Children of the Fox

by Kevin Sands

  I looked back at the girl. She waited at the edge of the circle, trapped in her own prison. Now that she was behind me, she didn’t seem so scary anymore. More like a lost child, instead of a ghost.

  Padraig had told me her name. What was it?

  “Sarah,” I said.

  For the briefest moment, recognition flickered in her eyes. Then her expression changed. She looked . . . sad.

  “What’s going to happen to her?” I asked.

  she no longer concerns us. go to the hall.

  “You said the High Weaver stripped her soul from her body. Does that mean she’s stuck here?”

  she has played her role. we need her no longer. go to the hall.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, “until you answer me.”

  For the briefest instant, a flare of anger touched my mind. Then it vanished.

  the one who lives above will decide her fate. if he wishes her to remain, then she will remain.

  “Forever?”

  if he wishes it. I have answered your question. go to the hall.

  The girl—Sarah—looked at me, and again her expression changed. Now she looked almost pleading. Had she been listening? Or had saying her name awakened her soul? I imagined myself in her place, trapped forever, and shuddered at the horror of it.

  Time was ticking. To escape this place, to bring the Eye to Mr. Solomon. I didn’t dare pull out my pocket watch, see how little was left.

  But how could I leave her here, like this? How could I condemn her to eternal torment?

  “Is there some way to free her?” I said.

  listen to me, foxchild. go to the hall.

  “No. You listen. Tell me what I want to know.”

  or what?

  “Or I’ll throw you to her.”

  Derision filled my head. There was no sound, but I’d swear the Eye was laughing at me.

  do not threaten me with empty bluster. if you return me to the pedestal, this place will be your tomb.

  It wasn’t wrong. But through my fear, my doubt, the Old Man returned to my mind. He sounded amused, like he always did when he had the upper hand.

  It wants something, he said.

  So do I, I answered.

  Yes. But the Eye wants it even more than you. Doesn’t it?

  And I realized: the Old Man was right. The Eye was no person, but it had a mind, and it wanted—needed—something. And anyone—anything—that wants something can be manipulated. Desire above all.

  So I bluffed.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’ll never get out of here. And now neither will you.” Without any warning, I drew back my hand to throw the Eye into the circle.

  WAIT

  Desperation shook its voice. I waited, arm ready.

  you are obstinate, foxchild.

  “So I’m told.”

  very well, the Eye said, its humor returned. you may have your wish. the exercise will prove instructive.

  I was amazed at how human the thing sounded. It was actually trying to save face. The Old Man spoke again. If it wants to save face, let it. It will smooth your way.

  “Thank you,” I said to the Eye, no hint of gloating, or victory. “I appreciate your help.”

  approach the circle.

  I moved closer to the trapped flagstones. Sarah hovered, waiting, but now she looked almost hopeful.

  examine the runes. look very closely.

  I knelt and bent over, until the runelight was near-blinding.

  look beside the symbols. see the life flowing between them.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what the Eye meant by “life,” but I did as it told me, looking for something to connect the runes, my nose mere inches from the rock. I studied the stone in between—

  There.

  At the edge of the symbol. A thin line glowed, trailing from one rune to the next. It was almost too faint to see.

  “I found it,” I said, surprised.

  now. walk around the edge of the circle and find the stream that flows away.

  Again, I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but I went around the trapped flagstones anyway, crawling. And there, near the opposite side of the cavern, I found what it was asking for.

  Here the thin lines coalesced into one. That new line, still faint, led from the circle, away from the trap.

  follow it. where does it go?

  Away from the glowing brightness, the line—the stream—was easier to see. It traced across the floor, meandering like a river. I followed it all the way to the wall.

  “It ends here,” I said.

  it does not.

  But there was no more light. “Does it go inside the wall?”

  behind it.

  I leaned in to examine the rock. There I saw a jagged, cracked line of a slightly different color—natural color, not magic—all around a chunk of rock about ten inches across. I touched it; it felt softer than stone. Porous, almost like . . .

  I scratched it with my fingernail. The brown color of the rock came away, crumbling off-white underneath. I was right—it was mortar. Someone had removed a chunk of the stone, then patched it back in, the mortar stained to match the cavern walls.

  I chipped the mortar away until I could just grab hold of the larger rock. But when I tried to pry it out, it was too heavy. I went to put the Eye down.

  do not do that, the Eye said sharply.

  “I need both hands,” I said.

  if you do not look through me, you will not be able to spot any danger.

  It had a point. The High Weaver did love his traps. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  press me against your eye.

  I paused. “Why?”

  do as I say, foxchild. I have already promised not to harm you.

  Still I hesitated.

  if you do not wish to proceed, then leave the bearchild where she is, and we may depart.

  Clever artifact. Unfortunately, it was right. I’d never get the brick out one-handed. Tentatively, I brought the Eye close, curved side facing outward. It was just small enough to fit inside my left socket, like a monocle. “Now what?”

  let go.

