Silver Foxes: Silver Foxes, #1

Prologue

An excerpt pieced together from a corrupted copy of Truth behind the Legends: A dictionary of your favorite myths and the scientific explanation behind them, a digi-book found in Jelu shortly after its destruction.

Sil[ver F]oxes: n. refers to a race of Exp . . . [foxes] who . . . silver in color . . . entries in  . . . and myths. Most common reference in f[airy tales], usu. . . . beautiful princess . . . a Silver Fox . . . her rescue.

The Myth: Long ago when the universe was young, the planet Clorth stood on the brink of destru[ctio]n.  [The inhabitants] were found guilty of treason [against the gods] . . . [but] the wise man, Deedanus, appeased the gods by offering to them any one thing . . . desired. Flousa, the goddess of nature, chose for herself a certain flower . . . deemed worthy. Disutrine, god[dess of be]auty, reserved the right to choose any man or woman, boy [or girl] to serve . . . [in] her temple. Ham[atan, god of war], choose the iron smithies . . . weapons were made. All the gods and goddesses chose . . . except Rophim, [god of storms], king of the gods. He found nothing to appease him . . . [and vowed to] destroy Clorth . . . [if he] could not be appeased by . . . moon rose over the mountain o[f the go]ds, a thing that happened once [a year].

[A year passed and] he found nothing to appease him . . . [As] Rophim walked through the woods on the east of the river Gordón . . . he came upon a beautiful vixen . . . [her]bs in the woods. His heart burned . . . he saw her . . . took on the form [of a] fox, and . . . wo[oed] her . . . and took her to be his bride, and . . . was appeased.

The vixen conceived . . . [and gave birth to] a son, Thrort . . . born with fur ma[de of] silver, and . . . unable to control storms . . . [a]ble to fly, cast lightning bolts, and repel enemy attacks. He roamed the land righting wrongs and defeating monsters. 

Time passed and his mother grew old. Rophim . . . [brought her] a fruit that grew on the mountain of the gods. Once eaten, this fruit would make her immortal . . . tried to get Thrort, her [son], to eat, but he refused . . . [instead chose to] marry and live among mortals. So Thrort . . . [begat] a son, [ano]ther Silve[r Fo]x.

. . . Silver Fo[xes] became numerous on Clorth. Some were noble, but far more used [their powers for evil]. Rophim saw this and cursed the line of Thrort . . . [All foxes in his] line were born gray, and only if they proved themselves . . . [regained] the powers of Thrort.

[Explan]ation: Few . . . [believe] Silver Foxes actually existed. Those that do claim . . . were nothing more than . . .

The remaining data was too corrupted and was unable to be recovered . . . much to the chagrin of the book’s owner.

CHAPTER 1

The sun set on two fox kits huddled by the remains of a wall in the middle of a sea of rubble.

Broken bricks and cinder blocks, rocks, rebar, demolished signs, ruined cars, and other debris had piled up in heaps where the buildings had tossed them when they had collapsed. Clouds of smoke lingered in the air and mingled with the settling dust. Through the haze, orange rays of light filtered down and shimmered on the wasteland that used to be a city. Among it all the two foxes sat, almost motionless in the deepening gloom.

The first fox, a five-year-old kit, had gray fur gleaming in the lingering sunset. Dust covered her tattered dress, the diaper bag next to her, and her black hair. She leaned against the remains of a broken wall in order to get a better grasp on the second kit, a one year old baby with white fur. The white kit whimpered and squirmed in her sister’s arms, and this soft crying caused a wolf to turn aside from his task.

The wolf went by the name of J.R. Dunsworth. He peeked around the cracked wall and stared at the two kits sitting in the ruins. When his shadow fell over the gray kit, she turned her eyes to him and gazed at his face.

J.R. blinked at this little girl. She wasn’t crying; she didn’t scream at the sight of him; she didn’t even make a sound. Rather she studied him the same way he studied her. And as she did, she pursed her lips as if she didn’t quite approve of what she saw.

J.R. glanced down at himself to see what it was about him had offended her. His shirt was relatively clean, his pants without holes, so . . . wait a minute! His ears pricked. What did he care what she thought of him? The better question was, what was she doing here alone with a baby in the middle of a demolished city? He opened his mouth to ask but closed it again. This was none of his business. The parents were probably around somewhere. He’d keep an eye out for them as he continued with his own task.

Feeling rather proud of himself for being so selfless, he turned to go on his way.

Hey, mister. The gray kit set her sister down to stand. My sister’s been crying for a long time. She’s hungry. Do you have any milk?

J.R. glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she stood. She smiled at him and tilted her head so her hair fell to the side, sending dust wafting into the air. Her brown eyes flashed gold when they caught the light.

Something about those eyes—so bright and devoid of fear—stabbed J.R. in the gut. He found himself stammering without realizing. I . . . uh . . .

