All of a sudden, Quicksilver sat up straight. “Wait. Your Fox. Where is he?”
Anastazia’s smile faded. There was a horrible silence, during which even Fox seemed to hold his breath.
“He’s dead,” Anastazia said at last. “He died to bring us here.”
Fox whined, and Quicksilver’s heart jumped to hear the sound. She patted the bed, and Fox curled up beside her, pressing hard against her leg. Quicksilver smiled and had to fight the urge to scoop Fox up into her arms as she once would have done. Instead she stroked Fox’s velvet ears, and he sighed his familiar, contented sigh.
Anastazia watched them with an unreadable look on her face.
“But . . . why did he die?” Sly Boots asked.
“Traveling through time is dangerous magic,” said Anastazia. “It requires tremendous sacrifice—of the witch, and her monster. Which is why, as far as I know, I’m only one of two witches to ever have done it.” She folded her hands in her lap, looking suddenly very small. “To willingly give up your monster, and therefore your magic, the very thing that makes you a witch . . . it’s unthinkable. Witches would rather die than make that sacrifice. You’d have to be a fool to do it.” She smiled tiredly. “So I suppose the rest of witchkind is truly lucky that I’m a big enough fool for all of us.”
“Wait . . . what’s a monster?” Quicksilver asked.
“Perhaps I should start at the beginning,” Anastazia said, “instead of rambling on like the dotty old woman I’ve become. That’s something to remember, Quicksilver: the older you get, the harder you must work to keep your thoughts in order.”
“I won’t be old for a very long time,” Quicksilver pointed out.
“You’ll soon find that a very long time isn’t as long as you think,” said Anastazia. “Now, listen to me and don’t interrupt. I hate having to repeat myself.”
Then Anastazia began to speak.
Once there were no witches in the world.
Then there were seven.
The first seven witches to walk the earth became known as the First Ones. They and their monsters were born out of the same ancient star, the same pool of magic—forever connected, forever sisters and brothers. Beloved by all, the First Ones were sought after for their magic, strength, and wisdom.
But soon they began to quarrel, each desperate to prove themselves the most powerful witch in the world. They went to war—a terrible war that lasted an entire dark age. And when the war ended, the First Ones had destroyed themselves.
Of course, throughout their long lifetimes, the First Ones had joined with many humans, and their children grew up as witches too—and their children’s children, and so on. Long after the First Ones had gone, then, the world was still full of witches. But they carried the spirit of that long, dark war inside them, and lived full of distrust for one another, more likely to quarrel than to join hands in fellowship.
Now we witches say that when the First Ones disappeared, their spirits went to rest in the stars, from where they watch over the seven kingdoms we know as Lalunet, Falstone, Napurya, Belrike, Koreva, Menettsk, and Valteya.
These seven kingdoms are called the Star Lands, and for a long time, they enjoyed an era of peace.
Anastazia bowed her head, letting her eyes fall closed. She sat there for so long it seemed she’d fallen asleep. Quicksilver and Fox glanced at each other.
“Er, well, that was a nice story,” said Sly Boots, his eyes peeking out over the pillow he still clutched to his chest. “But that doesn’t explain anything that’s happened except for witchy history nonsense that no one cares about.”
“Everything I say is important,” said Anastazia, her eyes snapping open to glare at Sly Boots. “You’d do well to shut your mouth and listen carefully.”
Sly Boots obeyed, but with such a red-faced expression of indignation that Quicksilver nearly burst out laughing.
But she didn’t. She waited as Anastazia took a sip of her tea and then continued.
Once there was a boy born into an old witch family.
The boy’s name was Ari, and the family’s name was Tarkalia. They ruled the northern kingdom of Valteya, and their ranks were full of powerful witches.
Except for Ari.
He had little magical skill . . . so little that, when he turned thirteen years old, and still had not found his monster—which is to say, he had not yet come of magical age, as he should have—his family began to scorn him. And therefore the entire kingdom came to scorn him, and Ari’s life turned lonely and cold.
