Make a chain! Quicksilver hurried through the snow to them, the others right behind her. They threw themselves onto the ice, flat on their bellies. Olli grabbed Freja’s arms, and Quicksilver grabbed Olli’s ankles, and Bernt grabbed Quicksilver’s ankles, and so on. Pulka shot into the air in a frenzy of white feathers, screeching.
The net of collective magic wavered. They were seven spiders sharing a single fragile web, and two threads had broken, drifting in the wind.
Many will be mighty, Quicksilver shouted in her mind, clinging to Olli’s ankles while Fox bit down hard on her cloak and dug his paws into the snow.
Olli glanced back at her, his eyes wide. “What?”
Quicksilver hadn’t meant to say that. The words had come instinctively, desperate and stubborn, from somewhere deep inside her.
Many will be mighty, Quicksilver thought again, louder and more firm, and then once more: Many will be mighty!
The more she said the words, the stronger she felt, and when she pushed that feeling along to the others, she felt them grow stronger too. Fear faded, confusion cleared. Together—seven minds, working as one—they sent their monsters swooping over the cliff, shifting them into a great multicolored eagle, yellow like Fox and white like Pulka, orange like Freja’s snake and green like Lukaas’s lizard.
The eagle grabbed Freja and Lukaas with its talons, soared back over the mountain path, and deposited them safely into the snow. Then the huge bird wavered and dissolved, and became seven monsters once more.
Olli tugged the scarf off his mouth and beamed at Quicksilver. “How did you do that, Quix? Is that a spell the old woman taught you?”
“Not a spell,” Quicksilver replied, trying to think of an answer that Anastazia would approve of. “Sometimes words are more powerful than magic, for they can remind us how strong we truly are.”
Shaking his head, Olli tucked his scarf back into place. “You’re a marvelous witch, Quix, do you know that? Odd, but marvelous.”
“You’re one to talk, Ol,” Lukaas shot back, still dusting the snow off his clothes.
Olli’s boisterous laughter rang out as they started back up the path. “Bernt? Lumi? Aleksi? How about a song? Like when we were creeping across that frozen lake?”
The three witches chuckled and began singing, Bernt’s old, raspy voice loudest of all:
“Once upon the southern seas
As blue and still as glass
I crashed upon a mint-green isle
And saw a golden lass.
She wore a crown upon her head
And diamonds in her smile
And though her eyes were black and cold
I thought I’d stay awhile.”
Olli, Freja, and Lukaas joined in, their voices almost lost to the howling wind. Quicksilver stomped happily up the path behind them.
We did that, Fox. Can you believe it? We helped them. We saved them.
No, Quicksilver. Fox nudged her gloved hand. That was all you.
A thought came to Quicksilver then—a tiny, quiet thought that she kept tucked deeply away so that maybe not even Fox could hear it. She thought that maybe, if her parents could see her now, leading this group of witches up a treacherous mountain near the Far North, they would be proud.
But then a second thought came unbidden, right on its heels: even if they could see her, she wouldn’t care. She was not theirs; she was Fox’s and Anastazia’s, and maybe even Olli’s. She did not need parents to feel strong; she was strong on her own. She was doing impossible things, and she was proud of herself, and perhaps that was all that really counted, in the end—feeling content in her own skin. Feeling the power of her own will.
I’ve been saying that all along, Fox could not resist chiming in. She let him enjoy his smug moment, and by the time they reached the mouth of the first cave, she hardly noticed the cold at all.
“In here!” Fox called, shifting out of his polar fox form and back into a dog. Then he dashed into the cave before anyone had the chance to speak. “I feel it very clearly up here! Shouldn’t be much longer!”
Fox and the other monsters sped ahead, their colorful glows creating eerie shadows on the sloping stone walls. They pushed deeper and deeper into the mountain, down rocky passages slick with ice and through mazes of stones covered with luminous blue lichens.
After crawling through a narrow tunnel so tight that Aleksi kept hitting his head on the ceiling, even while on his hands and knees, they emerged into a tremendous cavern, bigger than anything they had seen thus far. The ceiling high above them pulsed with a million tiny glowworms, creating the illusion of a starry night sky. The worms bathed the entire space in a warm pink-and-blue glow. Shimmering water creatures darted from here to there beneath the surface of a frozen lake.
