Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1)

by Kaitlin Bellamy

  Someone was smoothing Fox’s sweaty hair away from his brow and saying, “Hush, boy. It’s alright.” And then, to someone else, “He needs water.”

  He didn’t need water. He needed to throw up. Fox tried to speak but no words came out. Instead he blindly pushed away at the massive hand and rolled onto all fours, vomiting until he was empty. He was vaguely aware that his hands were not resting on the hard wood of the Five Sides floor, but instead on a fresh layer of snow. His face was stinging, pelted with wet flakes and darts of ice. As he finished, coughing raggedly, someone pulled him back and propped him up against what felt like a stone wall.

  His awareness began to return, and he realized he was sitting up against the back wall of the kitchen. Just beyond the roof overhang, a thick snowfall was being whipped back and forth by the wind, blurring the kitchen courtyard in a haze of grey and white. A handful of faces swam into focus before him. Radda, crouched beside him and his two Shavid companions standing behind. Lai. Picck, bearing a cup of water and looking frightened.

  “You’re fine now?” asked Radda. It had been his voice Fox had heard earlier.

  Fox nodded.

  “I saw young miss Lai helping you outside, sneaking through the kitchen,” said Radda. “It seemed like something was wrong. When the opportunity arose, we excused ourselves from the council and came to find you.”

  Fox wanted to ask why they had followed, but he couldn’t just yet. He’d met Lai’s gaze, and he couldn’t look away. She hadn’t said a word. She just sat, a foot or so away, staring at him. And she was furious with him. But a slight shake of her head indicated that now wasn’t the time to talk about it. And so Fox tore his eyes from hers and looked up at Radda. The time to keep his secrets was over.

  “There are survivors, injured,” he said quickly. “A little ways from Hammon. Three by the river, one in the woods. Someone fast enough might save them before the storm gets really bad. And the Desolata are moving. They’ve already left the town behind and they’re headed south. Not directly for us yet, but things could change. And the storm ... by sunset in two days.”

  Radda and Donlan exchanged the briefest of glances, but Radda didn’t question it. Instead, he asked, “How big of a storm?”

  “You won’t want to be sleeping outside,” said Fox simply.

  “And two days?” said the woman. “You’re sure?” Fox nodded, and she sighed. “Looks like Merrick was right.”

  “Later,” said Radda, standing and massaging the back of his neck. “First things first.” He turned to Donlan. “Don, it’s your choice. No one will make you go, but if you do, be sure you’re back in time. This valley will be sealed off with snow and ice if you wait too long.”

  Donlan said nothing, but nodded sharply.

  “Good,” said Radda. “Take Anthem, he’s the fastest. We’ll see you in two days.”

  And with that Donlan was gone, striding away toward the Shavid camp with his hood pulled up against the snow.

  “What’s going on here?” asked Picck quietly. “Where’s he going? And Fox ... how did ...”

  “Donlan has gone to search for the survivors and bring them aid,” said Radda. “And as for young Master Fox ...” he turned his gaze on Fox and offered a hand. Fox took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “I daresay there’s more to this young one than meets the eye.”

  “Merrick told you I could smell them, didn’t he?” said Fox.

  “He may have mentioned it,” said Radda.

  “He’s scared of me now,” said Fox. And then, quietly voicing the fear that had been on his mind for so long, he said, “Just like everyone else will be.”

  They could hear raised voices. Someone in the council had started shouting again. Radda gestured with his head, and his female companion slipped back into the tavern through the kitchen door. Once she had gone, Radda said, “I think it’s time we talked. We both have questions, I’m sure.”

  Picck laughed nervously. “You have questions? I have some questions, sir!”

  “Weren’t you supposed to be with Rose today?” asked Fox.

  “I had to come back and fetch her scarf,” he answered. “She left it in the kitchen. And anyway, if I’d have known there would be so much fun happening here, I mightn’t have left at all!” He poured the untouched water out onto the snow and then tossed the wooden cup unceremoniously back into the kitchen. “Now, if someone would be so kind, as to tell me what in Dream’s reach is going on?!”

