Vixen's Challenge

by Aron Lewes

  Kylin led everyone to the broken window, and one by one, the humans squeezed themselves through the open frame. As the prisoners spilled into the outside world, Esha said, “Wilhelm could have done this job on his own. It didn't require shapeshifting and subterfuge.”

  “I know, but...” Kylin's gaze dropped to the floor, and she continued, “Wilhelm would have killed the guard. That's the difference between him and me. I didn't want anyone to die today.”

  “That's quite a big difference. I admit, I still wonder if Wilhelm is the right man for you.”

  “So do I,” Kylin whispered. “I wish I didn't, but I do. Nevertheless, I love him, and he loves me, so...”

  “So... what?” Esha pressed her to continue.

  “So... it feels right,” Kylin said.

  When the last prisoner was free, Kylin shifted into fox form and leapt through the window, avoiding further scrutiny from Esha.

  Chapter Eight

  WILHELM TOSSED A NEWSPAPER in front of Kylin and tapped its headline with an impatient finger.

  KING LARIEN'S VISION LEADS TO MASS CHAOS. CRIME RATE INCREASES AS SILENCED RUN FREE.

  He told his wife, “I don't want you to do this anymore. How long until your name is dragged through the muck with Larien's?

  Kylin was in the middle of skimming the article when Vala swiped the newspaper, folded it, and tucked it under her arm. “It's rubbish,” Vala said. “How do we know this article wasn't purchased by some steaming arse biscuit like Florian? The news isn't as unbiased as we'd like to believe.”

  “Even so...” Wilhelm dropped into the chair next to Kylin and reached for her hand. “I don't want Kylin doing this anymore. When she returned from Florian's manor, she nearly toppled into my arms. How do we know these Unsilencings won't have some sort of long term effect on her?”

  Kylin was transfixed by Wilhelm's thumb as it glided across her knuckles. Tenderness from Wilhelm was rare, and his voice quivered with genuine worry. She wanted to side with him, to assuage his fear, but her head shook instead. “But... I like helping people, Wilhelm. I'm reuniting fathers and their children. I helped an innocent boy get his life back. Now that I've seen what I can do, I can't just quit!”

  “But you can,” Wilhelm insisted. “Let Larien pay you for the work you've done, and we can leave the rest behind.”

  Kylin pulled back her hand, freeing it from Wilhelm's grasp. “But I don't want to quit,” she said. “Larien is paying me a lot for this. I still don't understand human money, but that's what Vala said. If I quit, you'd go back to being an assassin, and I don't want that.”

  Wilhelm squeezed the back of his neck, stiff with stress and tension. “Is that what this is about? You don't want me to be an assassin anymore?” He waited for Kylin to shake her head, then he continued, “Then... if you don't want me to be an assassin, I'll stop being an assassin. I'll find honest work. I don't want you to keep taxing yourself 'til you can barely stand!”

  At the same time, Kylin and Wilhelm looked to Vala for support, but she only shrugged and yawned.

  “At the very least, will you consider taking a break?” Wilhelm asked. “We haven't set sail for the next city yet. If we explain that you're exhausted, I doubt the king would push you.”

  “I'm not that exhausted,” Kylin said—but her husband had the look of a puppy in his eyes, and she hated to disappoint him. “But... I guess... if you insisted, I wouldn't mind resting for a day or two.”

  “I do insist... because I love you, and because it's my job to worry about you,” Wilhelm recaptured her hand and brought it to his lips. Smiling against her knuckles, he finished, “I think I'd be a poor husband if I wasn't worried about you.”

  SLEEP ALMOST CLAIMED Esha when he heard a voice, tremulous and soft, ask, “Are you awake?”

  It was Sara. An uncontrollable smile flew across his face when he heard her whispering in his head.

  “Barely,” he replied.

  “I'm sorry. I should let you get back to sleep,” Sara said. “I don't want to disturb you, it's just that I'm having trouble falling asleep, and—”

  “Don't go!” Esha cried, a bit too forcefully. He was afraid she would sever the link, and it would be the last time he ever heard from her. “Please, don't go. I'd like to stay and talk, if you don't mind. Maybe it'll help you sleep?”