A sharp, dense forest of rocks thrust up through the frozen lake.
There, Fox thought. The skeleton’s somewhere in there, in all those rocks. The ermine.
As his thoughts echoed to the others, Quicksilver felt their rising excitement like warming rays of the sun.
Olli squeezed Quicksilver’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “Well done, Quix. You and Fox should be the ones to retrieve it. This was your plan, after all.”
Quicksilver turned to face the rocks, trying not to betray how pleased she felt. They had done this—she and Fox. Olli and his brave little coven had helped, certainly; with their magic boosting Quicksilver’s own, Fox had been able to follow the skeleton’s call much more easily than if they had been alone.
But they would have found it, eventually, no matter what—because, together, Quicksilver and Fox were an unbeatable team. She put a hand on Fox’s head and stroked the soft spot behind his left ear.
Ready, Fox?
He wagged his tail. Always, for you.
Quicksilver shut her eyes, determined to take her time and get this right. She imagined Fox gliding effortlessly across the ice, speeding through the forest of rocks, and thought to him, Away with you.
She felt a slight, swift tug in her chest, opened her eyes, and saw him zip into the rocks—a comet trailing yellow light—and disappear.
Silence. Waiting. Olli sat cross-legged on a low, flat stone, clasped his hands against his mouth, and stared hard into the rock forest. Freja paced, her monster coiled nervously on her head; Lumi stood, her eyes closed, her arms crossed over her chest.
Finally Fox barked, the jubilant sound echoing through the cave.
Quicksilver’s heart leaped into her throat. Is it there?
Yes! Every last piece! Just give me one moment. It’s a right nasty little thing. Sharp teeth.
Then there was silence, thick with anticipation. Quicksilver felt Fox pick up each bone with his teeth and delicately drop them into his pack. The Wolf King’s memories of the ermine monster drifted easily through Quicksilver’s mind, and Fox’s, too—an ermine’s soft white fur and clever eyes, lean body and scrappy sharp claws.
At last Fox said, Finished! I’m ready.
Quicksilver smiled. Come back to me. And then Fox was safely back on the shore of the frozen lake, the bones tucked away in his pack, and the entire coven was cheering. Fox sat, accepting their pats and ear scratches, looking so entirely satisfied with himself that Quicksilver had to roll her eyes.
Am I the best monster in all the Star Lands, he asked, or am I not?
But Quicksilver did not have the chance to answer. For just then, in a brilliant flash of blinding light, the white wolf appeared beside her, and with a ferocious growl, knocked her flat to the ground.
.42.
NOTHING BUT A THIEF
Quicksilver lay sprawled on the ground, gasping, a sharp pain blooming on the back of her head.
The white wolf’s mammoth paw pressed on her throat, cutting off her air. She clawed at the paw, tearing out tufts of fur. The wolf pressed down harder. She gagged, choking. The wolf snarled, a nasty grin curling across its long, sharp snout. Its hot, stinking breath burned her cheek.
She couldn’t sense the rest of the coven—w
here they were, what they were thinking, what they planned to do. Their collective magic had snapped and broken. The only thing she could feel besides the paw on her throat was Fox—and he was furious.
Get off her! He tore across the cave to the white wolf and rammed into its side. The wolf staggered but didn’t move. Fox leaped onto the wolf’s back, bit into his shoulders, and tore at his fur with furious paws. A spray of hot blood hit Quicksilver’s cheek. The white wolf roared, released Quicksilver, then slammed Fox to the ground and hit him in the stomach with one massive white paw. Fox yelped, skidded across the icy lake, and slid headfirst into one of the giant rocks.
Quicksilver screamed. Fox!
She scrambled away from the wolf and shot to her feet. Six streaks of burning light flew past her, whipping her hair around her face. Six lights—blue, gray, black, brown, gold, red. The lights whirled around Olli, Freja, Lukaas, Aleksi, Lumi, and Bernt like blinding bright cyclones. When the air stilled, six wolves stood in a semicircle between Quicksilver and the exit. Each held a monster in its jaws.
