Fox and Faun

by Dani Smith

  Drake cackled like a madman as his war spider tore through burned-out streets, periodically screaming some wild oath from within his ruby-colored fighter pod.

  All the Kits are beautiful, Ashe noted distantly as the slaughter buzzed past him. Iona, I am so sorry.

  Ashe slammed on the brakes, his bike tires screeching against the cobbled street before the Temple of The Elder Orchard. The beautiful carved moss-fringed building seemed to shimmer in the heat of the day, and Ashe’s heartbeat thundered harder. The prayer fount, he thought. The Jade.

  “Pull your head out of your arse, there, Ashy,” Thorn shouted from somewhere. “The boss is coming through!”

  The sound of oiled gears and whining pistons signaled Drake’s arrival. Ashe spun his bike around and rode out of the way as the Doomhand chief guided his monstrous metal spider up the periwinkle-threaded marble steps, still cackling madly.

  Ashe, who had never before been invited along on a raid, finally saw the truth: his boss was completely insane. The kind of insanity that drove worlds to ruin.

  There were choked screams of terror from inside the marble building as the giant blades on the spider’s forelegs rose into the air and then crashed down, thrusting into the barred temple doors. Loud splintering resounded in the air as heavy chunks of wood were tossed to either side; one of the broken door halves landed dangerously close to Quinn who sat astride his bike near the southern edge of the stairs. He jerked back, cursing, raising one arm to shield his face. Behind him, Thorn and Snow climbed down from their metal spiders and began to climb the stairs.

  “Come on, lads, get with it! Hup!” Thorn shouted. Ashe went for his kukri, drawing the big blade as he began climbing, Quinn at his heels.

  As he stepped into the shadowy sanctuary, Ashe was struck by scents he had thus far only briefly touched: cinnamon and spice, the woody vanilla smell of old books, and a distinct odor beneath those: magic. It was a faintly metallic scent, so alluring that he briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was standing behind Drake, with Snow and Thorn flanking the chief. Quinn drew up beside Ashe, a small shiny pistol in one hand.

  Standing before them was the Kit priestess. She was incredibly tall and as regal as any queen Ashe might have imagined. Her skin was smooth and black, a dramatic contrast against the garnet red robe she wore. A large moonstone, wrought in silver, glowed against her swanlike throat. Her peridot eyes gazed steadily at Drake and his henchmen, and there was no fear there. As Ashe began to scan the room, looking for the entrance to the saint’s crypt, Shiva spoke.

  “Why are you here, Doomhand?” she asked defiantly. “Haven’t we already given you one of our dearest treasures?”

  “Ah, yes,” Drake chuckled, pressing a hand to his broad chest and bowing slightly. “The little redheaded Kit bitch. And a mighty fine gift she has proven to be, I must say. Quite enjoyable, indeed.”

  Shiva’s eyes did not flicker from the Drake’s face.

  “We have given you all we have,” she said, her voice echoing powerfully through the cavernous holy place. “Including my apprentice. There is nothing else here that we can offer you.”

  Drake chuckled darkly, shaking his head hard, his stone-beaded dreadlocks clinking against each other as they swung against his back.

  “Ohhh, no,” Drake breathed. “No, no, no, my dear heart. Your little apprentice, now my wife, forgot to bring her wedding present along with her. And I’m here to claim it, by right.”

  “If you want the Jade,” Shiva said quietly, “you will not find it here. Iona hid it without my knowledge.”

  Drake’s teeth gritted audibly, his jaws flexing. “Lies.”

  “Do your ears fail you, bastard!” Tabia suddenly screamed, rushing forward, her face turning scarlet, her spectacles slipping askew. “We know not where the Jade has been taken! And you have destroyed us! Our home is no more … and now you return with new demands?! We will see you burn in eldritch fire—”

  Drake said nothing as she ranted. He just stood there and grinned. Behind him, Snow pulled his revolver from the holster beneath his vest, lightning quick, and fired.

  A communal scream went up from the few remaining Kits as Tabia’s head snapped back violently, a smoking black hole in the center of her forehead. Her body was thrown violently back as the back; she hit the wall and slid down to the floor, trailing blood as she fell. Her spectacles lay where she had been standing, glinting softly, the lenses shattered.

