Fox and Faun

by Dani Smith

--Your Faun Boy

  He left the book lying beside her and hurried from the room.

  Chapter 21

  Weeks passed.

  Autumn ripened, then shriveled inexorably toward winter. The rains came heavier, pelting the city, driving the seabirds away from the shore they so loved and to warmer lands south. The citizens of Shale City could taste frost on the air, and they kept indoors much of the time. The markets emptied, the last bounty of late fall bought up and distributed. The pubs and bars were louder and fuller than they had been in the summer as mobs of city folk sought their warmth and ruckus company.

  Iona and Ashe continued to meet in secret whenever they could, usually in the library. There, they made love greedily in the shadows of the endless bookshelves, surrounded by the scents of ancient paper and dust and their own mingled sweat. Sometimes after their lovemaking she read to him, lying on their makeshift bed on the floor, her red hair tumbling over the bare globes of her breasts as she turned the pages of some fairy tale. Ashe would lie there, gazing at her in rapt adoration, hanging on every word that spilled from her lips as he watched the lamp light turn her copper hair to warm gold.

  Other times, they met in the alley behind the Bargsea kitchens, Ashe hiking Iona up against the wall, her legs tight around his hips, her skirts pushed up to her waist as they heaved together like the sea.

  They spoke in hushed tones of their people and their pasts, sharing memory fasting often, a practice that Ashe was beginning to find addicting. Visions of Yellowseed in happier times merged with his own Twinglader reminiscences, and he relished showing her his tribe, how they had rollicked and celebrated, worshiped the trees and the mountains, and lived a joyfully wanton life.

  He confessed to her that he was certain that, like her own, his family was gone, and that Drake had lied to him to ensure his servitude. In those moments, he wept freely, enfolded in her arms, abandoning his fear of appearing weak and shedding the loss of his old life through his tears.

  And she taught him how to use the Jade, how to protect himself from its mind-twisting powers.

  One morning, Iona awoke with her head and belly roiling. She staggered from bed and stumbled out onto the balcony; her hand clapped over her mouth. Bending over the ledge, she retched violently until she was gasping.

  “Gods, little sister, what are you doing out here? You’ll freeze!”

  Omnia came out after her, dragging a thick fur blanket out onto the balcony. She draped it over Iona’s trembling shoulders, guiding her back into the warmth of Bargsea.

  She sat the fox girl down in front of the fire and folded a mug of white tea into her hands, pressing her to drink. Iona sipped quietly, her peacock eyes blinking lazily at the dancing flames.

  “What’s this? It was on the vanity.”

  Omnia held up a small piece of paper folded prettily into the shape of a bird. Iona looked up at her and smiled wistfully, despite the paleness of her cheeks.

  “From Ashe.”

  Omnia unfolded the paper and read the scribbled words there aloud.

  “Remember, you are my dream, and I am yours, my little bird. And some day we will fly away together. Alley behind the kitchens. Moonrise.”

  Iona sighed.

  “Little bird,” Omnia muttered. “I told you that you two are playing a dangerous game.”

  “We three,” Iona murmured, still staring into the fire. Omnia scoffed.

  “And what do you mean by that?” she stammered, already knowing full well what her slave sister meant.

  Iona looked over at her, shaking her head slowly, her eyes suddenly clear and bright. One hand moved down and rubbed vaguely at her belly.

  “There’s a baby coming.”

  Omnia slowly nodded, averting her eyes. “Yes. I’ve been afraid of that, watching you do what you are.”

  Iona looked down at her hand where it caressed her middle.

  “I don’t know whose it is, Drake’s or Ashe’s. I think it’s Ashe’s. I can feel it.”

  “And how, my dear, do you plan to explain a child with gold eyes and nose spots to Drake, if that is how it goes?” Omnia hissed; her white brows knit hard.

  “We won’t be here anymore then!” Iona snapped, her eyes prickling with tears. “He’s going to help me escape. You, as well, if you have the guts!”