The other witches, wide-eyed and trembling, writhed at the wolves’ feet. Olli reached for Pulka, gasping. The owl flapped frantically, trapped in the blue wolf’s jaws. When Olli crawled toward her, the wolf gave her a violent shake.
The world tilted around Quicksilver, too slow and too fast both at once. Fear choked her voice, her mind, her whole body.
. . . Fox?
I’m not hurt, came his faint reply. He stood up and shook himself. Well, not irreparably so. Rotten fellow’s got a mean punch.
Can we connect with the others? Our collective magic—
Not like this, not with their monsters trapped. They’re in too much pain—
We have to try! Help me!
With Fox guiding her, Quicksilver reached out to the others, trying to re-create the magical net that had helped them up the mountain. She held out her power like an open hand and shouted at them, Grab on! Make the net! Many will be mighty!
But nothing happened. Their magic buzzed, dull and dim, at the tips of her fingers.
A throng of voices rang out from behind her—seven voices, booming and full of rage. And one eighth, tiny voice—a boy’s voice—trapped within them.
“Give me the skeletons,” roared the voices, “and there’s no reason for further violence. At least for now.”
Quicksilver turned to see the Wolf King walking across the ice, his hands clasped behind his back. She nearly gasped when she saw how much he had changed. His face was so gaunt she could almost see the skull beneath his skin. The shadows under his red-rimmed eyes had grown so immense that his entire face was drawn in shades of gray. His eyes leaked tears, though Quicksilver could not imagine what he had to cry about.
Five shadows, more solid and human shaped than the last time she had seen them, floated over the Wolf King’s head.
The First Ones, Quicksilver thought to Fox.
No matter what happens, we can’t let him get the last two skeletons.
I agree. Quicksilver forced herself to stand tall. No matter what happens.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
A slow, mocking smile spread across the Wolf King’s face. “Of course you do. I know who you are. I know who you’ve been. I—” He screamed, clutching his head, and fell hard to his knees.
One of the First Ones snapped its dark head around and hissed—and out from behind an icy boulder hurried Sly Boots, in a fine coat trimmed with shining fur.
He offered the Wolf King a sip from a leather drinking pouch and wiped his forehead with a cloth. He glanced at Quicksilver and then away, his eyes wide and watery.
Rage swept through Quicksilver in hot, crashing waves. She ran at Sly Boots, screaming, “You evil, you traitor—”
Pulka squawked, bringing Quicksilver to a halt. She whirled. Olli fought to raise himself to his hands and knees. He reached for Pulka, cried out her name. The blue wolf flung the owl to the ground and pinned her there. Its claws dug into her white chest, drawing blood. Olli sank back to the ground, moaning in agony.
The Wolf King rose unsteadily to his feet, his arm around Sly Boots’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t do . . . anything rash, witch,” he said, his voice faint and low. “Unless you want to . . . hear your friends screaming in agony . . . see them split open right in front of you.”
Quicksilver glared at Sly Boots, her stomach turning at the sounds of the other witches—all of them crying for their monsters, all the trapped monsters screeching and whimpering.
“So this is what you do now, is it, Boots?” said Quicksilver. “You play nurse to a bloodthirsty murderer?”
Sly Boots said nothing, just stared at Quicksilver. He widened his eyes and glanced pointedly at the First Ones, then at the Wolf King, then at the First Ones again as they circled over the group like storm clouds.
Quicksilver ignored him. Whatever he was trying to tell her, it was just another lie.
She held her cloak open so the Wolf King could see her pockets. “All right,” she said, “if you want the bones so badly . . .”
Behind her, Olli let out a strangled cry. “No!”
Fox? Quicksilver thought, her heart pounding. When she did this, what would happen to them?
Ready, Quicksilver.
“. . . then you can have them.” Quicksilver reached into her cloak pocket.
The wolves leaned toward her, the trapped monsters held tight between their teeth and under their paws.
The First Ones drifted lower, like birds of prey circling a kill.
The Wolf King watched her with bleary eyes, looking tired enough to fall over.
