From ch. 1 of Fox and Men, the creation story of the faiths of Tírvedt and Mortvedt.

In the time of famine and war, many generations ago before human feet touched the shores of the land between two oceans, lived two men more worthy than all the rest. They were the men known to the generations that followed as Saris the Wise and Halemith the Good.

By day they toiled among the godless to ensure survival for their families, but the underhanded means used by the heathens threatened their lives and livelihoods until at last they were forced to flee.

For twenty and two days they wandered over plains and across rivers, through swamps and sand, until their feet burned and they could wander no more. When all seemed lost, the great Fox-goddess sent a messenger, one of Her own daughters, to lead them to the holy land. With the fox-daughter's divine speed she led them across the dangerous quicksand. With her craft, she navigated mazes of dangerous canyons safely and without err. Her divine nose scented the difference between those who would do the travelers harm, and those who would provide them help and solace.

At last they arrived at the Holy Land, which lay between two oceans, met by Fox Herself. It was the site destined to house the great city states, founded by the two men brave enough to make the voyage and wise enough to accept the help of Fox and Her daughters.

In exchange for Her continued favor, Fox asked only that the current and future kings of the city states honor Her children and that they keep the anniversary of the day the travelers founded the great cities on the land between the two oceans as a holy day. On this day, Fox said, She would send one of her daughters to lead the king's descendants to great bounty and luck for the next year, provided they never forget their promise to honor Fox's children.

With this, she disappeared, and the two men each founded one of the great city states. The man who came to be known as Halemith the Good founded the great city of Tírvedt, the Land of Light. The other, who was called Saris the Wise, founded Mortvedt, the Land of Mortals. Since the day of their founding the cities have been governed by the descendants of these two men and their families, and the day of their founding, which has been kept holy, is the day of the ritual that is now called the Fox Hunt.

---

There is little more important in the life of an East Texas debutante than the day of her coming out. The cotillion at which she is first presented to the community as an eligible bachelorette is only overshadowed by such important events as high school football games and, of course, her wedding day.

Barley Dillon remembered that day well as the last day she'd ever let her mother pick out her clothes. For the happiest day of her life, she refused to allow her wishes to be constrained by such trivialities as the opinions of others, her father's budget, or the laws of physics. She made a special point of picking out the clothing for the bridesmaids and groomsmen entirely on her own. The result was that she, resplendent in a traditional white gown, and her groom in a standard white tux, were the only two in the wedding party not to be clothed in some hideous hue that only matched every other equally ghastly garment in that the women were all arranged in an array of putrid pastels, and the men were garbed in dreadful darks.

Together, the bridesmaids lamented their clothing behind the bride’s back when she was off worrying her pretty little head over everything to whomever she could get to listen. For the weeks leading up to the wedding, any potential conversant with the bride-to-be grew accustomed to sitting through a long, frantic account of the dream she’d had where she forgot to send her wedding invitations on time, and so the only invitations she could get were birthday party invitations and the only people who showed up were cartoon characters.

The men, who had much more important things to worry over than the vile colors of their wedding attire, lamented instead over the impending destruction of their friend’s manhood. Among the topics discussed were whether or not Valentine had greased Barley’s wheels (if you know what they mean), the relative safety of Valentine’s continued participation in Fantasy Football games (he wasn’t very good, which of course made him an invaluable opponent), and whether or not Barley’s hot friend Alison was still seeing the square-headed Marine.

All in all, it was the general consensus that, even if this would not be the most creative, stylish, interesting, classy, or organized wedding to ever grace mankind, everything seemed to be alternately plodding and rushing along with the usual enthusiasm. Rice farmers and cake decorators alike held their collective breath in anticipation.

The wedding dress had been selected through a joint effort of Alison, Barley, and Valentine; however, once it was chosen, it was ushered away from male eyes, never to be seen again until the ceremony. Everyone knew it was bad luck to see the bride on the day of the wedding.

But as Valentine's blue eyes mistakenly skimmed over the gauzy fabric early that morning, Barley knew instinctively in the pit of her stomach that her wedding was a bust. An hour later, as the burning building collapsed in a spray of orange embers around them as they ran, beating little flamelets from her train, she remembered and felt vindicated.

---

Barley awoke in a heap of tattered, burned, and torn tulle and lace. Fighting her way out of her trappings with a flailing of hands, she managed to get her face free and have a look at their surroundings. Disoriented as she was, it took only a few moments and some shifting to realize that the church was nowhere to be found; and, for that matter, neither was the town.

She did, however, manage to spot her groaning, carrot-headed fiancé, pushing himself off the ground with his only slightly inadequately muscled arms a few meters away. “Valentine, snookie-wookums!” she called, cupping one hand around her mouth to amplify the shrill sound as she propped herself up on the other arm. “Where’s Smokey Pines?”

Valentine blinked his blue eyes around at their surroundings as Barley had a few moments before only with less grace. At last he glanced at her, shrugging in her direction even more gracelessly as he shouted back, “I don’t know, Barley-honey-babycakes!”

