“Everybody thought you were dead, Fox!” Lai said urgently. “We got the news two days ago about the avalanche, and she’s not here to see you’ve arrived! She’s been holed up in that house ever since! She probably still thinks —”
But Fox wasn’t listening. He tore across the valley, running faster than he’d ever run in his life. Faster than he had when he and Topper had run from the Ryegout, and faster even than his mad dash away from the Underbeast. He burst through the cabin door completely out of breath, his chest on fire, and summoned just enough energy to shout, “Mum!”
There was no answer. Stumbling over his own feet, Fox rushed upstairs and charged through the closed bedroom door with enough force to knock it completely free of its hinges.
She was lying in a huddled heap on the floor, just beside the fireplace. She didn’t move.
Fox ran to her side and collapsed onto his knees, grasping her shoulder in terror. “Mother!” he cried. Her eyes were closed and her face was paler than the purest snow. Gently, tenderly, Fox smoothed a wisp of hair from her face and said, tremulously, “Mother?”
Her eyelids flickered open, slowly, as though they were too heavy for her to manage. She looked up into his face, but it was as though she hadn’t truly seen it. She blinked. Twice. And then, it was as though life had surged back into her. In one swift motion she pulled herself from the floor and wrapped her arms around her son’s neck, squeezing him even tighter than Terric’s wife.
And then, true to form, Mother pulled away and slapped him hard across the face. “How could you?” she shouted. “Letting me think you were dead! Running off like that with no warning, no — ” But Fox hugged her again, grinning with relief. She might have made herself sick with worry and misery, but it was nothing so terrible that she couldn’t scold him. And that meant she would be just fine.
When Father came rushing into the room moments later, Fox traded places with him, letting Mother wrap her arms around her husband’s neck. She took turns hitting him about the face and shoulders and weeping openly into the collar of his shirt. But when she kissed him, it was with a tenderness that told Fox, more than any words ever could, how happy she was to see him. Quietly, Fox backed his way out of the room and left them to say their hellos in private.
He began to head back to the heart of the valley, where the Homecoming would soon be underway. His parents would be occupied for longer than usual this year, he imagined. And besides, Fox had his own reunions to take care of.
✽ ✽ ✽
Lai was waiting for him by the river. She sat on a tangle of exposed roots from an old and weathered oak, her bare feet dangling just over the water’s surface. The tree was perched on a scrap of mossy ground that dropped sharply into the riverbank, and its roots twisted and rambled down into the water itself and across the face of the river-worn earth. As young children, Fox and Lai had treated this tree and its labyrinthine fortress of roots as their personal play kingdom. It was their castle, or their pirate ship. Their jungle war zone, their dragon’s nest, and even a haunted barrow.
But now, as they sat side-by-side on the cusp of adulthood, it was just a tree. Mementos from their childhood could sometimes be found hung in high tree branches or stuck between the gnarled roots, the tree itself having grown around them. For quite some time, they sat in silence, watching the river below their toes as it teemed with life. Schools of fish darted here and there, tiny scales catching the sunlight as it filtered through the thin spring foliage. Turtles emerged from the mud every so often to lazily float about, or sun themselves on the bank.
Fox had made so many apologies in the past few weeks that it was starting to become second nature to him by now. But as he opened his mouth to try and apologize to Lai, he found he couldn’t. Different words than he’d meant to say came out instead. “The Shavid return at dawn.”
Lai didn’t respond immediately. She absently twisted a piece of bark free of the roots and dropped it into the river, where it floated away like a tiny brown ship. “Will you go with them?” she said finally. “If they ask?”
“I have to,” Fox answered simply.
“You don’t,” argued Lai, and she finally turned to face him. “Things will be different for you here. It’s not like before, when people were watching you after the Desolata attack. Now, you’re a hero! Women in town are already talking about offering you matches with their daughters. Everyone from the caravan owes you his life.”
“Exactly,” said Fox firmly. And then he smiled. “You always were the better storyteller, but I think it’s my turn now.”