  “The Desolata are on the move,” said Fox. “They’ve attacked a village, and they’re going to attack more. And I knew. Even before the message arrived, I knew there was a fire and that something was coming.”

  “How?” said Picck. “How could you possibly have known?”

  “Because I’m cursed!” shouted Fox, the words escaping before he could stop himself. “Because I know things and hear things and smell things I shouldn’t! I always thought it was something special, instinct ... but it’s a curse. And now everyone will know!”

  “Woah there!” said Radda, but Fox kept going.

  “That’s what happened to the Desolata. They can do things that others can’t. They can survive in the cold!”

  “Now now,” said Radda. “Hold!” And as Fox opened his mouth to continue, he picked Fox up and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, carrying him over to the goat barn with Picck and Lai following behind. Inside, Radda dropped Fox onto a barrel where he sat, wiping the beginnings of tears away from his eyes.

  “Now, calm down,” said Radda. “Breathe. And stop yapping like a baby monkey. I can’t hear myself think.”

  Fox took a deep shaky breath. It was warm in the goat barn. The messenger birds in the rafters fluttered and shifted at the new company, but seemed too comfortable to move much more than that. Fermia and Ally came trotting over to meet him, nuzzling fondly at the toes of Fox’s boots as his feet dangled from his barrel seat. After a moment, he said, “What’s a monkey?”

  Radda chuckled. “Not important right now.” Then he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and pacing around the small barn. Finally, he said, “The Shavid have very ... unique magical gifts. Our Blessings are subtle and complex, and often give us a special connection to the wind itself. We hear things we shouldn’t, sometimes. We smell things. Sometimes even changes in the weather. Little things, but things that nevertheless make life on the road much, much easier.” He looked Fox right in the eye. “I knew something was coming. We all did. Just like we can all feel the storm on the horizon. But none of us could have told you exactly when it would arrive. Not the strongest or most Blessed among us.” He shook his head. “Sunset, in two days. That, my young friend, is not a curse. It is a gift. It is a Blessing.”

  “No,” said Fox weakly. “Sovesta doesn’t have Blessings.”

  “When you say smell things,” said Picck, “what do you mean, exactly?”

  “Just what I say,” answered Radda, shifting his gaze to the kitchen boy. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because this one here,” Picck said, nodding to Fox, “can pick out any smell in my kitchen. And he always knows when the snow’s coming. But it’s just a good nose on him, isn’t it?”

  “Could be,” said Radda, shrugging. “But that’s not all he can do. Is it?”

  Every gaze in the room was turned on Fox now. He could have sworn even the birds were watching him, waiting for his answer. Lai still hadn’t said a word, but she was watching him with a fierce intensity. Slowly, tremulously, he shook his head.

  Radda smiled. Not a grin, or a kind-hearted laugh, but the self-satisfied smile of a man who has just found something he was looking for.

  “I’ve been seeing things,” said Fox, and every word seemed to punch through the air like hailstones. “I’ve always had a good nose, and a sense for weather. But lately ...” How could he explain it to them when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? But he tried. “The first time I felt something different, it was like I was feeling what the people of
Hammond felt. I was scared, and cold, and I could smell things burning.”

  “And today?” asked Radda.

  “I could feel the Desolata moving. I could almost see them, even.” He shuddered, feeling sick again. Then he looked up at Radda, staring squarely at him. “What’s wrong with me? What’s happening?”

  “I assure you, young Master Fox,” said Radda. “Nothing is wrong with you. You have a magical gift, nothing more. And it’s growing stronger.”

  “Impossible,” said Fox. “Sovesta was cursed. There’s no more magic left in her.”

