I thought about my freedom as the heat began to rise and fill the air with the scent of steaming charcoal. I wondered if this doom would forever be my shadow, stalking me to the grave in a life that ultimately offered neither freedom nor security. Would I ever escape Adramelech’s choking grasp?
I stepped backward as the process of thermal conduction radiated heat throughout the hollow statue.
The child screamed.
My gut lurched. A wave of guilt flooded my consciousness, blotting out the influence of my rational mind. Instinct told me Adramelech no longer enthralled the boy, but I couldn’t be sure. And was it really worth my immortal soul?
I panicked. The entity had made me its agent of evil. This child would suffer and die because of me.
Wind swirled in the draftless room. I shivered. Ink-dark, the smoky essence slithered through the dank air and hovered before me.
Adramelech was here.
A vision of the perverted peacock appeared in my mind’s eye. The thing cackled at me. It had subverted my free will, twisting it to its own maleficent ends.
“So much for free will,” Adramelech whispered from the space in-between life and death, from a twilight realm where entities beyond the ken of humanity dwelled.
The child’s earsplitting shrieks became more urgent. The strangely sweet smell of burning flesh made my mouth water, evoking an unsettling feeling as I listened to him howl inside the statue.
“Do you recognize the child?” Adramelech hissed from the ether.
I shook my head.
“He is the orphaned son of the man you threw in the well.”
What had I done? What kind of a monster had I become?
And then the idea came to me, a spark of salvation in a sea of suffering. Adramelech had never taken away the power it had granted me.
So I possessed the boy, shouldering his agony in one final defiant display of free will, completing the circle—master becomes boy, boy becomes master, and master becomes boy again.
A serpent swallowing its own tail.
And so I burn.
The Fox, the Wolf, and the Dove
written by
Ville Meriläinen
illustrated by
David Furnal
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ville Meriläinen is a university student from Joensuu, Finland. He firmly believes death metal and its various offshoots are the ultimate art form, and seeks to capture a similar atmosphere of tragic and visceral beauty in his writing—to minimal success, owing to his penchant for fairy tale-esque stories. If he hasn’t mangled himself at a metal show the night before, he can often be found reading somewhere along the bank of the city’s river or composing violent music on a piano.
His short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Pseudopod, Strangelet Journal and Mad Scientist Journal’s Fitting In anthology, among others, and his noir fantasy novella Spider Mafia is available on Amazon.com.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
David Furnal, from San Jose, California, started drawing at an early age, gaining inspiration from comics, anime, video games, and cartoons.
David graduated from Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California in 2011, and has since been doing freelance illustration and commissions for a number of clients.
David loves to create original stories using his art, and is working on completing a graphic novel in the near future. He is happy to have the opportunity to draw and paint on a daily basis.
The Fox, the Wolf, and the Dove
Silver cut the dark ahead, lifting weary hearts with a promise of daylight. We well knew that promise was a lie, but after traversing the mountain’s veins, even the moon’s kiss was a welcome change.
Rose had been quiet since the collapsed tunnel. She kept pace ahead of Lily and me, torch in one hand and sword in the other. Lily would cry out whenever we fell behind and shadows caught our heels.
Rose was closest to adulthood, though if one looked at experience rather than years, she had become an adult long since—as had I. Only Lily, the wee-est of us, was innocent enough to still fear the dark. She sniveled beside me, gripping my hand tighter. I glanced down to find her chewing a blonde tress.
“Not much farther,” I said. “We’re almost outside.”
“I’m cold,” she groused. “It’s not going to get any better.”
“I’ll make us a fire as soon as we find shelter.”
Rose gave a side-eye at our exchange. She quickened her step and I tugged Lily along toward the gates, two iron slabs so thick I couldn’t fathom how they’d been forced open. Faded runes and animal imagery ran along the borders, replicating the story of our journey. This was the last part, where the fox, the wolf, and the dove reached the world tree and ended winter.
The conclusion was premature. Before we could celebrate like our totems in the etchings, we still had the valley to cross.
An open precipice waited beyond, buffeted by gales sloping down the mountains. I had given Lily my old leather coat, sewn with a thicker lining than Rose’s or mine. It had more patches and signs of wear, but otherwise looked much the same as ours, though it was too long for her; our hems ended above the knees, while hers reached all the way down her legs. I thought it’d offer her added warmth, but her teeth chattered even after she pulled up her hood.
Five peaks rose around the valley as if it rested on the palm of some ancestral demon. The world tree sprouted in the center of a field of ice, a primordial ash whose leafless branches touched the stars and a low-hanging moon.
“Ivy,” Rose said, beckoning me to the edge. I let go of Lily, who wouldn’t step closer for fear of being swept down and stayed huddled against the gate.
I followed a pointed finger to a massacre. A few choice words sharpened my eyesight to see weapons jutting from snow bathed vermilion. A trail led away, the stroke of a macabre brush on white canvas.
“More souls for the river,” I said.
“Do you see the remains?”
I shook my head. “They’ve been dragged off.”
“Wolves, then.”
“Or a roused bear.”
