Foxfire in the Snow

by J. S. Fields

  “Royal Daughter! Might I suggest a departure? I don’t think the factory workers have taken to you. I’ve saddled your horses and packed you a few meals.”

  Relief washed across Magda’s face. “Thank you very much. Could you bring the horses around? I’ll meet you outside. Sorin, with me.” She strode toward the kitchen and the hall to our room without looking back.

  “Thank you, Keegan,” I managed as I marched after Magda, trying to take deep breaths to loosen the tightness in my chest. It was hard to separate a rebuke from the royal heir from a rebuke from a friend. My eyes were threatening to tear because I seemed to meet every emotion with tears these days. Luckily, everything I owned was already on my person, so I needed only to stand near the door as Magda hastily stuffed her belongings into a leather satchel.

  “The witch?” I asked.

  “If it’s not posing an immediate threat, we’ll deal with it after we leave town.”

  “Do you need my help?” I tentatively reached for a shirt, but Magda got to it first.

  “No, Sorin. I just didn’t want you out of my sight. I’m about done here.” Another pair of pants went into the satchel and Magda forced the closure. Curtly, and without looking at me, she said, “Come on. We need to go. No more dawdling or surprises.”

  This time, her words cut too deeply to pass off as royal orders. I grabbed at her cloak as she reached for the door, thinking I should take just a moment to explain. Her tone cut, and I couldn’t ride to Celtis with emotions bleeding all over. I didn’t want her to be mad, not at me. Not like this.

  “I didn’t mean to…surprise you. Um, it’s not… A lot of things are happening. Have happened. This…I’m not… If we could just talk.”

  The eyes that turned back to me were narrow and angry, and the pain there looked personal.

  I dropped the fabric. I’d been too forward. Shame flushed my cheeks. She hadn’t been talking about my presentation. I was being ridiculous, again. “Royal Daughter, I’m—”

  “Look, Sorin, I get that you have a blind spot when it comes to guilds and alchemy. Amada kept you in that damn forest, away from anyone who might have given you some broader look at the world and, in doing so, became your world. It’s time to come out of your bubble. Gods, Sorin, witches are talking to you. Think about that for a minute.”

  “I’m so sorry, Royal Daughter. I’m trying to—”

  Magda slapped at the doorframe. “Just listen. You don’t have any idea what happened back there, do you? You’ve got them thinking about witches, and old magic, and everything that went along with the king. He kidnapped people, Sorin. Women, in particular. He kept them locked up on farms, trained them in all the skills he wanted, and then used…magic—a sword with magic—to kill them and take their skills for his own. He littered the three countries with his magic. Iana broke free. Iana beat him at his own game. But it was a century ago, and that’s not so long. And you’re a…you’re an alchemist. You’re unbound, the same as the witches.” She slapped her chest. “And I may have said some stupid things in that factory indicating it shouldn’t be there. Individually, they could have passed. Together, the village is up in arms. We have to go. Now.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” I walked into the hall.

  “Sorin.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  I turned and responded without thinking because my mouth had a bad tendency to run when I was nervous or upset. When it did, it was often without consultation with my brain.

  “Could we share a room again? In Puget?” I asked.

  I didn’t know where the words slid from, for I’d not even considered our lodging in the other country. Did they even have inns? Perhaps they slept in the open, or in boats on some landlocked lake. Heat crept to my cheeks, again, but I didn’t look away. I wanted her answer.

  Magda’s eyebrows raised, and she smothered a smile. “I would enjoy that,” she whispered into my ear as she passed. She came close enough that her lips just grazed my cheek, but then she was past, down the hall and into the main room of the inn.

  It was hard to breathe now, binding or no. Gods, she’d almost kissed me. I’d wanted her to kiss me—it had been in the back of my mind since her bath—but the sudden, tangible reality was overwhelming.

  “Are you coming, Sorin?” Magda called from the inn’s main door.

  “Yes, of course.” I followed Magda out of the inn, desperately trying to keep the grin from my face.

