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V.", "writing": "Clay Fox\n\nby\n\nVixyy Fox \n\n \nLeire sat heavily on a rock outside the walls of his village. He was a very large youth, now almost fully a man. Long outgrown was the reason for his name, his abundance of baby skin which made him look pliant and clay like. Second largest male in the village, he was duly apprenticed to the village metal smith, who was the largest. It was mid day, and the smith had allowed the youth a respite of time while he made abeyances to the gods before the forge of weapons was begun. To make the perfect meld of steel there were certain religious and other secret things to be done that the apprentice was not yet privy too. \n\nThe sun played in the young man’s eyes as he sat eating a bowl of oats and honey his mother, now one of the ancients of the village, had given him. She was very proud of her son; metal smiths held a special place within every village. As he sucked upon his fingers, he saw a flash of color in the near by woods. Over the past, a clearing of perhaps three hundred yards had been created in all directions around the rough hewn timbers making up the village walls. Though this area was planted with crops, its real reason was to give a good defensive advantage to the villagers should their home be attacked. Though all in this area were Norse, it was not unknown for one village to attack another; or for the Fins and the Swedes to come overland trying to take what they could by force.\n\nStanding, he shielded his eyes and squinted; trying to see what had caught his attention. There was another flash of color and an errant breeze touched him upon the cheek bearing the sweet smell of flowers. What he saw had been a brightly colored skirt and an abundance of blond hair. He smiled. Some signals were loud and flashy… others were quiet and subtle… still others were no more than the flip of a skirt and the smell of sweetness on the wind. To his way of thinking, there was someone who wanted him to come looking for her. Sucking the last of the oats from his fingers, he rose and placed the bowl upon the rock where he’d been seated. Ignoring the warnings his mother had given him about those who lived in the forest, he strode towards the shaded darkness.\n\n“These artifacts were all found at Viking site 1327,” intoned the tour guide in her Norwegian accent. “This was an entire Viking village excavated in the Troms region. There were found there many good items, including swords, shields, and a longboat apparently under construction when it was buried after the occurrence of a battle. I will leave you here for twenty minutes before proceeding to the long boat exhibit. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.”\n\nClay Fox wandered around the small room, his hands held behind his back. Occasionally he paused to gaze through the thick glass plate at items now well over fifteen hundred years old. He was easily the largest person in the room and quite used to the occasional stare and comment; enough so that he paid it no mind at all. Most people simply assumed he was a professional wrestler, and many had sent their children for an autograph. He was actually just a business man, having flown to Norway from England in order to discuss a commodities contract and possible merger of companies. Whether or not it was to be a hostile take over merger was yet to be seen. He had never been here before, though his heritage, according to his grandfather, did trace back to the invasion and settlement of England by the Vikings. Properly, he would always tell his grandson, it was not an invasion so much a forceful immigration of peoples. The old man’s straggly blond hair and blue eyes actually left little doubt that he had Nordic blood flowing through his veins. \n\nHaving arrived a day early Clay chose to act as a tourist for a change, taking in what he could. He figured it would be a good educational experience, and perhaps even give him some insight on the people he would be dealing with. It so happened that this particular museum was recommended by the concierge of the hotel as one of the best in the entire nation. It had also been within easy walking distance.\n\nHe had a sudden mental flash of charging men wielding swords and wearing animal skins. It was so vivid; he stopped walking and stared down at one of the cases, trying to get his mind back to the present. His eyes focused on a small object amidst the deteriorated sword blades and axe heads. It caught his curiosity and he checked the little number beside it against the small chart in the display case. The only description on this register was; ‘Clay Fox’.\n\nHe felt the presence of someone standing next to him, but did not give in to the urge to look. He had been trained up this way from early childhood. ‘You are a Fox; be startled by nothing,’ his grandfather told him over and over in the absence of his father. It was their family motto and had been passed down through the generations though he had no idea how far back it actually dated. The old man would always, then, wink at him and add his own piece of advice. ‘Total concentration on the goal carries the day.’ \n\nThe senior Fox carried this credo all the way to the beaches at Normandy and beyond. He claimed it had both kept him alive and sane, blocking out all the bad things he had seen and was required to do. He would then make the same tired joke about the many ‘fox holes’ he had dug during the war.\n\nLeire followed the flashes of color further into the woods than he should have. He knew the forest was alive with spirits and trolls. All Norse knew this and seldom did they walk alone under the darkness of the trees; nor did they ever venture there unarmed. The youth also knew there were the foxes to consider. His mother had warned him… the village elders had warned him… even his mentor the smith had said something. He was especially vocal. Because of the requirements of his work he was very superstitious. \n\n“By all that is holy and held to be true,” the old man whispered to him early in his tutelage, ‘Ne’er go with a woman that calls to you from the woods. If one so surprises you; check her for a tail… sure enough,” he winked, “That one will be a vixen fox, and you run like she is Queen Hel.”\n\n‘What would be so wrong with that?’ Leire asked the man in his innocence. He was beginning to feel the strength of his manhood in these years. \n\nThe huge smith puffed out his cheeks, and stood abruptly to pull a glowing piece of metal from the forge, for which Leire was operating the bellows. Taking his hammer, he began striking it blows; sending sparks flying in emphasis of the words he spoke.\n\n“Foxes… are far worse… than the Haugfolket (Pixies)… or the de underjordiske (strange little people who live underground).” He paused to examine the metal. As he did so, he said, “She will take your soul and leave you a hollow shell, fool boy.” He looked at his apprentice with one eye closed. “And all for what…” He placed the metal back on the anvil. “A roll in the grass?”\n\nHis hammer stuck again with the word ‘grass’ and sparks showered the area. Pulling the steel up from the anvil, he examined it closely. “Look here boy… look what happens to the metal if it is not hot enough when you strike. All this talk of foxes and I did not pay close enough attention. No more talk now until I’m done.” \n\nThe big man showed him the flaw so he would learn and then placed the metal back into the forge. True to his word they did not speak again until he was done. He was a good teacher and though not the boy’s father, tried to guide the youth in the ways of men. Leire’s own father was away looking to a new home for them among the ‘Breton’ peoples. Word was the fish ran very thick in that place and the local peoples were accepting (perhaps at the point of a sword) of their presence.\n\nBut at this moment the village was some distance away, and Leire was alone in the deep woods. In this place the sun beams barely penetrated to the small clearing he found himself within. There was again the flash of red fur; or was it a dress?\n\n“What do you think,” Clay asked the person he knew was standing by his side. He nodded to the small figurine. “Was it a child’s toy?”\n\n“No.”\n\nThe voice was soft and musical… and very feminine. This time Clay did look. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought you were someone else.”\n\n“No; you did not,” she told him with out smiling back.\n\n“You’re sure of that?” He was not used to being contradicted. \n\nShe pointed to the small figurine. “This was found in the burial tumulus along with a partially constructed long boat, and more arms than would be normal even for a Chieftain. Further, the metal of the swords and axe heads suggest quality arms.”\n\n“And what would this then signify?” he asked her.\n\n“That the man buried there was of the highest stature. Even the good sword of a Chieftain was not given up to the earth; a substitute blade of inferior quality was always used. The Vikings were very observant in the requirements of a proper burial, but they were not fools; good steel was rare.”\n\nClay smiled. The woman he was talking to was very pretty, and appeared as Viking as he could have ever imagined. Her posture was remarkably straight, though he could not sense a tension in her stance. He was suddenly intrigued with her. The dress she wore would have been exactly of the time period of the exhibit. Perhaps she was employed by the museum as a living portrayal of the time. “Maybe he was thought to be Thor?” he offered in a joking manner.\n\n“Thor attended this warrior’s funeral,” she told him without batting an eye. Her blonde hair was finely braided and pulled up into a bun. She never looked at him… never took her eyes off of the little clay fox. \n\nNow the large business man’s curiosity was hooked. He extended his hand in a friendly manner. “I’m sorry; I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I meant no harm in my comments. My name is Clay Fox,” he offered, “And you might be?”\n\n“I am this exhibit,” she whispered without responding to his extended hand.\n\nHe looked at his empty hand and then flexing his fingers said, “Ah… yes… and what would make you think Thor attended this particular funeral? That’s a rather gutsy statement from an archeologist.”\n\nShe moved closer to the case, continuing to gaze at the small statue. “I am not an archeologist, Mr. Fox,” she told him in the same soft voice, “I was there. This ‘child’s toy’ as you call it, is much more than it appears. Do you not find it ironic that it bears your name?” She placed a finger on the glass but did not look at him… only at the little clay fox. \n\nHe felt as if an icy finger was suddenly touching his backbone and he shivered. \n\n“This small piece of clay represents the final wish of the one who loved the slain warrior,” she continued, “It was placed into the Tumulus between their bodies by her people, the Fox. It contains her wish that she be allowed to live again when next her mate is reborn to this world.”\n\nClay turned back to the case and also regarded the small figurine behind the glass; seeing it now with much more depth. “So they died at the same time then?”\n\nHe felt her hand slip into his. It was warm and felt familiar; as if it was supposed to be there. He suddenly felt very strange. His heart pounded in his chest and his throat felt constricted. He felt a fear; the fear one feels for their loved ones when they are in danger.\n\n“No,” she told him so softly he could hardly hear her words. “She was put to death so she could sleep with her chosen mate. It was the accepted custom of his people… a custom she was sworn to uphold.”\n\n“Bloody hell.”\n\nLeire met his vixen in the deepest woods. Outwardly she appeared just as he… just as human. At first, when he asked, she would not let him see behind her. Instead, she assaulted him with a wonderful smile while serving him a mixture of crushed berries and sweet cream milk which she claimed to have purchased from de undejordiske. It was well known they owned the very best cattle. When he was full, and sitting in a beam of sunlight coming through the branches of the trees, she sat upon his lap and licked his face clean. It tickled and he did not protest this strange behavior. She then pushed him back into the grass and they made love, her skirts spread out and over him in accommodation.\n\n As they both climaxed, she transformed into the fox he knew she was. Silky smooth skin became fur covered and her ears lengthened; but the body of a maiden remained.\n\nLeire was not afraid. Reaching out, he pulled her to him and rolled over pinning her under his body. “You are mine to keep,” he told her, which was the exact opposite of what should have happened. “Now that I have you, you must do as I say.”\n\n“Please,” she begged as she struggled against his weight; the worse thing for a fox is to be cornered and caught. “Please, I beg that you do not harm me.”\n\n“Harm you?” The youth laughed. “I am scared out of my wits and it is you who pleads with me not to be harmed. Why would I harm the very creature that I love?”\n\nHe tried to remove his manhood but found he was stuck fast. \n\n“It would seem to be a question now as to who has caught whom,” he muttered, “Why is it I cannot leave your body?”\n\n“Tis the swelling of the knot, my love,” she replied, calming a bit. “It will leave you soon enough. Do you really mean your words? Do you really love me?”\n\n“Yes I do,” was his instant reply, and they kissed.\n\nWhen the kiss was done, both said in the same breath, “And I will love you forever.”\n\n“And I will love you forever.”\n\nThe dream or vision had seemed so very real. The words burned in Clay’s ears as clearly as a crystal whisper. Had he really whispered them to the remarkable girl holding his hand?\n\nWith the whisper, the hand in his had turned icy cold. He’d taken his eyes off of the figurine to look at her, but as soon as he did this he found his hand empty and she was no longer there. He looked about the small room suddenly panicked. Around him were only the people of the tour group, and none were even looking in his direction. He was sure she couldn’t have slipped out without him noticing; it was simply imposible. \n\nFinding the tour guide next to the door, he asked her if anyone had walked out. She gave him a quizzical look and told him no. Taking her by the sleeve, he pulled her back to the display case. It was suddenly very important that he get some answers. Pointing at the little figurine, he asked her exactly what it was. She gave him a strange look and then looked in the display case at the same card list he had read previously. \n\n“It is a clay fox,” she told him. \n\n“I know that,” he said tersely, “But what specifically is it? Why is it in this case with the weapons? Where was it found… exactly?”\n\nThe tour guide looked around nervously. When she saw the security guard by the door she relaxed slightly. “Everything in this case,” she told him, “Was found in the same grave. It looks to me like it might have been a child’s toy, though it could perhaps have also been a talisman. Excuse me sir, but I am just a tour guide. I am not one of the curators. If you want exact details you will have to make an appointment… ummm… for to speak with someone in authority.”\n\n“How long would that take?”\n\n“Normally you would be notified in a week to ten business days, depending on the availibil…”\n\nPulling out his check book he cut her off. “What if I wanted to make a sizeable donation to the museum?”\n\n“Immediately,” she told him without batting an eye.\n\n“Good girl, right answer. Next question; the young woman I was speaking with a few minutes ago disappeared. I mean she just vanished. Did you see her at all?”\n\n“No.” The woman turned and did a quick nose count. “Everyone of the tour is here, sir. If she was not part of the group, then I don’t know who she might have been.”\n\n“Of course you wouldn’t,” he replied, his mouth compressing into a tight line. His stomach suddenly felt like its bottom had completely fallen away and he might be sick. It felt like his heart had been physically ripped from his body. “Let’s cut to the chase then,” he told her. “Take me to the office so I can file my donation. I wish to speak with one of the curators right now.”\n\nTurning to the group, the guide announced loudly, “Ladies and Gentlemen; I have been called to the office for a small amount of time. If you please, the museum has a small cafeteria one floor below. We will meet back here in forty five minutes and the tour will resume.”\n\nWhen they could separate, Leire was taken to his vixen’s clan for presentation. Her wizened old mother was there, along with her father, who had once, too, been a young Viking.\n\n“He is a fine catch,” said the old vixen appraisingly. The equally old dog fox beside her silently nodded his head in agreement. “He will still be large when changed, and that will aid the clan in protection against the Wolf,” the vixen continued, “He has come with you willingly?”\n\n“I have come with him willingly,” her daughter answered and there was a silent moment as what she spoke became understood.\n\n“That is not possible,” hissed her mother. “You cannot become human… but this one,” she pointed at Leire with a bony finger, “This one can become a Fox. In this our laws must be followed.”\n\nLeire stood as straight as he could and addressed the old vixen with respect and dignity. “In this union I will break my own people’s laws, Mother Fox. It is forbidden that I take an animal as wife. I am willing to cross that boundary.”\n\n“Animal?” she hissed, squinting her eyes at him. “You dare call the ‘Fox’ a mere animal?”\n\nHer husband placed a paw on her arm, speaking on Leire’s behalf. “He spoke to you with respect my wife. Being once human myself, I will tell you he knows not what he says in regard to our kind. He speaks only with reflection on what he has been taught from birth. Perhaps this is a good thing my love; our daughter could represent us well to the humans. I have always felt there was much we could offer each other.”\n\nThe old vixen gave him a look that said she would have much to say in private. “We will call for a Skulk tonight. This issue must be resolved immediately,” she hissed.\n\nThe old dog fox winked at Leire and smiled. It was a look that said, ‘things are not as bad as they appear’. In this the youth was heartened.\n\nClay found himself sitting opposite a smallish bespectacled old man in a tweed suite. He had a heavy white beard and mustache; making him appear as a tiny Father Christmas. A check with a substantial amount of zeros written upon it sat face up in front of this man. \n\n“I will not say that your donation did not come at a very critical time in the museum’s history Mr. …” he looked down at the check and squinted slightly, “Fox… but now that we are alone, would you tell me the reason you have made this contribution? You must understand it’s just that I’ve never seen a donation this large before. Please feel free to use me as your confessor if you wish. I am an elder in my church and it is an arrangement I am used to fulfilling. If the amount is meant to assuage a measure of guilt I can understand and be accepting. I cannot, however, offer you atonement… only God can be so merciful.”\n\nThe businessman shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know why I chose that particular amount.” He looked closely at the little man. “Have we met before? You seem vaguely familiar.”\n\n“My picture has been in many anthropological journals. Perhaps you chanced upon one during a trip on an airplane or a bus.”\n\nClay snorted. “Me on a bus? Not likely.”\n\n“This is a very sizeable amount Mr. Fox,” the curator said again, bringing him back to the subject. \n\n“I don’t know. In my world money is rather sacred and I’ve never bandied it about like this before… not without reason in any case; and certainly not without the guarantee of a payback. I’m not even really sure what it is I need to know. There is just this terrible feeling that… it’s as if my best friend… no… I think mate would be a better word; has suddenly died. I just feel so hollow.” \n\nThe old man took his spectacles off, carefully cleaned them. When he was done, he placed them back on to his face. The action obviously allowed him a moment to think. \n\n“You told our tour guide that you had some questions about Viking Exhibit 1327. What is it exactly you had a question about?”\n\n“In one of the display cases there is an artifact.” Clay paused, and did not continue, seeming at a loss for what exactly to say.\n\nThe old man smiled a fatherly smile and leaned back in his chair. “In the display cases, there are nothing but artifacts Mr. Fox. Name the thing that has peaked your curiosity and I will see that it is given to you as a sign of our undying gratitude for your generosity.”\n\n“The clay fox,” he replied, hurrying his words slightly. “What do you know of it?”\n\nThe smile left the old man’s face. “I am sorry to have wasted your time, sir. This one thing I cannot give you.” He slid the check back across to the businessman. “Perhaps you would like your donation back?”\n\nClay gave him a puzzled look. He slid the piece of paper back across the desk and fixed the old man with a look he saved for the hardest of oppositional C.E.O.’s. “I never asked to be given the clay fox,” he stated flatly, “I just want to know…” he hesitated, and then changed the wording of his request, and the tone of his voice. “My heart tells me that I need to know what it represents.”\n\nFifty foxes stood in Skulk that night. Leire had been introduced to the many, a bonfire back lighting him as each passed, one after the other. Some were friendly and offered a right paw of peace. Others, and most of these were missing an ear or a tail, spit at his feet; expressing their feelings towards humans in general. He had been asked then to move a distance away while the Skulk was held. His vixen was commanded to stay with her parents that she might be subjected to the inquiry of the elders. Both complied with no hesitation. The Viking youth now stood silently in the dark forest, his eyes locked on the distant fire. His lot was to wait and he set himself to this, keeping his eyes on the goal.\n\n“Hunten eltic ger frunken Norse?” asked a quiet voice behind him.\n\nBe surprised by nothing… In the vein of his training the Viking youth made no sudden movement, but continued watching the distant fire. “Do you speak my language?” he asked.\n\n“Ja,” was the reply. “I asked if you had become lost while hunting.”\n\n“I was not hunting,” Leire replied simply. “Nor am I lost. If I turn, will I see you?”\n\nThere was a chuckle. “You are both brave and wise beyond your years boy,” was the reply. “If I had meant you harm I would have done my work while your back was turned and never said a word.” The person made a gagging noise, hawked and then spat. “I’m sorry; a bug flew down my throat. It was reminding me, I think, that I should talk less and listen more.” The person spat one more time. “Perhaps you will see me, and perhaps you will not. The truth is, unless you face about you will not know.”\n\nLeire turned slowly; holding both of his hands in the air, palms outward to show he held no weapon. “I wait on the Skulk,” he told the shadows. “The Foxes debate my future.”\n\n“This I know,” replied the voice. “I have been called to their council and I am to test your heart.”\n\nA smallish man stepped from the shadows of a huge tree trunk, moving to stand before the youth. “My name is Umf Monkle,” he offered as he regarded the youth. “I am a ‘go betweener’ and an elder of my people.”\n\nLeire looked; and he saw. “You are one of the de underjordiske,” he said and then smiled. “Your cattle have the sweetest milk I have ever drunk. I thought you would be larger.”\n\n“And how came you by this milk?”\n\n“My Vixon gave it to me this very afternoon; just before we mated. Do you really live underground?”\n\nThe little man chortled. “You don’t see us, so you assume we live away from your world and the light of the sun. In a manner of speaking; yes, we do live underground.” He came forward and closely examined the palms of Leire’s hands, feeling each of them. “You work with metals… you do not wield the sword.” It was a statement, not a question. “So this is her name; Vixen? I thought all female foxes were called vixen?”\n\n“Vixon,” the large man corrected, saying the word slowly so the other would hear the slight difference in annunciation.\n\n“Do you love her?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Does she love you?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\nThere was no hesitation in either of these spoken confirmations. In the shadows cast between them by the distant fire, Umf Monkle smiled. He knew he need ask no further questions.\n\nClay watched as the humidity controlled vault was opened and a stainless steel table pulled out. Whatever was on the table was covered with a sheet. Before they had come to this locked room, he’d been given the clay fox to hold by the professor. He now clutched it to his chest protectively. For some reason he felt comforted by this, though his legs still felt weak in a way they had never felt. His entire life he had always been sure of himself; and yet here he was, nervous, afraid… \n\nLost... \n\nThe word was a whisper in the steel vault.\n\n“Professor...” he said, just realizing he had never asked the man’s name.\n\n“Umf Monkle,” the man told him without looking up. “Are you having second thoughts Mr. Fox?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“Are you afraid?”\n\n“Yes, but I don’t know why.”\n\n“Good,” replied the smaller man. “It has been written many times and in many different languages that ‘Fear is the beginning of wisdom.’ Perhaps this will be a positive experience for you, yes?”\n\n“There was a girl,” Clay told him softly, now not able to take his eyes from the gurney. “I forgot to mention her when we spoke in your office.”\n\nThis time the little man did look up. “Tell me of her.”\n\nThe business man did as he had been instructed.\n\nWhen he was done, Professor Monkle nodded once, and then pulled the sheet back from the gurney. “You now see the mystery of Viking site 1327,” he said, pronouncing the numbers individually. “We are still studying what we have found, so the research thesis has not yet been made public. When we excavated the tomb, this is exactly as the bodies were found… side by side as husband and wife. The clay fox you hold was lying between them. We believe that this is the first proof positive of the Viking legend of Leire Rev.”\n\n“Leire Rev?” Clay asked softly.\n\n“Yes, in the study of history, the historical occurrence could never be confirmed, and so it was relegated to the realm of ‘myth’. Leire Rev, you should note, translates into English as Clay Fox. That small artifact you hold, a simple little ‘clay fox’, we believe to be meant as an identifier, like a head stone of sorts. The pieces of our puzzle here fit the legend perfectly, and we are very pleased to have found it. You can understand now, why I could not give up the clay fox.”\n\nThe businessman saw two sets of bones carefully laid out on the large steel table, side by side. One set was very human, and belonged to an obviously large individual. The other bones were canine. \n\nThe large man felt as if his heart had just been ripped out. “Vixon…” he whispered. \n\nFeeling darkness taking him, he pulled the clay artifact tightly to his chest and then collapsed to the floor.\n\nLife was well for Leire. With but little debate, he was accepted into the Fox clan provided he took his mates last name of Rev. This he agreed to readily after which the entire clan, including those who had spit at his feet, made merry in the marriage ceremony. The following morning, Vixon informed him that she was pregnant.