Fox and Faun

by Dani Smith

  “She isn’t doing well,” she said worriedly. “Hurry.”

  Ashe found that, while he was outside, Omnia had built a fire in the center pit, coaxing it to life with kindling and a few scraps of torn paper. She had helped Iona to lean back against the wall closest to the fire, and Ashe found his wife squatting there, her knees drawn up, her skin glowing in the firelight with fever and sweat. Her shift was soaked in blood and she was laboring hard.

  Ashe sank to his knees and pulled her against him, supporting her against his chest. She leaned back against him, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Omnia offered her sips of water and leaned down between her spread thighs, lifting the hem of the bloody chemise.

  “You can stop the bleeding,” Ashe growled as another contraction doubled Iona over in his arms. “You have that power.”

  Omnia shook her head and pointed to her broken horn.

  “I have no such power any longer,” she whispered tersely. “Drake and his bastards made sure of that when they did this.”

  Ashe’s face twisted in blind fury, and he began to shout into the echoing space, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. “Shit!! Shit, SHIT!!”

  Iona shifted and raised a trembling hand, brushing her fingertips against the line of his jaw. “Shhh,” she whispered. “No anger, my love. Please. Just … hold me. Help me.”

  He did as he was asked. He clutched her close, his arms encircling her, holding her upright as she labored. Time no longer mattered. Several times the fire burned low, and Omnia crawled away to tend it. At some point, Omnia lifted the blood-soaked folds of her slave sister’s chemise and her rose-colored eyes widened.

  “Iona,” she whispered. “Give me your hand.”

  Iona obeyed, reaching out, and Omnia guided her fingers down. Iona’s tired eyes filled with a sudden ecstasy, and she smiled.

  “I can feel its head,” she whispered.

  She pushed again, harder, more determined, her hand snaking up to grasp the back of Ashe’s neck. Her nails dug in there, and he ignored the pain, was oblivious to it. Again and again she pushed, growling and moaning.

  “One more!” Omnia cried, and suddenly she was sitting back on her haunches, catching the hot, wet, slippery infant before it fell from its mother and to earth.

  Iona collapsed back against Ashe, shaking and sobbing. He held her close, kissing her fluffy fox’s ears, cheeks, and wet brow, murmuring how much he loved her. Omnia was groping for a clean blanket when a thin wail erupted in the night, new life echoing among the dead. She lay the wrapped bundle on Iona’s chest, pulling the covers up around them.

  “You were right, Iona. A girl,” Omnia declared, smiling, but her eyes were strange, hard somehow, as if steeling against an oncoming darkness.

  Iona gazed down at the tiny moon of a face, her trembling fingers languidly stroking the top of the fragile skull. The baby whimpered, made a snuffling sound, and blinked up at her mother.

  “Oh, Ashe,” Iona whispered. “She has your eyes. And your nose spots … ”

  Ashe leaned his head back against the wall behind him, weeping and laughing. She has my eyes. Take that, Drake. Take that straight to Hell.

  “Ashe … ”

  Iona’s voice was fading. Ashe cradled her bobbing head in one big hand, pressing his cheek to hers; the skin there was clammy and slick with fever sweat.

  “I’m here, honeybee,” he murmured.

  “Promise me you’ll keep her safe. Get her to the last Yellowseed Kits. Find them.”

  Ashe kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She turned her face to his and he kissed her lips, tasting sweat and death.

  “We both will,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

  “No,” she sighed, her voice barely audible. “I’m … I’m tired.”

  Ashe looked up and stared desperately at Omnia, his eyes huge and bright. Omnia shook her head slowly, her tourmaline gaze never leaving his face.

  “You can do something,” Ashe whispered desperately. Tears were skating down his cheeks, dripping onto the blankets and furs that covered his wife. Omnia averted her gaze and turned back to the fire pit, tossing a few more chunks of wood onto the flames. Sparks gushed upward, swirling in a mindless dance.

  “You can DO SOMETHING!” Ashe repeated loudly, and Omnia spun on him then, her eyes blazing. Tears were leaking from her eyes, and Ashe knew then, really knew, that it was over.