Slowly Quicksilver withdrew her hand from her pocket . . . and held out an empty palm for everyone to see.
The wolves howled in rage. The First Ones shot up toward the ceiling, five angry columns of black. The cavern shook; worms fell from the ceiling, pink and blue and wriggling.
The Wolf King once again cried out and collapsed, holding his head.
And through the chaos, Quicksilver watched with grim satisfaction as Fox ran out of the cavern to safety, the starling and ermine skeletons secure in his pack.
I’ll come back for you, Quicksilver. The warmth of Fox’s love flooded through her, making her less afraid.
I know you will—
Agony ripped through her, and she screamed and fell. Her leg was on fire. The white wolf, his teeth piercing her calf, dragged her across the cave floor to the Wolf King.
Quicksilver? Quicksilver!
She couldn’t think a word to Fox. She clawed at the ground, trying to pull herself away, but the wolf held fast.
The Wolf King stood looking down at her, his face shining and sickly with sweat. The First Ones roiled at his ears, whispering.
Sly Boots hovered behind the Wolf King, staring fearfully at Quicksilver.
“You’re nothing but a thief,” the Wolf King said coldly.
Quicksilver gasped, tried to breathe. The wolf’s teeth sent white-hot streaks of pain shooting up her whole body. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she flashed him a hard grin anyway. “That’s right. The best in the Star Lands.”
A small smile crossed the Wolf King’s face, and for a startling moment, Quicksilver thought it might have carried a sort of sadness in it. “We shall see if that’s still the case when you’re screaming for me to stop hurting you.”
“Leave her alone, you beast!” Olli bit out, his voice thick with Pulka’s injuries. “She’s just a child!”
“So was I, once,” said the Wolf King calmly, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the white wolf, now a bright arrow of light, straight for Quicksilver’s heart.
.43.
FOR YOU, QUICKSILVER
At first, when the arrow pierced her skin, Quicksilver did not react. She refused to let the Wolf King have the satisfaction of watching her squirm.
But then the arrow burrowed into her chest and spun, digging deep and deeper. Lightning bolts of pain slammed th
rough her body, hot and crackling. A scream tore its way out of her throat, and another and another—and then, just when she thought she could bear no more, everything stopped.
She opened her eyes, lungs heaving, and saw the white wolf standing beside her.
The Wolf King lowered himself to one knee and stroked her cheek. “That can’t have felt good. I won’t do it again, if you give them to me.”
Quicksilver gazed up at him, her vision swirling and dim. She heard Olli and the coven, still trapped behind her. Freja called her name; Bernt, his voice deep and rasping, told her not to be afraid. Lukaas begged the Wolf King to stop.
Quicksilver? Fox’s thoughts hurried to her through the haze of hurt. Are you all right? Talk to me.
She curled her gloved fingers against an icy rock and squeezed her eyes shut. I’m fine. Remember . . . he can’t have the bones, Fox. No matter what.
The Wolf King shrugged and stood. “As you wish.”
“Sir—” said Sly Boots, reaching for his arm, but the white wolf had already transformed, and the arrow once again pierced Quicksilver’s chest. Pain surged through her in searing waves. Screams shredded her throat.
I’m here, Quicksilver. Just listen to my voice and ignore all the rest.
Quicksilver imagined burying her face in Fox’s fur and breathing in his warm dog smell—but stopped herself from imagining it too vividly. She would not—would not—bring him back to her. She would die before she allowed the Wolf King to win this game.
We decide the fate of our world, Fox. Remember?
Again and again the pain came and went, and each time it returned, Quicksilver heard, as if they belonged to someone else, her desperate screams echo through the cave. Her mind began to leave her, her thoughts scattering like terrified prey. She called for Olli, for Anastazia. She called to everyone she could think of, and to no one.
She forgot to be angry, and asked Sly Boots to help her. She forgot to be proud, and begged the Wolf King to stop.
But she would not call for Fox.
Quicksilver, don’t be afraid. Fox’s voice brushed against her like a soft blanket. She felt his fear, how he paced somewhere in the caves, shaking with anxiety. Let me come back. I can help you!
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