\n\n“Are you sure?” he asked, not knowing exactly what he should do. Should he pull her to him and make wonderful love again? Should he stand and sing a hearty Viking fertility song? Instead, he gently reached out and placed a hand upon her belly. “A baby?” he asked in a quiet voice.\n\nVixon laughed softly. “You can’t feel anything yet silly Leire. The baby has just been conceived.”\n\n“And you know this how?”\n\nShe gave him a sly look. “A Fox knows many things without knowing why… we just accept that we know.” She placed a paw on his head and gently brushed back the blond hair from his eyes. “I simply know that I am going to have our baby.”\n\nHe did pull her to him then and it was several more hours before they emerged from their hut. When they did, there were perhaps a hundred Foxes gathered around; waiting in a hushed silence. They had all obviously been listening. Before the embarrassment of the moment could even set in all one hundred foxes let out a cheer and then music began playing. Before long everyone was dancing. In the middle of this, Vixon’s mother pulled her into the hut for the morning after examination. When she reappeared, the entire celebration, each and every Fox, became silent and the music ground to a halt. The old vixen wore a very somber expression and for a moment Leire’s heart stopped. In a flash, the venerable female raised both arms in the air and let out a howl of joy. “We will have a son!” she exclaimed. There was another hearty cheer, and the music was again playing. \n\nThe youth felt paws on his back. Turning, he found his new father-in-law pushing him again towards the hut. “Back in you go!” the old Tod cried out. “Back in and do not come out until we have twins!”\n\nEveryone laughed, and Leire’s was then pushed through the entrance of the hut with the help of many paws. Into the darkness he went where his new wife was waiting for him. Into the darkness, and they really did try for twins.\n\nThe following two months came and went in a whirlwind of activity. Leire’s was required to go back to his family; to explain things as best he could. His reception, which at first was one of relief that he was not dead, grew very cold when he told them what he had done. The smith, a man whom he revered, actually forbad him entrance to his forge against the possibility that the gods would take out their wrath on the quality of the steel he produced.\n\nBy the end of the day, Leire was more than ready to return to the foxes. It did not seem there was too much his village wished of him except, perhaps, that he stay away.\n\nDuring this time he was trained extensively by Asmand, his father-in-law, on the requirements of Fox. The Fox, he found out, were excellent archers. This was very much in tune with their first law of the hunt. “A Fox is stealthy, my son,” the old Fox told him. “We avoid noise at any cost. Such things give away your position and you are easily caught and killed. Take a goose when it is not asleep and that goose will spread the alarm faster than an autumn wind will spread a fire.” He held out his bow to Leire. “The arrow travels the wind, crosses a great distance quickly, and makes no noise in the kill provided the archer is good. An arrow to the neck and all is silent.”\n\n“I am curious Father,” the youth asked as he examined the fine bow, “Have the Fox ever won any great battles?”\n\n“No,” he replied flatly. “We do not fight, my son. In this we are not like humans.” He paused to spit upon the ground. “The Fox does not kill for the joy of killing. We kill to eat, this is true, but the very first law of the Fox is to run away and hide should harm threaten. We are very good at this. Your wife will begin teaching you after your son is born.”\n\n“You really thing we will have a son?”\n\n“Annbjorg believes so,” he replied, referring to his wife.\n\nLeire nodded, and then continued their conversation. “But what if harm seeks the Fox out Father?”\n\n“That is a fair question my son,” the older Tod replied, taking his bow back. “If harm seeks a Fox out, male and female are free to fight as hard as they can.”\n\n“But what if harm does not find you, but only your loved ones?” \n\nThe Fox knocked an arrow, took aim at a near by tree, and let fly in one smooth motion. The arrow struck exactly where he had aimed. “And what do you think the answer to that question might be?”\n\n“I would fight till I could fight no more,” the youth replied.\n\n“And so it should be,” the elder Fox told him. “As bad-tempered as your mother might be, I would lay my life down for her without a thought for it, as I am sure you would yourself.”\n\nLeire nodded. As a Viking, he was very familiar with the concept of ‘duty’.\n\nClay came back to consciousness with the recognition of an on and off again flashing of dim lights behind his eyelids. He had been dreaming about dancing Foxes. The creatures, not exactly like the foxes seen in the zoo, had been dancing around a huge bonfire. As they passed, the light of the fire was cut off, causing each to be in total silhouette like an eclipse of the sun. Each silhouette was stranger than the next. They danced wildly; but they danced in silence. \n\nOpening his eyes, he saw streetlamps moving past at a good rate of speed. Windshield wipers slowly thumped back and forth as a steady downpour attempted to obscure the driver’s vision. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed that the seat next to him was as far forward as he had ever seen any driver’s seat moved. It was also much higher, giving the smallish person driving a normal view over his steering wheel. Realizing his hands were occupied, he looked down and found the small clay fox still cradled there.\n\n“Where am I?” he mumbled.\n\n“You had a bit of a nasty fall in the repository,” replied the driver. “I was going to take you to the hospital, but after examining your wound, I made the diagnosis that you’ll be just fine.”\n\n“Umphhh,” the businessman muttered. He adjusted his position, sitting up a little straighter.\n\n“Yes?”\n\n“What?”\n\n“Oh, I thought you said my name. You do remember who I am, yes?”\n\n“I think so. You’re the head fellow at the museum.”\n\nThe little man reached to his left and adjusted the air conditioning, the switch for which was on a special panel mounted close at hand on the door. “Quite right. Do you remember my name? I ask this for medical reasons; testing your response and memory.”\n\n“Monkle… I think.”\n\n“Quite right again. If you had responded ‘monkey’ I would certainly have turned us around and headed to said hospital. Head wounds can be nasty and unpredictable.”\n\n“Where are you taking me if not to the hospital?” Clay reached up and tenderly felt the lump on his forehead.\n\n“There is something I thought you might like to see.”\n\n“Which is?”\n\n“Viking site 1327”\n\n“Just like that and you’re going to take me out to the actual site? What time is it?”\n\nThe diminutive driver looked at a clock glowing on the dash. “Nine PM exactly. We are fairly well on time.”\n\n“I have business to attend to in the morning,” Clay mumbled as he looked out of his window at the passing countryside.\n\n“Your business appointment has been postponed. I hope you don’t mind too greatly, but from what you told me as I was getting you into the car, it was a bad move for your company in any case.”\n\n“I told you that? I don’t remember having any second thoughts. As I recall, they were treating me well enough, but not so well it would indicate anything suspicious.”\n\n“In any case,” the little man told him, changing the subject slightly, “The future is changeable as it hasn’t happened yet… the past, however is not since it has already happened.”\n\n“I think there’s something you’re leaving out.”\n\n“Really? Like what?” His voice was very cheery.\n\nClay cleared his throat, and then said, “The girl.”\n\n“What girl?”\n\n“You know damned well what girl!” he replied a little too loudly. He then groaned and placed a hand to his head trying to sooth the pain caused by his sudden exertion.\n\nThe little man looked over at the larger and said softly, “You mean Vixon?”\n\nThe spoken name was like an electric shock emanating directly from the artifact. Clay jerked upright, and his free hand automatically went from his head to the little clay fox clutched to his chest. His grip on the small statue tightened protectively.\n\n“Would you like to meet her?” the archeologist asked softly.\n\n“Yes.”\n\nProfessor Umf Monkle was reminded of another time, and the answer had been exactly the same. That time he had asked, ‘Do you love her?’ Watching the road ahead, he asked it again now.\n\n“Do you love her?”\n\nThere was no hesitation in Clay’s response.\n\n“Yes.” There was a moment’s silence, and the big man looked to the smaller, “At least… if she were real I’m sure I would love her. This is all so very strange.” \n\nIn the quiet moment that passed, both their faces flickered from light to shadow, light to shadow as the car continued on its way. One man was considering what he should do, while the other reflected on disconnected memories that could not possibly be his.\n\n“Would you like a cup of coffee?” the driver finally asked. “There’s a pretty good diner not far from here, and it’s on the way. Perhaps I might shed some light upon the shadows I know must be in your mind.”\n\nClay looked over at the professor. Part of him refused to understand what the little man had meant; and then again, there was another part of him that longed for an explanation.\n\n“Sure… why not?”\n\nNews of the attack on the village was brought by one of the Fox clan who had been out hunting. \n\nLeire was wrestling with his son, now eight years old and quite a handful. While with his father, he always remained in human form out of respect, but when alone with his mother or grandmother he remained as a Fox. For his age, he had a good understanding of who he was. \n\nThey paused in their tussle, and Leire made a movement which caused his son to jump in surprise. The boy was easily swept into a bear hug by his father. “You are a Rev,” Leire admonished the child, his mouth close to the boy’s ear. “Always remember… ‘Be startled by nothing.’”\n\nKleng (Claw) had had a twin brother, but sadly the birthing did not go well. As the Fox will, they treated this still born child with the full dignity due a Fox regardless of the fact that he had never taken a breath. While his mother tended to his living brother, his father observed the task of burial which, for the Fox, was very private. Leire’s privilege as father was to attend to this in solitude. The child’s grave, as all Fox graves are, would be unmarked and secret. \n\nAs Kleng stood solemnly next to his father, Leire received the news of the attack with a grave look.\n\n“Though the village is closed tightly,” the other Fox told him, “The Fin host will undoubtedly burn the walls down on the morrow. They have fought now for a week and are impatient for a victory. Destruction of the entire village will be meant as a lesson to those who would oppose them next.”\n\n“What is it they seek?” Kleng asked in his innocence.\n\nThe other Fox laughed harshly, “What humans always want little Fox… whatever does not belong to them.”\n\n“We must help,” Leire said flatly.\n\n“We must not,” said a voice behind him. \n\nTurning, he found Annbjorg standing rigidly straight and glaring at him. “When you married into the Fox clan, you swore to live as a Fox,” she declared, pointing her walking stick at his chest in emphasis. “Human things do not concern us, nor do they concern you any longer.”\n\n“I am still a human, Mother Fox. My own mother lives in that village. She and the rest have finally made their peace with us. She even gave her special blessing to Kleng. He is her grandchild and her own flesh. Look also at the steel fish hooks the smith made special just for you. It is my duty to help, and yours in the hand of that friendship.”\n\nAnnbjorg spat upon the ground. “We owe them nothing. You go if you feel so strongly about dying, but Kleng and my daughter stay behind.”\n\n“The Fin host is a hundred strong and all veteran warriors by the look of them,” said the Fox who had brought the news. “There is nothing to be done now Leire except for us to stand back and watch.”\n\nThe Viking turned to this Fox, and simply replied, “I cannot.”\n\n“I will call for a Skulk,” said a new voice loudly. “This is a complex issue and must be discussed among the many.”\n\nAs Leire turned to look at her, Kleng ran to his mother. Their eyes met, and there was sadness in both.\n\n“And so a hero stepped forward,” Professor Monkle said over his cup of tea. “In a time when there was nothing modern in the world, save the creation of steel, life and death rode their steeds shoulder to shoulder Mr. Fox. Leire Rev chose to ignore both in order to do what he must. Because of this he is legend. It is also the reason Odin granted his mate’s request to be re-born with him in his next life.” \n\n“That’s a nice tale,” Clay told him, having now fully recovered from his feelings of grogginess. “But you don’t really expect me to believe it? As you said, the story has always been filed under ‘myth’ right along with all the Norse gods you’ve probably studied.”\n\nThe little man slowly placed his cup upon its saucer and then gave the larger man a very serious look. “Archeologist and historians have searched for this grave site for a long long time, but it was not discovered until the day of your birth. I know this because I checked your driver’s license when you were unconscious.” He raised a hand when Clay began to protest. “I needed the information ‘in case’ I had to take you to hospital. The discovery of the grave on the day of your birth, Mr. Fox, was not an accident; it was by intelligent design.”\n\n“And how can you qualify that statement?” the businessman asked, slipping back into his business like ways, now feeling just a bit violated.\n\nThe little man chuckled. “Qualification is simple my friend; the man who died that day was you.”\n\nClay’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment he could think of nothing to say. Finally he managed, “You’re out of your bloody mind.”\n\nProfessor Monkle held up one finger. “So it might seem, but trust me when I tell you I am not.” Before Clay could protest, he continued, “The finality of belief is up to you, and I will leave it at that. You hold the clay fox do you not?”\n\n“Yes, and so? I also have a wallet someone else peeked in to, and a business requiring my attention. Those two things at least, are not old Norse fairytales, they are hard facts.”\n\nThe professor wiggled about on his plastic child’s seat trying not to show his frustration. Less than an hour ago the man sitting across from him was very eager to hear what he had to say. Now, it was as if the ‘belief button’ inside his soul had moved from acceptance back to the ‘modern’ thoughts about religion and simply clicked to the ‘off’ position. \n\n“If I was not so absolutely sure that you were one and the same as Leire Rev,” he said acidly, trying to rekindle what was there before, “I would never have let you hold her. You met Vixon. You told me she slipped her hand into yours; so you tell me if the story is real. She found you; not I. Reach out to her now; her very soul is here within the clay fox you now hold.”\n\nClay placed a hand upon the bump on his head. “I’m beginning to think I was delusional. Maybe I had a whiff of preservatives or some other chemical back at the museum. Maybe someone even slipped me something intending to make me a pushover for tomorrow’s meeting. Maybe that knock on the head did me some good after all.” He paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t know. It was an incredible feeling, I’ll give you that.” He gently sat the clay fox on the table with his other hand and looked at it. His expression was suddenly very sad, as if his heart was breaking. He had so wanted her to be real. “It all felt so true Professor… so very real.”\n\n“What did?”\n\n“How she made me feel. I’ve never felt like that before.”\n\n“That’s why you absolutely must let go of the here and now, and simply believe what I’ve just told you,” the professor implored him.\n\n“Why?”\n\nThe smaller man’s patience finally came to an end. It was if he was now dealing with a petulant child who could only see what mattered to himself and to no one else. \n\n“Why?! Because you love her you unbelieving twit. There are things in this world larger than yourself and your damned business. Money is not God! Odin is God, and He Himself deemed this should be so! You have always loved her and she has been waiting for you nigh on to 1200 years. Would you be so selfish that you would turn your face from her? Together, your bodies have been wrapped in the arms of Jord. Would you simply turn your back and walk away after finding her again after such a long time?”\n\nClay looked as if he was in a saddened daze. His expression, as he looked at the clay fox, did not reflect any of the other man’s outrage. “And Jord would be?”\n\n“Thor’s mother,” the professor told him, now totally exasperated. “She is the believed to have been Earth Herself. Even without believing in the things I’ve told you; why after so long would Jord give up your grave? It was in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”\n\n“Ask the earth moving machine that found it,” the business man replied with finality. Picking up his coffee cup, he finished what was left and then put it back on the table. As the waitress attempted to refill it, he flagged her off. “Ok Professor Monkle, it’s been nice, but no more fairytales. We better be getting back; I’ve got a long day tomorrow, and you’ll want to get this artifact back into its case before something happens to it.”\n\nThere was a tremendously bright flash and an immediate clap of thunder. The window next to their booth rattled hard enough to threaten breakage. The lights in the restaurant went out and a second later the dim glow of the emergency lights flickered on to the groans of the few patrons.\n\n“Damn that was close,” the businessman said. \n\nThe words were no sooner out of his mouth than the double wide glass entrance doors were pushed inwards by a huge surely looking man. He was wearing a chromed Viking’s helmet, biker leathers, and carried a huge hammer which dangled from one wrist by a strip of braided leather.\n\n“I don’t think that will be a possibility now,” Professor Monkle intoned softly. He then rose to stand upon his child’s seat. Turning to meet the biker, he said, “Hail Thor. I’m glad you could come. Things are well with you I hope?”\n\nThe biker, complete with a huge drooping blonde mustache, ignored the little man’s proffered hand. “Is this him?” he asked roughly.\n\n“Yes.”\n\nThe biker reached out and grabbed Clay by the ear, pulled him roughly from his seat. Clay tried to take a swing at him when he was clear of the table but was easily dodged. He was in turn was hit with a head butt, and he staggered backwards. Before he could recover, he found himself in a hand lock. “I think you are much out of practice Rev,” the biker told him, and then laughed harshly at his own joke. “Ve go now, you und I… und if you make trouble I vill use the hammer.”\n\n“I’ll meet you there then?” Professor Monkle asked cheerily.\n\n“Sure… fine… you du that.”\n\nAnd then the two men were out the front door and into the rain.\n\nThe Skulk, this time, was much different than the one when Leire was accepted by the clan. This night he was to ask the Fox clan to go against their own natural laws. All who came this night were very somber and the bonfire was much lower than before, reflecting the mood.\n\n“My name is Leire Rev,” he began formally. “You all know who I am. When we are done at this Skulk, I will go and attack the Fin horde. They have beset my people and it is my duty to come to their aid.”\n\n“Is it your duty to die as well?” asked the harsh voice of Annbjorg Rev. She stood and faced him as she spoke.\n\n“I do not go to die,” he told her strongly.\n\n“And the sea does not come to crash upon the shore… but it does. You do not even own a weapon as such things are forbidden the Fox; so how will you fight the Fin?”\n\nLeire shifted nervously in front of the Skulk’s fire. He had not even considered this. Other than his knife, he had no weapon at all.\n\n“I will take him to de underjordiske,” said his father-in-law, coming to stand by the Viking’s side. “We will petition their help, and I will speak with Umf Monkle on my son’s behalf. They have the finest steel in existence, and I will ask that they give my son a great war axe.”\n\n“War,” Annbjorg hissed and then spat upon the ground, “Now you speak as you did in your old ways… ways that you swore to forsake. You will do no such thing and you will mind your place husband.”\n\nThe old Fox stood straight and looked back defiantly. “Before we mated, my darling wife, I too was Viking. I understand my son’s need. Were these my people, and had I stayed human, I would feel the same.”\n\nLeire Rev, the man, now stood even taller than he had, if that were possible. “Foxes… Hear me. You are great archers. Lend your skill to me that the enemy might not be as many when I make my attack.”\n\nThere was a buzz of talk among the Fox clan. Asmand was motioned to by a small group of five hunters that had gathered together, and he went to them. A discussion commenced. In a few moments time an agreement was reached with a nodding of heads. \n\nTurning, Asmand addressed the Skulk. “We six shall lend our arrows to Leire. It is agreed that we will not leave the protection of the forest, but will cut down those on guard so that our Leire may have an unfettered path to those who would kill his people. This much, and only this much, can we do.”\n\nAs soon as he made this announcement, Annbjorg turned and stalked off. One by one, except for the six, the other foxes followed. \n\nClay found himself on the back of a huge chromium steel motorcycle hurling down the rain drenched highway. The monster bike had no mufflers and it was loud enough to be deafening. As they ran, Thor pointed his hammer at various objects and cried out, “BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….’ Upon which a bolt of lightning would crackle forth from its steel head towards the intended target. The resulting thunder blended smoothly with the roar of the exhaust pipes. \n\nThe bike took a sickening lurch, seemed to slide in an ‘S’ pattern, and then the road noise quickly faded.\n\n“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….” \n\nAnd in the flash, the man on the back of the bike saw a forest of trees below them; one of which split in two as it was hit by the lightning bolt.\n\nWithin minutes they were above the clouds and the rain ceased to exist. There was no moon, and the stars were the brightest Clay had ever witnessed. Thor pointed his hammer below them.\n\n“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….” \n\nA bolt emanated from the hammer and lit the clouds with a flash so bright Clay’s eyes hurt. The sound of the thunder, however, was far in the distance, rolling around inside the huge thunder head.\n\n“So we are a myth?!” the man on the front of the bike yelled back at him. The noise of the wind rushing past them nearly obliterated the words but at the same time swept away the exhaust noise with it.\n\n“That’s not what I meant,” Clay shouted back at him.\n\n“No?” \n\nHe again pointed the hammer. \n\n“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….”\n\nLightning flashed out, down, and away. \n\n“It sounded pretty positive to me,” Thor roared. “Perhaps maybe I should pull over to the curb so you can change your mind again, ja?” He then laughed harshly.\n\n“Where are you taking me?” The business man yelled at the biker’s ear.\n\n“None of your BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt business,” he yelled back, his big mustache waving in the wind.\n\n“Why are you doing this?” Clay shouted back, now rubbing his eyes with a free hand while hanging on for dear life with the other.\n\n“Not because of you,” the god replied, pointing his hammer again. \n\nBJEZERNFTTTttttttttt…. \n\n“If it was up to me I’d push you off just to watch you splatter on the…”\n\nBJEZERNFTTTttttttttt…. \n\n“ground. I made a promise on your wife’s deathbed…”\n\nBJEZERNFTTTttttttttt…. \n\n“and I keep my word unlike certain…”\n\nBJEZERNFTTTttttttttt…. \n\n“puny humans.” \n\nThe air was becoming cold, and when Thor now called forth the lightning, his breath caused white vapors. Thor pointed his hammer. “Behold Valhalla modern human,” he sneered loudly, “Another Myth, ja?!”\n\nAsmand Rev approached the huge tree with as much reverence as he could possibly muster. “Oh great and wise people… those of the in between worlds, I ask this night a great favor for my son-in-law Leire Rev.”\n\nThere was a soft coughing sound from behind the tree and a smallish head poked out. “Asmand, is that you? Things must be desperate for you to come this late in the evening. Is your vixen well?”\n\n“As cranky as ever, friend Umf, but otherwise well.”\n\nThe little man chuckled, and then appeared to pull himself from the tree trunk. “Barring the late hour, how can I be of assistance Friend Fox?”\n\nAsmand quickly explained what they were about. Umf became very serious. “The gods might not agree with what you wish to do. Have you prayed?”\n\n“No… there is not time. Besides, we six are committed. What will happen to us is of no concern.”\n\n“I see.” In a lower voice he asked, “And what shall become of Leire?”\n\nAsmand stood as tall as he could. “He will die. That much he understands.”\n\n“And your daughter?”\n\n“Will do as she must.”\n\nUmf Monkle was not happy with any of this. The Fox people were his friends. They had laws to live by which prevented such human stupidities… but sometimes, he knew, laws had to be broken.\n\nLooking to Leire, he asked, “Have you a weapon?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“Wait here, I will be but a moment.”\n\nProfessor Monkle stood next to his huge SUV. It made him look even smaller than he was. Punching the button on his wristwatch, he saw that it was 5:35 AM. The sun would not be up for another hour yet, but they were fast running out of time. Time, that is, in the worldly sense. To the de underjordiske, time was a fluid tool to be used. His world was not exactly the same as this world, which was not exactly the same as the world of the gods. His world was a separate entity all together, and from it, he had the ability to visit any time era in this that he pleased. He did not time travel because it was a fun thing to do; it was a necessity. His world had nothing to subsist upon, having collapsed in upon itself to the point that his people were all that was left. It contained no life; no plants, no creatures’ great and small…nothing. It was totally barren, and yet they could not permanently leave. They were trapped and merely using the means at hand to survive. For this reason, the de underjordiske relied upon this world to raise their food. It was how they came to be known by the Viking peoples.\n\nVery faintly in the distance, he heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine. “It’s about time,” he grumbled, and then smiled as the realization of what he muttered struck home. \n\nWithin moments, Thor rode into view and stopped near the SUV. Clay Fox, the man everything now centered upon, was still clinging to the back of the bike. His business suit was soaking wet, and terribly wrinkled, but otherwise he appeared in relatively good shape. Their eyes met, but the smaller man could not read anything from the larger’s expression. \n\nKilling his engine, the huge god of war kicked out the bikes stand, and then growled at Clay to get off. When it was clear to do so, he stood and let the bike tip to a rest. Umf Monkle walked over to him and stood next to his leg. \n\n“What did you do to him?” he asked softly, not taking his eyes off of Clay. \n\nHe shrugged. “I gave him a ride to Valhalla and let him meet some of the kin.”\n\n“Really? Any messages?”