  “I can’t do anything!” she hissed. “I told you that! It’s her time, something that no one can stop!”

  Ashe’s mouth worked, his eyes narrowing as tears squeezed from their corners. He wanted to kill Omnia in that moment, to pull his blade and bash her head in with it. His hand was going for the hilt of his kukri when Iona suddenly reached out, gripping his wrist.

  “No,” she whispered. “H-here.”

  She moved his hand up, placed it palm down on the warm little bundle lying on her breast.

  “You have each other now,” she whispered. “I know … you both will make me … proud.”

  “Honeybee,” Ashe murmured, but her head was already lolling against his chest, each breath shallower than the one before it.

  He held her quietly as she died, his cheek pressed against the top of her bruised, clipped head. He continued to hold her after she had drawn her last breath, after she had gone limp and cold. When the baby sensed that her mother was gone and began to wail, Omnia plucked the mewling bundle from Iona’s still breast and cradled her close, humming softly. Ashe still didn’t move.

  Time passed; how much he didn’t know. He rocked Iona now and then, crying silently, tears leaking in an endless stream until his eyes were raw. Finally, he shifted her to the furs on the floor, lying her out as reverently as he could and then rose. Somewhere distantly he heard Omnia call out to him, but he ignored her. He walked numbly across the crypt, around the fire pit, and up the dark corridor beyond.

  He walked through the sanctuary and out into the rain, heedless as the droplets drummed against the leather of his vest. He held his hands out and watched the drops pattering against his palms and fingers, washing Iona’s blood from his skin in bright crimson rivulets. His mohawk was soaked, streaking down one cheek like spilled black paint. Slowly, he clenched his hands into fists and smashed them against his chest, squeezing, digging his nails into his palms as he began to cry for real, a flood of tears joining the falling rain. Sobs ripped through him in huge ugly spasms of grief, clear snot streaming from his nose. His legs gave way and he sat down hard on the slick marble steps, like a marionette whose strings have suddenly been cut, curling over into himself. He stayed like that for a long time, his voice reduced to the anguished cries of a gutted animal as the rain poured down and soaked him to the bone. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and still he sat, unmoving, folded into himself and wishing for death.

  He was vaguely aware at one point of drawing his kukri, of turning the blade toward himself. Of pressing the sharpened tip to the base of his own throat.

  “Ashe … ”

  Somewhere in that fugue state, a baby wailed thinly. Omnia’s voice came from somewhere far away, calling him out of the darkness, drawing him away from the precipice where he stood, ready to fall.

  “Ashe, I cannot imagine what this is doing to you. But your daughter needs you.”

  Another thin wail floated through the sheets of rain, and Ashe gritted his teeth. Slowly, almost painfully, he rose and shuffled up the steps and under the ruined overhang of the monastery where Omnia waited.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly, her pink eyes welling with tears. She held the snuffling bundle out to him, and he took his newborn daughter in his arms for the first time.

  He gazed down at the red, scrunched, fussing little face, seeing his dun spots on the tiny button of her nose, the nubs of little horns nestled in the bright shock of downy copper hair that crowned her fragile skull, her tiny twitching goat ears. He whispered her name for the first time, and she stopped fussi
ng, opening her eyes and gazing up at him. They were gold, as gold as a sunset, and Ashe started crying harder. As if sensing his distress, the baby’s face scrunched up and she began to wail.

  Omnia smiled through her tears. “Scarlett. A fine name. Whose?”

  His voice cracked. “My grandmother’s.”

  “You honor her in the best way, Ashe.”

  His firm chin wobbled as he stared down at the screeching infant. “I-I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. Omnia slipped an arm around his shoulders and guided him back into the sanctuary, back down into the crypt.

  In his absence, Ashe found that the unicorn queen had rebuilt the fire and covered Iona’s body with a blanket, hiding her death-still face beneath its drape. Ashe handed the wailing infant back over to Omnia and knelt by his wife’s still form, pulling the coverlet back. He bent, kissing her cold lips, the tip of her nose, her forehead. Tasted the salt of her cold sweat, smelled the iron of her blood.