  I pulled my fingers away—and the Eye stayed in place. Everything looked the same as before: the normal world through my right eye, swirls of magic color in my left. Except now both hands were free. I tested the Eye, tugging on it, but it remained snug in its socket.

  I will protect you, it said. now stop wasting time. remove the stone.

  Two-handed, I could just get enough purchase to move the rock. It scraped out, crumbs of mortar falling behind it. Now that there was a gap in the wall, I could see the faint line I’d followed continue into the hollow hidden behind the stone.

  There was another gemstone inside. In my right eye, it looked like a sapphire, shaped into a perfectly smooth oval, about two-thirds the size of an egg. Through the Eye, the gem blazed with intense, sea-blue light, brighter than anything I’d seen yet, though gazing at it didn’t make me squint.

  I picked up the sapphire. It was hot, almost too hot to touch. “What is this?”

  a soulstone, the Eye said. the one who lives here bound the bearchild’s essence in this prison. her life is chained.

  “Then how do I free her?”

  return her soul. give her the stone.

  I turned—and saw Sarah’s expression had changed. She stared at the gem, riveted by its light. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, hopeful.

  I approached her. The chill returned, and this time, there was a fluttering of wind, a winter’s breeze. She held out her hands, pleading silently.

  She was close enough to touch now. I wondered what would happen if I did. Yet she made no effort to reach for me, just held her hands out, cupped, waiting.

  I dropped the stone.

 
I could still see the difference between the two worlds, and what happened made my head spin. In the normal world, the sapphire fell straight to the ground. Through the Eye, I could see what really happened.

  As the soulstone passed through her, it lost its blaze. The bright blue ball within remained in the air, caught between her palms. It swirled madly, like steam rising from a pot, then began to spread through her ghostly form.

  Everywhere the light touched, Sarah began to dissolve. Now she became the steam, blue and glowing, fading as she evaporated into the air. Her hands, her arms, her chest blew away in wisps.

  The last thing to disappear was her eyes. They gazed back at me, full of thanks.

  Then she was gone.

  The chill had gone, too. And the light on the flagstones, the High Weaver’s trap, dimmed until there was nothing, not even the runes. A strange sense washed over me, over the whole cave. A calmness. Like peace had returned to this place. It was overwhelming.

  “We did a good thing,” I said to the Eye.

  no. you were foolish. and now we shall pay the price.

  “Why?”

  because your insistence has delayed us. and the one who lives above has returned.

  CHAPTER 35

  I froze.

  “The High Weaver?” I said. “He’s here?”

  above. the alarm of your intrusion has called him home.

  My heart thumped. If the High Weaver came down and caught me with the Eye . . . “What do we do?”

  we can no longer get past the gate. go to the hall.

  I didn’t argue this time.

  turn left.

  I hurried down the corridor, keeping my ears open for the hum of the lift, the sound of the tunnel door opening. Through the Eye, I saw colors I hadn’t spotted before, runes on the doors my own eyes couldn’t see. It gave directions as I ran, left and right and straight, and I went where it said without question, aching knee all but forgotten.

  “How do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

  this place has been my prison for many of your lifetimes. the runes in the cavern limited my sight, but they could not keep me totally blind. stop.

  Halfway through one of the corridors, I skidded to a halt in front of a plain wooden door. There were no runes on this one.

  go inside.

  The space behind the door was about as large as the chamber that had held the Eye, though this room was square and formed by human hands. In here were five steel vats, arranged in a cross. They were eight feet tall with open tops, each one propped on a raised platform. I could hear a liquid splashing inside.

  “What’s in there?”

  creations of the one who lives above. go to the central platform.

  When I placed my foot on its step, the sloshing in the vat went quiet.

  Then something dripped on my shoulder. I looked up to see a tentacle reaching over the lip of the vat.

  I reared back.

  it will not harm anyone, the Eye said.

  “Then you go up there.”

  we do not have time for games, foxchild.

  True enough. I stepped back up, but if that thing came anywhere near me, I was out of here.

  The tentacle probed the lip of the vat. I got the sense it was smelling me, like feelers on an insect or the tongue of a snake. Creepy.

  But it didn’t come any closer. Satisfied, I glanced at the panel in the center of the platform. It was an odd mix of dials and cogwheels.

  open the panel.

  There was a small swivel latch on opposite sides of the metal plate. I turned them and the whole thing came out smoothly. Weaver runes glowed on the back of it. “What now?”

  remove the stones.

  Behind where the panel had been were four clamps. Each held an oval stone, identical in size to Sarah’s soulstone, but different colors: jade, amethyst, turquoise, and jet. Looking through the Eye, they glowed with enchanted light, though none as bright as Sarah’s sapphire. For some reason, the thought lesser souls popped into my head. From animals? Or had the High Weaver murdered others to power his experiments, and their soul energy had faded?

  There was no time to ponder it. I pulled the stones. Like Sarah’s, they were warm to the touch, though much less intense. Like a cloth left to dry in the sun.

