad she'd tried to help a year back.
The man grimaced; he did not know the language as well as he'd like to. But the surest way to fail was to refuse to try.
The man tried a few different dialects until the boy reacted in surprise. The man took a deep breath, thanked whatever gods were listening, and, haltingly, with care given to every word, he repeated his request.
The boy shivered, decided he was too cold and weak to try to run away, and burrowed into the blankets again. Neither he nor the fox took their eyes off of the man.
The boy's instincts were quiet through the entire ordeal.
The man breathed a sigh of relief. He took another few steps in the boy's direction, pausing a few times to be sure the boy wasn't going to bolt on him.
After what felt like an eternity to him, yet less than an instant to the boy, the man reached his target, and he reached into the flames to grab the pot he'd left cooking there. He took a cautious sniff of the contents—it was not yet in danger of burning—and poured some out into a small cup.
He approached the boy, carefully, step by step, holding the cup out in front of him. The boy cringed at his nearness, and the man placed the cup on the ground and backed away.
"It's food," the man said, pointing at the cup. "Food, eat. You need food. Powers alone know how much you need food," he added with a mutter. "I can count your ribs from back here." He sat down to watch the boy.
The fox shrugged off the other blankets and investigated the cup. When it tried to take a taste of the contents, the man stood up and tried to shoo it away. "Here, now, scat! I got food enough for you, too, but I don't see your ribs showing!" His efforts were limited, at best; he did not dare to spook the boy again. "Go on, get out of there!"
The fox jerked its head up and snarled at him. The man just shook his head and took another step, and then the fox made its move.
The fox leaped between the man and the boy, a more tangible shield than the fire had been. Its teeth were bared, its muscles tense; even the light in its eyes spoke of violence held in check. And it snarled at the man.
And, most perplexing, the boy imitated that expression to a degree, though the fear remained.
The man held up his hands in surrender and sat down again, one eye on the fox and the child.
The fox's lips relaxed, and it returned to investigating the cup, one eye remaining on the man.
Only after the fox took a taste, and curled up beside the boy, now with both eyes on the man, did the boy even look at the cup.
The boy sipped from the cup, slowly, watching the man as intently as the fox did.
As soon as the boy finished the cup, the man refilled it, with the same, slow proceedings, and the same process played itself out. The boy absolutely refused to consider the food before him unless the fox had tried it first.
And that was very strange behavior for someone who needed food that badly. That he would eat slowly was nothing strange; it showed intelligence that he would not stuff himself after the gods only knew how long that he'd practically starved. But to refuse to touch it at all?
Perhaps it wouldn't have been so strange if the fox took more than a taste; some animals were accustomed to taking turns at their meal. But this boy would not touch the food unless the fox had tasted it first...and that was all the fox did.
The process played itself out with another refill, and on the fourth helping, the boy ignored the cup entirely as the fox licked it clean.
The boy pointed at his clothing where the man had laid them. "Dry?" he asked.
The man nearly jumped. He'd started to wonder if the boy could speak. He stared for a moment, then bent down to pick up the clothing. "Dry enough, I suppose," he replied, "but they're nothing but rags." He dropped the garments in front of the boy, near enough that the boy would not have to reach for them, far enough that the man would not need to get too close. He averted his gaze while the boy dressed.
"Listen, kid, you can't go on wearing those for long. They're hardly more than rags; you'll catch your death wandering around out here like that." He took a quick glance to see if the boy was done, and turned around. "Look, I've got a friend who makes clothes like that. Er...like what those were. Fae's a good person, and she'll give you better clothing. And I've got other friends in the village who—"
The boy jerked his head up at the word "village." He stared at the man in renewed fear, and then he and the fox ran off almost before the man could react. There was nothing left to suggest they'd been there at all.
Almost nothing. The man fingered the wood carving he'd seen the boy playing with earlier. It had seemed special to the boy, somehow, and even the fox had treated it with caution. The man had retrieved it so it wouldn't get damaged.
