The Path Tells Little to the Serpent: The Birth of the Purple Fox

By J. W. Hale

Frank expected the first night to be the hardest, with the loneliness of being pulled from family, friends, and what is familiar. But the windows kept high and small to discourage attempts at escape, and to shield the sun, that's what bugged him most. The daily death of the sun, the hope of new life after all this; it did not take much to add the two together and wish to slip beneath the soil yourself. Still, Frank had hated his life on the farm, but that is what it means to be human in Odessa.

Mistress Sally Mae Alexander stared at the token for a few moments before she set it on a table next to her, and speared a mushroom with her fingernail, bringing it to her slightly curved mouth. She did not know what she was purchasing, but neither did anyone else.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369402870

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Copyright © 2023 by J. W. Hale.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/18/2023

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

There a quite a few that I am missing, but I need to let these few stand for all of them.

To my wife, Sarah Bug, who refused to read my book until it stopped giving her nightmares; to Dennis Waller and Michael Huff who told me to just do it at the right moment and being the scratching post I needed; to my children Holly and Van for being very very patient; to Dawn for being a light in a very dark place; and to Lazarus, who has taught me the true meaning of perseverance.

Chapter One

What slithered out the back was huge, easily twice as wide as the normal sized man, with an armored snake-like lower half, muscular upper torso covered in silver tattoos and carrying a silver staff.

How did I get here? That is the thought that ran through his mind. How could I have possibly gotten here?

These thoughts almost disappeared when he saw what crossed behind the creature. Clearly female, very petite, looking fourteen with dark blond hair, plum colored streaks professionally done, large sparkling mint colored eyes and carrying a bright pink carry-on bag. She was wearing a dress that matched her bag, with knee high brown boots.

That would be the snake man’s daughter.

But how did he get here?

It all started with him being awake, and in class at that. Worse, he is listening like he had nothing better, using his foot to play with a discarded lunch wrapper, his mind slowly alternating its focus between the sound of the slight cluck of the roosting student next to him dreaming away the time, or the drone of what is lecturing today.

His envy for the sleeper forced him to chose the yearly lecture, it was Flag Day after all.

Now we come to the Odessa Banner. Unlike the typical flag, the Odessa Banner points toward the earth. The blue, upside down triangle on top with seven flames representing the seven holders of the flame who came together to form our blessed union. The stripes, three red and three white, represent the hope and sacrifice of our way of life, while the center purple stripe represents our Queen, who is tasked with holding us all safe.

When the air conditioner worked it was loud and you almost wished someone would break it again. Frank wished it worked today to give his mind something else to focus on and cut the heat reflecting the air outside without a breeze.

The heat brought out a slight smell of burnt fungus around the walls, a side effect of some attempt to keep the paint from peeling from the walls. He should have been used to it by now, instead it induced a very focused headache.

The lecture continued, Designed by the Goblin Alice Diamond after Washington bombed Fort Hood, their own military base, in a blind panic to stop a single troll from smashing a few planes... Mr. Gabriel Smith, reading from a prepared paper, did this every Flag Day. Many students had trouble looking at the short balding man wearing the black suit of a teacher; mostly a side effect of those slightly purple eyes. It was this desperate act of insanity that forced the Seven to come together.....

Twelve pairs of eyes turned to the door when Ms. Brooks walked in carrying her blue clipboard, she was the most interesting and colorful part of the Wan City Farm School, in her big dust colored hat, stately robin’s egg dress, and bright strawberry pink shoes. Mr. Smith, can I have Frank Jones please.

Assuming Frank was in trouble the whole class began hooting, making Mr. Smith yell Silence, before nodding toward Frank with his hateful eyes. The ironic thing is he is not sure if he had actually done anything interesting today, he certainly could not remember.

Don’t forget your folder, Frank, just in case you don’t come back. Mr. Smith said absently with very little hope. Routine called for the folder, the case, and a last goodbye to the class. A familiar routine, so no one really bothered to listen to him anymore than he usually bothered to find his case.