One day the boy was wandering the mountains of Valteya, very near the Far North, and was greeted by seven voices. They told Ari that if he would act as their vessel in the Star Lands, give them a body in which to exist, they would find monsters for him. Not just one, but many. He would become a powerful witch, more powerful than his family, more powerful than anyone.
All he had to do was help them with this one simple task: he must act as their body in the Star Lands and help them find the bones of their monsters, for they had once been witches themselves, but were no longer. And once these bones were found, the seven witches could walk the earth again, as they had not done in many an age.
Having nothing to lose, and eager to seek revenge upon those who had ridiculed him, Ari agreed to this bargain at once. The spirits of these seven witches possessed his body, and Ari Tarkalia began working terrible deeds.
As had been promised, he soon found seven wolves—one for each of the Star Lands, one for each of the spirits now living inside him—and forced magic into them. The wolves became bound to Ari as his monsters, and since the wolves were forced into this bondage and did not come by it naturally, their magic was dangerous and sharp. The wolves hungered for violence, as did the witches who controlled them.
Using Ari as their eyes and his wolves as their teeth, the seven witches slaughtered his family, every last Tarkalia they could find, and then Ari was king of Valteya, though his throne was red with blood. But soon even Valteya was not enough. Ari left that kingdom, and the Star Lands, and appointed seven lords to rule the Star Lands in his name. They would be loyal to him, and him alone, and he would be the only king. Then Ari moved to the Far North and built a castle carved of stone so black it swallowed the starlight.
Finally Ari understood that the witches inside him were the spirits of the First Ones, who had nearly destroyed the Star Lands long ago, in that dark age of war. They were seeking the bones of their monsters, and once they found them, they would return to the world, powerful and terrible.
And so Ari Tarkalia became the Wolf King, and began the hunt, so that when the First Ones returned, there would be no other witches left to challenge them.
“So the Wolf King . . . is a boy?” managed Quicksilver, her voice hushed. She glared at Sly Boots, whose wide eyes peeked out over the edge of his pillow.
He reeled back from her. “What’s that look for? What, because I’m a boy too? I can’t help being a boy, you know!”
Fox lowered his head to the bed and put his front paws over his snout. “Someone make him stop shrieking, please.”
“Once, the Wolf King was a boy,” said Anastazia. “But now he is something else. Something darker. I’m not sure there’s anything left of the boy Ari inside the creature he has become.”
“But what about us?” Quicksilver leaned forward. “You, and me? And our Foxes?” She waved her hand back and forth between them. “How are you me, and how am I you?”
Anastazia’s irritated gaze softened—with fondness or sadness, Quicksilver couldn’t tell.
“This last bit,” said Anastazia with a tiny grin, “is my favorite part. I always like talking about myself, you know.”
Quicksilver sat up a bit straighter. “I do too!”
“I know, little thief.” Anastazia cleared her throat, folded her hands in her lap, and began the last part of her story.
Once there was a witch who didn’t know she was a witch.
She lived in the kingdom of Lalunet. Ma
gic had long faded from the world, thanks to the Wolf King. He had hunted the witches until hardly any remained, and those that did lived in hiding, praying to the stars that the Wolf King would never find them. The colors of the world faded, and the stars dimmed.
Worst of all, the Wolf King had sowed in the hearts of humans distrust and fear of witches. Humans came to revere him, the witch slayer, and erect churches in his name. He taught them false truths about witches, but no one still lived who knew the real truth and would speak it.
This witch—the witch of our story, who called herself Quicksilver—
“Do you mean . . . you?” Sly Boots asked Anastazia. “Not this Quicksilver,” he said, pointing at Quicksilver, “but you, Anastazia, when you were young?”
Quicksilver and Anastazia both glared at him.
“I’m talking about us,” said Anastazia, pointing at herself and then at Quicksilver. “Not either of us sitting here right now, but the first version of us to travel back in time. Just let me tell my story, won’t you? I’ve almost finished.”
