Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1)

by Kaitlin Bellamy

  “Yes,” said Fox. “She was pining for the man she loved. And when she left, it was to go to him.”

  “And she had to leave us,” said Lai quietly. “Leave me.”

  “Borric never planned on telling you. He didn’t want you to know why she’d left, and he always hoped he’d be enough for you.”

  And then came the question Fox had been dreading. The question he never wanted to have to answer. It came slowly as Lai tried to put the pieces together. “You said Borric found her. Said she left to go to the man she loved. Was that ...” She tore her eyes away from Adella at last and looked Fox straight in the eyes. “Borric isn’t my father, is he?”

  Fox shook his head dejectedly.

  “Who?” she asked, her voice nothing more than a quiet squeak.

  For this, Fox had no words. He simply looked up into Farran’s laughing stone face. Lai followed his gaze upwards as the color drained from her skin, making her pale as the stone itself. And then, she stood and scrambled away from the statue as fast as she could. She backed herself into the twisted wall of the shrine alcove and began to gulp rasping, shallow breaths. “You,” she said breathlessly. “They — it can’t! I’m not ...”

  Fox took three careful steps toward her, arms held out as though he were attempting to calm a startled animal. “It’s why she left,” he said calmly. “She was never leaving you, only trying to get to him. Borric said when your heart belongs to a god, there’s no turning back.” As he reached her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. But Lai slapped it away, all tears gone, replaced by something frighteningly akin to hatred.

  “Don’t touch me!” she shouted. She shoved Fox hard in the chest, knocking him back. “How long have you known?” she asked. “Days? Months? All winter?” Her voice broke, but she didn’t stop. She shoved him again, and Fox smashed into the podium, knocking the open book to the floor. “How could you keep something like this from me? From me? Well you can stay out here and rot with them!” she said viciously, glaring at Adella and the statue of her father.

  And before Fox could apologize, before he could even find the words to explain, Lai was gone.

  Fox struggled to his feet, ready to follow her, but a hand on his shoulder held him back.

  “Leave her be,” said Farran. “She’s had more than enough trouble for one day.”

  “She doesn’t know the way home,” protested Fox, struggling to free himself, but the god’s grip was bear-trap tight.

  “There’s a merchant wagon in town, heading out to your little valley within the hour. She’ll hitch a ride, and they’ll deliver her safely. I can guarantee it.”

  Finally, Fox shook the pirate god’s hand off him and turned to face Farran. “Why did you bring us here?” he spat.

  “You can’t let me have even one little secret, can you?”

  “No,” said Fox flatly. He was not in the mood for humor today. “This is going to break her. You! And Adella! Everything, all at once ... it’s too much for one person!”

  Farran heaved an over-dramatic sigh. “I just saved you both, you ungrateful little barnacle,” he said lazily. “So that’s two you owe me, one large favor for each of you. Unless, of course, you’d rather I hadn’t?”

  “What do you mean, you saved us?” asked Fox nervously. “What’s happened?”

  “Your cabin was torn apart by the storm. Both of you would have frozen to death before you could go for help. That, or you would have been buried alive. Crushed by falling tree limbs. Eaten by an angry —”

  “I get it!” said Fox sharply. And then, as Farran chuckled, he asked, “If you went through so much trouble to move us here, why couldn’t you have just saved the cabin? I’m sure it would have been much less trouble.”

  Farran smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry your little mind with the rules of the gods. There are things we can do, and things we can’t. I even broke a few major laws bringing you here in the first place, so thanks to you I’ll have to keep quieter than usual for awhile.”

  “So sorry to have troubled you,” growled Fox, rolling his eyes.

  Farran’s face darkened. “If you weren’t so cursed irreplaceable, I would have let you choke to death on an icicle! And on top of that, you were traveling with my daughter. And even if your life wasn’t worth saving, hers is.”

  Fox struggled for an angry reply, and when he couldn’t find one, he let himself sink to the stone base of Farran’s statue. As he buried his forehead in his hands, digging his fingers into his hair, he became aware that Adella was still humming placidly. He glanced over at the priestess, now lighting fresh candles in the alcove walls. “What happened to her?” he asked. “She can’t have always been like this.”