\n\nThor cracked his knuckles, and then his neck with several loud pops. “Well, let’s see. Off the top of my head, Hermoor (Thor’s brother), Loki (god of mischief), and Mani (god of the moon) say hello. Loki caught me with that stupid palm buzzer again when we shook hands. His sense of humor will never change I suppose. Hlin (goddess of consolation) says she’s sorry, but for what I have no idea.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s always sorry about something so that makes no never mind. Lofn (goddess of love) and Frigg (goddess of marriage) think this is a wonderful thing you’re doing, while Vor (goddess of wisdom) agreed it’s a good idea. That’s a good thing since she is the goddess of wisdom. Even Father respects her advice. Last,” he chuckled, “Hoenir (the silent god) doesn’t say anything… but then again he never does.”\n\nUmf chuckled at the joke Thor made about Hoenir. “What about Odin?”\n\nThor sighed and swung his leg over the bike’s gas tank and then sat tiredly upon its seat. “Loki says that Father is distressed that ‘modern’ times have so totally erased his memory from the thoughts of the humans.”\n\n“Technology has become their god now, my friend. He knew this would happen long ago. What use do they have for those who would help when they can do it themselves; or so they think. What did Odin do with our friend here?”\n\nThor coughed, and spat. “He wouldn’t see us. Bastard kicked me out like I was a brown eyed stepchild and said to take the human with me. Humans in the flesh are not supposed to be in Valhalla, so he was a bit pissed about our little sojourn.” \n\n“That’s fair, I suppose. He is Odin after all, and He does have rules. Did He at least leave instructions? What do I need to do?”\n\n“Take us there.”\n\n“Exactly where?”\n\n“Loki was the bearer of Odin’s instructions. I asked the exact same question, to which he did a really good imitation of the Old Man, saying, ‘To where the little fucking underjordiske broke my rules.’ He then throws his hands in the air and cries out, ‘Odin’s words, not mine.’ I think he believed I was going to pop him one with the hammer. Odin’s personal message to you was that ‘He has found it in his heart to forgive you.’ Unless I am mistaken,” he paused to spit, “You knew that a long time ago.”\n\nUmf smiled at the muscle bound biker god, but did not confirm the suspicion. Instead, he said, “Not all rules are good rules Thor.”\n\nThe god harrumphed. “Whenever I said that, Father Odin handed me my butt in a wicker basket. THEY’RE MY RULES,” the god yelled, leaning towards the dramatic, “AND BY ME YOU WILL OBEY THEM!”\n\nBoth men laughed, and then turned to Clay, who had remained standing next to the bike, ominously quiet.\n\n“Hoenir got your tongue, human?” Thor asked him sarcastically.\n\nClay raised his arms into the air, and then cried out, “BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….” His booming voice was soaked up by the forest and Thor laughed at his imitation… that is, until his hammer spurted a lightning bold that engulfed both him and Umf Monkle. It danced around them, lighting the entire forest. There was an immediate clap of thunder. The god dropped his hammer from shear surprise and it landed with a thud on his foot. He swore a long string of oaths as he danced around. \n\nWhen he was able to control himself, he yelled up at the sky, “I SUPPOSE YOU THINK THAT WAS FUNNY! WHEN I GET BACK TO VALHALLA LOKI… I’M GOING TO… I’M GOING TO… Oh Hel (goddess of the underworld)… it was funny wasn’t it?” \n\n“Oh my,” Umf muttered as he blinked his eyes, trying to rid himself of the dancing spots, “I didn’t see that one coming at all.” He then laughed softly. “It was pretty funny actually.”\n\nThor snorted. “Best you take us there before I am tempted to do something I will regret.”\n\nProfessor Monkle calmly came to Clay Fox, and looked up at him.\n\n“Do you now know who you are, and that everything I have told you is the truth?”\n\n“Yes,” he responded.\n\nThe next question was almost a whisper. “Do you love her?”\n\n“With all my heart.” He tried to say something else but the words would not come. Finally, with Umf patiently standing and waiting, he managed, “We had a son… his name was Kleng.”\n\nThe little man nodded, placed his hand on the larger’s and told him it was all right. He understood. With that, he reached into his coat and removed a small object covered in a cloth napkin. Handing it to Clay, he told him, “I believe this belongs to you.”\n\nThe big man accepted it without words, and then held it close.\n\n“You know then what was,” Umf said to him, “So now I must tell you what must be.” He paused, watching the large man’s face closely. “Are you ready to die?”\n\nThere was not the briefest of hesitation in the reply. “Yes.”\n\nClay heard the sounds of heavy machinery. It was almost deafening. Opening his eyes, he found they were no longer in the forest, but inside an almost indescribable place of moving cogs and spinning gears. The closest he might have come to a description for what he saw was ‘giant clock’.\n\nUmf had the three of them hold hands as he approached a huge Elm tree near where the vehicles were parked. The tree had to be at least five hundred years old. Reaching out with his free hand, he placed it upon the tree’s trunk. ‘Hello old friend” he said softly, and the tips of his fingers appeared to disappear into the tree. Within a moment, all three men had disappeared. When they came out on the other side, it was broad daylight and the tree they emerged from was little more than a sapling. \n\nUmf lost no time in walking them to another tree and the process was repeated. Two more times they moved ‘through’ different trees, until they came into the ‘clock’. Smallish people moved all around them, servicing the machinery. These smallish folk paid them as little attention as if they were not even there. One of them did come to Umf Monkle and yelled as loud as he could, “I still think it’s a bad idea! Odin is not going to be happy with us!”\n\nUmf nodded, and then cupping his hands around his mouth, shouted back, “You said that when we began, it’s only fitting that you say it again. The circle is almost complete now old friend; there’s no turning back. Is the axe ready?”\n\nThe other man gave him a thumbs up.\n\n“Give us a moment and we’ll be ready,” Umf shouted.\n\n“Take fifty years if you want,” the other man yelled back, and then winked, “You’ll still be right where you need to be. That much we know.”\n\nLeire stood in the darkness of the forest with the six Foxes, waiting. For their part, each was now seated and going over their arrows. In the darkness they carefully fingered the tail feathers, and tested the razor sharp steel heads. If one was wanting, it was quietly honed with a small stone. Each Fox carried twenty five arrows. This was the entire wealth of the Fox clan.\n\nSoft arms wrapped around his waist and he was hugged from behind.\n\n“I love you Vixon,” he said softly.\n\nThere was the softest of sobs, and then she replied, “And I love you my husband.”\n\n“We will be together always,” he told her, reaching down and holding her paws with his hands. \n\n“Yes,” she told him, “That is my wish as well.” \n\nNeither of them wanted to face the other at that moment. To do so would cause tears and crying… and regret. Though she wanted to with all of her heart, it was not possible to tell her husband he could not do this. In this she was called to follow Viking ways, as she had promised him she would even though she was a Fox.\n\nClay now stood with Umf Monkle in a quiet area next to what would be the last doorway into a young world and its ever growing population of humans. He was naked, and the smaller man was dressed as he had been when he knew Leire Rev. The sounds of ‘the clock’ were now far behind them.\n\n“How do you do it?” the large man asked of the smaller.\n\n“How do I do what?” Umf responded calmly as they waited for the others to arrive.\n\n“Go back and forth in time the way you do.”\n\nThe little man smiled. It’s easier than you think. It’s the trees Mr. Fox… the very trees which humans have been destroying from the beginning. Every tree carries with it the history of where it is within itself. Cut a tree down and what do you find?”\n\n“Growth rings?”\n\nUmf smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Fox, rings… and each a portal to the very year it was created.\n\n“What will happen when I pass through this doorway?”\n\n“We believe you will become one with yourself,” the little man explained again patiently. \n\n“He won’t know I’m there?”\n\n“We don’t know for sure,” he replied softly, “This has never before been done. You were then…” he said nodding to the door, “And you were then…” and he motioned with is chin back in the direction of the ‘clock’.\n\n“And Vixon?”\n\n“It is best that you wait and see.”\n\n“And the clay fox?”\n\n“Thor has it. When the time is right, you will see it again.”\n\nFinally Leire could stand it no longer. Turning to his wife, he faced her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. As soon as he did this, his body went rigid. He felt as though an ice cold finger had caressed his neck. For one brief second, his heart stopped and then began again. He staggered slightly, but caught himself.\n\nClay breathed in and smelled the clean smell of a new forest all around him. There was no pollution and the air was oxygen rich. The night was pitch black but even with no moon the area was dimly illuminated by the brightness of the stars. Looking up he saw more of them than he ever imagined possible.\n\n“Are you well my husband?” he heard a female voice ask. She had not spoken English, and yet he understood her. He realized, too, that he could smell her as well and the scent caused sparks within his mind. His knees felt weak.\n\n“I am fine,” he heard himself growl. \n\nThough Leire felt he had just been touched by death, he said nothing to his wife, lest he distress her more than she already was. For him it was an omen. Silently he prayed to Odin that he be able to complete his task before giving up his life.\n\n“Ho,” Asmand said softly. “Friend Umf Monkle returns.”\n\nThe other Foxes slowly stood, and gathered near. As they all watched, the head of an enormous axe protruded from the trunk of the tree. It was carried by no less than five of the underjordiske, each holding on to its long handle. They brought it to the Viking. Umf Monkle was the first of the five.\n\n“We bring you this Leire Rev,” he said quietly. “It is not a weapon, but a tool, and thus does not break our oath to Odin. It is called ‘The Five Stroke Axe’ by my people, because it is so sharp an able man, such as yourself, might fell a tree with just five stokes.”\n\nLeire reached down and grimly accepted the gift. “I take this from you Friend Umf Monkle so that I may build my home. For each tree I fell, I promise I will plant again five, each to be a prayer for your people.”\n\n“That is a fair exchange,” the little man replied. “We could ask for no more than that.”\n\nThe Fin invaders had camps in the four corners of the log walls belonging to Leire’s village. All the crops that had been left in the fields for harvest had long since been trampled under. It was well past the mid of the night, and the Viking guessed the sun would be up in about two hours. This was well, because it was the time when men slept their deepest.\n\nAll around the small fortress and just outside of arrow range were lit huge bonfires. In between the bonfires the Fox could see sentries. Some of these warriors were standing still, while others were walking slowly back and forth in an attempt to stay awake.\n\nTrue to their word, the Fox killed these men quickly and silently.\n\nTrue to his word, Leire, when the sentries were dead, calmly and quietly in the way of the Fox, walked to the first of the four encampments and began the killing.\n\nWithin the first encampment, Clay watched as sleeping men were cleaved in two or decapitated where they lay. As Leire walked away from this ‘now’ unholy ground of slaughter, he had to stop and rub his hands with dirt so the axe handle would not slip from his grip.\n\nThe slaughter within the second encampment began in the same way, but now the men were waking, and three managed to put up a fight. Leire was cut, several times. Of the three who fought, one lost his arm at the shoulder complete with the sword, the second lost both legs, and the third was split in two from head to hips. The blow cut straight through the wooden shield he sought to hide behind.\n\nLeire was now completely covered in blood. In the fire light he looked more like a demon from the frozen lands of Nifiheim (hell).\n\nA man in the third encampment, just roused from his slumbers, raised his bow and took aim at the approaching menace. Two Fox arrows sprouted from his back and he fell face forward. The alarm was now sounded and all twenty of the men were scrambling for their weapons. Leire fell upon them in their confusion, swinging the great axe until his arms hurt. Several of the men ran to the last encampment, warning the others to ready themselves. By now the sentries on the village walls were yelling for all they were worth. ‘Thor,’ they yelled… ‘It was Thor come to rescue them from the Fin’. Because of this, it did not occur to them that they should open the doors and attack. Thor was a god and certainly required no help from humans.\n\nLeire had never felt such pain. His heart felt as if it would jump out of his chest, and every breath he took was fire. He had lost much blood and the forth encampment was yet two hundred yards distance. Though his brain hardly thought about it, his legs worked to carry him there. The Viking, still true to his promise that he would fight in silence, stopped only to place the axe over his shoulder for a better carry.\n\n“I know you are there,” he said softly to the night. “Tell me who you are that I may thank you for staying with me. It is good not… to be … alone.” Leire stumbled, but caught himself.\n\nClay heard these words, and thought before he made his response. “I am you,” he replied, and he heard the same voice through the same ears. He also saw the same billowing breath as he spoke.\n\nThe Leire part of him laughed and the laugh was bitter sounding. “I Am You… Leire Rev thanks you for…” he stopped walking, and swayed. It was the loss of blood and shear tiredness. “I can’t…” said the voice. “Why do not the village people come?” He turned his head slightly and watched the cheering people on the walls. “I have failed,” he said, “I am not a Rev.”\n\nClay was suddenly angry. “You can’t fail now,” he said strongly, and the voice echoed his words. “That is not how the story ends.”\n\n“I Am You… you speak to me in riddles. There is a story, yes, but it ends badly.” His body staggered as Leire attempted to again walk. “I will be killed by these last men, and they will cut my body into pieces. They will then fling those pieces at the village walls for having killed their brethren as they slept.”\n\n“We can do this,” Clay told him. “Be startled by nothing Leire Rev,” he warned, and for the first time he lifted the weight of the man that was him as a weight lifter will pull up in a clean-and-jerk. “Total concentration on the goal always wins the day,” he whispered, fixing his eyes on the distant camp. The pain he now felt was the worse thing he had ever felt in his entire life.\n\nLeire’s body straightened itself with a groan. “We can do this,” the Viking repeated loudly, and his words caused a billow of moisture clouds.\n\nTaking the huge axe from his shoulder, the Viking and the businessman together ran head on into the final Fin encampment where thirty armed men awaited them.\n\nTheir cuts were so numerous that in the end, their body was as pale as fresh snow, and yet they fought on. As the final Fin stood to face them, his spear found a bare chest, and was forced straight through. With an inhuman effort, Leire/Clay pushed with all they had left, forcing the length of the spear’s shaft through their body, closing the distance so the axe was able to sever this warrior’s head from his shoulders.\n\nAs the sun peeked over the horizon beginning another day… all was suddenly still in the crisp morning air. The Viking’s legs buckled and he slumped into a seated position on top of three Fin bodies that had fallen on top of each other. The spear, making contact with the ground, kept him in an upright position.\n\nThere were no sirens… nor ambulances. There was only silence as Alfordull (god of the sun) raised the sun until it broached the horizon. Even the morning winds were still. The sun actually stood up a good hand’s space into the sky before the villagers found the courage to disturb what they thought was Thor’s peaceful rest after a battle well fought.\n\nLeire/Clay found himself standing near; watching the remnants of the morning. No one among the villagers saw him. From the forest, too, came the Fox clan. They slowly mingled with the humans as they stood around the lone body of Leire Rev.\n\nThe mood of joy, at the thought of Thor coming to their rescue, was shattered when they realized what had happened.\n\nVixon, holding the paw of their son, pushed her way through the crowd until she saw what she saw; her dead husband, still holding the handle of his great axe and propped up by the shaft of a spear. Straightening her back, and her resolve, she said loudly, “I wish my husband to be buried in his people’s tradition.”\n\nLeire’s mother, now older, and even more wizened than she had been, asked through her tears, “You will sleep then with your husband?”\n\n“Yes,” Vixon whispered in response, and then turned away unable to look upon the carnage any longer.\n\nAll of the villagers stood straight and parted for her to pass… paying her honor that she would request such a thing.\n\nClay called out to her, but she did not hear him. He moved behind her and placed a hand upon her shoulder; but there was no touch.\n\n“You are to wait for her,” said a strong voice. \n\nClay turned to find a very different Thor looking at him. The god was dressed in animal skins, and thought he still carried his hammer; his helmet was a crude steel and wood construction. It did not even possess the wings found in most Viking lore pictures.\n\n“Your feathers are missing,” the businessman said flatly. \n\nThor understood that the man was still in shock from having died. “Those come later Venn Clay, as does my chromed monstrosity.” He smiled a small smile of reassurance. “Besides… they both are really only good for sissies and comic book heroes.”\n\n“Why can’t anyone see me?”\n\n“Because you are dead.”\n\n“But… this all happened so long ago,” he said, looking around at the carnage he had wrought.\n\n“Ja… it did. Und you are here… now… so it too happened to you. Now you will come with me.”\n\n“Can she see you?”\n\n“Ja.”\n\n“Would you tell her something for us?”\n\n“No… I am not…”\n\n“Please… just tell her we love her.”\n\n“You must say that ‘I’ love her Mr. Fox,” said another less bass voice. \n\nThor bowed low, and did not look up.\n\nClay turned around to find another man in similar garb to Thor’s, but without the helmet. He was only of medium build, where Thor was large and well muscled. He had a salt and pepper beard and hair but of a shorter length, and he carried himself as a Chieftain would.\n\n“Go to the people and to the Fox now Thor. Make your presence known. I will take this one with me.”\n\n“Yes Father.”\n\nThe man took Clay by the arm and gently led him away from where he stood. “Thor’s a good son,” he told him, “But I’ve always thought he favored his mother. She too is a good woman, Jord (Earth), with a good sense of humor. That’s why Thor reins over thunder; she gave him his hammer as a constant reminder to me that he is her son; as if I could forget.”\n\n A feeling of peacefulness descended upon the businessman, and as they walked he took in a huge breath which, stopping to bend double, he exhaled in small sobbing sounds.\n\n“It’s all right…” the other man told him, keeping a hand upon his elbow. “Let it all out. You deserve that much. You saved a lot of lives last night. What you did is what legends are made of.”\n\nThe sobs now wracked his body. The Chieftain never left his side. When he could, he stood again. “I killed people,” he managed to say.\n\n“Yes, you did, but they would have killed you if they could have. It was not a fight you began and you sought only to protect your family and people. Any living creature would have done the same, even the Fox.”\n\nThey began walking again. “Where are you taking me?” Clay finally asked, blinking his eyes and looking around.\n\n“We’re just walking for the moment. Are you better now?”\n\n“A little, thank you. Could you tell me, please, what just happened here?”\n\nThe sun was now well up in the sky, and moving in quick time across the sky. They were standing in the middle of the fields outside the village, and as they spoke two men, carrying another man’s body, passed by them.\n\n“You came from over there,” the Chieftain said pointing at the forest. “The Fox killed the sentries for you. Normally I would be very angry with them, but this one time I am not.”\n\n“Why would you be angry?” Clay asked.\n\n“Because it is against My rules for the Fox to slay people.”\n\n“Why are you not angry then?”\n\n“Because I choose not to be. I made the rules; for me to ignore them every once in awhile is not such a bad thing.”\n\n“Ignore the rules…” Clay repeated softly, feeling very confused. Who was this man?\n\n“Yes. It’s easy. Most times I simply pretend I didn’t see anything. In this case, I did see… and I approved what I saw. I am here to honor you by fulfilling the wish of your wife. By doing so I am breaking one of My foremost rules of all.”\n\n“And what rule would that be?” Clay asked him.\n\nThe other man smiled and placed a hand upon his back in a friendly manner. “Dead is dead.”\n\nIn the manner of things, Vixon was honored in the ways of the Viking, but out of respect for the Fox, she was allowed to prepare for her death in her own fashion. Her mother combed out her fur until it was impeccable. As much as the old Fox wanted to, she would not cry. Her father then presented her with the dress that she would wear. It was of the very same dress she had worn when she first met her husband. Leire’s mother even gave her the necklace from around her own neck.\n\nThrough all of this, Clay and the Chieftain walked and observed. As they passed the cook fires, this Chieftain asked if Clay wished to eat or to drink.\n\n“The dead do not require this,” he responded, and the other man nodded his head in understanding.\n\nThere was much feasting by night, and much work by day as the sepulcher was prepared. Until this was ready, Leire’s body was kept in a special tent which was frequently visited by everyone present in both drunk and sober conditions. His huge axe was with him, having been cleaned and sharpened by the village smith. This man had specially laid it by his side with many prayers to the gods of his forge. \n\nThough the arms belonging to the Fins were neatly stacked within the grave, their bodies were unceremoniously burned during the course of the second night in a huge bonfire.\n\nOn the third day, Leire was finally laid to rest within the sepulture. Vixon, kissing her son goodbye, accepted the small gift he held out to her. “It’s a wishing fox,” he whispered to her as she took it from him.\n\nPlacing her lips near his soft furry ears, she whispered back, “Then I wish upon this fox to come back with your father when he is born again to this world.”\n\nA large body suddenly shadowed them from the sun, and both looked up. Bending low, Thor told them both, “Father Odin has heard your wish, and so shall it be.”\n\nWithout further comment, he stood tall again. He was personally to escort her to the grave. Vixon’s mother walked by her side and Leire’s mother followed them. These two would both bear witness to her death. The village Smith, in the absence of Leire’s father, was chosen to perform the strangulation. The entire village and the clan of the Fox looked on in absolute silence.\n\nWithin the confines of this final resting place, Vixon was helped to lie next to her husband. In the light of the single guttering tallow lamp, she was beautiful. Kissing the small clay fox, she handed it to her mother and then nodded to the smith that she was ready.\n\nAs the Smith bent over her, he whispered that he was sorry for what he had to do. Clay began to step out of the shadows. The man with him placed a hand in front of his chest, and from across the room, Thor shook his head in the negative, indicating he should not attempt to interfere.\n\nWithin a moment, it was over.\n\nThe two mothers each bent to kiss Vixon on the cheek. Annbjorg placed the clay fox between the bodies, and then, hand in hand, both women left the tomb followed by the smith.\n\nThe Chieftain with Clay came forward. Holding out his hand, he accepted the small clay fox that Thor carried with him and then asked his son to leave. When they were alone, he turned to Clay and handed him the artifact.\n\n“Take this, and crush it,” he told the big man.\n\n“Who are you?” Clay asked him.\n\nThe Chieftain smiled. “She has been waiting a long time for you. Who I am means nothing. The only thing that truly matters at this exact moment in time; is what you choose to do now.”\n\nClay opened his eyes. He was standing in front of an ancient Viking long boat on display at the museum. \n\nHe felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look down into her eyes. They were of the deepest blue.\n\n“The Vikings were years ahead of their contemporaries in ship building,” she told him softly, moving to his side and slipping her arm around his waist.\n\n“It’s beautiful,” he replied in an equally soft tone. He, in turn, placed his arm around her shoulders. “I understand this one was recovered from a grave site called Viking site 1327.”\n\nShe laughed, and her voice was like music. Pointing to a small sign in front of them, she said, “So it says here in no less than five different languages.”\n\nHe pulled her into a hug. “I love you so much,” he whispered into her ear.\n\n“I love you too,” she replied. “I have always loved you… I will always love you.”\n\nSomeone cleared their voice, and when they both turned, a smallish man bowed to them.\n\n“I’m sorry for the interruption Mr. Fox, but your limousine is here for you.” \n\n“Could you please send it away?” the woman asked him.\n\n“The museum is closing madam.”\n\nThe woman stood on her tip toes and whispered in the big man’s ear. He smiled.\n\n“Professor Monkle,” he asked, “Has the museum ever accidentally locked a visitor in at the close of the day?”\n\n“As a matter of fact… yes, but only once. We are very careful about things like that.”\n\nThe large man smiled and gave the smaller man a wink.\n\n“Oh… yes… absolutely,” he said in sudden understanding, “Shall I leave the lights on at a low setting?”\n\n“Please,” the woman responded, moving across the short space to him. Kneeling in front of the professor, she gave him a hug. In his ear, she whispered, “With all my heart I thank you my dear dear Umf Monkle.”\n\n“It has been my pleasure Vixon Rev,” he whispered back. “I was so saddened by your death, and now… now my sweet Fox, I am happy again. Odin be praised.”\n\n“Odin be praised,” she responded.\n\nClay Fox… once Leire Rev… watched his wife’s back as she hugged the little man they both owed so much. He smiled when he spied her tail peeking out from under her skirt.\n\nHe couldn’t wait to introduce his ‘new’ wife to Grandfather. Wouldn’t the old man be surprised? \n\nHe chuckled, hearing the old man’s words in his mind, ‘All the way to Norway for damnable business, only to bring home such a vixen. I am happy for you Grandson.’\n\nNo… he concluded as his Vixon quietly closed the door behind their departing friend, the old man was a Fox; he would indeed be surprised by nothing at all. \n\nend\n\n PAGE \n\n PAGE 41 \n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Clay Fox