  Fourteen: Lead

  “About half the town is out now,” Keegan called from the door as Magda mounted her horse and I the one Keegan had sold us—a short, black thing with a white mark on its nose and front right hoof—and we began toward the road. Keegan had told me its name, but it might as well have been Peanut again, for all I cared. I was way too sore to be riding, and it was difficult to grip the saddle with my thighs.

  “You okay then, Sorin?” Magda asked as I gave Peanut the Second a tentative pat. From the back of my saddle, I took a brown, frayed cloak, unrolled it, and fastened it on.

  “I suppose.”

  “They’re demanding to speak with you,” Keegan called out.

  “I’m not surprised. Sorin, stay close, but visible. We’ll ride through the plaza. Show them very clearly we’re leaving, and our witch is coming with us.”

  “Hey!” I choked on air, and old, well-honed frustrations about Thujan villagers swelled in my chest.

  Magda glared back at me. I pursed my lips to the side and decided against arguing just as we came in front of the stables to face the crowd.

  Some fifty people stood in an arc in front of the inn. I recognized many from the factory, but they’d been joined now by men, women, and even a few children from the village. Two in the far back held wooden torches, and at least three factory workers had their scissors.

  They’re going to kill you.

  An elderly woman pushed to the front and addressed Magda. She wore her hair gathered on top of her head, and her fine red cotton dress had stitching so even I wondered whether they were done by machine. Her left hand held a length of rope. The wind batted at my ears.

  They’re going to kill Magda.

  Shut up!

  You’ll be safe if you return to Thuja.

  Magda’s voice cut through the wind. “I’m leaving you in peace,” Magda called out to the crowd. “I apologize for my statements in the factory. I’ll bring this to the queen’s attention, as well as your comments about trade. I’m sure we can find a way for guilds and machines to work together.”

  Promise to return to Thuja and both you and the royal daughter will be spared.

  What little patience I had ran out. How about I melt you into a yellow puddle instead?

  Tinkling laughter scattered through the wind.

  I shifted in my saddle, ready to scream out loud at the witch who would not get out of my head. Magda jerked her horse back and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t,” she cautioned. “One more piece of kindling and the town will go to blaze. They don’t care what you are. They just want you, us, gone.”

  “I just want the witch out of my head,” I muttered quietly. I settled, though, scratching my fingernails on the leather of my saddle. I’d pretend it was the witch’s face.

  The elderly woman stepped up to Magda’s horse. She stomped her foot—not the way a child would when not given a sweet, but the way that told us, definitely, who was in charge. It was hard to ignore the implications of the rope she held, and I could almost feel the rough fibers as her fingers stroked the threads. We needed to get out of town, and it didn’t look like Magda’s royal blood wasn’t going to be enough to do it.

  “You brought a witch to our village, Royal Daughter. We can forgive your comments in the factory, but you know what a witch means here, guilded or not. He’s not leaving.”

  I rolled my eyes at the pronoun. It didn’t hurt the same way “she” did, but it wasn’t accurate either. Although if they hung me, pronouns would be the least of my concerns.


  “If you can find the witch, he is yours, but Sorin is not.” Magda brought her horse in front of mine, cutting me off from the crowd.

  The wind laughed.

  “Sorin poses no risk to your village, and is an unguilded woodcutter with an interest in alchemy, nothing more. We are, however, being pursued by a witch, and for bringing that to your village, I apologize. As we continue our journey, we will take the north road to avoid more of your rangelands on our way to Celtis.”

  Another gust of wind, this one without words, tossed around the smell of burnt wood along with Magda’s blue cloak. I caught a glint of gold on her head as her hair shifted. She’d put her circlet on, although when I wasn’t sure. The added authority didn’t seem to be helping.

  The old woman looked right at me, her voice calm. “The witch stays, Royal Daughter.”

  You know how Iana dealt with the king’s witches, don’t you? The king’s witches and the king’s alchemists. They tried to take her power with that magic sword, and she killed them all. She hung them, drew and quartered them, then burned them. You could just go back to Thuja. Save Magda. Save yourself.