  Here, Farran’s face softened again as he looked at Adella. “There was a time when her smile could break a man’s heart,” he said. For a moment, he simply watched her work. And then, as she came close to them, he reached out a tender finger and brushed it down her cheek. Adella leaned into his touch, eyes closed, a contented smile on her lips. And then she moved away again, away from Farran’s shrine and back into the open temple room.

  “I loved having her on my ship,” said Farran reminiscently, his eyes still following her. “Loved to hear her sing, and make her laugh.” He smiled, almost to himself. “Oh the tales I could spin you of that woman.” And, just as quickly as it had come, the smile faded again. “But there is a price of loving a god, as we’ve both learned. Her time away from me as she tried to raise Lai took a toll on her, and her soul began to crumble. She has never been the same.”

  “Is that why she didn’t recognize her own daughter?” asked Fox. “And why she didn’t seem to care that she even had one?”

  “It is a cost that I’ve regretted from the bottom of my blackened soul,” said Farran. “She is a shadow of the woman that was Adella DeMorrow. And for that, there are not enough penances I can pay in all the realms.” He tore his eyes away from Adella and said, “She cannot see Lai for what she really is, and may never be able to again. And it would take power more than I have ever possessed to understand exactly why.”

  Fox watched Adella as she gathered a great goatskin rug from the herder’s shrine and took it out to shake the dust from it. And then he glanced up at Farran, who was once more gazing at the mother of his child. His face was drawn and stoic, but his eyes were filled with regret. And Fox, watching him watch her, was amazed to realize that gods could truly feel love. And, more than that, he felt sure that their story would make the most beautiful tragedy ever sung.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Incomparable Donovan

  Fox sat outside on the low temple steps, watching night descend upon the forest. The moon hung bright and full overhead, casting jagged shadows through the needled canopy. Far off, through the trees, Fox could see the lights of the city beginning to glow. Lanterns being lit along the city streets, candles flickering merrily in shop windows. He itched to wander out into Whitethorn again, and rediscover its streets and alleys.

  But Farran warned him to stay close, and so here he was. Breathing slowly and deeply, taking in everything from the sounds of the foraging hares to the long-past creaking of the merchant wagon that carried Lai away. He could almost see her when he closed his eyes, and found himself dreading the inevitable moment when they would see each other again in Thicca Valley. But Fox was in no hurry to return home. Instead, he pulled his cloak tighter around him and sank into a comfortable daze, listening to the far-off songs from the Hatted Goat flittering on the winter breeze.

  After awhile, he pulled his journal and pen from an inside pocket, thinking to take some notes about Whitethorn. As he flipped through the book to find an empty page, the shimmer of lymnlight from the glowing map of Doff caught his eye, and he stopped. He smiled down at the map, and found himself missing the little mountain hamlet desperately. He ran his fingers fondly over the shimmering lines, tracing over the familiar pathways.

  And then, as he slid his finger along the side of the mo
untain, Fox was wrung by the biggest, most intense shiver he had ever had. For a moment, he was sure he’d truly been transported away from Whitethorn. But while he could still feel himself pressed against the icy temple steps, everything he saw, heard, and smelled, was Doff.

  He was on one of the winding mountain paths, with a row of rough stone gardens on his right, and a handful of haphazardly carved houses on his left. The mountain was aglow with rivers of ore, and Fox felt himself warm at the view. He heard strange and wild cries from overhead, and the part of Fox that was in Doff looked up. The night sky was full of dark, careening shadows, and Fox knew it must be mating season for the eborills. All around him, townsfolk were leaning out their windows to watch, or else sitting perched on top of their stone roofs, pointing at the airborne courtship dances. Fox’s consciousness drifted lazily about on the breeze, and he caught snatches of conversation as he went.

  “— old She-King might not be able to lay eggs this year! Could be a real battle for leadership.”

  “But she’s turned out some of the finest hunters in a decade! It can’t be!”