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Vixyy Fox                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                          
Leire sat heavily on a rock outside the walls of his village. He was a very large youth, now almost fully a man. Long outgrown was the reason for his name, his abundance of baby skin which made him look pliant and clay like. Second largest male in the village, he was duly apprenticed to the village metal smith, who was the largest. It was mid day, and the smith had allowed the youth a respite of time while he made abeyances to the gods before the forge of weapons was begun. To make the perfect meld of steel there were certain religious and other secret things to be done that the apprentice was not yet privy too.

The sun played in the young man’s eyes as he sat eating a bowl of oats and honey his mother, now one of the ancients of the village, had given him. She was very proud of her son; metal smiths held a special place within every village. As he sucked upon his fingers, he saw a flash of color in the near by woods. Over the past, a clearing of perhaps three hundred yards had been created in all directions around the rough hewn timbers making up the village walls. Though this area was planted with crops, its real reason was to give a good defensive advantage to the villagers should their home be attacked. Though all in this area were Norse, it was not unknown for one village to attack another; or for the Fins and the Swedes to come overland trying to take what they could by force.

Standing, he shielded his eyes and squinted; trying to see what had caught his attention. There was another flash of color and an errant breeze touched him upon the cheek bearing the sweet smell of flowers. What he saw had been a brightly colored skirt and an abundance of blond hair. He smiled. Some signals were loud and flashy… others were quiet and subtle… still others were no more than the flip of a skirt and the smell of sweetness on the wind. To his way of thinking, there was someone who wanted him to come looking for her. Sucking the last of the oats from his fingers, he rose and placed the bowl upon the rock where he’d been seated. Ignoring the warnings his mother had given him about those who lived in the forest, he strode towards the shaded darkness.