And the boy had left before the man could give it back.
The man swore under his breath and went looking for the child.
—
The boy could only lay there for a time, shaking at the memory of the encounter. That man, that human, had come upon him, and had wanted to take him to the village.
And not once had the boy's instincts kicked in. They'd never let him walk into danger so easily! Why now?
Next time, the fox told him, I teach you to swim. The fox cocked his head. But perhaps no fishing until the air is warm again.
The boy simply nodded his agreement, too shaken to speak. That man—
The thought set him shaking again.
Why did we run? the fox asked. We are not hunted.
"Because," the boy replied slowly, "it was dangerous." He rubbed his arms, trying to ward off the chill air. "My instincts never let me walk into danger before. But they didn't warn me, this time."
Maybe you couldn't hear the ice crack, the fox replied, over your stomach.
The boy flushed at the gentle scolding. What the fox said was true; he had only focused on the thought of a meal. His instincts could have been shrieking at him about the ice, and he wouldn't have noticed.
He shook his head. "Not the lake. The man. The human. He snuck up on me. Why didn't my instincts warn me about him?"
Because he's not dangerous? the fox suggested, unable to understand the boy's fear. Least if you're not food, or not trying to hurt him, anyhow.
The boy looked at the fox curiously. "What do you mean?"
That one...I've seen him out here. So have others. He's got claws, but he doesn't use them except to hunt, or to keep out of other claws.
The boy frowned. That sounded a lot like what the cat had tried to tell him a year ago.
But the fox wasn't done. And he doesn't hunt more than he needs to feed himself, or them as can't hunt their own meat. Or else he hunts one of them as whose minds have gotten sick, and they can't think right and they start killing for no reason.
The boy was still skeptical. "And who's to say except them like him whether the one he's hunting is sick?"
The look the fox gave him seemed offended. The Lord and Lady Creator, of course, the fox grumbled. Them as created all life, and tell us what we're allowed to hunt, and how much, so we don't get greedy and make others go hungry. They get mad when one of their own tries to break the rules.
The boy shivered. He'd felt what it's like to have humans mad at him; he didn't want to imagine the anger from something as powerful as this Lord and Lady the animals respected so much.
If you don't trust the two-legs, at least trust the Lord and Lady's judgment. The fox jerked his head in the direction of the lake. That two-leg is one of theirs. So are others that live around more that aren't two-legs. Such as them respect the Lord and Lady's wishes, even if other two-leggers don't. They're as like one who aren't two-legger as you can get and still be two-legger.
"But that's the problem," the boy said. "They're still human...still two-leggers."
The fox cocked his head and watched the kit. Wasn't a problem when you ate the food he put in front of you.
"I wouldn't have eaten it if you hadn't told me it was okay."
And you stuck around a long time for being afraid of him.
"I was too tired to run away, and I would've frozen if I'd tried." But the boy's arguments sounded weak to his own ears. Who was he trying to convince?
The fox sighed. Come here. The kit got up and crawled over. The fox stretched out to expose the nape of his neck. Touch, feel.
Curious, the boy patted the fox in the indicated spot, and found it thick with old scars.
When I was a kit, I was mobbed by crows. It was the first time I'd ever seen them, and when they attacked me, it frightened me. I wanted nothing more than to run away. But I could not escape the mob, could scent nothing except crow. The fox shuddered at the memory. But I was also curious. I waited until I had healed enough to move, and no longer, and I sought out the crows, to learn why they had attacked. I spent many months watching them, to learn their ways.
"And?"
I still do not know their reason for the attack. But I learned that they sometimes caught their own prey...and sometimes left things behind, things that they couldn't eat. I'd kept myself fed off of some of their leavings, and they sometimes feed themselves off of mine.
The boy struggled to understand the fox's point.
Kit, you fear these humans. Some of them hurt you, and you wish to run away from them. I understand that. And that was once possible. But no creature can avoid the two-leggers forever, save for them that are eaten young. Not any more. If you would survive, you must expect to face the two-leggers again. Wouldn't you rather deal with them on your own terms?