  “— say there’s a young one from the lower nests started fighting his way up the ranks —”

  “Did you hear that, Dad? Somebody said a bird from last year’s royal line’s broken his wing, and can’t mate this year!”

  At one point, Fox found himself in Kaldora Flintstock’s workshop, right alongside Topper. For a few moments, he watched as the boy hung dipped candles in the window to dry. And then, like a leaf ripped away on the wind, Fox was carried south. Unfamiliar sights and smells rushed past him in a grey-and-silver blur, and Fox knew he was no longer in Doff. Great mountain shadows rose up high above him, on every side. And then he slowed to a halt, nothing more than a jumble of senses borne on the wind.

  But a deep, penetrating cold sank over him, both the body that remained in Whitethorn and the part of him that was lost in the mountains. And he could hear something whispering to him in a language he should not have been able to understand. It was a language that was not made of words, that wasn’t human. Something very old was trying to speak to him, and it was in pain. Sounds and smells rushed through Fox like a storm, and he could see a dozen visions at once. But it was only when he caught a glimpse of Father, smiling and laughing at a trading tent in a crowded marketplace, that Fox understood.

  When he awoke, he found himself on a cot somewhere, tucked in the corner of a tiny, windowless room. He struggled free of his blankets, gasping for breath, only to have Farran’s hand on his shoulder and a quiet, “Hush, boy, you’re alright.”

  Farran was crouched at Fox’s bedside. Fox looked up into the god’s face and managed to cough out, “Avalanche.” He slowed his breathing and felt his heart begin to return to normal, and then he said more calmly, “I know where Father is. And I know what’s going to happen to him.”

  Farran didn’t react to this news. Instead, he simply crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Fox to elaborate.

  “I was taken somewhere,” Fox explained, trying to put his shiver into words. “Doff. It’s a place I know well, and the map took me there. But then I got carried away, someplace else. Somewhere I didn’t know, but I could feel.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, finding his experience difficult to describe. And then, realizing just how ridiculous it sounded, he said, “The mountain spoke to me. It’s about to break. And my father’s caravan is going to be right under it.”

  Farran sighed and leaned his head back to stare at the low ceiling. “I know what’s coming,” he said lazily.

  “You have to help me get there,” demanded Fox.

  “Yes,” said Farran, “that’s what I knew was coming.” He stood, his head nearly brushing the soot-blackened ceiling, and he rested one hand on a low-hanging beam. “It’s not that I don’t want to help, little one. It’s just not that easy.”

  “You could send me there,” said Fox. “You brought me and Lai here in an instant, you could do the same. I know right where he is! I saw him, and I knew!”

  “You and Lai were different!” said Farran. “Both of Lai’s parents were here, and there’s a certain bond to be had with blood.”

  “But one of my parents —”

  “And,” continued Farran, cutting Fox off, “it’s always been easier for me here, at a place where I’m worshiped freely and regularly. Adella makes sure of it, after all. But there are places in this world where I’m not as highly regarded as I might have been once ...” And then he waved off Fox’s unasked question with a lazy hand and said, “The politics of gods, none of your concern.”

  For a moment there was silence in the little room. And then Fox said, quietly but firmly, “I have no choice but to be your pawn in whatever games you’re playing. You’ve already made that perfectly clear. But for all your meddling, and for what you did to Lai today ... for an immeasurable time when I am in your service, you owe me.” His voice did not shake, for he wasn’t afraid. Fox might not be sure of everything, but he was sure that Farran needed him. “We can work together peacefully, or I can fight you every step of the way.” He stared the god down, evenly and calmly, never so much as blinking.

  Farran glared back for a moment, his face tight with irritation. And then, the wooden beam in his hand snapped free of its counterparts and fell in splinters to the floor. Farran dusted his hand off on his breeches and said bitterly, “Fine. But we’ll have to do this the hard way, I’m afraid. As I said before, I’ve got to keep quiet for awhile. Big things like moving people ... it gets me noticed by people who I’d rather not be noticed by at the moment.” And then he heaved another sigh, and his comically dramatic air returned. “I suppose there’s no other way for it. We’ll leave in the morning. I’ve got some things to arrange, and you ought to get some more sleep. Light may come late to the winter mountains, but our dawn is just as early.”