Ms. Brooks, short and wiry with intense amber eyes, made up for her stature by will alone and eyes so intense they could hold half a class in awe just by staring. The other half of the class had to be bribed or they started throwing things out of fear. No one trusted intense eyes on the Wan City Farm. This fact left dormant teachers like Mr. Smith, who did not mind students sleeping in class, or even if you attended at all, in charge of breakfast, lunch, and education and Ms. Brooks as the school secretary.

Will I need my suitcase? He said with a yawn. The suitcase had not been opened all year. He had never needed it out of the janitor’s closet before, but it is custom to ask.

No, Frank. Ms. Brooks said walking out of class with purpose. Frank had to jog down the rusty tube-like hall to catch up. Noticing this, Ms. Brooks stopped right outside an empty classroom used for storage.

Did I do something, Ms. Brooks? Frank seemed to be in some sort of trouble all the time.

He was not really prepared for what he heard. You have been found a match.

At first Frank did not understand, but eventually the shock wore off. Ms. Brooks looked nervous for a moment before catching herself, tapping her clip board, while watching the slight reflection of bruise colored light reflected off the wings of the termites swarming outside. A Broker is here for you. You are to be given into the employ of the Mistress Sally Mae Alexander of the Morgan City Tower.

The sudden cross breeze out from the broken windows carried the day’s hay cutting, bringing tears to Frank’s doubting eyes. Are you sure? You said I did not need my suitcase? Well beyond the search of a match, he had been stuck at school learning patriotism and culture before being sent out in the fields. It was his training, his purpose.

You really have grown beyond the need for such things. A deal is being discussed with your parents as we speak.

Sixteen, almost old enough to work the farm with his parents and put school behind him permanently, knew better than to ask, Why now? So he asked, Is it a good match? while the stories of bad matches flooded the back of his mind.

It is a match, Frank. The best that can be arranged under the circumstances. None of the tracks Frank qualified for would take him. That is what she had implied for years. The way she said it put Frank’s teeth on edge, but Ms. Brooks was off again and Frank had to jog to catch up.

Frank’s mother and father were in a corner, sitting with Counselor Phelps, in his small office. Frank had only been her once before, as a child, going through the orientation. The same books lined the bookshelf behind the stone colored desk and not a one of them looked to have been moved. It was not Counselor Phelps who sat at the desk, and this was no mindless lecture.

Counselor Phelps was standing behind his stone colored desk looking at a tanned-skinned, weak eyed man in a bright blue suit.

For the father, a position in Hearne driving a bus for the Transportation Department. For the mother ... The Broker, for that is what he was, looked at her, then shook his head. No one wants to see that. Can she answer phones?

You could ask her. The Counselor said not happy with having to give up his desk.

The man in the blue suit looked at Counselor Phelps and smiled. If she can’t, all that will happen to her is a trip back here. You, however, will have to explain why she did not work out. Answer the question.

The slap of his words made Phelps step back. Ms. Jones has a good phone presence.

Sheriff’s office. They can put her in the back where no one will have to look at that. The children who are still at home will be tested again by the Hearne Public Educator’s Union for languages and skills. Math is in favor right now. Study hard.

The man looked up then and stared at Frank. Please tell me he is smarter than he looks.

Mr. Broker, there is no need to be so insulting. Frank’s mother’s voice is soft and directed toward the floor, so the Broker just ignored her.

Frank knew better than to speak, but still Ms. Brooks hand found its way to his shoulder for comfort. The whole scene seemed so unreal. Someone purchased him, he had found a match.

"We teach all our students from the book of The Seven Ecstasies of Service." Counselor Phelps began.

Useless to anyone except Swan Maidens. Then his weak eyes turned to Frank again. Can he read?

This seemed to shock the counselor. We provide all our students with the required education.