The boy wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth while he thought over what the fox had said. It reminded him—too much—of something he remembered his dad teaching them.
Daddy had told them that running away from a threat is okay; better to run when you can, fight only when you must. But he'd also said that if you kept running, you'd never know if the thing behind you would keep on chasing you into a trap. Best to find a place to hide, to watch what chased you, to know how to deal with it.
Was that what they meant? the boy wondered. They died because I was scared? Because I wanted to run away? Is that why they were mad at me?
He buried his face in his arms. The shaking continued for some time, but it was not from fear alone.
The fox waited until he fell asleep, then licked the tears from his face so they would not freeze.
—
"—I'm telling you, the kid was afraid of me," Benton repeated.
It had been more than a week since he'd seen the kid, and he'd continued to search, even when his job took him far from that lake. He'd asked Fae about the kid, asked questions in the villages, even asked about him with that Ghost Clan.
So far, no luck. Nobody knew anything he could use. And those that did, weren't talking.
"So? You ain't exactly the sort that all kids love," the young boy called from his room. "And what do you mean by coming here and not even saying 'hi,' huh?"
Benton poked his head into Zander's room to see the boy sitting up in bed. "Hey, Zanadu." Zander grinned weakly at the nickname. "Ain't you supposed to be trying to sleep?"
"How can I, with you shouting so much?" But Zander obediently laid down.
"He does have a point," Zander's father stated, shooing Benton back downstairs.
Zander got up and snuck after them.
"Yeah, sorry, Corb," Benton replied. "Is he—is he doing any better?"
"He's...he doesn't seem to be getting worse, but no." Corbin sighed and shook his head. "But that wasn't what I meant. Zander likes having you around, but you know how some of these villagers are about hunters like you. They'll buy the meat you bring in ready enough, but they see you for a savage, practically an animal, and they teach their children to look at you the same way."
"Aye, and I know how those idiots are about Gypsies, too," Benton growled under his breath. "It's just the way he looked at me," he added, more loudly, "It's more than that, more than just fear. Like he...I don't know...."
"Like he'd never seen a human before?" Corbin suggested. "Like some kind of modern Tarzan? Or maybe Mowgli? Only instead of apes or wolves, he's got foxes." He smiled. "Honestly, Benton, I'm starting to wonder if maybe you do spend too much time alone." Benton didn't respond to the familiar joke, and Corbin's smile faded.
Benton's expression remained grim. "He looked at me...like your animals used to look at people, before you got to work on them." Corbin froze, and stared at him. "Like some of them...like too many of them...still do."
"Oh," Corbin said, his shock slowly turning into smoldering anger. "Oh. That...kind of fear."
Benton nodded. "Corb...I don't know what to do. I mean...I had no problem going after the creep that made Viper the way he is," he added, rubbing at his arm where Corbin's aptly named stallion had bitten him again. They often joked that Corbin had never trained that mean streak out of him because it made him better than a guard dog, but both of them knew the damage was beyond repair. "And I'd do it again, jail time and all. I'd love to make a red smear out of whoever put that look on the kid's face, but I know that ain't going to help anyone but me."
"Bring him here," Zander said.
Both men looked up towards the stairs.
Zander shrugged. "Dad fixes up all the other strays that come in. Most are fine with us, even if they're still skittish around other people. Why not a human stray?"
"Zander, your know I appreciate your confidence," Corbin replied, "but we don't even know if this kid is still alive."
Zander just watched them, and refused to say another word.
Benton frowned. "Could you?"
"Huh?" Corbin had to pull himself away from his son's attempt to stare him down.
"If I found him...if the kid is still alive. If I brought him here, could you try to fix him up? I'd...I'd do it myself, Corb, but you know I don't have that kind of patience."
"I'd think a hunter of your caliber," Corbin replied with a snort, "would have more patience than anyone."