He started from the moment she had left him in Whitethorn, and he told her everything. His return to Doff and the first journey through the Beneath. How Farran had disguised himself as The Incomparable Donovan. He told her of the Merchant’s Highway, and tried to explain what cows were. On and on he talked as the Homecoming began far off in the distance, and music filtered through the air.
When he reached the part of his story including the Nightmarket, and the murder of Topper, Lai silently took his hand in hers. And when he told her of the dreams he had of Farran’s life, and his meeting of Adella, Lai’s whole face glowed with an eager hunger that even she seemed ashamed of. When he finally stopped, his throat raw and scratchy, it was dusk. He could hear the wolves waiting, just out of sight.
Lai had asked no questions as he spoke. She had simply listened to his story like a fascinated child might listen to a bedtime tale. Now, however, she asked far too casually, “What is he like? My f ... your friend, Farran?”
“Lot like you,” said Fox honestly. “Clever and charming. Stubborn to a fault.” And then, because he thought he saw a familiar flicker out of the corner of his eye, he said, “Would you like to meet him?”
More emotions seemed to dart across Lai’s face that instant than there were fish in the river. But finally, she said softly, “Maybe someday.”
When Fox looked for the flicker once more, it was gone. Perhaps he had simply imagined it. He put it out of his mind and began to speak again. “He said Topper owed me his soul.”
“What does that mean?” asked Lai.
“I’ve been wondering myself,” admitted Fox. And Farran hasn’t — I haven’t had the chance to ask yet.” And then, he tried to put into words something that had been working to put itself together in his mind. “I think there’s something in the magic that ... sort of tied Topper to me after I saved him.”
“And now you’ve saved half the valley,” finished Lai. “And you’re afraid.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” asked Fox, with a humorless laugh escaping into his words. “What if everybody who I’ve ever saved owes me their soul?” The image of Topper bleeding thick, black ink onto the alley floor was still fresh in his mind. It was an experience he never wanted to repeat.
Lai met his gaze unflinchingly, searching his face, though for what Fox didn’t know.
Then, she said quietly, “You have to leave.”
“I have to leave,” repeated Fox.
And then, she stood and balanced herself carefully on the tree roots, then pulled Fox to his feet. She grinned impishly, though there was something deeply sad hiding behind her smile.
But she began to scamper back up the path of roots and onto the moss, just as they had when they were little, shouting behind her, “Come on, then! Your adoring public awaits!”
Fox followed after her, and they ran hand-in-hand to Fox’s last Homecoming. Fox was welcomed with a raucous and appreciative applause, and his night was a colorful snowstorm of celebration. Fox danced with almost every young woman in town, and Lai twice. He played dice and cards at the Five Sides over an incredible meal, which was mostly made up of desserts and cheese. His song was sung time and time again, and he was dragged into physical re-enactments of his defeat of the Underbeast no less than a dozen times.
He met Picck and Rose’s daughter, who had been born while Fox was away. She was a tiny, pink thing bundled up in a patchwork pinafore. She was the spit
ting image of her mother, except for her dark hair, which was already showing signs of being an eternally tangled mess, just like Picck’s. They called her Rivena.
Fox took in everything. From the sound of dice hitting the wooden tavern tables, to the soft, indescribable scent of baby Rivena’s head. He held tight to the thanks of every wife whose husband he had brought back, and mourned for those children whose fathers he had not been able to save.
Many of the revelers began to trickle back to their homes and beds as dawn approached. Those few waresmen who had joined their caravan from other towns and valleys took rooms at the Five Sides, and the common room was all but empty by the time sunlight began to filter through the streets and distorted glass windows. But Fox did not go home. He climbed to the tavern rooftop, his back to the mountains, and watched the horizon.
And as the sun began to lift mist from the grasses, blanketing the valley in a spring morning haze, the Shavid rode back into town.