“These artifacts were all found at Viking site 1327,” intoned the tour guide in her Norwegian accent. “This was an entire Viking village excavated in the Troms region. There were found there many good items, including swords, shields, and a longboat apparently under construction when it was buried after the occurrence of a battle. I will leave you here for twenty minutes before proceeding to the long boat exhibit. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.”

Clay Fox wandered around the small room, his hands held behind his back. Occasionally he paused to gaze through the thick glass plate at items now well over fifteen hundred years old. He was easily the largest person in the room and quite used to the occasional stare and comment; enough so that he paid it no mind at all. Most people simply assumed he was a professional wrestler, and many had sent their children for an autograph. He was actually just a business man, having flown to Norway from England in order to discuss a commodities contract and possible merger of companies. Whether or not it was to be a hostile take over merger was yet to be seen. He had never been here before, though his heritage, according to his grandfather, did trace back to the invasion and settlement of England by the Vikings. Properly, he would always tell his grandson, it was not an invasion so much a forceful immigration of peoples. The old man’s straggly blond hair and blue eyes actually left little doubt that he had Nordic blood flowing through his veins.

Having arrived a day early Clay chose to act as a tourist for a change, taking in what he could. He figured it would be a good educational experience, and perhaps even give him some insight on the people he would be dealing with. It so happened that this particular museum was recommended by the concierge of the hotel as one of the best in the entire nation. It had also been within easy walking distance.

He had a sudden mental flash of charging men wielding swords and wearing animal skins. It was so vivid; he stopped walking and stared down at one of the cases, trying to get his mind back to the present. His eyes focused on a small object amidst the deteriorated sword blades and axe heads. It caught his curiosity and he checked the little number beside it against the small chart in the display case. The only description on this register was; ‘Clay Fox’.

He felt the presence of someone standing next to him, but did not give in to the urge to look. He had been trained up this way from early childhood. ‘You are a Fox; be startled by nothing,’ his grandfather told him over and over in the absence of his father. It was their family motto and had been passed down through the generations though he had no idea how far back it actually dated. The old man would always, then, wink at him and add his own piece of advice. ‘Total concentration on the goal carries the day.’

The senior Fox carried this credo all the way to the beaches at Normandy and beyond. He claimed it had both kept him alive and sane, blocking out all the bad things he had seen and was required to do. He would then make the same tired joke about the many ‘fox holes’ he had dug during the war.

Leire followed the flashes of color further into the woods than he should have. He knew the forest was alive with spirits and trolls. All Norse knew this and seldom did they walk alone under the darkness of the trees; nor did they ever venture there unarmed. The youth also knew there were the foxes to consider. His mother had warned him… the village elders had warned him… even his mentor the smith had said something. He was especially vocal. Because of the requirements of his work he was very superstitious.

“By all that is holy and held to be true,” the old man whispered to him early in his tutelage, ‘Ne’er go with a woman that calls to you from the woods. If one so surprises you; check her for a tail… sure enough,” he winked, “That one will be a vixen fox, and you run like she is Queen Hel.”

‘What would be so wrong with that?’ Leire asked the man in his innocence. He was beginning to feel the strength of his manhood in these years.

The huge smith puffed out his cheeks, and stood abruptly to pull a glowing piece of metal from the forge, for which Leire was operating the bellows. Taking his hammer, he began striking it blows; sending sparks flying in emphasis of the words he spoke.

“Foxes… are far worse… than the Haugfolket (Pixies)… or the de underjordiske (strange little people who live underground).” He paused to examine the metal. As he did so, he said, “She will take your soul and leave you a hollow shell, fool boy.” He looked at his apprentice with one eye closed. “And all for what…” He placed the metal back on the anvil. “A roll in the grass?”

His hammer stuck again with the word ‘grass’ and sparks showered the area. Pulling the steel up from the anvil, he examined it closely. “Look here boy… look what happens to the metal if it is not hot enough when you strike. All this talk of foxes and I did not pay close enough attention. No more talk now until I’m done.”

The big man showed him the flaw so he would learn and then placed the metal back into the forge. True to his word they did not speak again until he was done. He was a good teacher and though not the boy’s father, tried to guide the youth in the ways of men. Leire’s own father was away looking to a new home for them among the ‘Breton’ peoples. Word was the fish ran very thick in that place and the local peoples were accepting (perhaps at the point of a sword) of their presence.

But at this moment the village was some distance away, and Leire was alone in the deep woods. In this place the sun beams barely penetrated to the small clearing he found himself within. There was again the flash of red fur; or was it a dress?

“What do you think,” Clay asked the person he knew was standing by his side. He nodded to the small figurine. “Was it a child’s toy?”

“No.”

The voice was soft and musical… and very feminine. This time Clay did look. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought you were someone else.”

“No; you did not,” she told him with out smiling back.

“You’re sure of that?” He was not used to being contradicted.

She pointed to the small figurine. “This was found in the burial tumulus along with a partially constructed long boat, and more arms than would be normal even for a Chieftain. Further, the metal of the swords and axe heads suggest quality arms.”

“And what would this then signify?” he asked her.

“That the man buried there was of the highest stature. Even the good sword of a Chieftain was not given up to the earth; a substitute blade of inferior quality was always used. The Vikings were very observant in the requirements of a proper burial, but they were not fools; good steel was rare.”

Clay smiled. The woman he was talking to was very pretty, and appeared as Viking as he could have ever imagined. Her posture was remarkably straight, though he could not sense a tension in her stance. He was suddenly intrigued with her. The dress she wore would have been exactly of the time period of the exhibit. Perhaps she was employed by the museum as a living portrayal of the time. “Maybe he was thought to be Thor?” he offered in a joking manner.

“Thor attended this warrior’s funeral,” she told him without batting an eye. Her blonde hair was finely braided and pulled up into a bun. She never looked at him… never took her eyes off of the little clay fox.

Now the large business man’s curiosity was hooked. He extended his hand in a friendly manner. “I’m sorry; I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I meant no harm in my comments. My name is Clay Fox,” he offered, “And you might be?”

“I am this exhibit,” she whispered without responding to his extended hand.

He looked at his empty hand and then flexing his fingers said, “Ah… yes… and what would make you think Thor attended this particular funeral? That’s a rather gutsy statement from an archeologist.”

She moved closer to the case, continuing to gaze at the small statue. “I am not an archeologist, Mr. Fox,” she told him in the same soft voice, “I was there. This ‘child’s toy’ as you call it, is much more than it appears. Do you not find it ironic that it bears your name?” She placed a finger on the glass but did not look at him… only at the little clay fox.  

He felt as if an icy finger was suddenly touching his backbone and he shivered.

“This small piece of clay represents the final wish of the one who loved the slain warrior,” she continued, “It was placed into the Tumulus between their bodies by her people, the Fox. It contains her wish that she be allowed to live again when next her mate is reborn to this world.”

Clay turned back to the case and also regarded the small figurine behind the glass; seeing it now with much more depth. “So they died at the same time then?”

He felt her hand slip into his. It was warm and felt familiar; as if it was supposed to be there. He suddenly felt very strange. His heart pounded in his chest and his throat felt constricted. He felt a fear; the fear one feels for their loved ones when they are in danger.

“No,” she told him so softly he could hardly hear her words. “She was put to death so she could sleep with her chosen mate. It was the accepted custom of his people… a custom she was sworn to uphold.”

“Bloody hell.”

Leire met his vixen in the deepest woods. Outwardly she appeared just as he… just as human. At first, when he asked, she would not let him see behind her. Instead, she assaulted him with a wonderful smile while serving him a mixture of crushed berries and sweet cream milk which she claimed to have purchased from de undejordiske. It was well known they owned the very best cattle. When he was full, and sitting in a beam of sunlight coming through the branches of the trees, she sat upon his lap and licked his face clean. It tickled and he did not protest this strange behavior. She then pushed him back into the grass and they made love, her skirts spread out and over him in accommodation.

 As they both climaxed, she transformed into the fox he knew she was. Silky smooth skin became fur covered and her ears lengthened; but the body of a maiden remained.

Leire was not afraid. Reaching out, he pulled her to him and rolled over pinning her under his body. “You are mine to keep,” he told her, which was the exact opposite of what should have happened. “Now that I have you, you must do as I say.”

“Please,” she begged as she struggled against his weight; the worse thing for a fox is to be cornered and caught. “Please, I beg that you do not harm me.”

“Harm you?” The youth laughed. “I am scared out of my wits and it is you who pleads with me not to be harmed. Why would I harm the very creature that I love?”

He tried to remove his manhood but found he was stuck fast.

“It would seem to be a question now as to who has caught whom,” he muttered, “Why is it I cannot leave your body?”

“Tis the swelling of the knot, my love,” she replied, calming a bit. “It will leave you soon enough. Do you really mean your words? Do you really love me?”

“Yes I do,” was his instant reply, and they kissed.

When the kiss was done, both said in the same breath, “And I will love you forever.”

“And I will love you forever.”

The dream or vision had seemed so very real. The words burned in Clay’s ears as clearly as a crystal whisper. Had he really whispered them to the remarkable girl holding his hand?

With the whisper, the hand in his had turned icy cold. He’d taken his eyes off of the figurine to look at her, but as soon as he did this he found his hand empty and she was no longer there. He looked about the small room suddenly panicked. Around him were only the people of the tour group, and none were even looking in his direction. He was sure she couldn’t have slipped out without him noticing; it was simply imposible.

Finding the tour guide next to the door, he asked her if anyone had walked out. She gave him a quizzical look and told him no. Taking her by the sleeve, he pulled her back to the display case. It was suddenly very important that he get some answers. Pointing at the little figurine, he asked her exactly what it was. She gave him a strange look and then looked in the display case at the same card list he had read previously.

“It is a clay fox,” she told him.

“I know that,” he said tersely, “But what specifically is it? Why is it in this case with the weapons? Where was it found… exactly?”

The tour guide looked around nervously. When she saw the security guard by the door she relaxed slightly. “Everything in this case,” she told him, “Was found in the same grave. It looks to me like it might have been a child’s toy, though it could perhaps have also been a talisman. Excuse me sir, but I am just a tour guide. I am not one of the curators. If you want exact details you will have to make an appointment… ummm… for to speak with someone in authority.”

“How long would that take?”

“Normally you would be notified in a week to ten business days, depending on the availibil…”

Pulling out his check book he cut her off. “What if I wanted to make a sizeable donation to the museum?”

“Immediately,” she told him without batting an eye.

“Good girl, right answer. Next question; the young woman I was speaking with a few minutes ago disappeared. I mean she just vanished. Did you see her at all?”

“No.” The woman turned and did a quick nose count. “Everyone of the tour is here, sir. If she was not part of the group, then I don’t know who she might have been.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he replied, his mouth compressing into a tight line. His stomach suddenly felt like its bottom had completely fallen away and he might be sick. It felt like his heart had been physically ripped from his body. “Let’s cut to the chase then,” he told her. “Take me to the office so I can file my donation. I wish to speak with one of the curators right now.”

Turning to the group, the guide announced loudly, “Ladies and Gentlemen; I have been called to the office for a small amount of time. If you please, the museum has a small cafeteria one floor below. We will meet back here in forty five minutes and the tour will resume.”

When they could separate, Leire was taken to his vixen’s clan for presentation. Her wizened old mother was there, along with her father, who had once, too, been a young Viking.

“He is a fine catch,” said the old vixen appraisingly. The equally old dog fox beside her silently nodded his head in agreement.  “He will still be large when changed, and that will aid the clan in protection against the Wolf,” the vixen continued, “He has come with you willingly?”

“I have come with him willingly,” her daughter answered and there was a silent moment as what she spoke became understood.

“That is not possible,” hissed her mother.  “You cannot become human… but this one,” she pointed at Leire with a bony finger, “This one can become a Fox. In this our laws must be followed.”

Leire stood as straight as he could and addressed the old vixen with respect and dignity. “In this union I will break my own people’s laws, Mother Fox. It is forbidden that I take an animal as wife. I am willing to cross that boundary.”

“Animal?” she hissed, squinting her eyes at him. “You dare call the ‘Fox’ a mere animal?”

Her husband placed a paw on her arm, speaking on Leire’s behalf. “He spoke to you with respect my wife. Being once human myself, I will tell you he knows not what he says in regard to our kind. He speaks only with reflection on what he has been taught from birth. Perhaps this is a good thing my love; our daughter could represent us well to the humans. I have always felt there was much we could offer each other.”

The old vixen gave him a look that said she would have much to say in private. “We will call for a Skulk tonight. This issue must be resolved immediately,” she hissed.

The old dog fox winked at Leire and smiled. It was a look that said, ‘things are not as bad as they appear’. In this the youth was heartened.

Clay found himself sitting opposite a smallish bespectacled old man in a tweed suite. He had a heavy white beard and mustache; making him appear as a tiny Father Christmas. A check with a substantial amount of zeros written upon it sat face up in front of this man.

“I will not say that your donation did not come at a very critical time in the museum’s history Mr. …” he looked down at the check and squinted slightly, “Fox… but now that we are alone, would you tell me the reason you have made this contribution? You must understand it’s just that I’ve never seen a donation this large before. Please feel free to use me as your confessor if you wish. I am an elder in my church and it is an arrangement I am used to fulfilling. If the amount is meant to assuage a measure of guilt I can understand and be accepting. I cannot, however, offer you atonement… only God can be so merciful.”

The businessman shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know why I chose that particular amount.” He looked closely at the little man. “Have we met before? You seem vaguely familiar.”

“My picture has been in many anthropological journals. Perhaps you chanced upon one during a trip on an airplane or a bus.”

Clay snorted. “Me on a bus? Not likely.”