  And then he was gone, leaving a very confused Fox alone in his room.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Sleep eluded Fox that night. He lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling, sorting out the smells and sounds. He knew he was still in the temple, and he assumed he was underground in some sort of living or visitors quarters. The air felt closer here, tight and slightly heavy as it was in many of the underground places in the world. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, or what time it was now, but he was neither hungry nor tired. Every muscle was taut and expectant, like the string of a bow just before the release.

  He was going to find Father! He kept saying it to himself over and over again. He was going to bring the caravan home. It wasn’t too late! Finally, giving up on sleep, Fox sat up and lit a lantern on the little desk that took up much of the rest of his room. He found his small traveling bag was tucked in the corner. All the things he’d meant to take with him to the hunting cabin were safe and sound, just as he’d packed them. He rescued his journal, pen and ink from a side pocket. And then he sat, book propped open to an empty page in front of him, and began to write.

  First, a letter to Mother. He would send it to Borric, and have him read it to her. This, he kept short and simple. He didn’t mention Father, or the journey south, as he didn’t want to get her hopes up prematurely. Instead, Fox simply wrote that he was going on an extended trapping trip, and not to worry about him. He would be safe, he promised to bring home something good, and he signed it with love. And then, tearing the journal page from its binding and setting it aside to dry, he put pen to blank page again for a second letter. This time, to Lai.

  He had no idea how long he sat there, his pen poised but still. He thought of a hundred different ways to start, each feebler than the last. Finally, he put the pen aside and sat back on his seat, staring at the empty surface of the page. How could he even begin to start something like that? How could one apologize for hiding a secret that big? And how could he ever even hope to justify letting her life be upended so quickly?

  At last, Fox picked up his pen once more and began to write.


  To my dearest friend, Lai,

  I can make no apologies that would please you, I know that. I can only hope that one day you’ll understand, it was not my secret to tell. I did not go looking for your past, your past simply happened upon me. And I made a promise to Borric that I would keep his secret safe. In the end, I believe he only wanted to protect you from the heartache of the truth.

  But now, in the spirit of keeping no more secrets from you, I must tell you where I am headed. I am going to bring back the caravan. Or at least, I am going to try. I know where they are now, and I know the danger that lies ahead of them. I have seen it, and by the time you get this I will already be traveling south.

  Look for my return in the spring. And, if you have forgiven me, save me a dance at the Homecoming.

  Fox

  He carefully tore the second letter from his journal and set it aside to dry as well. And then, he filled the hours scratching out notes. Everything he remembered from his brief visions of Doff. And everything he’d seen in the Whitethorn temple. By the time a knock sounded on his door a few hours later, Fox had filled several pages with cramped, scrawling notes and small inked sketches.

  He stood and stretched, then made to open the door to whomever had knocked. But as he reached out, the door sprang open and Farran bounded inside. “A fine morning for a hundred league journey, isn’t it?”

  For a moment, Fox simply stared. Then he asked, “And what exactly are you supposed to be?”

  Farran had forsaken his usual earthy vest and sash, and dressed himself instead in a dazzling yellow tunic, a matching pair of yellow boots and powder blue breeches. Black fur protruded from the top of the boots and trimmed the high tunic collar. Over it all, he wore a brilliant, peacock-blue cloak. Even his hair was different, curled and oiled in tight ringlets rather than pulled back in a lazy mess.

  The god bowed low. “The Incomparable Donovan, at your humble service sir! Cloth merchant and purveyor of all fine linens and strings!” And then he snapped to attention, a roguish grin on his face. As Fox snorted with poorly-contained laughter, Farran went on. “I might not be as recognized as I wish, but there are still some of the common folk who know my face. So, if I’m to be roughing it across the lands and nations with mere mortals such as yourself, I need a disguise that is distinctly un-piratical.”