  Drake’s grin was huge. He reached slowly into his own vest and withdrew a massive revolver, bigger than Snow’s, the worn elm wood handle shining in the low light. He trained the barrel on Shiva, his ember eyes narrowing.

  “Now, oracle,” he growled, “tell me my future.”

  Tears gleamed in Shiva’s eyes, but she stood tall, raising her chin proudly. Behind her, children and infants wailed piteously in their mothers’ arms. Ashe held his breath as she uttered four words which carried weight as they echoed through the marble and oaken hall.

  “You will be damned.”

  Her words brought forth a barrage of horror. Ashe stood back and watched, sickened, as Drake, Snow, Thorn, and even Quinn opened fire on the huddled mass of Kits, their war skilled hands driving every bullet to strike true.

  Blood sprayed in dark gouts, spattering the walls and splashing across the floor. Bodies fell against each other and flopped to the floor where they lay, torn and ragged from bullets, limbs akimbo. When the echoes of the last shots had faded away and silence descended on the temple, the last of the Yellowseed Kits lay in a gory, haphazard pile. Shiva lay crumpled just beyond her brethren, her garnet-colored robes the same shade as the blood pooled around her, her eyes staring blankly toward the ornately carved ceiling above. Ashe watched, numb, as a single tear slipped from the corner of one of those sightless eyes and slid down her dark cheek.

  “Mayhap I should collect a few of their pretty tails,” Drake chuckled darkly. “Spread out! Look for that green crystal ball! I want it found in quick order!”

  They spread out. Ashe numbly sheathed his kukri and began to walk around the sanctuary. Quinn sidled up to him, holstering his pistol as he did.

  “Didn’t feel too good doing that,” he muttered.

  “Then why did you?” Ashe asked quietly. Quinn looked abashed and walked away, sulking.

  Ashe moved slowly to the base of the statue. A coy, whispering voice stole into his mind.

  I am here.

  He whipped around, looking for the interloper. Finding himself alone, he ducked under the overhang of the massive pedestal. There was a carved oak door there, tucked back into the shadows, and as he neared it, it creaked open slightly.

  You are close, he whom my mistress sent.

  He glanced around to ensure that the other Doomhands had not followed him before pulling the door open and slipping inside.

  It led him down a long low corridor lit with torches and candles. He followed it cautiously, his kukri raised defensively before him, its blade winking in the dancing firelight.

  The passage opened gently into a square stone-walled room lined with open slots where Kit skeletons lay in musty silence, their once brilliant wrappings rotted away to shreds and dust. There was a round stone-lined fire pit in the center, and in one corner sat a stack of well-seasoned logs and a wooden box of kindling meant for the ceremonial fire. He glanced around the crypt, his gold eyes flicking to and fro. Behind him came the sounds of shouts and the echoes of furniture and pottery breaking as the Doomhands tore the place apart trying to find Drake’s prize.

  Hurry.

  The breathy, dreaming voice came again, calling to him, and he looked to the far wall where a great tapestry depicting Kitsune and a parade of kneeling fox followers hung in jewel-toned splendor. There, standing between two tall vases overflowing with fragrant blossoms and flowering plants, was the prayer fount: a graceful carved column made of gold-flecked granite, shimmering faintly in the light of the wall torches.

  He walked up to it, laying
the palms of his hands on the edge of the fount and leaning over, looking into the shallow pool of water that lay there.

  The surface was as still as a mirror, and he stared in wonder at what he saw. There was nothing inside the fount itself; but in his reflection, just over his left shoulder, he beheld a brilliantly glowing green ball about the size of a large grapefruit, floating on the air itself. He jerked his head up and looked over his shoulder, seeing nothing there.

  “What the hell—”

  He looked back down and watched the bauble in the reflection dance gently beside his head, casting a jade-green glow across his skin and the spikes of his mohawk. Radiant lime-colored energy spiraled up around it, shimmering crystalline.

  Reach through the boundary, speak the word, and you will find me, its voice whispered.

  “Goat Boy!” he heard Thorn bark distantly behind him. “Where the hell are you, yanking your crank? Let’s go!”