  “There is a rare flower,” said Radda, “that grows in the deserts of Agazard. There is no reason it should be there, in such a harsh environment. But it is, and it is nearly impossible to uproot when it appears.” He placed a hand on either side of Fox’s barrel and leaned in, as though staring into Fox’s very soul. “And sometimes the strongest magic blooms where there should be none at all. You have been Blessed, Forric Foxglove. You are one of the Windkissed, those who are Shavid by nature and power, not by birth. And you are beginning to bloom.”

  Fox’s eyes slid past Radda’s to see his friends, standing still by the barn door. Picck was still looking at him with an almost comical expression of dumb confusion. But Lai ... her face had changed. She was no longer angry. Instead, every inch of her radiated one emotion only: terror.

  Chapter Eight

  Windkissed

  Lai was afraid of him. The one person he hadn’t thought twice about. The one person he didn’t see coming. Fox walked home that afternoon in a daze, full to bursting with everything that had happened since dawn. The council, the news about the Desolata. Finally telling his secrets to someone. And then, there was the issue of the magic.

  Radda said he needed more time with Fox, to discover what his “blooming potentials” truly were. But not until this crisis had passed. Until then, Fox was to go about business as usual. But how could he? Danger loomed on the horizon not once, but twice. With the coming storm and the Desolata, Thicca Valley could be overwhelmed at any moment. But to Fox, none of that was important. At least, not for now. His gift could be magic! And not a curse, but a Blessing! Something worth celebrating, something to be proud of!

  And Lai was afraid of it. Fox had spent so long worrying that the Thiccans would look at him differently. That his parents would look at him differently. He worried that his strange instincts might make him unfit for normal life in the valley, or even that his family and friends would be scared of them, of him. Not even for a second had he visited the possibility that the one person he could always count on wouldn’t be on his side.

  Lai had excused herself from the goat barn while Radda was still talking, making it impossible for Fox to follow her. Instead, he sat perched on his barrel seat, listening as Radda went on and on about discovering his talents and how Fox must have been the reason that they were brought here in the first place. Fox tried to pay attention, but in his mind he was chasing after Lai.

  He had tried to find her after Radda was done with him, but with no luck. Now, he trudged up the hill to his family’s home, all at once restless and exhausted. His parents weren’t home, so he went up into his nook and collapsed into bed. He passed most of the afternoon like that, listening to the distant sounds of the valley and his own thoughts. His parents returned soon, and just after that Farmer Bracken arrived. Fox listened to the grown-ups talking in the kitchen. It seemed as though Bracken, along with many of the other valley farmers, was offering lodging in his home for the Shavid, as well as any refugees who might come through town. Fox heard him say, “Seems worth the price of the extra stomachs to fill, to have more arms on our side.”

  There was a constant flow of visitors at the Foxglove house after that. People looking to trade, or else conferring on the situation with the Desolata. Many came to buy traps, hoping to fortify their homes. Fox could hear them, the kitchen conversations echoing up through the floorboards and up the stairs. Every now and then one of his parents would come up the stairs to get something, but they usually passed right by the bedroom and into the small storage room at the end of the hall. That suited Fox just fine. He was in no mood to be discovered right now, and certainly didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  The first of the refugees arrived just before sundown. Fox overheard one of the Thiccans telling Father that there were four of them. In bad shape, but they’d already been taken in by one of the farmer families. Mother left shortly after, saying she’d like to offer her services as an herbalist, hoping she could help. Father went too, taking his guests down to the Five Sides where the valley was once again gathering for the evening. And then, Fox was alone again.

  He rolled over, turning his face to the window. The moon was just visible, half-tucked behind a dark, heavy cloud. He lay like that for some time, drifting in and out of sleep until finally he awoke completely, unable to lay still any longer. It was full dark outside now, and his parents were asleep in their bed below. As much out of habit as restlessness, Fox made his way out to the stable to groom Cobb.

  The pony seemed just as anxious as the rest of the valley. He stomped in place and tossed his head in agitation, clearly aware that something was not right. Fox sang to him, stroking Cobb’s nose until he calmed. Fox continued to sing as he brushed every inch of the pony over and over again. He sang a valley children’s rhyme about playing in the mud, and then a tavern song that was a favorite of the miners’. And then he found himself singing one of Radda’s songs. It was a haunting melody, about a lonely wanderer who was the last of his people. He began brushing Cobb in rhythm with the music, slowly and deliberately working over the hills of every muscle.