  “Or maybe I'm a madwoman who entertains herself by inventing friends inside her head. I'm still not convinced you actually exist, you know.”

  “Then... I'll come to you. Let me prove to you that I'm as real as anyone.”

  “I... suppose it would be nice to have a real friend. My father is the only friend I have. I don't know how he'd feel if he knew I was speaking to you. He... he doesn't really let me leave the cottage.”

  Sara's voice was so weak, he had to close his eyes and focus. He hoped she could hear his answer more clearly than he heard hers. “This is hardly the first time you've mentioned your father. You make it sound like you're his prisoner.”

  “Saying I'm his prisoner is too harsh. It's true that I rarely go outdoors, but it's for my own protection,” Sara said. “I can't walk, and I have... scars. Most people aren't cruel enough to ridicule me to my face, but I have to endure their stares, and... I hate it.”

  Revelations about Sara's condition had Esha deep in thought—but he wasn't sure she couldn't hear everything in his head, so he focused on continuing their conversation. “People can be cruel, it's true. Sometimes, I feel like an alien in human society. Not everyone has been accepting of me.”

  “Because you're a... kitsune?” Sara asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “I wasn't sure I got the word right. Well... I guess we're not so different, then.”

  “If you can't walk, you've probably had it harder than me,” Esha said. “If you'd like, we can talk about something else. This discussion is hardly conducive to sleep.”

  “What we're doing... can you really call it talking?”

  Esha chuckled at her observation. “No. Maybe not.”

  For the better half of a minute, the voice in his head went silent. Sara stopped speaking directly to him, but he could hear an echo of her thoughts.

  “I shouldn't have told him I can't walk. I want him to like me. What if this changes how he feels? I wonder... does he have a special lady in his life?”

  Esha could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He considered answering her questions, but he didn't want to embarrass her.

  Sara suddenly spoke again, “When I was ten years old, my entire family died in a fire... except for my father. I lost my mum, my brother, and my little sister. I wasn't unscathed, though. My nightgown caught fire, and in a panic, I threw myself from a second story window. After that, I couldn't walk. My father takes care of me, but his attention can be... stifling.”

  “I'm sorry to hear all that,” Esha said. “It sounds like you've had a difficult life.”

  “It could be worse. I get to read a lot... and draw. It would be amazing if I could show you some of my art.”

  Esha sighed and shook his head. He wanted to see her art, but for that to happen, they would have to meet in person—and so far, she had resisted the idea.

  “I do think I've invented you, actually... to save myself from loneliness,” prattled the Sara in his head. “I have a cat named Ruffles, but even he isn't he greatest company. He bites! I don't even do anything to instigate him, he's just a goblin with paws! I love cats, I really do, but he's one of the meaner ones I've met.”

  “Sara...”

  Esha's attempt to get her attention failed, because she continued, “Before Ruffles, I had a dog named Brooker, and he was arguably worse, because he had a bad habit of pooing in my bed! My father got tired of cleaning his messes, so he evicted him. Actually, Father said Brooker ran away, but I know he got rid of him!”

  “Sara!” Esha, whose eyes were still closed, squinted as he shouted her name. “My sister is a healer. It's possible that she could help you walk ag
ain. It's not guaranteed, but I've seen Chika do some amazing things.”

  “Your sister's name is Chika? That's pretty...” Sara said. “Do you remember when I said my sister's name was Sardonyx? If you think about it, Sara and Sardonyx are practically the same name. My parents weren't very creative, were they? If you remove the onyx, you've got—”

  “Let me come to you,” Esha begged. “We're taking a break from our mission, so it'd be the perfect time for a detour.”

  “You're on a mission? That sounds serious!” Sara exclaimed. “I wouldn't want to distract you from something important. Surely I'm not worth it?”

  Esha's eyes rolled behind their lids. If she didn't want to meet him, he wished she would be more direct.

  Their minds were still linked, so she heard every thought in his head—even the frustrated ones.

  “I do want to meet you! I'm just nervous,” Sara said. “If you really want to come, my father and I live two miles north from the seaside town of Brennick. Our cottage is on the coast. It's ugly. You can't miss it.”