  “I’m not a witch!” I yelled, both to the wind and to the woman on the ground. I tried to guide Peanut II up next to Magda’s horse, but he stayed stubbornly behind. “Damn this horse!”

  The woman moved toward Peanut. She reached out, first to pet his nose, then went to his bridle, which she tugged. Peanut began to kneel.

  I kicked at Peanut, desperate to get him to move or shuffle or do something. He steadfastly refused until Magda drew her sword. Then Peanut sidestepped at the sound of the metal against leather, but the woman did not release him.

  “Sorin is coming with me,” Magda said. Her sword was still pointed to the earth, but if the villagers couldn’t hear the warning in her voice, they were idiots.

  The woman spat on the ground. “No heir of Iana would protect a witch or alchemist. They are vile.”

  “Alchemists aren’t—”

  “No, witches and alchemists are guilded.” Magda spoke over me, her knuckles pink with her grip on her sword. “Iana wouldn’t condone a lynch mob.”

  “You don’t speak for her,” the woman snarled. “We are her people. Iana came from a ranch just outside our borders, as the legend says. We carry her legacy, not some city-raised descendent.”

  The woman gestured, and the crowd surged forward. Knives came out of sheaths, and I saw bottles of alcohol opened far too close to the torches. I made a final attempt to pull Peanut back, and failed. Magda’s jaw set. Gods, we were going to die here, in this frozen, guildless town. I scanned the crowd, thinking maybe I might see some escape route Magda had missed, when I caught the sight of black curls just to my right.

  Sameer. Not holding any weapons, but with fists rammed into his pockets, his brow furrowed, his eyes boring into me. Sameer, who was a guilded textile worker. Sameer, who lived up on the glacier and knew how to navigate it. Sameer, who was trusted by the village.

  Damn him for being here, and damn him for being our only way out.

  Fifteen: Tin

  “The master of textiles will take us.” I yelled it into the crowd, ignoring the grunt of surprise from Magda. “He’ll escort us to the glacier, where we’ll be well off your lands.”

  Sameer pushed forward, approaching my horse. I sat back in the saddle as he leaned in, his face contorted in rage.

  I lowered my voice. “Escort us out of town. Please. I’m not guilded, but the royal daughter is, and Amada—”

  Sameer’s face looked like an overripe mangosteen. “Fuck Amada.”

  Maybe Mother had made the right choice in never allowing me to know my sibling. I didn’t have the patience for this. “You’d have to find her to do that, and you won’t find her with us dead.”

  His eyes flashed with some emotion I couldn’t pinpoint, and then he let out a short growl, mounted my horse, and sat directly behind me in the saddle. Startled, I tried to stand and slide off, but Sameer’s arm snaked around my waist and held me down. He whispered into my ear, “You and I need to have a long talk.”

  “Great,” I growled back. “After we get out of the village, okay?”

  “Master of textiles?” the lead woman called up to us. “You trust them?”

  Sameer snorted. “Absolutely not, but I do know them, sort of. I’ll take them to the damn glacier. Let the ice be their executioner. I didn’t work on that spirit house to have it trampled by a mob.”

  The old woman tossed her head in a funny sort of nod. “Acceptable, Master.” She sheathed her knife. “Don’t ever visit Miantri again.” The woman’s words might have been meant for Magda, but her eyes glared only at me.

  I tried to urge my horse forward while simultaneously elbowing Sameer. He was way too close, and he smelled like old sweat and rotting birch.

  Magda gave me a tense, questioning look, but I frowned. “He’s fine. Let’s go.”

  “Thank you for your understanding,” she said to the woman. She took my horse’s reins and kicked her horse to a trot along the path that led from the village. The wind followed us, twirling our cloaks and stinging the tips of our ears as the villagers jeered.

  The witch’s voice mingled along with them.

  You’re going to die. You’re going to die die die die die.

  I spat at the wind, though I’d never been much good at spitting, and all I succeeded in doing was getting Peanut’s ear wet.

  “Sorin?” Magda asked at Peanut’s snort.

  I shook my head. “Witches in my head. Trying to keep us off the glacier.”