I deal with the truth and no farm is up to standard. The Broker sighed then and passed a book to Frank. Read.

The book is light and plain. Frank opened to a page at random, "The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy.¹" The Broker seemed to find amusement with this passage and reached taking the book back.

Fitting. It’s the only requirement of your new Mistress. Her followers have quite a few more, but they can suffer.

Frank has been trained in all matters of service to a Master or Mistress. Counselor Phelps replied stiffly.

Laughing the Broker responded. He will need to watch himself. Taking out several small electronic pads. My advice for you, young man, is get to know her followers. Your new Mistress is not known for predictability.

Counselor Phelps stepped back then and smiled. She eats boys then? Perhaps we need to up the price so she will appreciate him?

Again the Broker laughed. Don’t fool yourself. You know full well you put this one on the Market because even your Farm Foreman won’t have him. I read his file before coming here. Mountain Valley Consolidated will place the family in Hearne. That is the only concession to the price. If they fail to perform, back here they come. But the boy, if he fails? Well he is on the Macon Work Camp List. Where else could he go? Certainly not here. He is just as ugly as his mother, no one wants to breed that, looks like a fighter as well. Does he even have all his teeth?

Pickers are always needed during harvest. Counselor Phelps did not like being made a fool of in front of Frank’s parents, not out of respect, but because the story would spread to the Overseer.

The Broker saw right through him, however, Lies? I read the file, did you forget the words that just came out of my mouth. You signed this boy’s fate away. The Broker sat back and smiled. Now do we deal, or do I go elsewhere?

Counselor Phelps just shook his head. This Mistress you are seeking for: how bad is she? What would be his duties?

The Broker tapped his pen on the desk, thinking about the question. She is Mistress of one of the four towers, a W.O.A.D. Finder, one of the best the Institute has currently and owns quite a good portion of it’s stock as a result. The boy would be taking over for her current field assistant or page. All of this is moot though. What choice do you have? What choice does the boy have? He gets shipped to Macon next week otherwise. The offer is a real one. Benefits for the family all around, and if he works out, an actual education of his choice in three years.

Counselor Phelps looked over the pad in front of him. Mistress Alexander’s stats are not listed.

The Broker laughed, For a recruit going to Macon?

Frank’s parents, silent, refuse to look up from the floor when Frank looked at them.

The Broker suddenly frowned. Do you ship him or do I move on?

We ship. Counselor Phelps said quickly, not looking pleased.

He takes nothing with him but the clothes on his back, The Broker began, and even those will probably be burned. The family can move at leisure. The transfer papers, work documents, and school slips are here. They have already been filled out. The smugness of the Broker effected everyone. Say goodbye to your parents, boy.

There is an awkward moment when Frank turned to his mother and she looked up. It is made more awkward when his mother ran out of the door. Frank could not see if she is crying or not.

He barely heard Counselor Phelps say, Ms. Brooks will you take him to the docks? I’ll inform the manager.

Turning to his father, Frank watched as he rose from the chair and dusted the soil off his pants. You know how she is, boy. Take care of yourself. And with that, he followed his wife without even looking back.

Ms. Brooks looked stunned for a moment, then shook her head. They don’t like change, Frank. Don’t take it to heart.

Counselor Phelps just shook his head, Do we still need them for anything?

The Broker smiled, showing his yellowing teeth, No, you sign these things.

Counselor Phelps began rubbing his temple. The Jones will need to adjust, Ms. Brooks. Hearne is a big city. Make a note to have me give them the departure speech. Frank had seem him rub his temples like this many times under stress, he barely registered that he may never see it again.

Ah, Family. The Broker began, Nothing like it to show you the way the world actually works. It is clear the Broker is having a grand time at everyone’s expense. Face it boy, they are just confused because they did not want you either.

Ms. Brooks had enough. Sir, I must protest!

