“So,” said Picck after a few minutes of silence. “This storm that’s coming.” He didn’t look up, but kept wiping the same bowl clean, over and over.
“It’ll be the last big one of the season,” said Fox.
“And you know it,” said Picck. “You shouldn’t, but you do.”
“Yes,” said Fox.
Picck sat quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. And then he laughed, full and hearty like his uncle. “Spirit’s shackles, boy! Always knew there was something about that nose of yours!” He laughed so hard tears ran down his face, and he mopped them up with his cleaning rag.
“Shame you don’t bite, you’ve got a better sense of smell on you than any guard dog!”
Fox shook his head, amused and grateful for Picck’s reaction. “I’d bite you if the occasion called for it,” he said teasingly.
Picck laughed even harder, swaying so much he threatened to fall from his perch on the counter top. Once he’d calmed himself, he said, “So then, what now? Are you going to learn all the great mysteries of the Shavid?”
Fox hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but that was exactly what he was hoping for. He imagined his summer days filled with lessons in magic and trapping with Father. Wild fantasies filled his head, about using his Blessing to bring home the biggest, richest game the valley had ever known. He was the Blessed boy from Thicca Valley! The end to the Sovesta curse! The rebirth of magic back into the land!
But he simply shrugged, and said, “Maybe. Haven’t really had time to think about it.”
And then, because he couldn’t keep it in any longer, he said, “Lai’s afraid of me.”
To his surprise, Picck chuckled. “You really are a badger brain, you know that? She’s not afraid of you, she’s afraid for you.”
“Afraid of what? What about me?” asked Fox, entirely confused.
“Afraid you’ll leave,” said Picck. “You’re her best friend. Sometimes, you’re her only friend. And now you’ve got this special gift, and Radda’s talking about how you might be one of them, one of the Shavid ... and she’s worried they’ll take you away. Away to a world she doesn’t understand, and isn’t a part of.”
A part of Fox’s brain latched on to this idea with hope. She wasn’t afraid of him? It made sense, after all. In a way, he was just as afraid of losing her. “Did she tell you this?” he asked.
“Didn’t have to,” said Picck. “I may not always understand women, but I know my family. I know her.”
Rose returned to the kitchen, hauling two buckets brimming with fresh goat milk. There were flecks of snow in her hair. As Picck went to help her, Fox excused himself and slipped past them, out through the back door and into the kitchen courtyard. His feet carried him without thinking to the Shavid camp, where he found Borric and Radda in discussion about rooms for the night. “Don’t know how much longer we’ll be in the area, truthfully,” Radda was saying. “But we can pay for the lodging, that’s no trouble.”
Borric shook his head in reply. “Never mind the payment, I’ll take you in as my guests.”
They took no notice of Fox, and he left them discussing terms. Finally, he found Neil, packing the last tent into a tight roll. “Need any help?” he asked.
Neil looked up, and an expression flickered briefly across his face. It wasn’t quite jealousy. More like fierce protectiveness, and it made Fox want to take a step back. But then, the older boy’s face cleared, and he said, “Thanks, but I’m finished.”
“So you’re staying at the inn?” asked Fox.
“Some of us,” said Neil. “A few of the families in the area wanted to take us in, too. Actually,” he said, smiling slightly, “quite a few of them offered to take me in. Seems like they think my fighting skills would come in handy in an attack.”
“So where will you be staying?” asked Fox.
Neil shrugged. “At the inn, most likely. It’ll be crowded, but still ... better than staying with a stranger’s family.”
“You could stay with us,” offered Fox at once.
Neil laughed humorlessly, but did not answer. “I heard about your gift. The Windkissed ... it’s a rare Blessing. I assume that means you’ll be looking for a new mentor then,” he said. “A real Shavid.” He spat out the phrase like it was poison.
Fox stared at him. “Why?” he asked. “And even if I did, a mentor isn’t the same as a friend.” He shrugged. “I’m not in the business of trading friends.”
Neil smiled and ruffled Fox’s hair in a brotherly manner. “If you insist. Come on now, tell me about this discovery of yours. I’m fair upset that I had to hear about it all from Merrick.”
“I blame James,” said Fox. “He’s the one who kept you busy scribing all morning!”
“Fair enough.” As Fox helped Neil take his things up the hill to his home, he caught the older boy up on everything. When he got to the part about Lai, Neil shook his head. “Any idea where she is now?”
“No,” said Fox. “But she’ll turn up. She always does. And I know she’s mad at me for not telling her what was happening ... but she was busy! It’s not my fault things happened the way they did ... I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“Don’t try to question women’s tempers,” Neil advised. “She’ll come around when she’s ready. And she has every right to be scared. Having a Blessing ... it sets you apart. You never know what you might become. And being the only Blessed one in a cursed nation is a big responsibility.”
“How?” asked Fox.
“Well,” said Neil carefully, “what’s so different about you? Is it luck? Did the gods truly smile on you? Magic isn’t an exact science. I should know, I’ve studied it for years. Why one person is Blessed and another is not ...” He shook his head and hefted his bag higher onto his shoulder. “Forget it. You’ll have plenty of time. Right now, we all just need to survive the week.”