“This is a very sizeable amount Mr. Fox,” the curator said again, bringing him back to the subject.

“I don’t know. In my world money is rather sacred and I’ve never bandied it about like this before… not without reason in any case; and certainly not without the guarantee of a payback. I’m not even really sure what it is I need to know. There is just this terrible feeling that… it’s as if my best friend… no… I think mate would be a better word; has suddenly died. I just feel so hollow.”

The old man took his spectacles off, carefully cleaned them. When he was done, he placed them back on to his face. The action obviously allowed him a moment to think.

“You told our tour guide that you had some questions about Viking Exhibit 1327. What is it exactly you had a question about?”

“In one of the display cases there is an artifact.” Clay paused, and did not continue, seeming at a loss for what exactly to say.

The old man smiled a fatherly smile and leaned back in his chair. “In the display cases, there are nothing but artifacts Mr. Fox. Name the thing that has peaked your curiosity and I will see that it is given to you as a sign of our undying gratitude for your generosity.”

“The clay fox,” he replied, hurrying his words slightly. “What do you know of it?”

The smile left the old man’s face. “I am sorry to have wasted your time, sir. This one thing I cannot give you.” He slid the check back across to the businessman. “Perhaps you would like your donation back?”

Clay gave him a puzzled look. He slid the piece of paper back across the desk and fixed the old man with a look he saved for the hardest of oppositional C.E.O.’s. “I never asked to be given the clay fox,” he stated flatly, “I just want to know…” he hesitated, and then changed the wording of his request, and the tone of his voice. “My heart tells me that I need to know what it represents.”

Fifty foxes stood in Skulk that night. Leire had been introduced to the many, a bonfire back lighting him as each passed, one after the other. Some were friendly and offered a right paw of peace. Others, and most of these were missing an ear or a tail, spit at his feet; expressing their feelings towards humans in general. He had been asked then to move a distance away while the Skulk was held. His vixen was commanded to stay with her parents that she might be subjected to the inquiry of the elders. Both complied with no hesitation. The Viking youth now stood silently in the dark forest, his eyes locked on the distant fire. His lot was to wait and he set himself to this, keeping his eyes on the goal.

“Hunten eltic ger frunken Norse?” asked a quiet voice behind him.

Be surprised by nothing… In the vein of his training the Viking youth made no sudden movement, but continued watching the distant fire. “Do you speak my language?” he asked.

“Ja,” was the reply. “I asked if you had become lost while hunting.”

“I was not hunting,” Leire replied simply. “Nor am I lost. If I turn, will I see you?”

There was a chuckle. “You are both brave and wise beyond your years boy,” was the reply. “If I had meant you harm I would have done my work while your back was turned and never said a word.” The person made a gagging noise, hawked and then spat. “I’m sorry; a bug flew down my throat. It was reminding me, I think, that I should talk less and listen more.” The person spat one more time. “Perhaps you will see me, and perhaps you will not. The truth is, unless you face about you will not know.”

Leire turned slowly; holding both of his hands in the air, palms outward to show he held no weapon.  “I wait on the Skulk,” he told the shadows. “The Foxes debate my future.”

“This I know,” replied the voice. “I have been called to their council and I am to test your heart.”

A smallish man stepped from the shadows of a huge tree trunk, moving to stand before the youth. “My name is Umf Monkle,” he offered as he regarded the youth. “I am a ‘go betweener’ and an elder of my people.”

Leire looked; and he saw. “You are one of the de underjordiske,” he said and then smiled. “Your cattle have the sweetest milk I have ever drunk.  I thought you would be larger.”

“And how came you by this milk?”

“My Vixon gave it to me this very afternoon; just before we mated. Do you really live underground?”

The little man chortled. “You don’t see us, so you assume we live away from your world and the light of the sun. In a manner of speaking; yes, we do live underground.” He came forward and closely examined the palms of Leire’s hands, feeling each of them. “You work with metals… you do not wield the sword.” It was a statement, not a question. “So this is her name; Vixen? I thought all female foxes were called vixen?”

“Vixon,” the large man corrected, saying the word slowly so the other would hear the slight difference in annunciation.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Does she love you?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in either of these spoken confirmations. In the shadows cast between them by the distant fire, Umf Monkle smiled. He knew he need ask no further questions.

Clay watched as the humidity controlled vault was opened and a stainless steel table pulled out. Whatever was on the table was covered with a sheet. Before they had come to this locked room, he’d been given the clay fox to hold by the professor. He now clutched it to his chest protectively. For some reason he felt comforted by this, though his legs still felt weak in a way they had never felt. His entire life he had always been sure of himself; and yet here he was, nervous, afraid…

Lost...

The word was a whisper in the steel vault.

“Professor...” he said, just realizing he had never asked the man’s name.

“Umf Monkle,” the man told him without looking up. “Are you having second thoughts Mr. Fox?”

“No.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why.”

“Good,” replied the smaller man. “It has been written many times and in many different languages that ‘Fear is the beginning of wisdom.’ Perhaps this will be a positive experience for you, yes?”

“There was a girl,” Clay told him softly, now not able to take his eyes from the gurney. “I forgot to mention her when we spoke in your office.”

This time the little man did look up. “Tell me of her.”

The business man did as he had been instructed.

When he was done, Professor Monkle nodded once, and then pulled the sheet back from the gurney. “You now see the mystery of Viking site 1327,” he said, pronouncing the numbers individually. “We are still studying what we have found, so the research thesis has not yet been made public. When we excavated the tomb, this is exactly as the bodies were found… side by side as husband and wife. The clay fox you hold was lying between them. We believe that this is the first proof positive of the Viking legend of Leire Rev.”

“Leire Rev?” Clay asked softly.

“Yes, in the study of history, the historical occurrence could never be confirmed, and so it was relegated to the realm of ‘myth’. Leire Rev, you should note, translates into English as Clay Fox. That small artifact you hold, a simple little ‘clay fox’, we believe to be meant as an identifier, like a head stone of sorts. The pieces of our puzzle here fit the legend perfectly, and we are very pleased to have found it. You can understand now, why I could not give up the clay fox.”

The businessman saw two sets of bones carefully laid out on the large steel table, side by side. One set was very human, and belonged to an obviously large individual. The other bones were canine.

The large man felt as if his heart had just been ripped out. “Vixon…” he whispered.

Feeling darkness taking him, he pulled the clay artifact tightly to his chest and then collapsed to the floor.

Life was well for Leire. With but little debate, he was accepted into the Fox clan provided he took his mates last name of Rev. This he agreed to readily after which the entire clan, including those who had spit at his feet, made merry in the marriage ceremony. The following morning, Vixon informed him that she was pregnant.

“Are you sure?” he asked, not knowing exactly what he should do. Should he pull her to him and make wonderful love again? Should he stand and sing a hearty Viking fertility song? Instead, he gently reached out and placed a hand upon her belly. “A baby?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Vixon laughed softly. “You can’t feel anything yet silly Leire. The baby has just been conceived.”

“And you know this how?”

She gave him a sly look. “A Fox knows many things without knowing why… we just accept that we know.” She placed a paw on his head and gently brushed back the blond hair from his eyes. “I simply know that I am going to have our baby.”

He did pull her to him then and it was several more hours before they emerged from their hut. When they did, there were perhaps a hundred Foxes gathered around; waiting in a hushed silence. They had all obviously been listening. Before the embarrassment of the moment could even set in all one hundred foxes let out a cheer and then music began playing. Before long everyone was dancing. In the middle of this, Vixon’s mother pulled her into the hut for the morning after examination. When she reappeared, the entire celebration, each and every Fox, became silent and the music ground to a halt. The old vixen wore a very somber expression and for a moment Leire’s heart stopped. In a flash, the venerable female raised both arms in the air and let out a howl of joy. “We will have a son!” she exclaimed. There was another hearty cheer, and the music was again playing.

The youth felt paws on his back. Turning, he found his new father-in-law pushing him again towards the hut. “Back in you go!” the old Tod cried out. “Back in and do not come out until we have twins!”

Everyone laughed, and Leire’s was then pushed through the entrance of the hut with the help of many paws. Into the darkness he went where his new wife was waiting for him. Into the darkness, and they really did try for twins.

The following two months came and went in a whirlwind of activity. Leire’s was required to go back to his family; to explain things as best he could. His reception, which at first was one of relief that he was not dead, grew very cold when he told them what he had done. The smith, a man whom he revered, actually forbad him entrance to his forge against the possibility that the gods would take out their wrath on the quality of the steel he produced.

By the end of the day, Leire was more than ready to return to the foxes. It did not seem there was too much his village wished of him except, perhaps, that he stay away.

During this time he was trained extensively by Asmand, his father-in-law, on the requirements of Fox. The Fox, he found out, were excellent archers. This was very much in tune with their first law of the hunt. “A Fox is stealthy, my son,” the old Fox told him. “We avoid noise at any cost. Such things give away your position and you are easily caught and killed. Take a goose when it is not asleep and that goose will spread the alarm faster than an autumn wind will spread a fire.” He held out his bow to Leire. “The arrow travels the wind, crosses a great distance quickly, and makes no noise in the kill provided the archer is good. An arrow to the neck and all is silent.”

“I am curious Father,” the youth asked as he examined the fine bow, “Have the Fox ever won any great battles?”

“No,” he replied flatly. “We do not fight, my son. In this we are not like humans.” He paused to spit upon the ground. “The Fox does not kill for the joy of killing. We kill to eat, this is true, but the very first law of the Fox is to run away and hide should harm threaten. We are very good at this. Your wife will begin teaching you after your son is born.”

“You really thing we will have a son?”

“Annbjorg believes so,” he replied, referring to his wife.

Leire nodded, and then continued their conversation. “But what if harm seeks the Fox out Father?”

“That is a fair question my son,” the older Tod replied, taking his bow back. “If harm seeks a Fox out, male and female are free to fight as hard as they can.”

“But what if harm does not find you, but only your loved ones?”

The Fox knocked an arrow, took aim at a near by tree, and let fly in one smooth motion. The arrow struck exactly where he had aimed. “And what do you think the answer to that question might be?”

“I would fight till I could fight no more,” the youth replied.

“And so it should be,” the elder Fox told him. “As bad-tempered as your mother might be, I would lay my life down for her without a thought for it, as I am sure you would yourself.”

Leire nodded. As a Viking, he was very familiar with the concept of ‘duty’.

Clay came back to consciousness with the recognition of an on and off again flashing of dim lights behind his eyelids. He had been dreaming about dancing Foxes. The creatures, not exactly like the foxes seen in the zoo, had been dancing around a huge bonfire. As they passed, the light of the fire was cut off, causing each to be in total silhouette like an eclipse of the sun. Each silhouette was stranger than the next. They danced wildly; but they danced in silence.

Opening his eyes, he saw streetlamps moving past at a good rate of speed. Windshield wipers slowly thumped back and forth as a steady downpour attempted to obscure the driver’s vision. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed that the seat next to him was as far forward as he had ever seen any driver’s seat moved. It was also much higher, giving the smallish person driving a normal view over his steering wheel. Realizing his hands were occupied, he looked down and found the small clay fox still cradled there.

“Where am I?” he mumbled.

“You had a bit of a nasty fall in the repository,” replied the driver. “I was going to take you to the hospital, but after examining your wound, I made the diagnosis that you’ll be just fine.”

“Umphhh,” the businessman muttered. He adjusted his position, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes?”

“What?”

“Oh, I thought you said my name. You do remember who I am, yes?”

“I think so. You’re the head fellow at the museum.”

The little man reached to his left and adjusted the air conditioning, the switch for which was on a special panel mounted close at hand on the door. “Quite right. Do you remember my name? I ask this for medical reasons; testing your response and memory.”

“Monkle… I think.”

“Quite right again. If you had responded ‘monkey’ I would certainly have turned us around and headed to said hospital. Head wounds can be nasty and unpredictable.”

“Where are you taking me if not to the hospital?”  Clay reached up and tenderly felt the lump on his forehead.

“There is something I thought you might like to see.”

“Which is?”

“Viking site 1327”

“Just like that and you’re going to take me out to the actual site? What time is it?”

The diminutive driver looked at a clock glowing on the dash. “Nine PM exactly. We are fairly well on time.”

“I have business to attend to in the morning,” Clay mumbled as he looked out of his window at the passing countryside.

“Your business appointment has been postponed. I hope you don’t mind too greatly, but from what you told me as I was getting you into the car, it was a bad move for your company in any case.”

“I told you that? I don’t remember having any second thoughts. As I recall, they were treating me well enough, but not so well it would indicate anything suspicious.”

“In any case,” the little man told him, changing the subject slightly, “The future is changeable as it hasn’t happened yet… the past, however is not since it has already happened.”

“I think there’s something you’re leaving out.”

“Really? Like what?” His voice was very cheery.

Clay cleared his throat, and then said, “The girl.”

“What girl?”

“You know damned well what girl!” he replied a little too loudly. He then groaned and placed a hand to his head trying to sooth the pain caused by his sudden exertion.

The little man looked over at the larger and said softly, “You mean Vixon?”

The spoken name was like an electric shock emanating directly from the artifact. Clay jerked upright, and his free hand automatically went from his head to the little clay fox clutched to his chest. His grip on the small statue tightened protectively.

“Would you like to meet her?” the archeologist asked softly.

“Yes.”

Professor Umf Monkle was reminded of another time, and the answer had been exactly the same. That time he had asked, ‘Do you love her?’ Watching the road ahead, he asked it again now.

“Do you love her?”

There was no hesitation in Clay’s response.

“Yes.” There was a moment’s silence, and the big man looked to the smaller, “At least… if she were real I’m sure I would love her. This is all so very strange.”

In the quiet moment that passed, both their faces flickered from light to shadow, light to shadow as the car continued on its way. One man was considering what he should do, while the other reflected on disconnected memories that could not possibly be his.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” the driver finally asked. “There’s a pretty good diner not far from here, and it’s on the way. Perhaps I might shed some light upon the shadows I know must be in your mind.”

Clay looked over at the professor. Part of him refused to understand what the little man had meant; and then again, there was another part of him that longed for an explanation.

“Sure… why not?”

News of the attack on the village was brought by one of the Fox clan who had been out hunting.

Leire was wrestling with his son, now eight years old and quite a handful. While with his father, he always remained in human form out of respect, but when alone with his mother or grandmother he remained as a Fox. For his age, he had a good understanding of who he was.

They paused in their tussle, and Leire made a movement which caused his son to jump in surprise. The boy was easily swept into a bear hug by his father. “You are a Rev,” Leire admonished the child, his mouth close to the boy’s ear. “Always remember… ‘Be startled by nothing.’”

Kleng (Claw) had had a twin brother, but sadly the birthing did not go well. As the Fox will, they treated this still born child with the full dignity due a Fox regardless of the fact that he had never taken a breath. While his mother tended to his living brother, his father observed the task of burial which, for the Fox, was very private. Leire’s privilege as father was to attend to this in solitude. The child’s grave, as all Fox graves are, would be unmarked and secret.

As Kleng stood solemnly next to his father, Leire received the news of the attack with a grave look.

“Though the village is closed tightly,” the other Fox told him, “The Fin host will undoubtedly burn the walls down on the morrow. They have fought now for a week and are impatient for a victory. Destruction of the entire village will be meant as a lesson to those who would oppose them next.”

“What is it they seek?” Kleng asked in his innocence.

The other Fox laughed harshly, “What humans always want little Fox… whatever does not belong to them.”

“We must help,” Leire said flatly.

“We must not,” said a voice behind him.

Turning, he found Annbjorg standing rigidly straight and glaring at him. “When you married into the Fox clan, you swore to live as a Fox,” she declared, pointing her walking stick at his chest in emphasis. “Human things do not concern us, nor do they concern you any longer.”

“I am still a human, Mother Fox. My own mother lives in that village. She and the rest have finally made their peace with us. She even gave her special blessing to Kleng. He is her grandchild and her own flesh. Look also at the steel fish hooks the smith made special just for you. It is my duty to help, and yours in the hand of that friendship.”

Annbjorg spat upon the ground. “We owe them nothing. You go if you feel so strongly about dying, but Kleng and my daughter stay behind.”

“The Fin host is a hundred strong and all veteran warriors by the look of them,” said the Fox who had brought the news. “There is nothing to be done now Leire except for us to stand back and watch.”

The Viking turned to this Fox, and simply replied, “I cannot.”

“I will call for a Skulk,” said a new voice loudly. “This is a complex issue and must be discussed among the many.”

As Leire turned to look at her, Kleng ran to his mother. Their eyes met, and there was sadness in both.

“And so a hero stepped forward,” Professor Monkle said over his cup of tea. “In a time when there was nothing modern in the world, save the creation of steel, life and death rode their steeds shoulder to shoulder Mr. Fox. Leire Rev chose to ignore both in order to do what he must. Because of this he is legend. It is also the reason Odin granted his mate’s request to be re-born with him in his next life.”

“That’s a nice tale,” Clay told him, having now fully recovered from his feelings of grogginess. “But you don’t really expect me to believe it? As you said, the story has always been filed under ‘myth’ right along with all the Norse gods you’ve probably studied.”