  Omnia shook her head slowly, incredulous, crumpling the little piece of paper up in her fist. “Don’t you think I would have run long ago if I thought I could have?” she whispered, her pink eyes narrowed. “You are a silly young girl playing house right under your owner’s nose with his guard! Both of you are being mindless children, and it’s going to get you killed, along with that little seed!”

  Iona jumped up at that, her pale cheeks flushing so violently that her freckles stood out.

  “How dare you, you pale Horned bitch!” she cried, slapping Omnia hard across the face. “Stay here as a play toy to Drake, then! But I won’t be! I won’t!”

  She turned and fled from the room, her face in her hands, sobbing hysterically. Omnia just sat there, staring down at the crumpled paper lying in her hand, rubbing her stinging cheek in bewilderment. Sighing, she tossed the love note into the fire and watched it burn.

  ***

  Iona hid in the library for the remainder of the day, distractedly pulling books from shelves and piling them up. She read about childbirth, about medicines for pregnant women and nursing women. Most concerned Horned ladies, but she soaked their information up regardless. She read fairy tales and adventures where daring escapes were carried out. And the entire time, she glanced out the stained-glass windows, wishing the day away, waiting for the Sisters to rise and for her foray into the alley behind the kitchens.

  She felt a stab of regret at the anger she had felt toward Omnia, but her resolve remained steadfast and hard. She would flee Bargsea, or she would die trying.

  She left the library just as a cold rain began to fall outside, dark purple-tinted clouds scudded across the skies and blocked the round faces of the newly risen Sisters. She hurried through the gardens, past the kitchens smelling strongly of beer and roasting meat, her hood pulled up against the storm.

  She came around the corner and saw Ashe. He was leaning against one grimy wall, his hood pulled up, his vest shining in the rain. He pushed off the wall when he saw her and caught her in his arms, squeezing so tightly she briefly couldn’t breathe.

  “I thought you wouldn’t come!” he whispered.

  “You know me better than that,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was hot and wet, and warmed them both.

  “I have something to tell you,” she whispered, rubbing her nose against his. All round them, the rain pattered down and the alley shone black and wet.

  “Good news, I hope!” he laughed softly. “So little of that in this place.”

  She raised one pale hand to his and they pressed their palms together, fingers twining. Iona closed her eyes and sent him knowledge of the second heartbeat that occupied her body and shared her blood. When the memory fasting ended, he stepped back from her briefly, his sunstone eyes wide in the shadow of his hood, his mouth agape. She grinned at him. Ashe reached down, pressing his hands to her still-flat belly.

  “Is it mine?” he asked softly, bewildered.

  She lowered her eyes, her cheeks flushing. “I-I don’t know, love—”

  He lifted her chin gently, the tip of his nose brushing hers. “I don’t care, honeybee,” he whispered. “I don’t care if it has my nose spots or Drake’s goatee.”

  She giggled at his lame attempt at verse, pressing her fingers to her lips. Ashe sprinkled soft kisses against her knuckles, his eyes locked dreamily with hers.

  “If we bring the Jade to the library next time, I can know for sure,” she whispered. “It’ll tell us. But I think … I think it is yours.”

  Ashe shook his head, his grin radiant. “I don’t care, because it will be part of you, and that’s all I want.”

  News of Iona’s pregnancy soon
spread across all of Bargsea. Drake threw a huge celebration, breaking kegs open and letting beer flow beneath the light of his meeting hall’s red chandelier. Ashe drank and celebrated alongside his boss and master, smirking secretly to himself, his own heart overflowing in secret like the brew that splashed all around.

  So great was his joy that he did not see Thorn watching him from afar, his gaze disturbingly knowing.

  Chapter 22

  One cold mid-afternoon, Quinn sat on a crumbling wall overlooking the waves far below, blinking against the cold, salty air that stung his still-tender skin. The cut across his cheek and nose had mostly healed, but the nerves remained raw. He chewed the inside of his cheek, listening to the sound of a motorbike’s engine approach.

  He heard the rider pull up near where he had parked his own ride, cutting the engine with a purring sputter. Heard boots crunching through the frost-rimed grass. Ashe sat down beside him, staring off at the horizon, his mohawk rustling softly in the chill wind.