Rose grimaced. “Let’s hope not.”
Lily hung onto my back while we scaled the wall onto a ledge below. There had been steps down, once, and rock slabs shaped by ancient shamans still hung onto the cliff in places. Most had fallen.
Lily squeaked every time the wind picked up, making my foot slip when she squeezed my throat. Rose was the stronger of us and had carried her where needed for most our journey, until her heirloom blade had frozen onto her hand. I had woken up one night to find her weeping, after she had tried ripping it off and torn the skin. Blood had forged a bond fire could no longer break.
The path curved along the mountain’s tooth, walls ringing with screams trapped in the valley. Ice and wind remembered everything effaced from mortal minds and carried them for all eternity. It was among the first things Father had taught me. I knew the words to listen to the wind, and had once recited them fondly—but the gentle voice of a zephyr bending stalks of grain was a dear memory I didn’t care to sully with the pain found here. Even without a spell, I knew the language well enough for whispers to warn me.
“Rose,” I said. “They were graycoats.”
“Will they pose a threat?”
“Hunger and desperation have driven them mad.”
Lily listened to us with a frown. Ours wasn’t a complex code, but enough to hide what a six-year-old didn’t need to know. Neither she nor Rose could read, and so the secrets of the runes were mine to divulge as I saw fit. Some I shared with Lily as bedtime stories. Rose was privy to those that would’ve given Lily nightmares.
The path ended before another climb, but my limbs still ached from the first, and we had passed a cave on the way down. “Why not spend the night there?” I proposed. “I’ll seal
the entrance. We’ll be warm by dawn.”
“Won’t the mountain stifle magic?” Lily asked.
“The mountain is only stone, Lily,” Rose said. “It cares nothing for what we do. The path of pilgrims was warded, but now we’re past the gates, Ivy’s talents are freed.”
“Why would the ancients not want us using magic? Don’t they want us to reach the tree?”
“The tunnels weren’t safe,” I said, unsheathing my knife to cut off a lock of hair. “They were made with force, not by nature. The wards were weak near the collapsed shaft. You saw what had happened after someone tried to take advantage of it and accidentally undid the ancients’ work.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, then,” Lily mumbled.
They waited outside while I stepped into the cave’s gloom. It was neither deep nor a beast’s nest. I spread the hairs on the ground, protecting them from being whisked away with my hands, and uttered words in a language at once both sibilant and harsh. The strands’ red brightened, smoldered and burst into flame.
The fire shivered under wind breaching in. Rose and Lily rushed in to shield it with their bodies while I took Father’s notebook from my satchel and leafed through it, until I found the ingredients for a barrier that would allow smoke through, but not wind.
I crushed pinewood charcoal on my palm and mixed it with the vital dusts, sprinkled them at the mouth of the cave while muttering a plea for protection. The dust formed a haze, softly reflecting the night’s glow.
Without wind to pester it, the flame grew as if the stone under it was yew logs, and smoke rose straight to fill the ceiling. The offer of another lock coaxed it to veer outward. My hair had been longer than Rose’s black braid when we’d left home, but fire’s greed had left it an uneven line inching above to my shoulders. I wasn’t complaining; it was a fair sacrifice for not having to worry about finding firewood.
“Come here, Lily,” I said, reclining against the wall. “Time to sleep.”
Lily yawned into her hand and shuffled over to settle against my chest. “Will you tell me a story?”
“What would you like to hear?”
“About the totems in the last gate.”
“Well,” I began, with the lilt marking the start of a tale. “The brave wolf, the clever fox and the little dove found the dead world tree and wondered how they would give it life. The wolf suggested they would cut off a branch and replant it. The fox thought they should try magic to revive it. The dove—”
“Why is the dove ‘little’ when the wolf is brave and fox clever?”
I hemmed. “Because sometimes being small is a boon.”
“Is that a kind way to say she’s useless?” she returned sourly. A six-year-old might have missed the omissions of her sisters, but not the allegories in a fable. She had identified which beast represented each of us after the first tale.
“The dove wasn’t useless at all. In fact, for all their bravery and cleverness, the wolf and fox were clueless about what to do. Everything dead belongs to the Swan King, even something as precious as a world tree. The dove was the only one to realize this, while the wolf climbed up to find a branch to chop off and the fox pondered how to weave her spell.”
“What did the dove do?”
“She knew that the king was fair and wouldn’t take without giving something back. Father left with Mother; who did he return with?”
“Me.”
“What might the king give a tree instead of a baby?”
Lily sucked her lip, brow furrowing, then her features smoothed. “An acorn?”
“Precisely. The dove noticed the tree’s last acorn growing up high and guided the wolf to it. After they found a patch of unfrozen soil, the fox read the words to let it grow and spring returned. So you see,” I ruffled her hair, “without the dove, the fox and the wolf might’ve not noticed the acorn before it, too, froze and died.”
“I still don’t see why she was ‘little’ when she was cleverer than the fox.”
“We’ll have to rewrite the runes on our way back. Sleep now, Lily. Long night behind us, longer ahead.”