Hm . . . can you talk, mister? The kit flattened one of her ears and screwed her mouth to the side. Maybe you got left behind too. You can stay with us if you want.

Huh? J.R. shook his head to clear it. I can talk.

Oh. Then do you have milk? The kit dug in the diaper bag and removed an empty canister. I ran out. She turned to the white kit. My sister’s been crying so hard, she can’t cry anymore.

J.R. looked at the baby. She wiggled on the ground, moaning and writhing. Her tiny fists clenched and unclenched and her toes curled. Must be starving. Where are your parents, kid?

The kit hung her head. They went away.

J.R. clenched his teeth. What a predicament! Two helpless girls alone in the middle of a wasteland . . . not even he could leave them alone like this. Yeah, kid. I’ll get you some milk. He swung around, beckoned to them over his shoulder, and led them to where he had left his speeder on the side of the crippled road. At least he only had to get them milk. After they were fed, he’d find someplace to dump ‘em . . . there had to be placed for missing children to go. He wouldn’t have to deal with them for more than a few hours.

Alright, Kid. Get on! When J.R. turned to help them on the speeder . . . the kits were nowhere to be seen. Eh? He scanned the area for them.

He spotted the kit scrambling over the rubble, nearly bent back double with the weight of her sister and the diaper bag.

Hold on. I’m coming. The kit raised her leg to climb over a boulder, lost her balance, and fell backward. Clutching the baby to keep her from flying over her head, the kit slid on her tail until she came to a halt on the loose stones. You okay, Kat? She held up her sister to examine her.

The baby blinked before giving her a toothy grin.

J.R. smacked his forehead with his palm. No good deed goes unpunished, Dunsworth. He strode over to them, pinched the baby’s scruff between his thumb and forefinger, and carried her to the speeder. The baby turned her eyes to him and gave a tiny giggle.

Wow, mister. You’re strong! The kit trotted after him, towing the bag behind her.

J.R set the baby in the hover platform attached to his speeder—a vehicle based on an ancient two-wheeled vehicle . . . called a motorcycle, if J.R. recalled correctly.

The kit watched him set the baby on. Where are we going?

We’re going to get your milk. J.R. caught the kit by the scruff. I don’t have any on me. He set her beside her sister.

"Of course you don’t have any on you. If you did, you’d be all wet." The kit cackled, almost falling backwards onto the platform.

The baby gave a more robust laugh at her sister’s antics.

A smile slipped onto J.R.’s face, but he slapped it away before the kit saw it. Instead, he mounted the speeder, started the engine, and sped off down the remains of the road.

CHAPTER 2

The town of South Haston lay tucked away within the valleys of the Drymairadian Mountains. Its inhabitants made their living cultivating this area as a ski town in the winter, a camp site in the summer, and a rich man’s playground year round. Its green forests and gentle slopes—sometimes rising to several hundred feet above sea level—along with backdrops of purplish mountains stretching into the sky, allowed visitors and residents alike to stop and breathe whenever they wanted.

And from her perch atop a ladder, Celeste could see it all. Or she would have if she turned her eyes to look out the windows of the gilded Ballroom she stood in. The entire wall behind her was made of picture windows extending floor to ceiling and overlooking a garden flushed with yellow and red flowers and fountains tinkling in the air. Bees buzzed around the colored blooms, trying to get in their last pick-ups of nectar before the day faded away. Inside, a polished marble floor reflected Celeste’s image, the golden lights of the crystal chandelier she was cleaning, the paneled walls, and brown, floral print wallpaper. If she looked down, she could have seen the entire scene reflected upside down to her. On normal days, she’d be fascinated by it.

But today wasn’t a normal day. Today, Celeste was too busy trying to keep her balance to waste time looking out at the freedom displayed outdoors or at the glory showcased indoors. Usually, balance wasn’t an issue; she could do her tasks with her eyes closed. But today, she couldn’t move an inch without her stomach churning and rumbling and sloshing and heaving. It felt like she was on a perpetual rollercoaster, her stomach leaping in her abdomen.

She swallowed hard and clutched the top of the ladder for balance. Her mouth watered freely. She felt like she was going to—

There she is! The golden doors burst open, and Terrance Claybourne strode in with open arms.

Celeste started, almost falling off the ladder and making her stomach flip. Her master, Terrance Claybourne, was an orange tabby dressed in a dark blue suit with no tie. His tail twitched as he walked, and his smile widened—showing off his sharp teeth. Celeste’s chest tightened. She couldn’t tell if he was seething or happy. But there wasn’t much difference between his emotions—he could punish her equally hard whether he was in a good mood or bad. And if he had come looking for her then . . . oh, no! She bit her bottom lip. She should have been on to weeding the back gardens by now. What would he do to her for running behind schedule? Lock her in a closet? Beat her?  Or worse . . . She pulled at the collar around her neck . . . shock-discipline?

There’s the pride of my collection working as hard as can be! Terrance’s smile widened, revealing his fangs. Come down here, Celeste. Let my guest have a look at you.