  “Ass,” he said.

  “Goat Boy.”

  They sat like that for a long time, just watching the waves. Quinn lit up his pipe at one point and smoked thoughtfully before handing it over to Ashe, who took a few puffs, grunting with pleasure before handing the pipe back to Quinn, who knocked the bowl against the stone wall and pocketed it.

  “You’re forgiven,” Quinn stated quietly. He held out his hand and Ashe gripped it tightly.

  “How is it in the city?” Ashe asked softly.

  Quinn chuckled. “Like shit. Drake makes his appearances and throws some cheap food and drink to the scrabbling masses to keep them from rioting. Status quo. How is it at Bargsea?”

  Ashe smiled, averting his eyes shyly, and reached up to absently smooth the crest of his mohawk, like a young peacock blooming in his pride. Quinn looked at him funny.

  “All right, Goat Boy, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Iona is going to have a baby.”

  “Yeah, the entire city knows that. Drake is so happy he looks about to shit. All the pubs and the brothels are yakking up a storm about it.”

  Ashe shook his head. “Drake shouldn’t be so thrilled.”

  “And why, pray tell, is that?”

  Ashe laughed softly. “You won’t believe it—"

  “So nice to see old friends making up!”

  The familiar but hated voice rose up behind them like a miasma, cutting Ashe off abruptly; both men jumped up and spun around, going instinctually for their weapons.

  Thorn strolled across the meadow toward them, grinning like a fiend, his dark blond beard fluttering out around him in the sea wind. He was swinging a long chain with a fat silver lock at the end, a primitive weapon favored by the ruder citizens of Shale City. His dark blue eyes gleamed in lupine hatred as he stared at Ashe.

  “Have you been having fun, little brother?” he chuckled. “Right under Drake’s nose?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ashe growled.

  “It’s become quite entertaining outside the library,” Thorn chuckled. “Whenever Drake is gone, why, I just park my ass right outside the window and listen in.” He shook his head admiringly. “You sure know how to make her squeal. I think I envy you a bit there, little brother.”

  Ashe’s face flushed. Quinn stared at him, his mouth working.

  “What’s he talking about, Ashe?”

  “Oh, let me tell you!” Thorn roared, swinging his chain to and fro. “Drake put this one in charge of the fox bitch. Biggest mistake he could have made, eh? Snow spoke of a wild card that old witch prophesized, someone who will drag Drake and all the rest of us down into ruin!”

  Thorn cackled at the cold air and leaned forward, winking lasciviously. “I think I found him. And when I tell Drake—” He drew a finger across his throat, his grin deepening. “—you can’t imagine the things he will do to her, and to the little bastard she’s carrying. And he’ll make you watch.”

  ***

  Ashe felt something break away in his mind.

  Thorn swung his primitive weapon toward Ashe’s skull as he barreled toward him, roaring; the lock glanced off one of Ashe’s horns and he raised his kukri, bringing it down in a perfect arc, slicing Thorn’s hand at the wrist. Thorn screamed horribly as the kukri bit. Ashe pulled it back and kicked out, sending the satyr guard flying back into the dirt and dead leaves, bellowing. He sprang atop Thorn, his blade raised, bringing it down again and again, hacking madly, his voice rising to a growling roar. Blood sprayed across the leaning, frozen grasses all around them. Ashe kept hacking, his voice rising, until Quinn’s arms went around him, yanking him back.

  “Ashe, brother, wake up! Snap out of it!”

  Ashe bucked away from Quinn and lay back on the bloodstained grass, panting, staring up at the frosty sky. He could taste Thorn’s blood pooled in his mouth, and he became vaguely aware that, at some point, he had bitten into the side of the blond satyr’s neck.

  Quinn’s shocked face hovered into his field of vision.

  “Ashe,” he whispered. “You’ve done it now. Oh, shit … oh shit … ”

  Ashe rolled over and crawled to his knees, spitting out Thorn’s blood, coughing and retching. His belly heaved and his tail twitched spastically as he vomited up all the horror, the anger, and the fear that raged in his heart.