“Well, we need to find it!” Barley whined, her high-pitched voice carrying easily across the distance. “Valley-sugar-snuggle-muffin, our wedding!”

Finally having pushed himself into a sitting position, Valentine sighed. “I know, Barley-pookie-pumpkin pie,” he yelled back.

“Goodness, are you two trying to make someone sick?” came a third voice, female and even sweeter than Barley’s. Valentine and Barley looked around, identical confused expressions on their faces as they tried to determine the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” Barley demanded at last.

“That’s quite rude,” remarked the voice. “Shouting in your loud giant voices was bad enough. There’s no need to make such barbaric demands on top of it.”

Barley rolled her eyes. “Oh, good. It’s Miss Manners, only invisible.”

“I’m not invisible!” the voice insisted indignantly. “Look down. It should feel natural for you, Miss Tattered Bride.”

Barley frowned, the insult clearly meeting its intended mark, but looked down anyway, and gasped when she did. Standing before her in the grass was the smallest person she’d ever seen… a woman the size of a well-proportioned Barbie doll, garbed entirely in what appeared to be a glittery, rainbow figure-skating costume, with honey-colored hair piled messily on top of her head. She tapped a ballet-slipper clad foot impatiently, her glittery arms crossed in annoyance and her dragonfly wings flapping agitatedly, casting rainbows of sunlight like prisms that dazzled Barley’s eyes.

“What are you?” Barley asked, stunned. “Are you the tooth fairy?”

The fairy scoffed. “Tooth fairy? Nonsense. Tooth fairies don’t exist. That was just your parents.”

Meanwhile, Valentine had crawled closer to the patch in the grass Barley was arguing with. “What are you talking to? Have you lost your mind, Barley-bunny-wunny-”

The fairy cut him off with a gagging noise. “Please, can the two of you stop with the nauseating pet names? I just had lunch not long ago, and I’m not particularly interested in losing it to the grass just yet.”

“So what are you?” Barley asked impatiently.

The fairy straightened up, taking full advantage of her twelve inches in height. “My name is Xanthe,” she introduced herself. “I am the Gay Fairy.” She waved her small, pink, triangular wand, and business cards appeared in Barley’s and Valentine’s hands.

“Exanth?” Valentine tried, reading the card. “Zanth?”

“ZAN-thee,” Xanthe stressed. She jumped in the air, flying on her iridescent wings to point to the card for Valentine’s benefit. Valentine jumped away, swatting at Xanthe as he would any other common flying pest.

Xanthe changed course, flying instead to Valentine’s face and rapping him harshly on the nose with her wand.

“Ow,” Valentine complained, reaching up to rub at his face. “That stung.” He pulled a small compact mirror to look at his nose. “Am I gay now?”

Xanthe rolled her eyes. “Not because of me,” she answered, hovering in the air, her hands braced on each hip in a gesture of annoyance. “I don’t make people gay. I bring out their inner gayness. And anyway, I only work on girls. There’s a male Gay Fairy for boys.”

“Gay fairy,” Barley scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“You were the one all prepared to believe in the tooth fairy,” Xanthe pointed out. “Besides,” she added, tossing her head and flying back down to the grass near Barley’s foot. “I don’t spend most of my time in fields, entertaining mismatched married couples-to-be. I hang out chiefly on college campuses.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Valentine admitted, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Barley, remember when we were in college, and you went to that par- oof!” He fell face-first into the grass, clutching his stomach where Barley had placed a very well-aimed foot.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Xanthe declared, flying up between them and waving her wand threateningly. “Kindly tell me why you decided to land on top of my house in the middle of the afternoon.”

“We were just running from the burning church,” Valentine said, frowning in confusion. “Are there fairies living in Smokey Pines now?”

“Clearly there's at least one,” Xanthe said, “but this isn't Smokey Pines.”

“Well, then,” Barley said, standing up and stomping her feet as she dusted off her ruined dress, “We're obviously in the wrong place. Come along, Valentine. We'll find our own way home.”

“You're possibly in the wrong dimension,” Xanthe pointed out. “Kindly stop destroying my home and I will help you, if only to have a bit of peace and quiet.”

Valentine stood, too, and reached out to catch Barley by the arm before she could wander off. “Please, miss gay fairy. We would appreciate your help in finding our way home.”

“Come along and follow me, then,” Xanthe said. “The answer to our problems is not too far from here.”

“If you're a fairy, why can't you just magic us there?” Barley grumbled.

“No use wasting magic when we have long human legs at our disposal,” Xanthe replied cheerfully. “Besides, you should have worn more sensible shoes for walking.” Barley's indignant spluttering was lost on her as she started toward their easy solution with Valentine following close behind. After a moment, Barley took off her high-heeled shoes and held them in her hand as she ran to catch up with them.

All in all, they walked about a mile. Xanthe alternated flying and sitting on Valentine’s shoulder. She didn’t particularly like boys, she’d explained, but she didn’t think someone so rude and selfish would allow a poor, weak, tired, tiny fairy to rest on her shoulder. This was subsequently confirmed by Barley, and so on Valentine’s shoulder Xanthe rode when her wings got too tired to fly.