  Esha tried to suppress a chuckle, but he was sure she heard it anyway. “Sara, if you don't want me to come, I won't pressure you.”

  “No, you can come!” Sara said. “Maybe it won't be a complete disaster? Worst case scenario: my face scares you away. Best case scenario? I make a new friend. Either way, I should probably warn you... my father could be trouble.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I'M EAGER TO MEET THE girl that has you so worked up. I can't remember the last time I've seen you so excited.”

  Esha's head shook at Larien's observation. It wasn't entirely wrong, but he was embarrassed to own up to his fervor. “I wouldn't say I'm worked up. I just want to know she's real... and I want to help her, if I can.”

  They were a mile away from Brennick, heading north along the coast. If Sara's directions were accurate, Esha expected to see a ramshackle cottage perched somewhere on the bluffs. He would have preferred to meet her alone, but Larien had insisted on making a nuisance of himself. The king needed some entertainment during Kylin's requested break.

  “Do you really think Kylin is in danger of quitting?” Esha asked.

  “She'll quit... if Wilhelm tells her to quit,” Larien theorized. “Truth be told, I think he does the thinking for her.”

  “And I think you're wrong. Kylin's a strong-willed girl. If she did what was expected of her, she would be married to me instead of him,” Esha said. “If she really believes in your mission, I don't think Wilhelm could sway her.”

  “And what about Vala? Do you think I could sway her?” Larien asked. “She seems determined to hate me, but... I love her, you know.”

  “I know... but Vala has a lot of pride. She doesn't hate you, but if you want her to open up to you, you'll have to set aside your ego and apologize for certain things that were said.”

  “Like... the fact that I wouldn't marry a commoner?”

  Esha's nod was slow, but firm. He might have had more to say, but he was silenced by the sight of a thatched cottage on a faraway hill. Its stone chimney was leaning, as if it could slide off at any second, and the weeds in the yard were as tall as some men. “Do you think that's it?” Esha asked. “Is that where Sara lives?”

  His companion hitched a shoulder. “I don't know. The only thing you can do is knock on the door and ask.”

  The hill was steep, and the climb to its summit wasn't without a few grunts and huffs from both men that tackled it. Esha would have preferred to make the hike in his four-legged form, which was speedier and lithe, but he knew the king wouldn't have been able to keep up.

  “My knees!” Larien whined. “You never told me the bulk of this journey would be up a damn hill!”

  “As if I knew!” Esha exclaimed. “Had I been able to warn you, I assure you, I would have done so. I care about your knees, fragile little things that they are.”

  Larien was doubled over and panting when they reached the cottage. Esha, needing less time to recover, tapped on the door, clenched his teeth, and waited.

  When the door swung open, its passage was blocked by a ginger man with close-cropped hair and meaty shoulders practically bursting from his tunic. Freckles peppered his massive forearms, and coils of orange hair peeked over the top of his collar. The lines on his forehead deepened when he saw the young man standing in front of him.

  “Don't speak,” the man growled. “You don't need to introduce yourself... I know who you are. You're the dark magician that's been whispering evil words to my daughter. I don't know what nonsense you've been puttin' in her head, but I'm pretty sure it's the sort of nonsense that's got no place within these walls.”

  “Sir, I assure you, I have only good intentions where your daughter is concerned. I would never hurt her, and I would never—”

  The ginger man's arm shot out, knocking Esha backward. It wasn't quite a punch, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him.

  “Leave!” screamed the growling gatekeeper. “You'll not see my daughter. You won't speak to her, and I'm certainly not letting you leave with her!”

  The father's rage was directed at Esha, and only Esha, so Larien tried his luck. “What's your name, sir?” he asked.

  “Ewald.”

  “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ewald.” Larien offered a hand, but it was untouched, and Ewald bared his rotten teeth at the sight of it. “My name is Larien. King Larien. I've known Esha almost his entire life, and I can promise you, he—”

  “King my arse!” Ewald interrupted with a bark of raucous laughter. “If you're the king, I'm a pretty princess. I'm a world-class beauty with tits to die for.”

  Larien threw up his arms and said, “Sorry, Esha... I tried to soften him up, but I don't think it's working. He's all yours.”

