17

Luc Zelsor and the Myth of the Mountain God

The stars were particularly shiny on the eve before the final Yule ceremony. Luc's bed was strung with walnut lights, and sugar plums rested in a bowl beside his bed, waiting for morning. Their scent was delicious and sweet—when he sniffed, he could already taste the purple fruit with the hard sugar shell on his tongue.

He gazed up at the stars, considering it a Yuletide miracle that he could see them at all, that the ever-clouds had taken a rest from their toiling for a night. Perhaps it was a gift from the sky deities who had taken pity upon a young, poorly behaved fox who sat alone most days, watching the other childlings play from afar.

A squeaking sound lifted through his room, and when he looked back, he saw his mother getting comfortable on the braid- wood chair. Her hair was tangled and messy like she'd been trying to sleep up until now and was unsuccessful.

"You can't sleep, either?" Luc asked. He scrambled to the edge of his bed to be closer to her. "Is it because you're excited for the Great Yule Morning, too?"

"Actually, I thought I might whisper a Yuletide story to you, dear Luc." She smiled and pulled a thick book out from where she'd been hiding it in her nightdress. Sounds of gently flipped pages and a deep, cracking tome spine filled Luc's room as she found her spot. "This story is precious. It means something to me," she added.

Luc plopped onto his stomach, propping his cheeks up with his palms to listen. His mother's fingers were stained black with ink from painting flowers for wreaths. She was a renowned wreathweaver; the best in the Dark Corner, some had said. She'd been working extra hard these last weeks to make wreaths worthy of being placed in the throne room. The Dark Queene herself had requested she cover the thrones in the fragrance of the most prestigious blossoms of the Dark Corner.

"There once lived a young fox who faced every obstacle with cunning and determination," his mother began to read.

Luc smiled and snuggled into his bedsheets a little deeper, pleased it was a story about creatures like him.

"The fox grew to the capable age of twenty-five years and found he had reached the greatest measure of strength he ever would." His mother flipped a page, and Luc raised a brow. It seemed early to be flipping a page when the story had only just begun. "And so, on a cold Wynter's day, he began a great trek up a mountain to face the greatest obstacle of all—another fox. One twice his age, and equal in power."

"Why would he do that?" Luc asked.

"Because, in his mind, only one fox could live and rule over ordinary fairies. And twenty-five is the magical age when one must decide these sorts of things," she said.

Luc smirked. "There's no such thing as ordinary fairies," he objected. "Every fairy has power in their own way."

"Oh dear." His mother smiled. "You think like I do, Luc." Luc beamed as his mother dragged a finger down the page like she was looking for where she'd left off. She cleared her throat. "When the fox reached the top of the mountain, he entered the battle of his life. But even though he was a cunning fox, he was unprepared because he assumed himself to be greater than he was. And sometimes just because we wish to be the greatest, doesn't mean we are." Her mouth tipped down at the corners.

She continued on, explaining how the foxes fought a long and deadly battle. Only one of them survived—the fox who had climbed the mountain in the first place.

It took Luc three minutes of her flipping pages off-beat for him to realize she was not reading the story out of the book at all. She was reciting a tale she had memorized. Luc didn't know his mother had stories memorized.

"So, he won," Luc concluded. "The fox the tale is about. He climbed a mountain and faced a foe that was more difficult than he expected, but he survived." It was a simple story, but Luc enjoyed it.

His mother nodded. "It wasn't an easy victory though. It cost him everything he had to come back down that mountain alive."

Luc thought about that. "What do you mean by everything ?" His fingers grazed over the nine fox tails hidden beneath his nightclothes. "How many of his fox lives did it take to win?" His mother closed the book and rested it on her lap.

"All of them but one," she said, and Luc's hand tightened over his nine tails. "You should never turn your back to a fox, Luc. Even if you're a fox yourself," she said. "Remember this story so you don't forget that even foxes can turn against each other."

Luc sighed and rolled onto his back to look up at the stars again. "I don't know any other foxes, apart from Father."

He did not realize right away that his mother had gone quiet as he studied the glimmers in the heavens. One star was bigger than the others. Luc leaned forward a little to try and press the image into his memory before the clouds returned and stole it away.

"You know, some fairies say your father came down from a mountain after a great battle, too." His mother bit her lower lip. "Isn't that funny?"

Luc did not find it funny, but he offered her a smile anyway. "Is that why some fairies call him the Mountain God?" he asked. "Because he came down from a mountain just like that fox of legend in the tale?"

This time, his mother didn't seem to be joking around. "Yes," she said.

Luc sighed and gazed out at the heavens one last time, wondering if he should thank the sky deities for the small gift of stars. "I like to study the stars," he told his mother, changing the subject. "Maybe I should paint them before they go away."

"You have always been a curious childling," his mother said, her smile returning. Then she added, "You are cunning too, like your father, Luc. Perhaps you should study people instead."

A whiff of sugar plums brushed Luc's nose, stealing his focus. He gazed at those plump, syrupy fruits. How he wanted to taste one—just one bite—before he was allowed. There were so many lovely things to be distracted by tonight.

His mother's laugh reminded him he could do no such tasting until morning, lest he break the sacred tradition.

"Morning is just a few hours away, Luc," his mother said as she stood from the chair. "Try to get some sleep before then. I'm sure you'll dream of sugar plum fairies."

Two weeks after the Great Yule Morning, Luc's father returned from a long trip where rumour claimed he had engaged in the revels of the Army and had forgotten about his duties at the Shadow Palace. He had not even returned for the Great Yule Morning. Luc had been forced to eat at the Queene's dining table alone, since his father was absent and the Queene forbade his peasant mother from sitting at her table.

When his father marched into the Shadow Palace, he went straight for Luc's mother and met with her behind a closed door. That was the day Luc's parents had made a bet, and a bargain, for their son. It was the same week Luc's mother had lost him and been banished from the Palace forever.

The day after her exile, Luc found a note hiding beneath his pillow. It was a blank piece of parchment with a ripple of wetness in the corner just the size of a fallen tear. He knew how to read it—his mother had left him notes like this in the past to be silly. It was a note only his breath could unlock, and no one else's.

Luc breathed on the parchment, and a set of clear words filled the page for just a second before they dissolved again:

WHEN THE TIME COMES

KILL HIM OR RUN FROM HIM

BUT DO NOT BE RULED BY HIM

She left nothing else behind.

Nothing but Luc.