  The Eye directed me back into the maze, but seeing the worlds overlapping was making me dizzy again. The last time, I’d stopped looking through the Eye, but now it was fixed in my socket. I found if I covered the Eye with my hand, the dizziness went away.

  I could still see the glow of my skin, but it just looked like a wash of light, and it didn’t make my head spin. As I ran, I began to see strands of brighter carnelian moving through the red. The strands pulsed with my heartbeat.

  Was that my blood?

  I was so mesmerized by the thought that I almost missed the sound in the distance. The squeak and clang of metal.

  The door to the lift had opened.

  Boots clacked on the tile, echoed through the corridors. I sped up, trying to make my own steps as quiet as possible. A voice filled the maze, echoing from all directions. I’d never heard the man speak before, but his voice awakened some primal fear, a chill that twisted my guts, and I knew right away who it was.

  Darragh VII. The High Weaver himself.

  “Find the thief,” he said.

  Footsteps came from all around now, sounding from every branch of the maze. I ran, left and right and left until the Eye said

  here.

  I barreled through the door, thumping it hard enough to bruise my shoulder. The room was the same shape as the previous, but the contraption was completely different. This laboratory held seven thick rods, arranged in a circle. The rods were jet black, a golden ball atop each one, roughly the size of an orange. In the center of the circle, a many-sided shape of metal hung suspended in the air, flashing colors as it spun round and round.

  Even with the Eye covered, I could feel the hum of magic that filled the chamber. It prickled my skin. When I took my hand away, I saw glowing lines sparking in the air, curving from one rod to another, forming a seven-sided star of rainbow hues. The many-sided shape, I now saw, was actually a glowing ball, surrounded by ghostly, identical, many-sided figures inside figures inside figures, so complex and alien it made my mind hurt. A pain, sharp, stabbed behind my left temple. This was nothing a human was meant to see.

  The Old Man whispered in my ear.

  Can’t trust spellslingers

  he said.

  The Eye’s voice blotted out his words. go to the conduit farthest from the door. do not cross the lines.

  “What’s a conduit?” I said, trying to concentrate.

  The Eye managed to sound amused, exasperated, and contemptuous, all at the same time. the long black things.

  It meant the rods. I skirted the room, using the Eye’s vision to avoid the flailing lines of power that crackled in the air, all the while trying to listen for the High Weaver’s guards. I stood next to the rod—the conduit—it had indicated. The glowing lines snapped uncomfortably close.

  “Now what?”

  place three of the soulstones on the floor, against the wall, in a perfect triangle.

  There were four different colors. “Which ones?”

  it does not matter. they are already attuned.

  I had no idea what that meant, but I used the jet, jade, and turquoise. I’d have called my triangle rough, not perfect, but then, I’d never been much of an artist.

  now. return to the door.

  “I still have one soulstone.”

  so you can count. astonishing. return to the door.

  I fought back a retort and did as it said.

  now, the Eye said. throw the final soulstone at the conduit closest to the wall.

  That left one small problem: hittin
g the thing. I wished desperately that Meriel was here. “What if I miss?”

  the lines will guide the stone to contact. once you are sure it will hit, run from the room. do not hesitate, or you will die.

  I drew a deep breath. Then I threw the amethyst into the air.

  I could tell from the moment it left my hand that it wasn’t my greatest throw. Tumbling, the stone flew over the shapes-within-shapes in the center. As it started to fall, I saw it would miss by a foot and a half to the right.

  Except it didn’t. As the soulstone got close to the conduit, the line of power nearest it arced upward. The amethyst’s path curved, drawn toward the line as if magnetic.

  When the line finally touched it, the stone slammed into the golden ball as if it had been fired from a musket. The air pulsed with a snap. Then the glowing lines went mad.

  They slung about the room, weaving and crossing like ropes twisting in a gale. A new, sparking line shot from the conduit to strike the three soulstones against the wall. Then a high-pitched wail pierced my ears.

  RUN

  the Eye shouted, and I flung myself through the door. I just made it around the edge before everything—everything—went completely silent.

  And then the world exploded.

  CHAPTER 36

  A thunderous BANG rocked the complex, and suddenly I was hurled into the air. The blast slammed me into the wall, pelting me with stones. A rock gouged my cheek, drawing blood; another as large as my skull glanced off my shoulder, spinning me round. If it had hit me square, it would have crushed my arm.

  I crumpled to the floor, covered in stones and rock dust. Pieces of ceiling fell around me, shattering on the ground like slate. The blast left a ringing in my ears.

  And through that ringing, I could hear whistling. Not a note, but a chorus, each a different tone, rising in voiceless song, a harmony beautiful and terrible. There were four of them, and though my brain was battered into insensibility, I realized what they were.

  Four stones. Four whistles. This is the sound of their souls.

  The song rose to a crescendo, then faded. Then, over the ringing that remained, the voice of the Eye cut through the silence.

  move quickly, foxchild.