  Esha's lip dipped into a pout as he watched his only ally slink away and sit in the shade of a tree. “Thanks for nothing...” he whispered to himself, then turned his attention back to Sara's glowering pater.

  “I suggest you leave before I unsheathe my sword,” Ewald threatened him. “I swear to god, I won't hesitate to chop off your head... and if the law comes for me, I'll tell them you were a trespasser who was trying to hurt my little girl. There isn't a court in the world that would clap me in irons for that!”

  “Sir... please,” Esha begged. “I've come a long way to speak to Sara. If she knew I was here, I'm sure she'd want to—”

  “No!” Ewald unleashed his sword and swung upward, forcing Esha to leap away. “If you want to talk to Sara, you'll have to strike me down!”

  Esha considered other options. He could have returned later and slipped through a window in fox form, like they did at Florian's manor. But his hand seemed to move on its own, motivated by pride. Esha believed Sara's father was an overprotective brute, and he wouldn't let himself be intimidated into retreating. He drew his sword, pivoted away from Ewald's swinging blade, and countered with a thrust. Ewald dodged the attack with a bear-like growl and popped Esha's nose with an elbow.

  Larien winced when he saw the massive elbow smashing into Esha's perfect nose. As soon as blades started to fly, the king was shaking his head. “Are you sure you know what you're doing, Esha?” he asked. “Judging from appearances alone, this man looks like he could eat you for breakfast, lunch and dessert.”

  “Thank you for sharing that inspiring thought, Larien. It fills me with confidence. It's very—” Esha dropped his thought as he ducked his opponent's whirling blade.

  “If you need me to stand in, do let me know,” said Larien. “Until then, I'll just be over here... holding my breath... hoping you don't die...”

  Esha could taste the tang of his own blood as it dribbled over his lips and painted the collar of his crisp, white shirt. His nose was throbbing, but he had no time to think about his pain, because Ewald's sword was relentless. Esha blocked an attack, hopped backward, and blocked again. They had only battled for a minute, but to Esha, that single minute felt like a lifetime. He could find no way to sque
eze in a counterattack, so he stayed on the defensive and hoped the older man would tire.

  But Ewald's energy was seemingly boundless, and his swinging blade had Esha scrambling backward until his back hit the cottage wall.

  Ewald, thinking he had won, held the tip of his sword against Esha's neck “I should murder you, boy,” he hissed. “That'd be the only way I can be sure you won't take her away.”

  Esha slammed a knee into Ewald's groin, and as his opponent roared with pain, he knocked Ewald's blade away from his neck. “You sound like Sara's jailer!” Esha exclaimed. “Please explain why Sara isn't given a choice!”

  “I took care of her all these years! Me! Only me! I'll not see her taken away by some sick bastard who whispers words into little girls' heads!”

  A voice, sharp and feminine, yelled, “Enough!”

  Sara's wheelchair wobbled as she propelled it through the door, into the grass and weeds in front of her cottage. Ewald's swinging sword was stilled by the sound of his daughter's voice.

  “Stop this! This is stupid!” Sara cried. “Father... I'm not a little girl anymore! If I want to go with Esha, I should be allowed to go with Esha!”

  Esha lowered his sword, but his hand was still tight on the hilt. He didn't want to stare at Sara, but her scars were unmissable in the sunlight pouring down on her. Her left cheek was a chaos of warped flesh, and her neck was as red as a fresh wound.

  Ewald grumbled, “Is that what you really want, girl? You want to abandon your father and run away with this... skinny little prick?” Ewald's leg flew out, landing a kick on Esha's shin.

  “Father, don't hurt him!” Sara begged. “You're acting like a child! Even if I left, it wouldn't be forever. I'd come back!”

  “How do I know that?” He was banned from hurting Esha, so Ewald spat in the boy's direction. “How do I know this shithead hasn't brainwashed you? He could take you away and I could never see my little girl again!”

  “I'm not little,” she repeated. “And you should have some trust in me. Esha doesn't seem malicious... not in the least!” A slight smile formed on the edge of her mouth, where her scars tapered into smoother skin. “He only ever seemed kind.”