Shapeshifters - Were-Foxes
SHAPE SHIFTERS
COMPILED AND INTRODUCED BY JANE YOLEN
CLARION BOOK / SEABERRRY PRESS / NEW YORK
In the Orient, the Wer-fox is a creature both honored and feared.
Unlike werewolves, who are human most of the time, the were-fox in
China and Japan is a beast who becomes human at will. But first the
fox must go through an elaborated ritual to win for it's self the
shape shifting ability. It must find a skull on a grassy plain,
worship the north star while wearing the skull like a crown, and
live the rest of it life near a graveyard. Though there are few
horror stories about Wer-foxes, most are tales of love, for the
Wer-vixen which is especially known for her amorous nature.
Wer-foxes are also known to be fond of wine and lose there ability
to hold onto human form when drunk.
The Stranger
There came to the door of a cottage one winter's night a solitary
traveler.
"Enter, enter quickly," cried the the woodsman as the snow swept
through the door he held open against the wind. "Enter and share our fire."
The stranger gave a shake of his cloak on the doorstep and walked
in.
Immediately the woodsman relived him of the heavy outer garment and
drew him toward the hearth where two women sat, the younger with a
book on her lap,the older working on a piece of coarse linen.
"Wife," the woodsman, an expansive good natured person, smiled
broadly, "Here is one who has lost his way. I have asked him to
share our fire. And to stay the night." Then he turned to the
younger one. "And this is my daughter," he said, addressing the
stranger who stood rubbing his hands before the fire, "Sylva, pour
our guest a hot drink, for he is surly bone-chilled and used to
warmth and comfort, especially on such a night."
The girl stood up and closed the book, a Bible, inserting a piece
of red wool to keep the place. The stranger glanced at her. For one
fleeting moment he drew her eyes to his. Two bright pink circles
appeared on the girl cheeks. She gathered up her skirt and fled to
the cupboard at the far end of the room.
"A drink, my host would be welcome." The man spoke for the first
time his voice deep and full. Then looking at the wife he
straightened up his black velvet jacket and bowed.
"I would be honored Madame, if you would keep me for the night. How
I came this way, far off the main coach road, is a long tale of
little interest or consequence."
The woman smiled and put out her hand.
"It is for us to thank you, Sir. We seldom have visitors. But here
is Sylva back." The girl's mother looked up at her daughter and
pride glowed openly in her face.
Sylva carried a large steaming pewter mug.
"Sylva." The stranger took the drink from her.
"Sylva." he repeated softly to himself.
The girl looked at him curiously.
"Do you find my name strange Sir?"
The man seemed not hear her. He was staring down into the cup. Then
looked up.
"Curious? Not at all. I was simply repeating it. I like the sound.
I approve of it," and he turned to the two parents who were
watching the two.
"I approve of it my friends. I approve the name Sylva. I approve of
your daughter. I would say she is a beauty among beauties."
The wife made uneasy by the man's tone, looked anxiously at her
husband. but he appeared completely at ease, and much taken with
the compliment to his only child.
"Come wife," he out a hand on her arm, "Come we will drink a toast
to the health of our guest."
Mugs were filled and raised. the toast was made, to the health of
all, as the stranger insisted. Only Sylva standing next to him ,
noticed his trembling hand as he put the mug to his lips.
"Stay awhile and talk," the stranger addressed his host.
"We will keep our voices low, the woman won't be disturbed. "Stay."
And he settled himself into a low wooden chair before the fire. For
the first time the woodsman noticed how thin and wiry the mans legs
were in there tight black stalkings and high boots, how thin and
wiry his arms. His hair was long, well below his shoulders, thick
and of russet color.
"Another log on the fire then." The woodsman tossed a fine piece of
cherry on the hearth.
"We are set for an hour of so."
The stranger's hands drummed on the floor behind him, long fingers
thickly covered with russet colored hair.
"Your daughter," He began slowly, choosing, it would seem, his
words with care.
"Your daughter. Tell me about about her."
Delighted to speak of his jewel, the woodsman drew another chair up
besides his guest. "With pleasure Sir." Then he dropped his voice."
"But I must speak softly, for my wife is very closed mouthed." He
laughed nervously. "At least about this."
"It is a tale she has never told a living soul. Nor I for that
matter. But to you." the woodsman hesitated yes to you I will. I
feel I am able to speak."
Pausing, he repeated the words, as if to reassure himself.
"Yes,I feel it " and he put a finger to his lips.
The stranger raised his brows an a light smile played about his
eyes as he to put a finger to his mouth.
"You understand?" the woodsman peered at him.
The man nodded.
The woodsman looked to the door of the sleeping chamber.
"Many years we waited for a child. We prayed. My wife drank
herbs, followed charms, wore amulets, but it never did happen.
Then...." the man leaned forward in his chair, "it did."