For the first time, Celeste noted a forest cat trailing Terrance. He was quite a bit younger than Terrance and had a bright smile. She climbed down the ladder, slowly. Every step seemed to set her stomach off-kilter.

Wow. The cat circled Celeste as soon as she stepped onto the ground. I’ve never seen a gray-furred fox before.

To be clear, she’s a red fox with a gray color mutation. Terrance raised his chin with a triumphant chuckle. Quite rare.

Celeste’s stomach heaved. Mr. Claybourne. I—

Quiet, Celeste. I’m busy.

Her fur is so silky. The forest cat ran his hands over her fur. Celeste held out her arms and let him do it. She was used to this sort of treatment. It was the reason Terrance dressed her as he did: in a mini-skirt and a white halter which left her stomach exposed—all to show off as much of her fur as possible.

Incredible, the newcomer said. And her hair—it’s so shiny and black, it’s almost bluish!

We call her particular hair color ‘raven.’ Terrance grinned as if he had created her himself.

The stranger stroked his chin. How much do you want for her?

She is not for sale. Terrance chuckled. I showed her to you so you can get an idea of what to aspire to when you start your own collection in earnest.

Celeste’s stomach tightened. Her bottom of her mouth—where her saliva glands rested—tingled. Mr. Claybourne—

Shut up, Celeste.

But I don’t feel so—hurk! Celeste slapped her hand over her mouth.

Terrance whirled on her, his ears flat and his teeth bared. Celeste, I said—eh?

Celeste couldn’t hold it anymore. Her stomach heaved, and its contents exploded from her mouth. And splashed right at Terrance’s feet.

Ugh! Terrance’s guest hopped back.

Terrance stood motionless a moment, his ears flattening.

Mr. Claybourne . . . Celeste said between groans. I—

My shoes, Terrance said barely above a whisper. He snarled and raised his orange eyes to meet hers. You wench! He smacked her across the cheek, raking his extended claws against the side of her face.

The momentum sent Celeste flying. She collapsed on the floor. Four deep gashes burned her cheek. Trembling, she scrambled away from him. But he wasn’t done with her yet. Something worse would be coming, and . . .

Hurk! Her impending punishment fled from her mind as her stomach flopped again. She got to her hands and knees and heaved.

Ew! The other cat stepped away from the mess she had made. Does this happen often?

Not as much as you would think. Terrance kicked the filth off his shoes right in Celeste’s face.

The cat examined Celeste. She looks like she’s going to throw up again. What do you do when they get sick?

When you have as large a collection as mine, you need an in-house clinic. No use spending money on them if they die on you a few years after. Terrance swung around to the door, beckoning over his shoulder with a finger. Come on. I’ll show you. He pushed open the door with more force than was necessary. You, there, he said to another one of his collection outside the door. Go in there and clean up that mess.

I guess I have to carry her. The other cat hefted Celeste. Her stomach hopped, and she held her hands over her mouth again. I swear, if she gets any on me, the cat muttered, Terrance is going to have to pay for a drycleaner. He snorted through his nose and jogged through the door, jostling Celeste as he went.

N ow I know I had another bottle of emetic around here somewhere. Isha Doran, the resident doctor for Terrance Claybourne’s collection, examined the medicine cabinet inside the estate’s clinic. The place was sterile in all senses of the word. Sterile décor—all white, with no decorations . . . just the stainless steel medical equipment housed in their proper steel cabinets, a stainless steel desk with a computer on it, and a line of beds against the wall with crisp, white sheets; sterile air—smelling of disinfectant and so cold it made Isha’s fur fluff out; and every surface sterilized—no germs in her clinic, ever.

The steel medicine cabinet Isha stared at was nothing more than a set of shelves stretching from floor to ceiling with vials of medicines and bandages packed within. The entire thing was enclosed by locked, glass doors to which Isha had the only key . . . a key she kept chained to the lapel of her lab coat with a retractable keychain.

How in the world could I have misplaced an entire bottle of medicine? Isha held up her inventory list again, and then counted the bottles on the third shelf. Sure enough, one short. I’d better find out what happened to it before Terrance uses it as an excuse to get me into his collection. She shuddered at the thought.

Here we are! The door to the clinic burst open, and Terrance waltzed in. Welcome to my clinic, FC. He held the door open. I spare no expense to keep my collection healthy. In fact, I’m thinking of expanding this wing.

Great . . . but where can I put her? A forest cat ambled in, holding Celeste in her hands. The poor vixen had her head lolled to the side, and her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Her face had taken on greenish hues.

Oh, dear! Celeste! Isha rushed over to put a hand on Celeste’s forehead. Her skin was clammy to the touch, and her eyes glazed over. What happened to you?

I don’t feel good. Celeste clamped her mouth shut as she retched.

I think she ate something bad, the cat known as FC struggled to get a better grip on her. "Started blowing chunks all over the