“When is it not?” she said with another yawn, but closed her eyes and snuggled against me.
Rose sat quiet, sword flat on her lap, until Lily’s breathing slowed and deepened. Then she murmured, “Was the talk about the Swan King a part of the story?”
“No.”
“Do you believe what you said about his fairness?”
“I do.”
“What did he give us when he took Father?”
“Purpose.”
“What did he give the pilgrims he called away?”
“Nothing—but to us warnings that kept us alive. Should the black river whisper our names too, we’ll pave the path for those who follow.”
Rose gave me a thin smile that broke into a chuckle. “I’m starting to see why Father taught you and Mother me. She would’ve smacked you upside the head for saying such things.” She brandished the sword. “If the Swan King comes calling, I’ll cut him down, clip both his wings if he dares touch you or Lily. If his river whispers, I’ll scream as loud as I must to silence it. Others be damned; we will reach the tree. Not for spite, not to build us into idols, but because I promised Father I would keep you safe.”
Her spirit warmed me in ways fire never would. If I was too much a fatalist, she was stubborn to a fault. Her stubbornness had made us pull hair in a past life, but it had also pulled us through this perilous journey. Without her, I would be but one of the memories encased in ice.
Our conversation drifted off into mumbling, then into sleep.
I woke to find Rose asleep on her back, coat as a pillow, sword-arm stretched to the side. The other was wrapped around Lily, who’d moved over sometime during the night.
Heat had seeped into the stone—fire was greedy, but also grateful—and turned the cave almost cozy. I left them sleeping, pulled on my coat and fox-skin shawl and went outside. The barrier had gained a sheen of hoarfrost that shattered at a touch.
Day made the valley a giant mirror. The ice was blinding, so bright it would be impossible to continue until sunset. It wouldn’t be long; days were as frail as the diamond dust around my feet.
I shielded my eyes with a palm, scanning the valley with eyes free of enchantments lest I’d truly blind myself. There were specks in the distance, too far to make out what, but I could wager a guess that chilled me to the bone. The pack was enormous. How could so many survive with only kindred flesh? Did fear color my perception and place beasts where there really were none?
I cast a glance at my sleeping sisters, then faced the fall and stepped back, to avoid losing my balance when I shut my eyes. Yes, the wind remembered pain … but when sight failed me, I had to listen, to ask.
“Tuuli tuhatvuotinen, kaiken ajan kantaja, kerro kauniit muistosi, tuo surusi tyköni,” I spoke. Old words, old spells, beseeching the wind to share what it knew. “Vaienna nyt virtesi, anna kaikusi kadota. Siiville voi silloin nousta laulamani pyyntö.”
Absolute silence answered my prayer. I thought a moment of what to ask—something I ought to’ve done first. The wind was impatient, caressing my cheek with a breeze while remaining otherwise still.
“Howl for me. Reveal their numbers.”
The valley exploded with noise.
Lily shrieked. Rose darted up, ran over to grab my shoulder. “What is this?”
“Stop! Please, that’s enough!” I cried. The wind obeyed. With its silence the beasts’ response waned away, but my ears were left ringing. Rose shook my shoulder for an answer. “That,” I said, swallowing hard, “was the choir of every beast in the valley.”
She blinked. “Every beast ever to live?”
Biting my lip, I shook my head.
Come nightfall, I gave the fire permission to die with the sun. We gathered our belongings and set of
f to continue the descent.
Lily shivered against my back as I climbed down, whether from cold or the eager howls rising to greet us. For all the horrors awaiting, I couldn’t deny there was beauty present in the starlit vista spreading below. Over the slopes arced a frozen waterfall, and wind had swept clean the surface of the lake where it fell. The ice shone like a shard of the moon.
Rose grunted above. I shot a glance up to find her sword-hand dripping blood. “Keep going,” she said. Her scraping continued after we were halfway down.
She’d lose the hand like this. It was already frostbitten, yet she refused my help. The lack of gloves was bad enough, but a constant grip on cold metal would see the flesh blacken before long. It was a marvel it hadn’t yet happened.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
“Even Father couldn’t read minds.”
“Neither did he ever argue with you.”
“We’re not arguing.”
“We are. You—” She bit her tongue when her boot slipped, breathed raggedly after recovering, and continued. “You don’t understand why the sword must stay as it is. If Mother hadn’t dropped it—”
“It would’ve changed nothing. She was foolish to put herself in danger, and she paid the price.”
Rose only grumbled.
“How will you swing it if I have to cut your arm?” I persisted. “Wield it with the right before you lose that too?”
“Better armless than having it slip.”
“Oh, you goddamn martyr,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Rose said sharply.
“She swore,” Lily said. “You shouldn’t swear, Ivy.”
“It’s okay when your sister thinks hurting herself makes her a hero.”
“Wait until we’re on level ground and say that to my—”
“If you didn’t, you’d let me bind it with a bandage or a piece of rope!”
Lily punted my shoulder, as lightly as her exasperation allowed without risking a fall. “Stop fighting! Ivy, apologize for swearing. Rose, promise you’ll let her treat your hand once we’re at the world tree.”