The little man slowly placed his cup upon its saucer and then gave the larger man a very serious look. “Archeologist and historians have searched for this grave site for a long long time, but it was not discovered until the day of your birth. I know this because I checked your driver’s license when you were unconscious.” He raised a hand when Clay began to protest. “I needed the information ‘in case’ I had to take you to hospital. The discovery of the grave on the day of your birth, Mr. Fox, was not an accident; it was by intelligent design.”

“And how can you qualify that statement?” the businessman asked, slipping back into his business like ways, now feeling just a bit violated.

The little man chuckled. “Qualification is simple my friend; the man who died that day was you.”

Clay’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment he could think of nothing to say. Finally he managed, “You’re out of your bloody mind.”

Professor Monkle held up one finger. “So it might seem, but trust me when I tell you I am not.” Before Clay could protest, he continued, “The finality of belief is up to you, and I will leave it at that. You hold the clay fox do you not?”

“Yes, and so? I also have a wallet someone else peeked in to, and a business requiring my attention. Those two things at least, are not old Norse fairytales, they are hard facts.”

The professor wiggled about on his plastic child’s seat trying not to show his frustration. Less than an hour ago the man sitting across from him was very eager to hear what he had to say. Now, it was as if the ‘belief button’ inside his soul had moved from acceptance back to the ‘modern’ thoughts about religion and simply clicked to the ‘off’ position.

“If I was not so absolutely sure that you were one and the same as Leire Rev,” he said acidly, trying to rekindle what was there before, “I would never have let you hold her. You met Vixon. You told me she slipped her hand into yours; so you tell me if the story is real. She found you; not I. Reach out to her now; her very soul is here within the clay fox you now hold.”

Clay placed a hand upon the bump on his head. “I’m beginning to think I was delusional. Maybe I had a whiff of preservatives or some other chemical back at the museum. Maybe someone even slipped me something intending to make me a pushover for tomorrow’s meeting. Maybe that knock on the head did me some good after all.” He paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t know. It was an incredible feeling, I’ll give you that.” He gently sat the clay fox on the table with his other hand and looked at it. His expression was suddenly very sad, as if his heart was breaking. He had so wanted her to be real. “It all felt so true Professor… so very real.”

“What did?”

“How she made me feel. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“That’s why you absolutely must let go of the here and now, and simply believe what I’ve just told you,” the professor implored him.

“Why?”

The smaller man’s patience finally came to an end. It was if he was now dealing with a petulant child who could only see what mattered to himself and to no one else.

“Why?! Because you love her you unbelieving twit. There are things in this world larger than yourself and your damned business. Money is not God! Odin is God, and He Himself deemed this should be so! You have always loved her and she has been waiting for you nigh on to 1200 years. Would you be so selfish that you would turn your face from her? Together, your bodies have been wrapped in the arms of Jord. Would you simply turn your back and walk away after finding her again after such a long time?”

Clay looked as if he was in a saddened daze. His expression, as he looked at the clay fox, did not reflect any of the other man’s outrage. “And Jord would be?”

“Thor’s mother,” the professor told him, now totally exasperated. “She is the believed to have been Earth Herself. Even without believing in the things I’ve told you; why after so long would Jord give up your grave? It was in the middle of absolutely nowhere.”

“Ask the earth moving machine that found it,” the business man replied with finality. Picking up his coffee cup, he finished what was left and then put it back on the table. As the waitress attempted to refill it, he flagged her off. “Ok Professor Monkle, it’s been nice, but no more fairytales. We better be getting back; I’ve got a long day tomorrow, and you’ll want to get this artifact back into its case before something happens to it.”

There was a tremendously bright flash and an immediate clap of thunder. The window next to their booth rattled hard enough to threaten breakage. The lights in the restaurant went out and a second later the dim glow of the emergency lights flickered on to the groans of the few patrons.

“Damn that was close,” the businessman said.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the double wide glass entrance doors were pushed inwards by a huge surely looking man. He was wearing a chromed Viking’s helmet, biker leathers, and carried a huge hammer which dangled from one wrist by a strip of braided leather.

“I don’t think that will be a possibility now,” Professor Monkle intoned softly. He then rose to stand upon his child’s seat. Turning to meet the biker, he said, “Hail Thor. I’m glad you could come. Things are well with you I hope?”

The biker, complete with a huge drooping blonde mustache, ignored the little man’s proffered hand. “Is this him?” he asked roughly.

“Yes.”

The biker reached out and grabbed Clay by the ear, pulled him roughly from his seat. Clay tried to take a swing at him when he was clear of the table but was easily dodged. He was in turn was hit with a head butt, and he staggered backwards. Before he could recover, he found himself in a hand lock. “I think you are much out of practice Rev,” the biker told him, and then laughed harshly at his own joke. “Ve go now, you und I… und if you make trouble I vill use the hammer.”

“I’ll meet you there then?” Professor Monkle asked cheerily.

“Sure… fine… you du that.”

And then the two men were out the front door and into the rain.

The Skulk, this time, was much different than the one when Leire was accepted by the clan. This night he was to ask the Fox clan to go against their own natural laws. All who came this night were very somber and the bonfire was much lower than before, reflecting the mood.

“My name is Leire Rev,” he began formally. “You all know who I am. When we are done at this Skulk, I will go and attack the Fin horde. They have beset my people and it is my duty to come to their aid.”

“Is it your duty to die as well?” asked the harsh voice of Annbjorg Rev. She stood and faced him as she spoke.

“I do not go to die,” he told her strongly.

“And the sea does not come to crash upon the shore… but it does. You do not even own a weapon as such things are forbidden the Fox; so how will you fight the Fin?”

Leire shifted nervously in front of the Skulk’s fire. He had not even considered this. Other than his knife, he had no weapon at all.

“I will take him to de underjordiske,” said his father-in-law, coming to stand by the Viking’s side. “We will petition their help, and I will speak with Umf Monkle on my son’s behalf. They have the finest steel in existence, and I will ask that they give my son a great war axe.”

“War,” Annbjorg hissed and then spat upon the ground, “Now you speak as you did in your old ways… ways that you swore to forsake. You will do no such thing and you will mind your place husband.”

The old Fox stood straight and looked back defiantly. “Before we mated, my darling wife, I too was Viking. I understand my son’s need. Were these my people, and had I stayed human, I would feel the same.”

Leire Rev, the man, now stood even taller than he had, if that were possible. “Foxes… Hear me. You are great archers. Lend your skill to me that the enemy might not be as many when I make my attack.”

There was a buzz of talk among the Fox clan. Asmand was motioned to by a small group of five hunters that had gathered together, and he went to them. A discussion commenced. In a few moments time an agreement was reached with a nodding of heads.

Turning, Asmand addressed the Skulk. “We six shall lend our arrows to Leire. It is agreed that we will not leave the protection of the forest, but will cut down those on guard so that our Leire may have an unfettered path to those who would kill his people. This much, and only this much, can we do.”

As soon as he made this announcement, Annbjorg turned and stalked off. One by one, except for the six, the other foxes followed.

Clay found himself on the back of a huge chromium steel motorcycle hurling down the rain drenched highway. The monster bike had no mufflers and it was loud enough to be deafening. As they ran, Thor pointed his hammer at various objects and cried out, “BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….’ Upon which a bolt of lightning would crackle forth from its steel head towards the intended target. The resulting thunder blended smoothly with the roar of the exhaust pipes.

The bike took a sickening lurch, seemed to slide in an ‘S’ pattern, and then the road noise quickly faded.

“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….”

And in the flash, the man on the back of the bike saw a forest of trees below them; one of which split in two as it was hit by the lightning bolt.

Within minutes they were above the clouds and the rain ceased to exist. There was no moon, and the stars were the brightest Clay had ever witnessed. Thor pointed his hammer below them.

“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….”  

A bolt emanated from the hammer and lit the clouds with a flash so bright Clay’s eyes hurt. The sound of the thunder, however, was far in the distance, rolling around inside the huge thunder head.

“So we are a myth?!” the man on the front of the bike yelled back at him. The noise of the wind rushing past them nearly obliterated the words but at the same time swept away the exhaust noise with it.

“That’s not what I meant,” Clay shouted back at him.

“No?”

He again pointed the hammer.

“BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….”

Lightning flashed out, down, and away.

“It sounded pretty positive to me,” Thor roared. “Perhaps maybe I should pull over to the curb so you can change your mind again, ja?” He then laughed harshly.

“Where are you taking me?” The business man yelled at the biker’s ear.

“None of your BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt business,” he yelled back, his big mustache waving in the wind.

“Why are you doing this?” Clay shouted back, now rubbing his eyes with a free hand while hanging on for dear life with the other.

“Not because of you,” the god replied, pointing his hammer again.

BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….

“If it was up to me I’d push you off just to watch you splatter on the…”

BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….

“ground. I made a promise on your wife’s deathbed…”

BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….

“and I keep my word unlike certain…”

BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….

“puny humans.”

The air was becoming cold, and when Thor now called forth the lightning, his breath caused white vapors. Thor pointed his hammer. “Behold Valhalla modern human,” he sneered loudly, “Another Myth, ja?!”

Asmand Rev approached the huge tree with as much reverence as he could possibly muster. “Oh great and wise people… those of the in between worlds, I ask this night a great favor for my son-in-law Leire Rev.”

There was a soft coughing sound from behind the tree and a smallish head poked out. “Asmand, is that you? Things must be desperate for you to come this late in the evening. Is your vixen well?”

“As cranky as ever, friend Umf, but otherwise well.”

The little man chuckled, and then appeared to pull himself from the tree trunk. “Barring the late hour, how can I be of assistance Friend Fox?”

Asmand quickly explained what they were about. Umf became very serious. “The gods might not agree with what you wish to do. Have you prayed?”

“No… there is not time. Besides, we six are committed. What will happen to us is of no concern.”

“I see.” In a lower voice he asked, “And what shall become of Leire?”

Asmand stood as tall as he could. “He will die. That much he understands.”

“And your daughter?”

“Will do as she must.”

Umf Monkle was not happy with any of this. The Fox people were his friends. They had laws to live by which prevented such human stupidities… but sometimes, he knew, laws had to be broken.

Looking to Leire, he asked, “Have you a weapon?”

“No.”

“Wait here, I will be but a moment.”

Professor Monkle stood next to his huge SUV. It made him look even smaller than he was. Punching the button on his wristwatch, he saw that it was 5:35 AM. The sun would not be up for another hour yet, but they were fast running out of time. Time, that is, in the worldly sense. To the de underjordiske, time was a fluid tool to be used. His world was not exactly the same as this world, which was not exactly the same as the world of the gods. His world was a separate entity all together, and from it, he had the ability to visit any time era in this that he pleased. He did not time travel because it was a fun thing to do; it was a necessity. His world had nothing to subsist upon, having collapsed in upon itself to the point that his people were all that was left. It contained no life; no plants, no creatures’ great and small…nothing. It was totally barren, and yet they could not permanently leave. They were trapped and merely using the means at hand to survive. For this reason, the de underjordiske relied upon this world to raise their food. It was how they came to be known by the Viking peoples.

Very faintly in the distance, he heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine. “It’s about time,” he grumbled, and then smiled as the realization of what he muttered struck home.

Within moments, Thor rode into view and stopped near the SUV. Clay Fox, the man everything now centered upon, was still clinging to the back of the bike. His business suit was soaking  wet, and terribly wrinkled, but otherwise he appeared in relatively good shape. Their eyes met, but the smaller man could not read anything from the larger’s expression.

Killing his engine, the huge god of war kicked out the bikes stand, and then growled at Clay to get off. When it was clear to do so, he stood and let the bike tip to a rest. Umf Monkle walked over to him and stood next to his leg.

“What did you do to him?” he asked softly, not taking his eyes off of Clay.

He shrugged. “I gave him a ride to Valhalla and let him meet some of the kin.”

“Really? Any messages?”

Thor cracked his knuckles, and then his neck with several loud pops. “Well, let’s see. Off the top of my head, Hermoor (Thor’s brother), Loki (god of mischief), and Mani (god of the moon) say hello. Loki caught me with that stupid palm buzzer again when we shook hands. His sense of humor will never change I suppose. Hlin (goddess of consolation) says she’s sorry, but for what I have no idea.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s always sorry about something so that makes no never mind. Lofn (goddess of love) and Frigg (goddess of marriage) think this is a wonderful thing you’re doing, while Vor (goddess of wisdom) agreed it’s a good idea. That’s a good thing since she is the goddess of wisdom. Even Father respects her advice. Last,” he chuckled, “Hoenir (the silent god) doesn’t say anything… but then again he never does.”

Umf chuckled at the joke Thor made about Hoenir. “What about Odin?”

Thor sighed and swung his leg over the bike’s gas tank and then sat tiredly upon its seat. “Loki says that Father is distressed that ‘modern’ times have so totally erased his memory from the thoughts of the humans.”

“Technology has become their god now, my friend. He knew this would happen long ago. What use do they have for those who would help when they can do it themselves; or so they think. What did Odin do with our friend here?”

Thor coughed, and spat. “He wouldn’t see us. Bastard kicked me out like I was a brown eyed stepchild and said to take the human with me. Humans in the flesh are not supposed to be in Valhalla, so he was a bit pissed about our little sojourn.”

“That’s fair, I suppose. He is Odin after all, and He does have rules. Did He at least leave instructions? What do I need to do?”

“Take us there.”

“Exactly where?”

“Loki was the bearer of Odin’s instructions. I asked the exact same question, to which he did a really good imitation of the Old Man, saying, ‘To where the little fucking underjordiske broke my rules.’ He then throws his hands in the air and cries out, ‘Odin’s words, not mine.’ I think he believed I was going to pop him one with the hammer. Odin’s personal message to you was that ‘He has found it in his heart to forgive you.’ Unless I am mistaken,” he paused to spit, “You knew that a long time ago.”

Umf smiled at the muscle bound biker god, but did not confirm the suspicion. Instead, he said, “Not all rules are good rules Thor.”

The god harrumphed. “Whenever I said that, Father Odin handed me my butt in a wicker basket. THEY’RE MY RULES,” the god yelled, leaning towards the dramatic, “AND BY ME YOU WILL OBEY THEM!”

Both men laughed, and then turned to Clay, who had remained standing next to the bike, ominously quiet.

“Hoenir got your tongue, human?” Thor asked him sarcastically.

Clay raised his arms into the air, and then cried out, “BJEZERNFTTTttttttttt….” His booming voice was soaked up by the forest and Thor laughed at his imitation… that is, until his hammer spurted a lightning bold that engulfed both him and Umf Monkle. It danced around them, lighting the entire forest. There was an immediate clap of thunder. The god dropped his hammer from shear surprise and it landed with a thud on his foot. He swore a long string of oaths as he danced around.

When he was able to control himself, he yelled up at the sky, “I SUPPOSE YOU THINK THAT WAS FUNNY! WHEN I GET BACK TO VALHALLA LOKI… I’M GOING TO… I’M GOING TO… Oh Hel (goddess of the underworld)… it was funny wasn’t it?”

“Oh my,” Umf muttered as he blinked his eyes, trying to rid himself of the dancing spots, “I didn’t see that one coming at all.” He then laughed softly. “It was pretty funny actually.”

Thor snorted. “Best you take us there before I am tempted to do something I will regret.”

Professor Monkle calmly came to Clay Fox, and looked up at him.

“Do you now know who you are, and that everything I have told you is the truth?”

“Yes,” he responded.

The next question was almost a whisper. “Do you love her?”

“With all my heart.”  He tried to say something else but the words would not come. Finally, with Umf patiently standing and waiting, he managed, “We had a son… his name was Kleng.”

The little man nodded, placed his hand on the larger’s and told him it was all right. He understood. With that, he reached into his coat and removed a small object covered in a cloth napkin. Handing it to Clay, he told him, “I believe this belongs to you.”

The big man accepted it without words, and then held it close.

“You know then what was,” Umf said to him, “So now I must tell you what must be.” He paused, watching the large man’s face closely. “Are you ready to die?”

There was not the briefest of hesitation in the reply. “Yes.”

Clay heard the sounds of heavy machinery. It was almost deafening. Opening his eyes, he found they were no longer in the forest, but inside an almost indescribable place of moving cogs and spinning gears. The closest he might have come to a description for what he saw was ‘giant clock’.

Umf had the three of them hold hands as he approached a huge Elm tree near where the vehicles were parked. The tree had to be at least five hundred years old. Reaching out with his free hand, he placed it upon the tree’s trunk. ‘Hello old friend” he said softly, and the tips of his fingers appeared to disappear into the tree. Within a moment, all three men had disappeared. When they came out on the other side, it was broad daylight and the tree they emerged from was little more than a sapling.

Umf lost no time in walking them to another tree and the process was repeated. Two more times they moved ‘through’ different trees, until they came into the ‘clock’. Smallish people moved all around them, servicing the machinery. These smallish folk paid them as little attention as if they were not even there. One of them did come to Umf Monkle and yelled as loud as he could, “I still think it’s a bad idea! Odin is not going to be happy with us!”

Umf nodded, and then cupping his hands around his mouth, shouted back, “You said that when we began, it’s only fitting that you say it again. The circle is almost complete now old friend; there’s no turning back. Is the axe ready?”

The other man gave him a thumbs up.

“Give us a moment and we’ll be ready,” Umf shouted.

“Take fifty years if you want,” the other man yelled back, and then winked, “You’ll still be right where you need to be. That much we know.”