The snow was beginning to fall thicker now. A little over a day remained until the valley was hit by the promised storm. And Fox, who was tired of sitting around waiting for something to happen, decided that he was going to make the most of that day.
✽ ✽ ✽
He woke up long before dawn and crept downstairs. He was careful not to wake Neil, asleep by the fire pit. His parents had no objections to letting the boy stay, and Mother had even recruited him to help make dinner last night. Now, Fox slunk silently past the kitchen and through Father’s workshop, out through the side door and into the frigid night.
There was something he wanted to try. A theory he’d been working out in his head without even realizing it. There was a chill breeze whipping its way around the valley. That was good, he would need that. He climbed over the little fence that ran along the back of the
Foxglove property and headed out, away from the valley and toward the thick forest in the distance. Halfway there, separate from any of the usual valley sounds and smells, he stopped.
He stood very still, breathing carefully and slowly. He could hear the soft, muffled sound of snowfall and the distant hooting of owls in the forest, but all else was silent. He took one more slow, steadying breath, then closed his eyes and breathed deep.
It was like a hoard of smells and emotions had been waiting for him to let them in. They all clamored for his attention, making his head pound until he was gasping for breath and tugging his scarf away from his throat, choking on it. He slowed his breathing again, taking in deep gulps through his mouth. After a few moments his head cleared, and he carefully closed his eyes again. Slowly and deliberately, he took a deep breath through his nose.
This time, he was ready for the onslaught of smells. He sorted through them, looking for something. There, that peculiar scent of death and anger and cold. The Desolata. He focused on that smell, tracing it almost as if he could see it. He could hear them coming, running through the snow like wild beasts, effortless and untiring. They had hit two more towns, leaving no survivors. And now, they were coming. They were following in the storm’s wake, and they would be here soo
n. He could hear their rattling breath, almost feel it on his neck. They were chasing something, and they wouldn’t stop until it was found.
Fox opened his eyes and collapsed into the snow, vomiting spectacularly. Then he stood, shaking but determined. He hurried back down toward the valley, his surefootedness quickly catching up to him again. As he went, whispers of wind kept bringing him smells and sounds. It was almost as if the wind itself were telling him what he already knew, and begging him to stop it.
He burst through the door of the Five Sides and sprinted upstairs. Left at the first hallway, then three doors down on the right. That was where Radda was staying, Fox could smell it. He pounded on the Shavid’s door, ignoring his freezing hand’s protest at the hard surface. Finally, the door swung open. Radda frowned at him, but Fox spoke before the Shavid leader could.
“I know where they are,” panted Fox. “And I know what they want.”
“The Desolata?” said Radda. In the room behind him, his wife and daughters were whispering to each other. Mindi pulled herself quickly out of bed and came to her father’s side, watching Fox with her huge, blue eyes.
“I know what they want,” Fox repeated. “It’s me. They’re coming for me.”
Chapter Nine
Storm
Radda welcomed Fox into his family’s room without a word. After a few moments of bustling activity, the room was lit and warmed by a small fire in the grate, and Fox was wrapped in a thick blanket and seated at the foot of the bed. Nobody asked him if he was sure, or how he knew. Instead, they jumped into action.
Radda had three daughters. Mary, the oldest, was sent to wake up the others. She wrapped herself quickly in a patchwork dressing gown and was gone. Once she had left, Radda’s wife asked, “Have we any news from Donlan?”
“Nothing yet,” said Radda heavily. As Fox watched their exchange, Radda explained quietly, “Donlan and my eldest are betrothed. She’s been worried ever since he left to seek out the injured survivors. And if you have some news about him that hasn’t reached our ears yet ...
well, I wouldn’t want her in the room.”
Fox tried to think back, tried to remember every smell and sound that he’d been overwhelmed with. But it was impossible. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to find him, so I don’t know. I didn’t think —”
“Not to worry,” said Radda. “I’m sure he’ll be back before the storm. That’s not your concern anyway. Now, what can you tell us about these Desolata?”
“They’ll be here on the heels of the blizzard. Tonight. Tomorrow morning, at the latest. They can survive the cold, and they’re using the storm to hide their approach and weaken their prey.” He swallowed hard and tried not to think “to weaken me.”
Radda and his wife began discussing options. How much could they fortify the town in just one day? What help could the Shavid offer? As they talked, the youngest daughter, Sarah, began quietly stoking the fire, though it was clear she was hanging on to every word.
Fox knew what he should do. What he needed to do. The Desolata would tear Thicca Valley apart looking for him. Not caring who else got hurt. Not caring what they destroyed.
“Don’t you dare,” whispered a voice in his ear.
Fox jumped and turned. Mindi was perched right next to him. “Don’t what?” he said innocently.
“I can see it written all over your face,” she said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her parents. “You’re planning to run.”
“What choice do I have?” whispered Fox, frustrated. “They’ll kill everyone! Including you! And your family, and my family!”
“So you’ll give yourself up?” she asked. “Just like that?”
“I can hide,” said Fox. “I can hide in the forest. I can run until they lose me.”