“Sorry,” muttered Sly Boots. He glanced over at Quicksilver. “It’s just a pretty good story, actually, you know? I’m getting overly excited.”
Quicksilver threw him such a fierce look that he immediately fell silent.
The witch of our story, who called herself Quicksilver (though that wasn’t her true name), didn’t come into her magic until the age of twenty, which is much later than she would have, had the Star Lands still been full of witches and bright with magic, as they had once been.
When she was twenty, magic settled in her companion, an old dog named Fox, who then became her monster. There now existed a mighty bond between them, connecting their hearts.
Quicksilver didn’t know much about magic—other than what she had learned at the convent when she was young—but she knew it was forbidden, and that the Wolf King hunted those who possessed it. Quicksilver lived nowhere and everywhere, stealing to survive. She was good at stealing, so though it was a lonely life, it was not a hard one.
Then one day Quicksilver was imprisoned in a town for thievery. Another prisoner there had been arrested for witchcraft and was gravely injured. His name was Filip, and he recognized Quicksilver for what she was. Together they escaped and fled into the wild.
Soon after, the Wolf King heard of their escape and gave chase. Every hour on the road made Filip and his tiny mouse monster weaker, but they managed to teach Quicksilver about magic—its shape, its taste, and most importantly, how to work with Fox to use it.
One cold night, with the Wolf King nearly upon them, Filip and his monster promised they could send Quicksilver and Fox somewhere safe, in thanks for helping them escape. Just as the Wolf King attacked, Filip and his monster made the ultimate sacrifice. Even though Filip knew it would kill his monster and leave Filip himself defenseless before the Wolf King, he sent Quicksilver and Fox back to an earlier time—a time when many witches still lived, and the Star Lands were bright with magic.
Quicksilver took her birth name, Anastazia, for she felt that she should leave behind the relics of her old life. Anastazia decided that if no other witches would challenge the Wolf King, she would. Once she had been the best thief in all the Star Lands. Now she would be the best witch—and nobody would get the better of her, not even a king.
When she realized the Wolf King was searching for the skeletons of the First Ones’ monsters, she began searching for them, too, and found some of them, and lost some to the Wolf King when they battled, and stole some back from him, and fought him again, and lost, and won, and hid herself away, and this went on for long decades, while Anastazia crafted spells that extended her life far beyond that of any normal witch, and the Wolf King became desperate and dangerous.
Anastazia fought until she was a frail old woman—and then she found her younger self, the twelve-year-old orphan thief Quicksilver. Anastazia brought Quicksilver back in time, to an even earlier point than she herself had traveled, and taught her younger self how to use magic, and how to fight the Wolf King. And this happened again, and again—a cycle of war fought through the endless ring of time.
Anastazia and Quicksilver searched and stole and battled, for decades and centuries and lifetimes, over and over, and in none of these lives did they manage to defeat the Wolf King—though they often came close.
Each time—
“Did you come close to defeating him in your lifetime?” Quicksilver interrupted. “You, yourself?”
“Yes, tell us about your battles,” said Sly Boots, leaning forward with shining eyes. “What was the worst one? And I mean worst as in, a really exciting one, not one where the Wolf King got the best of you and left you for dead, wounded and defeated. . . .”
At the sight of Anastazia’s furious expression, Sly Boots trailed off and hid his face behind his pillow. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got carried away.”
“Indeed,” Anastazia snapped. “And yes, I came quite close to defeating him during my own lifetime, thank you very much, Quicksilver. This is the last time I’ll tolerate such cheek from either of you, remember that.”
Then she cleared her throat, muttering to herself, “Ruining the ending. Interrupting me. Children. Nasty little creatures, truly.”
Each time, Anastazia hoped this fight would be the last, and each time, it was not.
Until, perhaps, now.
Silence fell. Sly Boots looked at Quicksilver, at Anastazia, then at Quicksilver again.
