“She told me that she found out about her true parents,” Borric said, so that only Fox could hear him.
“And where does that leave you two?” asked Fox.
Borric smiled wanly. “She was mad at me something awful at first. But in the end, she says I’m still her father.”
“I didn’t want her to find out,” said Fox apologetically.
“Oh I know you didn’t, lad. But these are the ways of gods, after all. And what we say, or do, often has little merit in their eyes.” And then he shook Fox’s hand firmly. “I know you tried.”
Borric didn’t stay long. He said he had to get back to the tavern. But he made Fox promise to say a proper goodbye to Lai before he left, and Fox said he would. And then, he was surrounded once more by food and gifts and grateful families. It was as though the Homecoming had split in two: the part happening down in the valley square, and the part that was constantly ebbing and flowing through the Foxglove house. By the end of the night, Fox’s family had enough food to keep them fed in leftovers for two weeks, and Fox himself had a small mountain of gifts piled beneath the front kitchen window.
His parents wouldn’t let him help clean up. They told him to turn in early. Tomorrow was his last day in Thicca Valley, after all. There was much to do. Fox started to head off to bed as suggested, but then remembered something. While Mother and Father were busy sorting out what food would keep and what food should be eaten at once, Fox pocketed several slices of turtle jerky and hid an entire roasted hare behind his back. Then he slipped outside quietly and headed to the nearest patch of woods, right at the outskirts of his family’s land.
The wolves were waiting for him. They lay like patient old dogs, lounging just within the safety of the trees. When Fox approached, a few of them perked up, their ears twitching and noses beginning to snuffle the air. Completely unshaken by their powerful jaws and deadly teeth, Fox crouched down to their level, holding the hare out as an offering.
The wolf he was sure was the alpha male came forward first and began to lick and gnaw at the carcass. Fox wasn’t sure if wolves enjoyed cooked food, but he figured it was better than nothing. As the wolf ate, Fox cautiously reached out and scratched him behind the ears. “I just wanted to say thank you,” he said quietly. “And, if it’s possible ... watch out for my family while I’m gone? And Lai.”
The wolf looked up from its meal and licked Fox’s nose, almost affectionately. Almost at once, Fox was surrounded by the rest of the pack. They licked his ears and picked at the roasted hare and begged strips of turtle from him. He hugged them around the necks and scratched them all behind their ears, digging his fingers into the remnants of their thick winter coats. And then, once they were finished being fed and groomed, the wolves turned to head deeper into the woods, and Fox knew they were going to hunt. For a moment, the alpha male hung back, as if waiting for Fox to join them. But Fox said quietly, “Perhaps next time I’m in town, friend.” And the wolves disappeared into the night.
✽ ✽ ✽
Fox’s last day in Thicca Valley dawned clear and chill. It was cold even for early spring, but it didn’t keep people inside. They flocked to the Courter’s Contests, bundled in their finest scarves and shawls. The usual flurry of bets and wagers filled the air, and Fox was accompanied by Neil and Lai. His two friends got along remarkably well, and they passed a pleasant afternoon watching the contests.
When Neil tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out that he’d better finish packing, Fox started. It was already evening. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn’t even noticed. He let Lai escort him home, and they sat on the front porch rail for some time, watching the sunset and talking about nothing in particular. Finally, as the sounds of crickets mingled with the Shavid music that had flared up in the square below, Fox said, “Don’t come to see me off tomorrow.”
Lai looked hurt as she asked, “Why not?”
Fox struggled to put it into words. Finally he said, “I don’t know when I’ll be back. You’ll look different, I’ll look different ...” He rubbed his head, almost hoping that it would somehow bring the right words to mind. “I just don’t want to think about you changing. And if you’re there when I leave ...” He trailed off once more. And he knew as he turned and looked at his oldest and closest friend, that he didn’t need to finish it. She understood.
The moment hung between them like an ethereal strand of a spider web. Lai reached over and tucked her arm in his, then leaned in, slowly, and kissed him on the eyebrow. When she pulled back, a flush had risen in her cheeks, visible even by the moonlight. She slid from the railing and straightened her skirts, then said, without looking at him, “You’d better come back one day. ’Cause I’m not marrying anyone but you.”
It was the only goodbye Fox was going to get. She was gone, running down the hill, leaving a very confused Fox alone on his front railing.
✽ ✽ ✽
His things were packed, and loaded into one of the Shavid wagons. His parents said goodbye at the kitchen door. He promised to write, and often, before heading down the hill with his haversack strapped to his shoulders. True dawn was still a ways away, but a thin greying light began to wash out the sky as Fox set foot in the valley square.
He stopped, his feet frozen on the packed earth. He could hear the Shavid company making their final preparations, and an eagerness twisted his stomach. But there was something else, something he didn’t have a name for.
“Are you afraid?” asked Neil, and Fox jumped. He hadn’t realized his friend was there.
“Yes,” admitted Fox.
Neil detached himself from the shadows. “Of life on the road?”