  “Possibly the witch isn’t as naïve as you two are about ice,” Sameer offered, a little too smugly.

  “Please be quiet,” I hissed.

  “Eyes ahead then. Don’t want the village to think you’re going to hex them.”

  I slumped. The only other option was to try to land an elbow on Sameer’s nose, which the village would definitely not have approved of. So, I stayed silent as we passed through the square at a tense canter, slow enough to watch people shove knives into boots and overhear conversations about guilds and witches and alchemists mingling with questions about lunch. Magda’s shoulders progressively relaxed as we neared the city wall, and even Sameer’s grip lessened once we’d passed the line of loose gray stones and came to the main path crossroads.

  There, while Magda debated which road to take, a soft purple light caught my eyes. It lined the left side of our trail, then cut south, along the road back to Thuja and Sorpsi’s capital.

  Thousands of ways to die on a glacier. Turn back, Sorin of Thuja. This path will take you home.

  Home. The witch meant Thuja, but home also meant the capital, and Master Rahad, and my apprenticeship. A desperate, irrational desire to run down the trail of purple crumbled over me.

  “Sorin, what are those? Some of your fungi?” Magda pointed not south, but to the north trail where dotted patches of normal, white foxfire lead into a forest of scraggly firs coated in snow.

  I took a deep breath. Magda was the reason I was still here. Magda would release me from my guild inheritance once we finished our trip. Magda, and the northern trail, were what I needed to focus on.

  “Those are just foxfire. They’re out of season, but maybe this is a winter variety we don’t have in Thuja. I don’t know. Most glow blue or green in the dark, depending on variety, but it is normal for them to be white in daylight.” I didn’t mention the south trail. If she hadn’t commented on it, then likely she couldn’t see it, and now wasn’t the time to have another conversation about witches.

  Magda backed her horse up so it paralleled mine. “Would you check the fungi? Even though they look normal? This close to the glacier, I’d like to be sure.”

  Anything to get me out of the saddle and away from Sameer and his stink.

  I dismounted my horse, stepped onto the north trail, then knelt at the first fungal cluster. “Okay?” I murmured as I touched the top of one of the little white mushroo
ms, enjoying the moist, delicate feeling on my skin. In the spring or summer, the texture wouldn’t have been strange. For the middle of winter, the fungus was far too alive. “Going to dance or anything? Turn Sameer into a capybara?” I snickered. The fungus, as I had hoped, did not respond.

  “It’s typical,” I said as I looked farther down the trail. “Just some fungi in a fairy trail. A mild enchantment. There’s probably an old amulet nearby like Master Rahad said. A broken old amulet leaking some old magic into the duff.”

  “Is that why it started glowing?” Sameer shot back. “Or is that your magic?”

  “I’m not a… Glowing? What?” I looked down at the fungi near my knee; they had, in fact, started glowing green. Which was impossible, of course, because it was far too light to see the pale luminescence of foxfire, and the tiny things were so bright I almost had to look away. I frowned and got back on my horse. The glow faded out.

  I sighed. I really hated magic.

  “Magda, would you take your horse forward? I want to test something.”

  “The fungi aren’t going to kill me or my horse, right?”

  I looked over to glare at her but saw a lopsided smirk on her face, and grinned.

  “No, Royal Daughter. I promise to protect you from the fungi. Now, if you would please? For alchemy?”

  “If it’s for a guild, I suppose.” Magda uttered what sounded like a well-practiced sigh and let her horse canter a few meters along the northern trail, then turned back. No fungi glowed. She even got off and tried on foot. Again, the foxfire stayed their normal white.

  “Uh-huh.” Sameer snorted. More loudly, he said, “It’s not a bad idea to lose the horses. We can’t take them on the glacier, and if Sorin is triggering some old magic, we might as well take advantage of it.”

  Of course it had to be me triggering the magic. Why couldn’t this witch just leave me alone? “You’re not afraid of the snowsickness?” I asked Sameer, trying to bring my mind to other pressing issues, like us dying on the glacier.