  He had to move, and fast. He dipped his hands into the cool clear water as if to wash them, murmuring that powerful word given to him by Iona as he did.

  “Devarim … ”

  His fingers brushed a warm round shape that thrummed with energy. Slowly he cupped his palms around it and gently lifted it from the water.

  The Jade glowed briefly between his fingers, its fire lighting up the flesh and skin of his hands so that they glowed a deep, fiery pink and the slender traces of his bones revealed themselves.

  “Ashe!” Thorn shouted again somewhere in the temple, as the Jade flickered like a dying firefly before going dark.

  Ashe quickly pulled his heavy cloth pack in front of him and flipped it open, nestling the darkened crystal into the bottom. There was a camping blanket stuffed inside and he pawed it over his find, flipping the pack shut and buckling it before tramping back up the corridor.

  They were not in the sanctuary when he emerged from under the statue, but he could hear them: Drake was having a tantrum of sorts, yanking furniture over and howling. Ashe hurried from the sanctuary and into the back rooms of the monastery where he found his companions. They had destroyed everything as they moved from room to room, scattering manuscripts, tearing open chests and boxes and bags, flinging the meager belongings of Shiva and her attendants helter-skelter. Snow, always quiet and calculating, knocked on the wooden parts of the walls, listening for the hollow sound of an empty niche or hidden panel where the Jade might have been stowed.

  The temple was in shambles. Drake, his face a livid shade of purple red, tramped back into the sanctuary and gave the big chalice a powerful kick, sending it rolling off its pedestal with an echoing clang! Coals like burning orange jewels scattered across the marble floor, pattering up against the long silk tapestries that hung on either side of the massive statue of Kitsune. Bright flame licked its way up the finely woven fabric, racing up behind the behemoth carving, until a shimmering wall of fire blazed behind it. Before long, the Monastery of the Elder Orchard was a roaring inferno, fire racing up walls and across ceiling beams, its reflection flickering ominously in the polished marble floors.

  Drake spat on the floor and spun about, marching out of the sanctuary, Snow and Thorn at his heels like obedient dogs of war. Ashe followed them, gripping his pack tightly to his side, praying that the sleeping globe at its bottom would not awaken and cast its glow through the rough weave of his blanket and bag for all to see. Quinn walked out shortly after them, his head lowered, a handful of dripping fox tails gripped in his friend’s fist.

  No, Quinn, Ashe thought, horrified. Not you, not you.

  “I am going to punish her,” Drake growled as they tramped out of the blazing building. “I am going to beat her within an inch of her life…"

  At his words, Ashe felt a hot spark of anger—real anger—flicker to life in the pit of his belly, filling his chest and throat with bitter heat.

  The Doomhands climbed into their war machines and jumped onto their bikes, roaring off into the bright midday, leaving the final remains of Yellowseed, its gardens, and its ancient silver orchard to burn behind them.

  Chapter 11

  A day later, the Doomhands swept back into Bargsea and Ashe returned to his bunk in the servants’ quarters of Drake’s compound as quickly and quietly as he could, leaving the still-fuming Drake behind in his meeting hall. He left Snow and Drake behind, with Snow attempting calmly to control his master’s anger.

  Quinn had disappeared once they had returned to the compound, walking morosely out into the city to clear his head. As they parted ways, Ashe could feel the shame rolling from him in great waves. For the first time, Quinn had committed murder for his master, and he was realizing he could not take it back.

  Ashe stole across the courtyard with his pack clutched to his chest, his boots scraping the cobble and concrete as he hurried along. Inside, the sleeping Jade seemed to fill his head with dreamlike whispers.

  My mistress daydreams of you, it murmured in that breathy visionary’s voice. Do you share in her reverie?

  Ashe pushed the door to his spartan bunk room open with his hip, kicking it shut unceremoniously behind him and locking it. Two straw pallet beds occupied the cramped space, one for him and one for Quinn. A small, high window cast a dusty bar of wan light across his bed. He sat on the roughly woven woolen blanket cross-legged, bending over the pack as he gingerly opened it. He was not sure how he should feel as he pushed the riding blanket aside.