"It did?"
"We came outside, a morning in early spring it was, after a rain,
and the child was there. Wrapped in a rabbit skin, lying in a
cradle of woven twigs. Sixteen years last April can you imagine
that?"
"And?"
"And?" The woodsman appeared perplexed.
"Sir, that was it . We found her before the cottage. Rosy and
smelling of musk, a bit smoky but that soon disappeared. And as
good natured baby as one could ask for."
"You wondered where she came from no doubt?"
"Wonder? That's a mild way to put it, Sir. My wife listed to market
gossip. She asked the priest each Sunday. She lingered outside the
church before and after Mass. but not a word. Not a word of a lost
child, abandoned , forgotten, missing. Nothing."
"Nothing else?" The strangers voice was casual, but he sat himself
up in the chair and pulled himself closer to the woodsman.
"Nothing else?"
The woodsman scratched his head. "With all respect I can't imagine
what else. It was beyond explaining. we never found out where she
came from and for years my wife and I didn't leave her out of
sight, for fear whoever," here he shook his head, "or whatever, left
her by our door, would take her as silently as she came. Now of
course its been sixteen years." The woodsman put his hands under
his wide leather belt. "Sylva's a bright girl. She 's quick, she
mindful, and she as hardworking outdoors as in,. She's perfect
in...... well, almost perfect that is. The woodsman pulled at his
mustache. "Well almost- you see. she's..... but its no matter."
"Well what for god sakes man, say it. I must....." Then seeing the
mans astonishment at his outburst, he drew a hand across his
forehead.
"Forgive me." The stranger took a sharp breath. "Forgive me . When I am interested in someone or something, I become a bit overwrought. What were you saying my friend?" Your Daughter is "almost" perfect?"
"SSSHHH. Quietly please." The woodsmen glanced at the chamber door.
"That's right she's almost perfect." He leaned over till he was
almost nose to nose with his guest.
"Her ears are pointed."
"Pointed?, Pointed you say? The stranger shut his eyes. He seemed
calm, but the trembling was back in his hands. This time the
woodsman noticed it.
"Are you ill Sir?"
In an instant the stranger flung his arms tightly across his chest.
"No, no take no notice. Go on go on....."
"Well yes, we noticed it soon after we brought her into the house.
I dropped my axe. It made a terrible clatter. My wife came running
up; she had Sylva in her arms. She put a finger to the child's
head. There, coming up through the curls - she had a crop of curls
the color of the leaves of autumn, the color...."
"Go on , go on...."
The woodsman scratched his head again. "Where was I Oh yes, coming through the curls were two perfect ears, perked up, listening you might say. Perfect they were, but small and pointed."
The woodsman slapped his knees. "And that was that. We've had her ever since and she's our joy, I'll tell you. Though she can be a little vixen if she take something into her head."
"Vixen indeed." The stranger gave the woodsman an intense look of
approval, bordering on pleasure. "I'm glad to see your partial to spirit."
The woodsman rose and with a twig broom brushed the ash close up to
the new smoldering log.
The stranger stood up suddenly. "Good host, I am dead with sleep. Where would you put me?"
The woodsman indicated a door to the left of the hearth. "In there is a box bed with down coverlet. You will be comfortable I'm sure." Stretching out his hand he added, What pleasure to have you this night. And to have shared our story. You seem to care." And once more he put a finger to his lips.
The stranger started to walk toward the door, then turned on his
heel. "She is of age to marry woodsman."
Something in the strangers voice sent the statement into a
challenge, yet it was said quietly, even gently.
The woodsman shook his head regret written all over his broad face. "True, good friend but where are we to find a husband for such a prize in these parts? Who will take the daughter of a penniless woodsman, beautiful and well spoken as she may be?"
The woodsmen came close to his guest. "You will understand this , he must be a gentleman, and......."
"And what?" the stranger lowered his eyes.
The woodsman pulled at his mustache, a gesture now familiar to the
other as the inability to express a thought clearly. "He must be...... understanding. That's it, he must have an understanding nature. One never knows the future, Sylva is young. Yes that is it, if you take my meaning."
Putting out his hand the stranger smiled for the first time since
his arrival. "I take your meaning good host. And I bid you a very good night."
Only the sound of the sleepers deep in dream filled the cottage.
The wind had died away; an owls lonely hoot cut the night silence.
Silently the stranger opened the door and stepped into the
darkness. His fingers twitched by his side. He stood, his face
whipping sharply from side to side, this way and that, picking up
scents and sounds on the night air.
"I take your meaning, good host we will remember it, in future
years." He threw the words onto the black stillness. Then he
reentered the cottage and took his cloak from off the wall peg. He
arranged it nest-like before the dying embers. Then circling it
three times, he dropped onto his belly and with head between out
stretched arms, the stranger slept.
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