Eventually something else could be seen on the horizon. It grew larger until, at last, they stopped in front of a large, clear box with a glass door, trimmed in metal. A sign at the top of the box proclaimed “TEL” in large, capital letters.

“Why are we in front of a phone booth?” Valentine asked.

“A what?” Xanthe asked. She was back to her previous size, hovering around the level of their heads as Valentine and Barley walked. “This is not a telephone booth. Whatever makes you think that’s what it is?”

“The telephone,” Barley, who had been thinking the very same thing, spoke up. “And it says ‘TEL’ on the top, there.” She extended her arm to point to the sign.

“Sure it does,” Xanthe agreed, “if you want to read it backwards. As it happens, this is not a telephone booth. It is the Linear Electrostatic Teleporter. L.E.T., not T.E.L., is the acronym.”

“Yes, but you don’t read right to left,” Barley argued impatiently, crossing her arms. “You read left to right.”

“Maybe you do,” Xanthe corrected. “But different places have different rules. It happens that here, words are read right to left.” It was plain Xanthe wanted to end the sentence something along the lines of “You ignorant hick,” but she refrained for the sake of politeness and diplomatic relations.

Valentine could see the sprinkling of freckles standing out against the flush spreading across Barley’s nose, and knew from long-standing experience that was a bad thing. “What does it do?” he asked Xanthe, hoping to forestall the imminent explosion from his fiancée.

“Teleports,” Xanthe answered, rolling her eyes. “Goodness, don’t you children know anything about the way the world works?”

The grass at her feet trembled in fear as Barley stomped over to Xanthe, poking a sharp finger in her tiny, rainbow-clad chest. “Listen, you,” she snapped. “Fairies are not real. Teleportation is not real. I have been pulled abruptly from the happiest day of a woman’s life to this place where things make no sense at all, and I think Val and I have been pretty gosh-darn good sports about all of this. So take your condescending attitude and shove it up that pretty lil’ ass of yours.”

For once, the fairy seemed to be stunned to silence. It took a few tries for her mouth to work, and when it did, it came out two octaves higher than usual. “Well! I never-”

“Furthermore,” Barley, who was not done with her tirade, thank you, interrupted, “On your business card, your name is not spelled E-H-T-N-A-X! It’s spelled X-A-N-T-H-E! So you don’t even follow your own stupid rules.” She brandished the business card, waving it threateningly.

“I never said it was my rule!” Xanthe snapped defensively. “I said it’s the rule for here! You don’t even know where here is, so how do you know what the rules are?”

“I don’t! But how can I be expected to know so many new rules? You could at least give me an adjustment period when I am yanked from everything I know!”

“Fine, princess,” Xanthe sighed. “How long to you need to adjust yourself?”

“I don’t need to adjust myself. Just stop changing the goddamn rules already, okay?” Barley demanded, crossing her arms tightly underneath her bosom.

“I told you, I don’t make the rules,” Xanthe repeated once again. “Do you even listen, or do you have so much wax in those giant ears of yours that only what you want to hear gets through?”

Shocked, Barley clasped her hands over her ears. “They’re not giant!” She protested. She was sensitive about her ears, having been called Dumbo in Kindergarten. Some things were just so traumatic that they followed a person the rest of her life. “They’re normal-sized. Valley, aren’t they normal-sized?” she persisted, looking around, pleading eyes resting on her fiancé.

“Elegant,” Valentine replied without even looking up. “Positively dainty, even.”

“See?” Barley asked, sticking her tongue out in Xanthe’s general direction. “They’re dainty.”

Xanthe rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks.” She found she rolled her eyes more often around Barley. Just a few more days, and they’d roll completely out of her head, and possibly around on the floor a bit. Maybe they’d even find Barley’s hometown before Xanthe herself did.

“Whatever,” Barley declared. “Let's just get this teleportation thing over with, okay?”

“Let's,” Xanthe agreed icily, and turned to Valentine to ask much more warmly, “Valentine, will you please open this door?”

Valentine obediently pulled the door to the teleportation booth open, and the three of them crowded inside.

“What dimension is this Smokey Pines place, now?” Xanthe asked, settling herself on Valentine's shoulder as he retrieved the dangling yellow pages and held the book open for Xanthe to flip pages with her wand.

“Texas,” Barley supplied.

“Ainrofilac,” Xanthe murmured as she flipped backwards through the book. “Eonz thgiliwt... Uodnuk?” She turned the pages back. “Oh, dear.”

“What?” Barley snapped. “What happened?” She gasped as comprehension dawned on her. “Did some fucker tear out the page?”

“It appears so,” Xanthe agreed.

“Well, I don't need your little phone book,” Barley decided, and picked up the receiver to dial her home number.

“Barley! No!” Xanthe and Valentine called out in unison, but years of running up her parents' telephone bill had made Barley's dialing finger faster than either of them could imagine. With a flash of light and a blip of sound, the contents of the teleportation booth vanished to an unknown dimension.