“You’ll die,” said Mindi flatly. “And even if you didn’t, they won’t stop chasing you.”
Fox pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. “I know,” he said weakly. “I just don’t know why. I’m nothing special.” But even as he said it, Fox knew it wasn’t true. The only Blessed in a country that was cursed. And the Desolata were the very embodiment of that curse. “That’s how they can feel me,” he said, almost to himself. “Just like I can feel them.” He looked at Mindi excitedly. “It’s magic. They’re the magic gone bad, but it’s still magic!”
“So?” said Mindi. “What are you going to do?”
Fox smiled. “I’m going to let them catch me.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Mother didn’t like the plan. Fox could hear her and Father arguing in the workshop, but he tried not to listen. Instead, he and Neil were in the kitchen, bundling up in their warmest winter clothes.
“You know you don’t have to come with me,” said Fox.
“And let you have all the fun?” said Neil. “Not on your life.” He was tucking his breeches tightly into his boots. “Besides, who else is going to save your neck if you get in too deep out there?”
The yelling from the back finally stopped, and after a few moments, Mother went sweeping past the kitchen and straight upstairs without a word. She didn’t even glance at them. Fox wished he could have said something to comfort her, but there was nothing. This wasn’t like going off with a merchant caravan, surrounded by a group and taking only the well-laid highway.
This was something entirely different, and much more dangerous.
“Don’t worry,” said Neil quietly, “I’ll get you back to her.”
Fox nodded, but didn’t reply. That was a promise that Neil couldn’t make. No one could. Fox finished lacing his boots in silence, and then made his way down the hallway to where Father still waited in the workshop.
During the summer, the workshop would be filled with the smell of fresh hide. By the end of the season, before the caravan left, there would be packages of furs and gloves and hats, ready to trade. But now, as winter melted into spring, it was mostly just tools and traps that needed mending. However, Father did hold one small scrap of fur in his hand. It was a bright, sharp green pelt, a color that put Fox in mind of the garish paints on the Shavid wagons. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but as Father ran it back and forth in his hands, the fur seemed almost to shimmer.
At a gesture from Father, Fox sat beside him on a long bench beside the fire. After a moment, Father held the scrap of fur up.
“Do you know, these are the most valuable skins I trade?” He reached out and offered it to Fox, who carefully ran his hand along it.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “It’s so warm.”
“Hibbins,” said Father simply. “Even after they’ve been skinned, the furs stay bright and warm for years after their original wearer is gone.”
“So they’re for winter clothes, then,” said Fox.
“Yes,” said Father, “but only small ones. Gloves, hats. Sometimes linings for slippers. But these are rare, tricky creatures to catch. And the natural heat and color ... the biggest one I ever caught was only about two hands long. A single pair of hibbin gloves alone could keep this valley in fine wax candles for two years. Can you imagine how expensive it would be to line coats with these furs? Or make rugs?” He sighed and stroked the fur with the back of his hand. “Even the rich have their limits, Fox.”
For a moment, Fox simply watched the firelight play across the little fur, imagining what it would be like to have enough gold to make a whole hibbin rug. Then, as a shimmer danced its way across the fur’s surface, Fox asked, “What makes it do that?”
“They say the hibbins used to be precious jewels,” said Father. “Legend tells us that Yavic, the Great Gods’ jester, stole them from Farran, the pirate god, and hid them deep in the mountains where he’d never find them. But a priestess of the pirate god’s temple heard Yavic laughing about his plan and told her master. Farran came here to the Highborns and searched for a hundred years, and while he was looking, the seas and the fishermen knew peace.”
The wind was beginning
to pick up outside. Fox could hear the branches of the nearby woods creaking in protest as Father continued. “He did find them eventually, but when he touched them, they turned into these little creatures and scattered away so that he could never find them again.” Father chuckled as he began to smooth the skin in his lap. “They also say that Farran spent the next hundred years chasing Yavic around the heavens, trying to make him pay for the nasty little trick he played.”
The two men laughed quietly for a moment. Then Father reached over and tucked the scrap of fur into the folds of Fox’s scarf. “May it keep you warm,” he said gravely.
“I’ll be fine,” said Fox, with much more confidence than he felt.
“I know you will,” said Father. “You’re a Foxglove. And even with these new ... things that are happening to you ...” He clapped his son on the shoulder. “You’ve got good instincts. Use them. And remember, every trap is only as strong as its bait. The greediest predator won’t look twice at fish bones.”
“Well I’d like to think I’m a bit heartier than fish bones,” said Fox, attempting to joke. He laughed nervously, then covered it with a cough.
“You’ve got everything?” asked Father. “That cabin is fully stocked, and if you make it in time you should be able to wait out the storm. But you have extra flint? Some firestones?”
“Yes, and yes,” said Fox.
There was a knock at the open workshop door, and Radda poked his head around the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but if this is going to work, the boys best be off.”
And with that, they were on their way. There were no goodbyes, no final words of wisdom. But that was Father’s way. He walked out to the front porch with them, and then he and Radda fell back to talk as Neil and Fox started down the hill. Though the men kept their voices quiet, the wind carried their conversation to Fox’s ears.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 11