  Turn after turn

  My feet set ’cross the stone

  Through wood and glade

  To find my waiting home

  Through winter’s walk

  And summer’s shining haze

  Alone to be

  A lost one all my days

  He sang verse after verse, his tools and fingers tracing the lines of Cobb’s back as though they were the trails in the song. As the last verse came to a close, a voice spoke.

  “That’s not one of our songs.”

  Lai detached herself from the shadows, but only just. She was twisting the bottom of one of her braids nervously, and stayed half-hidden in the dark corner of the stable.

  “It was Radda’s,” said Fox. “I heard it at the camp a few days ago.”

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time there lately.”

  “Yes,” said Fox. He stood, not sure of what to do or say. After a moment, he said quietly, “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not dangerous ... and I’m still me.”

  Lai took a step forward, into the light. There was something strange about her eyes. It took a moment, but Fox realized that she had been crying. He had never seen Lai cry, not in his entire life. He found himself wanting to go to her, to hold her like he sometimes saw Father hold Mother when she was upset. But he didn’t know how. He tried to take a step toward her, but Lai slipped back into the shadows and was gone.

  Fox didn’t bother trying to chase after her. He wanted to run away himself. A world without Lai as his friend seemed unimaginable. Of course, so did a world where he could have magic.

  As dawn painted the horizon, Fox wandered over to the Shavid camp, hoping to find Neil. But the camp was already awake and buzzing with activity as the Shavid prepared to move into the Five Sides and some of the valley houses. Fox tried to help, but he found himself constantly in the way. And so he headed for the Five Sides, where he could already see chimney smoke coming from the kitchen.

  Picck and Rose were both hard at work already, and Lai was nowhere to be seen. Here, at least, Fox wasn’t in the way. Picck put him to work immediately, pointing him to a cauldron of porridge that needed stirring. “And then the bread and beans should be ready,” he said as Fox stirred. “There’s already people filling up the common room, and I heard more survivors arrived late last night.�
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  “Where are they staying?” asked Fox.

  “All over,” said Picck. “There’s two families staying here already, and we’ve promised rooms to a handful of the Shavid.”

  “I know of at least one person staying with the Lillywhites,” said Rose. “And Old Man Moss took in three.”

  By Picck’s reckoning, it seemed that there were twelve Hammon survivors scattered throughout the valley. And when Fox ducked out into the common room to deliver hot loaves of bread, he found all of them. Twelve new faces, dotted in among the familiar Thiccan patrons and Shavid visitors. Fox took them all in as he went from table to table, in and out of the kitchen with platters of food. They ranged from young to old, the youngest looking to be about five. A little boy, clinging to his mother’s leg under their table and not speaking. His mother looked tired but grateful to her host family, while a handful of the refugees looked entirely mistrustful and angry. Four of them sat in the farthest corner, away from the fire and not making eye contact with anyone. The rest seemed to be lost. They sat quietly with their host families, or else alone at their tables, looking misplaced and ragged.

  Kimic Lillywhite was sitting next to the young woman her family had taken in. She seemed to be trying to encourage the girl to eat a sticky bun, with no success. When Fox came out of the kitchen next, he took a small crock of hot beans over to their table, setting it down in front of the young woman with a smile. Kimic looked at him gratefully as the refugee finally started to eat. She mouthed her thanks, and Fox headed back to the kitchen with a nod.

  No one seemed to want to leave the tavern that day. The whole valley seemed to be waiting. Waiting for the rest of the refugees, or else waiting for an attack from the Desolata. The common room was crowded, but quiet. Whispered conversations flitted through the room, and every head turned whenever the front door opened. Back in the kitchen, Picck and Fox were left alone as Rose went out to milk the goats.