Leire stood in the darkness of the forest with the six Foxes, waiting. For their part, each was now seated and going over their arrows. In the darkness they carefully fingered the tail feathers, and tested the razor sharp steel heads. If one was wanting, it was quietly honed with a small stone. Each Fox carried twenty five arrows. This was the entire wealth of the Fox clan.

Soft arms wrapped around his waist and he was hugged from behind.

“I love you Vixon,” he said softly.

There was the softest of sobs, and then she replied, “And I love you my husband.”

“We will be together always,” he told her, reaching down and holding her paws with his hands.

“Yes,” she told him, “That is my wish as well.”

Neither of them wanted to face the other at that moment. To do so would cause tears and crying… and regret. Though she wanted to with all of her heart, it was not possible to tell her husband he could not do this. In this she was called to follow Viking ways, as she had promised him she would even though she was a Fox.

Clay now stood with Umf Monkle in a quiet area next to what would be the last doorway into a young world and its ever growing population of humans. He was naked, and the smaller man was dressed as he had been when he knew Leire Rev. The sounds of ‘the clock’ were now far behind them.

“How do you do it?” the large man asked of the smaller.

“How do I do what?” Umf responded calmly as they waited for the others to arrive.

“Go back and forth in time the way you do.”

The little man smiled. It’s easier than you think. It’s the trees Mr. Fox… the very trees which humans have been destroying from the beginning. Every tree carries with it the history of where it is within itself. Cut a tree down and what do you find?”

“Growth rings?”

Umf smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Fox, rings… and each a portal to the very year it was created.

“What will happen when I pass through this doorway?”

“We believe you will become one with yourself,” the little man explained again patiently.

“He won’t know I’m there?”

“We don’t know for sure,” he replied softly, “This has never before been done. You were then…” he said nodding to the door, “And you were then…” and he motioned with is chin back in the direction of the ‘clock’.

“And Vixon?”

“It is best that you wait and see.”

“And the clay fox?”

“Thor has it. When the time is right, you will see it again.”

Finally Leire could stand it no longer. Turning to his wife, he faced her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. As soon as he did this, his body went rigid. He felt as though an ice cold finger had caressed his neck. For one brief second, his heart stopped and then began again. He staggered slightly, but caught himself.

Clay breathed in and smelled the clean smell of a new forest all around him. There was no pollution and the air was oxygen rich. The night was pitch black but even with no moon the area was dimly illuminated by the brightness of the stars. Looking up he saw more of them than he ever imagined possible.

“Are you well my husband?” he heard a female voice ask. She had not spoken English, and yet he understood her. He realized, too, that he could smell her as well and the scent caused sparks within his mind. His knees felt weak.

“I am fine,” he heard himself growl.

Though Leire felt he had just been touched by death, he said nothing to his wife, lest he distress her more than she already was. For him it was an omen. Silently he prayed to Odin that he be able to complete his task before giving up his life.

“Ho,” Asmand said softly. “Friend Umf Monkle returns.”

The other Foxes slowly stood, and gathered near. As they all watched, the head of an enormous axe protruded from the trunk of the tree. It was carried by no less than five of the underjordiske, each holding on to its long handle. They brought it to the Viking. Umf Monkle was the first of the five.

“We bring you this Leire Rev,” he said quietly. “It is not a weapon, but a tool, and thus does not break our oath to Odin. It is called ‘The Five Stroke Axe’ by my people, because it is so sharp an able man, such as yourself, might fell a tree with just five stokes.”

Leire reached down and grimly accepted the gift. “I take this from you Friend Umf Monkle so that I may build my home. For each tree I fell, I promise I will plant again five, each to be a prayer for your people.”

“That is a fair exchange,” the little man replied. “We could ask for no more than that.”

The Fin invaders had camps in the four corners of the log walls belonging to Leire’s village. All the crops that had been left in the fields for harvest had long since been trampled under. It was well past the mid of the night, and the Viking guessed the sun would be up in about two hours. This was well, because it was the time when men slept their deepest.

All around the small fortress and just outside of arrow range were lit huge bonfires. In between the bonfires the Fox could see sentries. Some of these warriors were standing still, while others were walking slowly back and forth in an attempt to stay awake.

True to their word, the Fox killed these men quickly and silently.

True to his word, Leire, when the sentries were dead, calmly and quietly in the way of the Fox, walked to the first of the four encampments and began the killing.

Within the first encampment, Clay watched as sleeping men were cleaved in two or decapitated where they lay. As Leire walked away from this ‘now’ unholy ground of slaughter, he had to stop and rub his hands with dirt so the axe handle would not slip from his grip.

The slaughter within the second encampment began in the same way, but now the men were waking, and three managed to put up a fight. Leire was cut, several times. Of the three who fought, one lost his arm at the shoulder complete with the sword, the second lost both legs, and the third was split in two from head to hips. The blow cut straight through the wooden shield he sought to hide behind.

Leire was now completely covered in blood. In the fire light he looked more like a demon from the frozen lands of Nifiheim (hell).

A man in the third encampment, just roused from his slumbers, raised his bow and took aim at the approaching menace. Two Fox arrows sprouted from his back and he fell face forward. The alarm was now sounded and all twenty of the men were scrambling for their weapons. Leire fell upon them in their confusion, swinging the great axe until his arms hurt. Several of the men ran to the last encampment, warning the others to ready themselves. By now the sentries on the village walls were yelling for all they were worth. ‘Thor,’ they yelled… ‘It was Thor come to rescue them from the Fin’. Because of this, it did not occur to them that they should open the doors and attack. Thor was a god and certainly required no help from humans.

Leire had never felt such pain. His heart felt as if it would jump out of his chest, and every breath he took was fire. He had lost much blood and the forth encampment was yet two hundred yards distance. Though his brain hardly thought about it, his legs worked to carry him there. The Viking, still true to his promise that he would fight in silence, stopped only to place the axe over his shoulder for a better carry.

“I know you are there,” he said softly to the night. “Tell me who you are that I may thank you for staying with me. It is good not… to be … alone.” Leire stumbled, but caught himself.

Clay heard these words, and thought before he made his response. “I am you,” he replied, and he heard the same voice through the same ears. He also saw the same billowing breath as he spoke.

The Leire part of him laughed and the laugh was bitter sounding. “I Am You… Leire Rev thanks you for…” he stopped walking, and swayed. It was the loss of blood and shear tiredness. “I can’t…” said the voice. “Why do not the village people come?” He turned his head slightly and watched the cheering people on the walls. “I have failed,” he said, “I am not a Rev.”

Clay was suddenly angry. “You can’t fail now,” he said strongly, and the voice echoed his words. “That is not how the story ends.”

“I Am You… you speak to me in riddles. There is a story, yes, but it ends badly.” His body staggered as Leire attempted to again walk. “I will be killed by these last men, and they will cut my body into pieces. They will then fling those pieces at the village walls for having killed their brethren as they slept.”

“We can do this,” Clay told him. “Be startled by nothing Leire Rev,” he warned, and for the first time he lifted the weight of the man that was him as a weight lifter will pull up in a clean-and-jerk. “Total concentration on the goal always wins the day,” he whispered, fixing his eyes on the distant camp. The pain he now felt was the worse thing he had ever felt in his entire life.

Leire’s body straightened itself with a groan. “We can do this,” the Viking repeated loudly, and his words caused a billow of moisture clouds.

Taking the huge axe from his shoulder, the Viking and the businessman together ran head on into the final Fin encampment where thirty armed men awaited them.

Their cuts were so numerous that in the end, their body was as pale as fresh snow, and yet they fought on. As the final Fin stood to face them, his spear found a bare chest, and was forced straight through. With an inhuman effort, Leire/Clay pushed with all they had left, forcing the length of the spear’s shaft through their body, closing the distance so the axe was able to sever this warrior’s head from his shoulders.

As the sun peeked over the horizon beginning another day… all was suddenly still in the crisp morning air. The Viking’s legs buckled and he slumped into a seated position on top of three Fin bodies that had fallen on top of each other. The spear, making contact with the ground, kept him in an upright position.

There were no sirens… nor ambulances. There was only silence as Alfordull (god of the sun)  raised the sun until it broached the horizon. Even the morning winds were still. The sun actually stood up a good hand’s space into the sky before the villagers found the courage to disturb what they thought was Thor’s peaceful rest after a battle well fought.

Leire/Clay found himself standing near; watching the remnants of the morning. No one among the villagers saw him. From the forest, too, came the Fox clan. They slowly mingled with the humans as they stood around the lone body of Leire Rev.

The mood of joy, at the thought of Thor coming to their rescue, was shattered when they realized what had happened.

Vixon, holding the paw of their son, pushed her way through the crowd until she saw what she saw; her dead husband, still holding the handle of his great axe and propped up by the shaft of a spear. Straightening her back, and her resolve, she said loudly, “I wish my husband to be buried in his people’s tradition.”

Leire’s mother, now older, and even more wizened than she had been, asked through her tears, “You will sleep then with your husband?”

“Yes,” Vixon whispered in response, and then turned away unable to look upon the carnage any longer.

All of the villagers stood straight and parted for her to pass… paying her honor that she would request such a thing.

Clay called out to her, but she did not hear him. He moved behind her and placed a hand upon her shoulder; but there was no touch.

“You are to wait for her,” said a strong voice.

Clay turned to find a very different Thor looking at him. The god was dressed in animal skins, and thought he still carried his hammer; his helmet was a crude steel and wood construction. It did not even possess the wings found in most Viking lore pictures.

“Your feathers are missing,” the businessman said flatly.

Thor understood that the man was still in shock from having died. “Those come later Venn Clay, as does my chromed monstrosity.” He smiled a small smile of reassurance. “Besides… they both are really only good for sissies and comic book heroes.”

“Why can’t anyone see me?”

“Because you are dead.”

“But… this all happened so long ago,” he said, looking around at the carnage he had wrought.

“Ja… it did. Und you are here… now… so it too happened to you. Now you will come with me.”

“Can she see you?”

“Ja.”

“Would you tell her something for us?”

“No… I am not…”

“Please… just tell her we love her.”

“You must say that ‘I’ love her Mr. Fox,” said another less bass voice.

Thor bowed low, and did not look up.

Clay turned around to find another man in similar garb to Thor’s, but without the helmet. He was only of medium build, where Thor was large and well muscled. He had a salt and pepper beard and hair but of a shorter length, and he carried himself as a Chieftain would.

“Go to the people and to the Fox now Thor. Make your presence known. I will take this one with me.”

“Yes Father.”

The man took Clay by the arm and gently led him away from where he stood. “Thor’s a good son,” he told him, “But I’ve always thought he favored his mother. She too is a good woman, Jord (Earth), with a good sense of humor. That’s why Thor reins over thunder; she gave him his hammer as a constant reminder to me that he is her son; as if I could forget.”

 A feeling of peacefulness descended upon the businessman, and as they walked he took in a huge breath which, stopping to bend double, he exhaled in small sobbing sounds.

“It’s all right…” the other man told him, keeping a hand upon his elbow. “Let it all out. You deserve that much. You saved a lot of lives last night. What you did is what legends are made of.”

The sobs now wracked his body. The Chieftain never left his side. When he could, he stood again. “I killed people,” he managed to say.

“Yes, you did, but they would have killed you if they could have. It was not a fight you began and you sought only to protect your family and people. Any living creature would have done the same, even the Fox.”

They began walking again. “Where are you taking me?” Clay finally asked, blinking his eyes and looking around.

“We’re just walking for the moment. Are you better now?”

“A little, thank you. Could you tell me, please, what just happened here?”

The sun was now well up in the sky, and moving in quick time across the sky. They were standing in the middle of the fields outside the village, and as they spoke two men, carrying another man’s body, passed by them.

“You came from over there,” the Chieftain said pointing at the forest. “The Fox killed the sentries for you. Normally I would be very angry with them, but this one time I am not.”

“Why would you be angry?”  Clay asked.

“Because it is against My rules for the Fox to slay people.”

“Why are you not angry then?”

“Because I choose not to be. I made the rules; for me to ignore them every once in awhile is not such a bad thing.”

“Ignore the rules…” Clay repeated softly, feeling very confused. Who was this man?

“Yes. It’s easy. Most times I simply pretend I didn’t see anything. In this case, I did see… and I approved what I saw. I am here to honor you by fulfilling the wish of your wife. By doing so I am breaking one of My foremost rules of all.”

“And what rule would that be?” Clay asked him.

The other man smiled and placed a hand upon his back in a friendly manner. “Dead is dead.”

In the manner of things, Vixon was honored in the ways of the Viking, but out of respect for the Fox, she was allowed to prepare for her death in her own fashion. Her mother combed out her fur until it was impeccable. As much as the old Fox wanted to, she would not cry. Her father then presented her with the dress that she would wear. It was of the very same dress she had worn when she first met her husband. Leire’s mother even gave her the necklace from around her own neck.

Through all of this, Clay and the Chieftain walked and observed. As they passed the cook fires, this Chieftain asked if Clay wished to eat or to drink.

“The dead do not require this,” he responded, and the other man nodded his head in understanding.

There was much feasting by night, and much work by day as the sepulcher was prepared. Until this was ready, Leire’s body was kept in a special tent which was frequently visited by everyone present in both drunk and sober conditions. His huge axe was with him, having been cleaned and sharpened by the village smith. This man had specially laid it by his side with many prayers to the gods of his forge.

Though the arms belonging to the Fins were neatly stacked within the grave, their bodies were unceremoniously burned during the course of the second night in a huge bonfire.

On the third day, Leire was finally laid to rest within the sepulture. Vixon, kissing her son goodbye, accepted the small gift he held out to her. “It’s a wishing fox,” he whispered to her as she took it from him.

Placing her lips near his soft furry ears, she whispered back, “Then I wish upon this fox to come back with your father when he is born again to this world.”

A large body suddenly shadowed them from the sun, and both looked up. Bending low, Thor told them both, “Father Odin has heard your wish, and so shall it be.”

Without further comment, he stood tall again. He was personally to escort her to the grave. Vixon’s mother walked by her side and Leire’s mother followed them. These two would both bear witness to her death. The village Smith, in the absence of Leire’s father, was chosen to perform the strangulation. The entire village and the clan of the Fox looked on in absolute silence.

Within the confines of this final resting place, Vixon was helped to lie next to her husband. In the light of the single guttering tallow lamp, she was beautiful. Kissing the small clay fox, she handed it to her mother and then nodded to the smith that she was ready.

As the Smith bent over her, he whispered that he was sorry for what he had to do. Clay began to step out of the shadows. The man with him placed a hand in front of his chest, and from across the room, Thor shook his head in the negative, indicating he should not attempt to interfere.

Within a moment, it was over.

The two mothers each bent to kiss Vixon on the cheek. Annbjorg placed the clay fox between the bodies, and then, hand in hand, both women left the tomb followed by the smith.

The Chieftain with Clay came forward. Holding out his hand, he accepted the small clay fox that Thor carried with him and then asked his son to leave. When they were alone, he turned to Clay and handed him the artifact.

“Take this, and crush it,” he told the big man.

“Who are you?” Clay asked him.

The Chieftain smiled. “She has been waiting a long time for you. Who I am means nothing. The only thing that truly matters at this exact moment in time; is what you choose to do now.”

Clay opened his eyes. He was standing in front of an ancient Viking long boat on display at the museum.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look down into her eyes. They were of the deepest blue.

“The Vikings were years ahead of their contemporaries in ship building,” she told him softly, moving to his side and slipping her arm around his waist.

“It’s beautiful,” he replied in an equally soft tone. He, in turn, placed his arm around her shoulders. “I understand this one was recovered from a grave site called Viking site 1327.”

She laughed, and her voice was like music. Pointing to a small sign in front of them, she said, “So it says here in no less than five different languages.”

He pulled her into a hug. “I love you so much,” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you too,” she replied. “I have always loved you… I will always love you.”

Someone cleared their voice, and when they both turned, a smallish man bowed to them.

“I’m sorry for the interruption Mr. Fox, but your limousine is here for you.”

“Could you please send it away?” the woman asked him.

“The museum is closing madam.”

The woman stood on her tip toes and whispered in the big man’s ear. He smiled.

“Professor Monkle,” he asked, “Has the museum ever accidentally locked a visitor in at the close of the day?”

“As a matter of fact… yes, but only once. We are very careful about things like that.”

The large man smiled and gave the smaller man a wink.

“Oh… yes… absolutely,” he said in sudden understanding, “Shall I leave the lights on at a low setting?”

“Please,” the woman responded, moving across the short space to him. Kneeling in front of the professor, she gave him a hug. In his ear, she whispered, “With all my heart I thank you my dear dear Umf Monkle.”

“It has been my pleasure Vixon Rev,” he whispered back. “I was so saddened by your death, and now… now my sweet Fox, I am happy again. Odin be praised.”

“Odin be praised,” she responded.

Clay Fox… once Leire Rev… watched his wife’s back as she hugged the little man they both owed so much. He smiled when he spied her tail peeking out from under her skirt.

He couldn’t wait to introduce his ‘new’ wife to Grandfather. Wouldn’t the old man be surprised?

He chuckled, hearing the old man’s words in his mind, ‘All the way to Norway for damnable business, only to bring home such a vixen. I am happy for you Grandson.’

No… he concluded as his Vixon quietly closed the door behind their departing friend, the old man was a Fox; he would indeed be surprised by nothing at all.

end

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