  Finally, he sat back, panting, and wiped a wrist across his fouled mouth. Quinn sat across from him, staring down at Thorn’s body … or what was left of it. Chopped meat, fabric, and leather knotted into the semblance of what used to be a satyr, his horns shattered, a big chunk of flesh torn from the side of his neck. His skull was split open, one eye dislodged, the other staring like a dead blue lantern toward heaven.

  “By the gods, Ashe,” Quinn whispered, wiping a trembling hand across his face.

  Ashe staggered up, dragging his blood-coated kukri up with him. He stood there, staring hard at his friend, his legs trembling only a little.

  “Help me get rid of him,” he growled.

  Quinn said nothing as he rose shakily and helped Ashe drag Thorn’s remains across the windy field to the edge of the stone wall. Unspeaking, the two friends pushed the broken body over the edge of the cliff, watching it fall, torn clothing fluttering, till it struck the sea far below. Briefly, the water and foam bloomed red as Thorn’s body bobbed then sank into the steely depths.

  “We’re done for now,” Quinn panted. “We can’t ever go back—”

  “I don’t want to go back.”

  Ashe shed his vest and tossed it onto the ground with a thin rattle of spikes and buckles. He wiped the blood from his kukri and began to smear the crimson fluid across the big Doomhand patch on the back. With swift, angry strokes he painted a pair of trees that twined at the trunk, smearing out the crest of his hated enemy with the sacred Lovers of his tribe. He scratched out the Doomhand script on the bottom, writing one word in blood in tall jagged letters.

  TWINGLADER

  Quinn sat and watched this in stunned silence, the scar running across his cheek and nose like a rutted lightning bolt.

  Ashe pulled the vest back on and wiped his blade once more on the grass before sheathing it. He looked to Quinn, breathing heavily, his golden gaze steady.

  “I have everything I need packed in my saddlebags,” he said. “I met you here to ask you to join me, but now … I can’t go back for her now. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll understand. I’ll find some other way to free her.”

  Quinn shook his head slowly. “Are you stupid, Goat Boy? I just aided you in hiding a body. Why wouldn’t I run with you?”

  “You have a place we can go?”

  “Of course. I haven’t been sleeping in alleyways all this time, you fool.”

  Ashe gazed at him with sadness in his eyes. “You know our families are gone, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I think I’ve always known.”

  Quinn shrugged his Doomhand vest from his shoulders and held it up, staring at it for a long, bitter
moment before tossing it unceremoniously over the cliff’s edge. He gathered his pack where it had been sitting tucked against the stone wall and looked at Ashe, his closest friend, and now his conspirator.

  “I knew you loved her. But I didn’t know that it would go this far.”

  He rose and they walked in silence to their bikes.

  INTERLUDE

  Mayur blinked in the light of the guttering fire, stirring as if he were in a daze. Across from him, Ashe tossed another log onto the pyre, building it back to full strength again.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Ashe asked quietly. “I know this story is long.”

  Beside him, Scarlett shifted on the blanket and rolled over, dragging the sleeping Grym with her like a stuffed toy. She crammed her small thumb into her mouth and began to suck softly, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. Mayur grinned, running his chubby fingers through his wiry curls.

  “I’d only ask that you’d share a puff of that pipe,” he said.

  Ashe grinned back. “And you, a sip of that fine whiskey?”

  They exchanged goods like old friends, Ashe taking another swig as Mayur puffed away. The stars wheeled above them, the tree branches rustled, and a wolf yipped somewhere in the distant woods. Ashe felt briefly for his pack, and the cool round shape of the Jade within it.

  “How long were you away from your mate?” Mayur asked softly.

  “A long time. Months. Quinn and I hid through the winter, squatting, and finally in early spring we were able to begin planning our escape when the thaw came. By then, Iona was heavy with child, and we had heard nonstop gossip in the city that her time was growing close.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  “Incredibly.”

  Ashe tossed another log onto the fire, sparks swirling. “This part of my tale doesn’t end happily, Mayur.”

  “I’d still hear it all the way to the end,” Mayur said a little dreamily as he exhaled a soft plume of smoke. “Cut the vein, my friend.”