  All the while, Omnia walked back and forth, circling the firepit, rocking the now motherless infant as Ashe lay in shock beside the body of his bride. He could hear her begging the baby to stop crying, her voice trembling with exhaustion. Little by little, he drifted into darkness, Scarlett’s wails following him down into a shocked, dreamless sleep.

  He didn’t know how long he slept, only that when he awoke, his daughter’s cries had fallen silent. He sat up abruptly, crying out, terrified that Omnia was gone, having fled with his last reason for living.

  Instead, he found Omnia sitting quietly across from him on the furs, her long legs crossed. Scarlett was nuzzled against her chest, neat and quiet, her swaddled body still. Ashe saw Omnia’s raised tunic and the white globe of an exposed breast where Scarlett latched, suckling contentedly. Omnia gazed down at the snuffling, rooting newborn, her eyes gentle as she gingerly stroked her long marble-white fingers through the thin red hair crowning Scarlett’s head.

  Love can be an incredible thing, even during times of excruciating loss. Years later, Ashe would remember it being some strange alchemy of love and sisterhood that filled Omnia’s breasts with milk, allowing her to nourish his now motherless daughter.

  Behind her and all around the crypt, the dead flowers erupted into brilliant life, blooming in every dusty wall sconce and every marble vase, filling the crypt with the heady fragrance of spring.

  EPILOGUE

  Ashe and Mayur sat quietly for a long time after the tale had ended, watching the sun rise above the trees in the east. Ashe was smoking his pipe again, his knees drawn up against his chest. His mohawk rustled softly in the dawn breeze.

  “You miss her?” Mayur asked finally.

  “Every day.”

  “What happened? To Omnia, to … everything?”

  Ashe cleared his throat quietly and spat into the grass nearby.

  “We laid Iona to rest in the crypt below Yellowseed with her saints. And then we ran, with a baby, a wagon, a bike, and not much else. We traveled through the forest by night and slept by day in caves that reeked and thickets full of brambles. My daughter cried every few hours, needing to be fed or changed or simply comforted. I never imagined what it took, caring for a child, but Omnia was willing. I learned, in the end, that she loved Iona almost as much as I did, just in a different way, and she loved Scarlett as much as if she had been her own blood.”

  Ashe tossed another log onto the fire, watching the sparks swirl upward, tiny reflections of light catching in his gold eyes.

  “Finally, we found Omnia’s tribe.”

  “They still lived?!”

  “Yes, a few of them. Her mate included. They took us in, and for almost four years they helped me rear my daughter. Taught her how to wield the magic her mother gifted her with as well as they could. Omnia, despite her disability, became renowned among her tribesmen for practical magic, and she taught Scarlett much of what she learned.”

  Mayur’s mouth twisted. “But you’re here … on the road … ”

  Ashe scowled, dragging his fingers back through his mohawk.

  “Snow found us. After we ran, he went back to Bargsea and gathered forces. They have pursued us ever since. They lost us for a while, when we were with Omnia’s tribe. We were protected, but when their chief learned that we had enemies after us, he cast us out.”

  Ashe knocked his pipe against a stone, clearing the bowl, and stuffed it back into his pack.

  “I can’t say that I blame him.”

  “Do you ever share memories with your little one, as you did with Iona?” Mayur asked softly. “I assume she inherited the same ability?”

  Ashe’s eyes gleamed. “She did. But why should I show her the horrors that came before? No. I want her to remain innocent as long as she can.”

  Mayur nodded slowly, averting his gaze.

  “BOOM, BOOM, Papa!”

  Scarlett came leaping onto her father’s back, awakened in the rosy flush of dawn and reenergized for a new day. Ashe grabbed her and swept her into his arms, laughing, and she butted her small horns against his, giggling like a small fiend. Grym came loping up, pawing and yapping as if he were a puppy, his wings fluttering and his little tufted lion’s tail lashing playfully.

  “Do I head butt good, Papa?” Scarlett giggled, her freckled cheeks flushing. Ashe kissed her forehead, hugging her tight.

