Free Foxfire by Barbara Campbell Page B

he was little.
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    He woke to a chorus of birdsong, the chirps and twitters of sparrows and starlings vying with the throbbing purr of wood pigeons. The chorus melted into the raw air of dawn and coaxed the watery sun into the sky. Rigat wasn’t sure if a few moments had passed or an entire day and night. He certainly felt strong and rested. Perhaps it was only the lingering exhilaration of his vision quest, but his legs carried him effortlessly over the hills; even the wind blew from the south as if to speed him homeward.
    Only when he reached their valley did he hesitate. He circled west and, discovering no one at the stream, paused long enough to hide the spear between two boulders, carefully mounding a shallow layer of dirt over it. If his vision mate wanted him to conceal their second encounter from the Tree-Father, he couldn’t very well walk into the village clutching a spear. Later, perhaps, he would show it to Keirith. His brother could confirm his growing suspicion that he had witnessed some strange Zherosi rite. Besides, the truth was too exciting to hide from everyone.
    As he hurried toward the lake, anticipation gave way to puzzlement. There was no one in sight, not even any children playing along the shore. If not for the threads of smoke rising from the hill fort, he would have thought the village deserted.
    Suddenly scared that something had happened to Fa, he raced up the slope and skidded to a halt just inside the entrance. The wall of backs confronting him was eerily reminiscent of the scene he had glimpsed through the portal. Instead of chanting, the Tree-Father’s quavering voice broke the silence: “Today, a man walks among us. That man is Seg, son of Madig and Anetha. And his vision mate is the wolf.”
    The roar of acclamation made his stomach churn, but he could not help craning his neck for a glimpse of Seg. There he was, standing between Gortin and Othak, grinning like a fool. Rigat shrank back against the earthworks, but Seg had already spotted him. His grin widened. He raised both hands, commanding silence, then called out a greeting.
    Head high, Rigat marched forward. Gortin smiled and handed his blackthorn staff to Othak. The white film that dimmed Gortin’s right eye made it look like the sky on a misty autumn morning, while the scars around his empty eye socket appeared to be bleeding.
    Rigat flicked his forefinger against his thumb, then resolutely stilled his fingers. The poor Tree-Father couldn’t help the way he looked or how the sunlight struck his face. He mustn’t allow his overactive imagination to conjure an evil omen out of such ordinary things.
    Gortin’s hands groped for his shoulders. In a halting voice, he recited the ancient words. Finally, he closed his eye. Quelling the urge to stroke his bag of charms for luck, Rigat took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm.
    When Callie had returned from his vision quest, Keirith had performed the rite with him. Rigat could still remember sitting beside the fire pit, watching Callie’s eyes widen and his mouth become a round O of surprise when Keirith touched his spirit. Fa had described Tree-Father Struath’s touch as feather-light. Keirith had warned him that Gortin was less skilled than his predecessor, but Rigat was still shocked by the sudden, brutal assault.
    Like a bear blundering through the underbrush, Gortin shoved deep into his spirit. The relentless battering made Rigat gasp, each agonizing jolt resonating throughout his spirit until he thought he would scream.
    Desperately, he concentrated on what he wanted the Tree-Father to find: the fox poised on a rock in the middle of the stream, the shadowy trunks of the pines visible through its body. But other memories kept spilling through: his vision mate’s mocking laughter, the warmth of that teasing voice, the dispassionate golden eyes watching as the spear hurtled toward him.
    With a strangled cry, Rigat jerked