The Broker, however, is in his element. Ah, I’ve seen this a thousand times. You breed a male child in the hopes of getting a good price, nothing more. Then you take no time to actually nurture the boy into something valuable because getting close to the cattle is painful.

Ms. Brooks did it again, only this time louder. Sir, I must protest!

Don’t protest too loudly, you know I’m right. Then The Broker looked directly at Ms. Brooks. I for one would have put the woman in the fields and breed the man to this one. Though now that she is gone, I can judge her physical qualities transfer well into male children.

Counselor Phelps is about to start one of his speeches. We give our couples certain freedoms... He did not get far.

I don’t care. The Broker said abruptly. Now, I need to see Ansel Potts. The Swan Maidens are interested in him, but not until after you buy me lunch. There are a lot of points to this deal that you must prove can be fulfilled.

Then The Broker looked at Ms. Brooks blankly.

Ms. Brooks smiled, pointed at the page, Did you fill this out yourself? Or is it you help that is just stupid? Do it again, I’ll be checking your work. It’s Oklahoma, spelled O k l a h o m a. Then she turned to Mr. Phelps, Make sure he does and don’t sign anything until I get back. He can have a sandwich out of the kitchen if he’s hungry.

Ms. Brooks turned on her heels and ushered Frank out of the door, whispering, Let’s see if we can catch up to your parents. I bet they are just around the corner.

Frank had a sudden thought, these deals fell through all the time. The Broker was calling for Ansel Potts. Maybe Alice would start talking to him again.

Out loud, Frank began to ask, Do you think...

Ms. Brooks patted Frank on the shoulder. Your Mother loves you, but this is being forced on all of us. We can’t change things at this stage. If you have anything in your bag worth anything, put it in your pocket. You heard the Broker. You are to take nothing Ms. Brooks walked slower this time, waving at the few students who wandered by. Most of the students liked Ms. Brooks, she did not lie to anyone often and she at least tried to be friendly, despite her intense eyes.

Her friendliness now began to sink into Frank. What he had just gone through was real.

Ms. Brooks. He began.

I’m sorry the Farm Manager won’t take you, Frank. She was quite insistent. Your conduct is just too poor, even for a picker or cutter. Ms. Brooks seemed to be looking around, nervous. Now where are your parents? Do you see them?

The hard bottomed shoes Ms. Brooks wore made an echoing sound across the front hall. No one was here, not even the two guards usually posted at the door.

But you know the Foreman. Frank began again.

He refused as well, said you are too lazy, that he would get no work out of you. Realizing the harshness of her words she tried a gentler approach. The Farm is cutting back on all labor, some of the other farms are even closing. We need to make room for the inflow of people. It is either this or Macon, no one comes back from that. This Mistress showing interest was really a pleasant surprise.

The entrance to the school held open heavy metal doors to look outside, or be closed for the inspection raid. He always like having those behind him, but had to shield his eyes against the sun as he braced himself against the sudden smell of fresh hay, cut grass, and dead flowers.

Your parents aren’t here. I thought they would be. Ms. Brooks raised her hand to shade her eyes as well. You get nothing from that father of yours except kinky hair and a bad attitude, but I expected more from your mother. Seeing a dock messenger Ms. Brooks motioned him over. This boy is to be shipped.....

It never occurred to Frank to run away. It never even remotely crossed his mind. He had been sold. Frank had been sold by his parents, brokered through Counselor Phelps, to a woman who did not think enough about it to even come herself.

So with the calloused hand of the dock messenger on Frank’s neck, he climbed into the back of the armored cart, to be locked into a cage where the apples usually sat.

Frank’s journey had begun.

In a daze, Frank stared through the metal bars. Toby William, suffering from a hangover, was raking the newly fallen leaves of the screaming tree, distinctly no looking at the cart. Will Brad, who failed to comb his hair this month, was riding a grass cutter in the distance, probably helped by his cousin. Marc Anthony was cleaning the Shackle Pole, just as drunk as his son, and probably grumbling just as loud at the sound of the grass cutter.