  “The best, my little snot rag.”

  Scarlett looked over at Mayur and grinned. “Papa taught me how to head butt.”

  Mayur smiled, his dark eyes sparkling. “Yes. My tribe does the same, at festival time. We drink and we see who can butt horns the best. I see you have acquired quite a talent!”

  Scarlett rolled out of Ashe’s lap and went over to Mayur, standing shyly before him, her gold eyes wide and curious.

  “Can we walk with you, at least a little way?”

  Mayur shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I was going to invite you back to my village, not so far from here.”

  Ashe stood, stretching, scratching his ribs beneath his vest. He called Scarlett over softly. She blinked shyly at Mayur again, her eyes a bit sad. Ashe reached out and brushed his fingers against her small shoulder, and she shrugged him away.

  “Can’t we go, Papa?” she whispered. “He’s a faun, too.”

  Ashe swallowed hard, looking away at the rising dawn.

  “We don’t want our friend Mayur put at risk,” he said softly. “Remember what that means, Scar?”

  Scarlett blinked, her rose petal mouth twisting as her copper brows furrowed in an almost adult expression.

  “It means I’ll never have any friends,” she said softly, and turned away, walking around the fire and back to her father.

  An hour later the travelers bid each other farewell. Mayur gifted them with food and drink, tucking a small bottle of the whiskey he and Ashe had shared beneath the Sister Moons into Ashe’s pouch. As Ashe opened the pack up, Mayur glanced in and spotted the Jade, silent and sleeping, its cracked surface shimmering at the bottom of the bag. He raised his eyes to Ashe, who nodded slowly.

  “Now you know,” he said softly. “Now you see. Be well, my friend.”

  “Perhaps we will meet again?” Mayur said softly, already knowing the answer.

  Ashe just smiled sadly and took his daughter’s hand.

  Mayur watched them walk away into the woods, a tall faun with a blood-painted patch on the back of his vest, his three-tailed daughter holding his hand with a trust so intimate it pained him. The little gryphon cub loped along after her, barking jovially and chasing a butterfly as they went.

  THE END

  …for now.

  BLOOD AND DUST

  SHALE CITY BOOK TWO

  COMING SPRING 2020

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  There are so many good folks who contributed to this book. Firstly, huge thanks to my amazing editor Cameron Yeager, who is not only a respected colleague in the publishing industry, but one of my closest friends going back over two decades. Secondly, I want to thank folks who inspire
d aspects of some of the characters you have encountered here. My husband and best friend Alex Julian (see his incredible design of Drake’s war machine below) and my dear friend Dusty Rockets inspired bits of Ashe and Quinn. Iona was partially inspired by so many amazing women, including Tessa McFionn (a fellow author), Veronica Shelby, Allison Sands, and Adelaide Marcus. My friend and fellow author Deidre Frost directly inspired Tabia, and a super cool guy named Prabhat Parmar was the inspiration for Mayur. And of course, adorable daughters of Ashley Thomas and Jessica Anhalt (Daizee and Makenna) kept me in the cute when it came to Scarlett. Thanks to all of you!

  So many authors, films, and sub-cultures inspired the world of Shale City. It would be impossible to list them all here, but a distinct nod needs to be given to Stephen King’s Dark Tower series and China Mieville’s Perdido Street Station, the films Bomb City and Green Room, and all the time I have spent among punks and misfits here in Southern California.

  There is so much more story to tell, and I cannot wait to dive deeper. I hope that you will join me.

  © Alex Julian 2019. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DANI SMITH is an award-winning illustrator, comic book creator, and novelist residing in San Diego, CA. Her single-issue comic books and illustrated novels have appeared on bestseller lists in the US and Australia, outselling select digital issues of titles such as Hellboy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Last Airbender. She is best known for her BLACK DOG AND REBEL ROSE Series of novels and comics. Upcoming projects include her much-anticipated Lovecraftian YA comic series ASYLUM (created by her husband, Alex Julian), and a feature film based on the first book of her BDRR Series. Follow her on Instagram: @daniquickdraw.