“Is that the ending?” he whispered. “She yelled at us because of two measly sentences?”
“So here we are, Quicksilver,” said Anastazia, her body sagging against the pillows now that her story had concluded. “You and me—the next pair in this war, just as we have been many times over.” She paused, drew a long breath, and fixed her tired violet eyes upon Quicksilver’s matching bright ones.
“Are you ready to become the witch you were born to be?”
.12.
SOME SORT OF WITCHY THING
Quicksilver let Anastazia’s question linger in the air while she turned it over in her head.
Was she ready to fight? Ready to become a witch? She could not imagine how to answer. So much had happened in the last few days—most of all in the last few hours—that she had hardly had time to catch her breath.
“Hang on a moment,” Sly Boots spoke up, pounding his fist against the pillow. “The only thing we’re going to do is return to our own time. I mean, is there really any question about this? My parents are there, our home is there. We can’t just leave it behind.” Silence met his words. He looked to Quicksilver, his face tense and earnest. “Quicksilver?”
She could not look at him. Now that he had said the words aloud, it was very easy to decide that she wanted to stay in this time after all. For what was there for her to return to? She had nothing and no one. The only creature in the world she cared about was sitting by the window—well, except for the girls and the sisters of her convent, but when had they ever cared about her? Although even they didn’t deserve whatever the wolves had done to them.
“If we defeat the Wolf King,” Fox murmured, as though he had heard the thoughts in her head, “then we’ll change the future, and they’ll be all right, won’t they? They’ll never be attacked, because the Wolf King will never have been alive to attack them.”
Quicksilver considered his sharp, whiskered face. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m afraid there’s no way to return just yet,” Anastazia said. “Not only does such an act require much more powerful magic than we have access to at the moment, it also would require Fox to sacrifice—”
“Absolutely not,” Quicksilver interrupted. “There will be no sacrifices here.” She tilted up his face. “I promise I’ll never make you do that, Fox. Never.”
Fox huffed indignantly. “I should think not.”
“What do you expect me to do?” asked Sly Boots. “Leave my parents to die of fever or be killed by the Wolf King when he burns Willo
w-on-the-River to the ground?”
“Do keep in mind,” said Anastazia evenly, “that if we succeed in our task, and therefore change the future, we could prevent your parents from ever getting cursed in the first place.”
Sly Boots opened his mouth and shut it again, looking stumped.
“But in the meantime,” Anastazia continued, “we cannot afford to concern ourselves with the fates of individuals. This is a war. We are fighting to save our kind.”
“Witches aren’t my kind,” Sly Boots pointed out, his voice low. “They’re the reason my parents are ill. And now they’re the reason why I’ve been separated from them.” The expression on his face reminded Quicksilver of how he had looked in his parents’ bedroom, right before he had shattered the bowl against the wall.
Quicksilver rolled her eyes. “No one forced you to come thieving with me. You could have said, ‘No thank you, I’d rather cry at home alone in my slippers,’ and you wouldn’t have been there when the Wolf King came, and Fox and I would have come back to the past by ourselves.”
Flushing, Sly Boots said, “Well, I didn’t ask you to break into my home and try to rob me, did I?”
“Hah! As if you’d anything worth stealing.”
Sly Boots shot to his feet. “I would have had something worth stealing—lots of somethings—if I hadn’t had to sell it all to get medicine for my parents, and they would have never taken ill were it not for you—you—”
Anastazia raised a cool eyebrow. “Yes? Go on. Us what?”
Quicksilver crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, please. Do say whatever nasty word you were about to say.”
Fox curled his tail around his body, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, this ought to be fun.”
Sly Boots tossed the pillow onto the bed. “Never mind.”
“Quite right.” Anastazia sniffed. “Unless you would like to wander off into this world and fend for yourself against any rogue witch who might fancy making you her servant—and believe me, you have the air of a particularly useful servant—or some beast so savage not even your sleeping mind could have imagined it, then you will have to remain here, with us, and help us fight our fight.”
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