“Of ... not being who everyone thinks I could be.” Fox stood rooted to the spot. He stared straight ahead at the place where, across the shops and streets at the heart of the valley, the Shavid were waiting for him. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to stay where I have a place?”
“You could do that,” said Neil casually. “Or you could make your own place.”
Fox tore his eyes from the distant, colorful blur his eyes had been fixed upon, and looked instead up at the lightening sky. “Were you afraid?” asked Fox.
There was a pause and then, “Every day.”
Fox closed his eyes and breathed deep. A barrage of sounds and smells greeted him, each one connected with a memory or fear or hope or possibility. And when he opened his eyes again, he took a step forward. Neil walked with him, one uncertain step at a time, down the center street of Thicca Valley. With every footfall, a new question came tumbling into Fox’s mind.
When would he see the valley again? Where was Farran? What if Fox couldn’t live up to his own burgeoning legend?
But with every footfall, Fox found his resolve growing stronger. And by the time they reached the company, there wasn’t a doubt in Fox’s mind: he was a Shavid. And Shavid were meant to roam.
They began to walk, warming the morning with song. Here and there throughout the valley, Thiccans stuck their heads out of doors and windows to shout farewell, and farmers already in the fields waved their goodbyes. A single goatherd high on a wildflower-strewn hill stood watching them go, but did not wave. And even without looking too closely, Fox knew it was Lai.
And, as the ground beneath their feet began to rise, taking them up and away from Thicca Valley, a shimmer caught the sun in the corner of Fox’s eye. He turned quickly, afraid it might disappear again, but it didn’t. It was fainter than before, but it was unmistakable. Fox smiled, and Farran saluted him before flickering into nothingness once more.
But Fox didn’t mind. He took it as a good omen, and besides, he knew the god would be back. In the meantime, he had new roads to wander, and new paths to tread. He thrust his chest out and sang with the rest of Radda’s company, as they marched away into a fresh and brilliant dawn.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the decade it took to pull this story from my brain and force it onto paper, I’ve been supported by countless people. A H
UGE thanks to the Cards, for their constant love and care. You are my second parents, and I would not be here without you both. To my uncle specifically, thank you for being my mentor. On stage or page, I’d be lost without your direction. Thank you for giving me such a high standard to aspire to as an artist, and for believing in me before I even knew I had the potential for talent.
To my parents, and my siblings: Thank you for being dreamers. None of you ever tried to tell me, even as a child, that I couldn’t do something. I became this creative person because of all of you. I am forever grateful to have been surrounded by literature and the arts my entire life, and it’s thanks to all of you. The painters, the writers, the readers, the actors, the singers, the musicians ... You are all my personal Shavid tribe.
Begrudgingly, I must thank You-Know-Who-You-Are, for saying “cartographer” when I asked for a stupid profession. But that’s all you get.
To Fiona Jayde, my cover designer ... what can I even say? You were willing to work with an INSANE deadline to help bring my vision to life. You were willing to hold my hand through the entire process, and put up with my complete lack of publishing experience. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for the rest of the series.
To all of my friends who suffered through my MANY panic attacks, the warmest, most loving thanks. To my beta readers, peer readers, and creative writing classmates, thank you for suffering through every typo and early draft. You helped me build the very world my story is built on, and you always asked me for more. For that, I can’t thank you enough. This book would not be what it is now without your faith in my storytelling.
For Cody, I have no proper words. You have been there for me through the hardest, darkest moments of my life. You always find the perfect balance between tough love and comfort, and you make my life richer every day. You got me back on my feet (literally and metaphorically) and this book would STILL not be finished if it wasn’t for you. “Thank you” is not enough, but it’s all that I have. Thank you.
For Dad, who truly inspired my love of words. No book will ever be as good as The Chronicles of Prydain, as you read them to us. My favorite memories of you from my childhood were those storytelling nights, and I will always trace my love of literature back to our old living room couch, and Caer Dallben.
And, finally, for Mom, who never got to see this published. There will never be the proper words in any language, real or imagined, to express how grateful I am to you. For everything that I am, and everything I one day hope to be, thank you.
About the Author
Kaitlin Bellamy has always been a storyteller. She grew up in Greensboro, North Carolina, where she discovered a passion for the stage, and spent her youth performing in a church community theatre ensemble. From there, she moved to Buena Vista, Virginia, to study Shakespeare and Musical Theatre at Southern Virginia University. Through a series of lifechanging events, Kaitlin then found herself in Orlando, Florida, where she now enjoys an eclectic and vibrant life as an actor. She has continued her education at a snail-like pace that would make molasses jealous, choosing to add Anthropology and English majors to her scholastic wishlist. She doubts whether she will ever actually finish any one of her degrees, but making this book deadline gives her a small glimmer of hope. In the meantime, you can find her performing in local theme parks, narrating audiobooks from her home studio, and playing Dungeons and Dragons with her closest friends.
To keep up with all her adventures, feel free to join Kaitlin on any one of her social media platforms, or her website.
Facebook.com/KaitlinBellamyOfficial
Twitter.com/KaitlinBellamy
Instagram.com/Executive.Geek
www.KaitlinBellamy.com
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 44