✽ ✽ ✽
As the rest of the Shavid set up camp in the same place they’d been the previous spring, Fox joined a select few of them in the tavern common room. Radda, Neil, Aubrey, James, and Otter sat with Fox at a long table in the center of the room, snacking on leftovers that Fox scavenged from the kitchen, and listening as Fox recounted his tale for them. It was a story that rolled easily off his tongue now, though he was careful to leave out the parts involving Farran. For while it had seemed only right to tell Lai about her father’s role in his tale, something made Fox want to keep his relationship with the god to himself. At least for now.
When he had finished, Radda was watching him with a calculating expression. It was James who finally asked, “So, have you discovered your Blessing, then?”
“Yes,” said Fox. “It’s maps. They speak to me, and I can see things.”
A stunned and disbelieving aura fell over the group. Fox, confused, said, “Is there a name for someone like me? Something other Shavid could call me?”
They didn’t seem to be entirely listening to him. Aubrey was whispering urgently to Otter, and Radda continued to simply stare at him. And Fox, heart suddenly sinking, was sure he had said something entirely wrong.
“But it’s impossible!” said James. “They all died out! Their gift was taken away from us.”
“And now, it has been returned to us,” said Radda. “In the form of this wonderful young man.”
“What’s going on?” asked Fox, completely baffled. “What does this mean? What am I?”
Radda smiled warmly at him. “Son, you don’t know how strong a Blessing you have been given. It means, you are more than just a Windkissed. More, even, than merely a Shavid. You, my boy, are a legend.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cartomancer
They were called the Cartomancers, or Mapweavers,” said Radda. “And their gift was, in many ways, valued above all others. They were said to be the most honored among Rhin’s chosen children.”
“Why were they so special?” asked Fox numbly. Him, a legend? The hero of a small valley was unbelievable enough ... but a Shavid legend?
“They knew things that even the finest Seers couldn’t know. And stories say they could command the very wind, while the Shavid merely harness it.”
Aubrey cut in. “We haven’t heard of one for over three hundred years. It’s something we even began to believe had never existed in the first place.”
“But ...” Fox was confused. He was overwhelmed. He tried again. “Where did they go? Why — ”
“We don’t know,” said Radda. “We have a hundred different theories and half-remembered stories. Some say they grew too powerful, and the gods became jealous. Others claim that they learned something they shouldn’t have, and were punished for it.” And then, Radda seemed to falter a bit. “We’re not even sure about everything they could do,” he admitted. “It was so long ago, and there are hardly any records of them.”
“Still,” said Otter firmly, “the boy should come with us. He should be with people more like him, not stuck in this stone hole in the mountains.”
“But we’re not like him,” argued Aubrey. “None of us could begin to teach him what he needs. It would all be guesswork and —”
“And it will be better than what education he could get here!” said James. “Wanderlust is in his blood, and you know we’re not meant to settle in, put down roots. He’ll go mad by the time he’s seventeen, if not sooner.”
Throughout all of this, Neil had remained markedly silent. Now, however, he shifted down the bench to sit closer to Fox. “You’ve had quite the year,” Neil said quietly.
“Has it only been a year?” asked Fox. “Seems like so much longer.”
Neil glanced around at the adults, shaking his head, and then turned back to Fox. “You’ve had more adventure in a year than most people have their whole lives. Most normal people, anyways. But that’s life with the Shavid. And no matter how unique your blessing is, it is still a Shavid Blessing.”
“But what if they’re right?” said Fox, worry creeping into his voice. “What if they can’t teach me anything?”
Here, Neil smiled. “You’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. The UnBlessed of the group. The honorary Shavid.” He said the word “honorary” like it was something akin to a horrible swear word. “There’s not a drop of magic in my blood, and yet they still find new things to teach me every day. Besides,” he said, clapping Fox on the shoulder in a brotherly manner, “you seem to have done quite a decent job of teaching yourself. So, what it comes down to is, do you want to come with us, or would you rather live out your life here?”
“Yes,” said Fox quietly. And then, louder so the whole group could hear, he said, “Yes. Yes, I want to go with you.”