Absently Frank wondered what they did. Mr. Brooks really knew how to make a person suffer when he wanted to make a point.

At least Frank’s own cousins weren’t here to laugh him off, or throw rocks. Crystal Amy, the night watcher, probably locked them up for some offense, or put them to work.

Frank felt strange as he rode the Parting Circuit, as it is called. People should have been on the sides of the path to wave him off. People Frank cared about, people he would never see again. He was not even allowed to say goodbye to his sister, Zoey.

Frank would not miss this place, but he did not think it would be like this. The cage, rocked suddenly, as the Messenger turned into the green spiky fields. Soon they would pass the poppy plants to the east and rotting corn husks to the west.

He would not make it to the Harvest Ball in three weeks. Frank had hoped to bring his sister and maybe sneak a dance with Alice. A lost hope now. The sense of disappointment he felt lasted until he stepped out of the back cage onto the fenced in dock loading area.

The Wan City Farm Docks, which is really just a warehouse, was not busy. He and the Dock Messenger seemed to be the only ones here, but then it was lunch time. Looking around, dust covered everything he could see, some part of him began to wonder if he is sent here to die.

Something about all this did not seem right, why else was a Dock Messenger so close to the entrance of the school, driving an armored cart no less. But he did not think about this until much latter.

The calloused hand of the Dock Messenger found its way to the back of Frank’s neck, just as a clasping sound woke Frank up from his day dreaming.

He now wore something on his neck.

What is this? Frank asked.

Your collar, it’s tied to your Mistress. That way she knows you’re coming and it punishes you if you are late or inattentive. Frank soon found himself directed to a well lit but dirty room with heavy bars across the top of the room, but no real roof. You travel in that. Removing his hand, the Dock Messenger closed the heavy door behind them.

The traveling crate the man pointed to is nothing more than an old steel crate, barely big enough to sit in, with a narrow chair welded into the floor and a slotted roof for venting. Why it’s a....

The Dock Messenger, just one of many replaceable faces working the warehouses and delivered the mail, was not listening and had begun to dig though a box. Where you are going, humans are not allowed to simply walk around or ride the bus. Your collar is you identification. The the Dock Messenger handed over the instruction booklet. Says here you can read, you can finish the rest of this yourself. Frank had not even tried to resist. That is the sad part, the part he kicked himself for the most while waiting in the box. Not once in all this did Frank resist, just stood there stunned.

The man pointed at the crate, Now get in so I can go on break.

I.. Was as far as Frank got before his head exploded.

Had to test it. The Dock Messenger said with a smile turning a dial in his hand. You should tell them to turn it down, now get in the chair.

Frank tried to stand up but the dizziness of the shock made him collapse again. When Frank did not move fast enough to try and stand again, the Messenger hit the button again. This time the pain traveled down his spine as well, branching out and making his muscles convulse.

Slowly, Frank sat in the chair and looked up. Where am I going? He asked as the Dock Messenger closed the crate, muttering Only Human.

Frank could hear the man moving around and adjusting things to do with his crate.

Where am I going!? Louder this time.

Then Frank heard the closing of the heavy door once more. Wait!!! But no one answered. Frank was alone. The Docks, Frank was at the Docks. Sold, to be shipped. Waiting in the cattle shoot as it was called. The messenger had not put the papers in with him, Frank could not even read to pass the time.

Frank had been here before, on the other side of the fence. The last time had been the job of cleaning up the blood from a shipment out of Browne Farms. Officially called an escape attempt, but Frank knew otherwise. Browne had been shut down due to bad breeding, their stock considered corrupt. The bodies had been used as fertilizer.

Cleaning up the shoot and loading ramp had been one of his jobs that day, overseen by Alice and Ansel, all of them locked into the fenced area outside the actual warehouse that held produce.

With a sudden heaviness he sank back and began to look up through the vents into the sky above. Hot for October,