  He wasn’t afraid. Instead he felt more alive, more alert, than he had in a long time.

  As the blanket was moved aside, the Jade lit up like a green star, its brightness glowing eerily through the fabric of Ashe’s pack. Ashe jerked back uncertainly as the bright globe floated up and hovered midair before him, shimmering with that impossible leaf-colored brilliance. It lit up his face and shone in his eyes, twin pinpoints of jade at the center of rings of gold. Ashe leaned toward it hesitantly, reaching up and cupping his big palms beneath it in case it might fall.

  He was suddenly no longer aware of the cramped cell around him, nor of the rough blanket and straw that he sat on. The smells of the woods permeated his senses: rushing crystal-clear water, rustling leaves, and the sound of the wind sighing through the highest branches of the trees filled his ears. Sunlight dappled waving grasses, wildflowers, and rich dunny earth. He leaned even closer, inhaling those precious scents, letting them fill his mouth and nose, tasting the dirt and moss, letting the icy, brisk flavor of spring water ghost over his tongue. He saw the shadows of leaves moving dreamily against the cracked plastered walls around him, heard the soft twitter of invisible birds nesting among them. The Jade hummed softly, tiny star like motes dancing around it, and suddenly Ashe found himself staring into Iona’s eyes.

  He let out a choked gasp, drawing back. It was like looking into a small, round mirror, only the face staring back at him was his beloved’s. Yes, he thought, that’s the word: my beloved. He could not deny all he felt for her, and all he desired.

  What has been spoken for may be unspoken, the Jade whispered, showing him the gently parted pinkness of her lips, the glint of the slim silver ring looping through one nostril, the flaming ginger orange shade of her hair. Those mysterious peacock eyes and their eternally shifting colors. Ashe reached slowly toward the floating ball, as if in a dream, wanting to touch her freckled cheek, to caress the line of her jaw.

  Briefly the fantasy came alive, breathed into life by the Jade. He felt her lips on his face, his neck, his chest, her tongue whispering over his flesh.

  The Jade continued to barrage him with visions, and he began to feel like he was drowning in the textures of the fantasy it brought. He was gasping, choking on it, feeling like his mind was being turned inside out. He lay writhing on the little bed, twisting and moaning gracelessly, swimming desperately for the surface like a man being dragged into the depths of the sea by some monstrous invisible beast.

  No …

  It was like a drug, and it brought what drugs always bring: too much. Too much pleasure, too muc
h unreality. He wanted more, was hungry for more, but it was going to kill him. Unable to shut his eyes to the visions, textures, and emotions it brought, Ashe somehow managed to jam his hand into the inside of his vest where he had put the syringe containing Aura’s potion. He yanked it out, popping the stopper off with his thumb. Gritting his teeth, he jammed the long needle through his trousers and into his thigh.

  He felt the bite of the needle and the cool rush as the potion entered his body, merging with his tissue, seeping into his bloodstream. He groaned, feeling like he was falling, tumbling, all control lost.

  The empty syringe fell to the floor, cracking in half, as Ashe fell into a black sleep, the visions finally banished.

  The Jade went dark and plopped onto the blanket beside him, clinking hollowly, asleep once again.

  Chapter 12

  The tapping came soft at first.

  Iona blinked, her lashes fluttering slowly as she became aware of the room around her, of the silk coverlet and beaded cushions surrounding her and of Omnia’s slow breathing nearby. She sat up, brushing her hair back from her brow.

  The blue shadows of midnight cloaked the room around her. She had fallen asleep in Omnia’s pillow and blanket nest, refusing to sleep in the bed she was forced to share with Drake when he came calling.

  The tapping came again, louder this time.

  Omnia stirred in her own nest beside Iona’s, mumbling. Her horn briefly shimmered, and her pink eyes flashed open. “What is that?” she whispered. “Oh bother, is our husband back again?”

  Iona shook her head. “No,” she murmured, “unless he has taken to using the window.”

  She rose slowly, gathering her wispy lilac nightdress in her hands and picked her way over the pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, padding softly to the tall window. Parting the drapes, her shadow cast long behind her as the moonlight speared in.