The group fell silent, all eyes on Fox as he addressed them.
“No matter my Blessing, I’m still a Shavid at heart,” he continued. “And if there is a place for me in your company, I would be honored to travel with you.”
Radda stood, and took one of Fox’s hands in both of his massive ones. “And I speak for all of the Shavid, the whole world over, when I say it would truly be an honor to have you.” And then he bowed his forehead and touched it to the back of Fox’s hand. When he straightened again, there was a boyish excitement in his eyes. “Spirit help me,” he said with a laugh. “Just when I thought I’d seen it all, a Windkissed Cartomancer drops into our laps!”
And then, Fox was swept up in a small sea of hugs and shaken hands, and he could see Neil smiling a congratulations. He was dragged out into the Shavid camp, where Radda delivered the good news to the rest of the company. Mindi, Radda’s middle daughter, welcomed Fox by planting a gigantic kiss on his cheek — rather closer to his mouth than Fox was entirely comfortable with.
The streets were beginning to fill with valley folk once more as the Homecoming continued, and excited cheers were raised when they saw the garish Shavid tents and wagons. By the time the players began to put on their first show on the makeshift stage, the story had already begun to spread like wildfire: young Forric Foxglove, the hero of the caravan, was going with them. He would be leaving when they did, at the close of the Homecoming. He was one of them.
But Fox himself was already heading back up the hill, exhausted from all the excitement and from staying up all night. He was going home, to take a very long nap and to begin packing his things. As he walked, the wind brought him pieces of conversation from the valley square below, and he smiled to himself. Hearing the Thiccans talk so excitedly about it made it more real, somehow: he was one of them!
✽ ✽ ✽
An incredible smell woke Fox from his deep and surprisingly dreamless slumber. Groggily, he fumbled his way downstairs. He could hear both of his parents in the kitchen, talking in hurried and almost anxious tones.
“Should we have made the fish as well?” asked Mother.
Something thumped onto the counter top, and Father said, “You spent too much time with the mushrooms. And there
’s the soup, plus the goose ... I think we’ll be fine.”
When Fox slipped through the doorway, he found Mother and Father both busying themselves around the fire pit. They didn’t notice him right away, instead continuing to stir pots and chop vegetables.
The kitchen was a glorious sight. It seemed that every one of Fox’s favorite foods was there. Roasted mushrooms and goat cheese; a plump goose turning on a spit; two different kinds of soup; heaping piles of smashed potatoes mixed with beans and onions. He smelled spiced turtle jerky and rabbit pie, as well as a half a dozen of Borric’s best pies.
Mother spotted him first, and ushered him into the kitchen with a grin. Streaks of flour freckled her cheeks and forehead, and multi-colored berry stains danced across her apron and the rolled-up sleeves of her dress.
“What is all this?” asked Fox, his mouth watering slightly.
“It’s your farewell meal,” said Mother fondly, joyful and proud tears threatening to break the dam behind her eyes.
“All of your favorites,” said Father, who was ladling up a steaming hot bowl of what smelled like mussel stew. “Sit! Eat!”
As Fox obeyed, the first knock came at the door. Terric entered, a heaping basket of roasted potatoes in his arms. Behind him were his wife and his brother, a miner Fox only knew by sight. They offered their thanks, added their potatoes to the feast, and Father offered them a place around the fire. Ellegar came next, his excitable pack of grandchildren swarming around him like ducklings. He brought flat, delicious corn cakes that his wife had made, as well as a finely-spun garment that was something between a shawl and a cloak. This, he offered to Fox with genuine and heartfelt thanks before he, too, joined in for dinner.
And all evening they came and went. Valley folk bearing platters of food and gifts of well-wishing and thanks for Fox. The cabin became home to one massive party, all in Fox’s honor. Borric himself stopped by before too long, bringing even more of his best pies. He managed to pull Fox aside from his many admirers for a moment to speak to him quietly.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 43