"You know what I mean. You also know that I've got as bad a temper as anybody." Benton sighed in disgust. "All it'd take is one thing to go wrong—and it wouldn't even have to be the kid, it could be someone I'm going after for some other injustice. An instant, and anything I could have accomplished would be gone."
Corbin nodded. "If the kid is alive, and if you manage to bring him here—without kidnapping him, mind...." He thought for a moment. "I'd say that'd be half the battle right there. You do that, and sure, I'll do whatever I can."
—
Benton continued to search for the child, even when common sense said it was impossible.
He could not simply stop hunting, and his job took him far from where he'd last seen the kid. Even if the child was alive, there was no way to know if he'd gone the same direction Benton had...and no way he could've gotten so far if he'd tried.
But Benton did not give up.
At least he had one less thing to focus on. Part of his job was easier of late. Almost eerily so. He'd had a run of good luck with fishing, and caught more than enough to retire early for the season and move on to other game.
It was strange, though. Nobody else seemed to be having this luck. It was good luck, but not luck. It wasn't like the fish turned stupid and jumped into his nets; more like there were a lot more fish to catch.
Not so many that the odds of catching one shifted in his favor, either, but like he'd discovered some miracle lure that he didn't even know he was using. Without his skill, that "miracle lure" would've meant nothing. It took all his skill to use that luck. There were times enough that he would've lost his net or pole if he didn't know what he was doing; other times that the luck would have drowned a less skilled fisherman.
He shuddered at one such near-miss, and wondered if the kid had fallen in because of such "luck."
But he caught the fish, in surplus, and he used that surplus as a bargaining chip. He gave sellers in the villages slight discounts, offered a spare fish or two to those who might have information. He gave extra to those who needed it, of course; surplus always went first to those in need. But just this once, he played the market as well as he knew how.
And when he had no more fish to sell, he moved on to other game, far in advance of other hunters.
The deer he hunted were scarce enough; his strange luck with the fish gave him an early lead over other hunters, but it no longer seemed to follow him.
Benton didn't mind. That early lead helped; it meant more meat he could bring to those who couldn't afford it, and more bribes in the form of discounts.
All the while, he'd left things in his camp when he went hunting. An outfit he'd gotten from Fae; portions of his catch; once he'd left out a knife, though he'd struggled for hours over that decision. Someone took these things, and he could only hope it was the boy, but he never caught a glimpse. Nobody took the wood carving of the fish, though he left it with the other things.
And all the while, he prayed to the various Lords and Ladies of the Animals and the Hunt, from Hindu Pashupati, to Greek Artemis, from the Christian saint Hubertus to the Wiccan Horned God. He prayed for even a sign that the boy was all right.
The day after he'd left the knife, he returned to his camp to find a little wooden deer.
Please, people, constructive reviews.
I'm human. I'm not perfect. I appreciate the various statements about the quality of my work, and the requests to update. But I'm human. I'm not perfect. I would also appreciate things that help me to improve my work.
Even if it's just to point out grammatical or spelling errors that I somehow overlooked.
Like that line where I said "the stood up" or "the man reacted on with alarm," and some others I didn't catch until after I posted the chapter.... (Those ones have since been corrected, but there may be others.)
Thought process:
I was tempted to actually use one of the various "Lords/Ladies of the Animals" (the Lord and Lady Creators the fox keeps referring to), but a few things stopped me.
One, Anzu laid claim to Doyle, and while other gods from other lands will show up in future chapters, I want to put a limit on their personal interest in Doyle for now.
Two, I haven't the foggiest notion where Doyle is in this arc, and thus, don't have a clue which pantheon I should pull such a deity from if I were to use it. I mean, he's been traveling for a couple years now, but how far could a kid really get in that time, on foot, on his own? He's obviously close enough to the last village that Benton's talking about Fae Tailor.
And he's still got a long trip ahead of him by the time the next arc begins. (At least that one won't be on foot or alone, but I digress.) And since I don't know where he is now, I have no idea how much farther he'd have to travel—besides too far—to get to the next arc's destination.