Scion of the Fox
Page 38
A collar of black webbing spread over her pasty neck. Her feet hammered against the chair like she was trying to run away but couldn’t get up. Then her shoes burst, and horrible black tendrils — roots — stabbed through the carpet and the hardwood, and as Albert slipped out smiling, Saskia screamed and screamed.
*
“Come closer, child,” Urka spoke to Saskia now, out of shadow, reaching her with smoke tendrils. “The time has come to reclaim what has been lost. Do not be afraid.” But Saskia knew better.
“The time has come,” Urka said again. “Bring the boy to the gardener. Urka will make it better. My masters will be your new fathers and mother. They will heal all.”
“How?” asked Saskia. “What will you do with him?” She hadn’t realized she was crying so hard, tears and snot mixing, drowning her, falling onto the blackening face of her brother, who could have been sleeping but for the blood. She dared not ask “Can you really bring him back?” in case Urka changed its mind.
“Oh my sweet child of earth and ash,” Urka said, and Saskia felt something in her hair — something hard and sharp; that must have been Urka’s hand trying to soothe her. It clenched her scalp. “Give the boy to me, and I will show you.”
*
When Saskia had stopped screaming and retching in the living room, she was afraid to move. She stared at Aunt Millie, who had become some kind of horrible tree, her feet roots throbbing and churning the floor, her hands and arms stretched above her head, branches reaching into the ceiling, searching for a way out through the cracking drywall.
Albert had killed Aunt Millie. Or had turned her into a monster. Either way, he had done this. Air still rasped out of the place Millie’s mouth had been. Her eyes were covered in hard black bark. She looked like she was trapped in a nightmare.
Albert had not returned, and Saskia was afraid to go after him, afraid to move and wake up the thing occupying Aunt Millie’s chair. But she wanted to be brave, even now, so she went outside shakily. It was morning, grey and overcast. Looking out onto the glen, there weren’t many places Albert could be, but Saskia zeroed in on the middle distance where the woods dipped down towards the brook and the cradle of hills. She knew Albert was there, but she wasn’t about to go. She would wait. She would scream and cry and beg and she would get Albert far away from here, from the monster they’d woken in the woods, and to a hospital in a city. Because surely he was sick. Surely a doctor could help.
Saskia sat on the wooden step, knees drawn up, head buried in her arms, until it was dark. She heard a stick break and whipped her head up. Albert stood very close by. He looked much older, and grave. But more than that — even in the darkness, Saskia could see the black creeping up the collar of his T-shirt, the tips of his fingers. He stared at her like he couldn’t believe she was there.
“Urka said it could bring Mum back,” he said. His voice was distant, and more childlike than ever. It was a reason, but even Albert didn’t sound like he believed it.
“Aunt Millie . . .” Saskia started. But she was so tired. She wanted her mum, too, wanted Papa more than anything, but she and Albert were alone now. The roots of the tree that had once been Aunt Millie had ripped out the phone line. The nearest neighbour was a car ride away. They were trapped.
“Roger is a believer now, too,” Albert said quietly. “It’s starting. Soon all our dreams will come true. We will be a proper family. You’ll see.”
He reached for Saskia, but she was lightning fast, on her feet, off the stairs, and away from him, a bit down the hill. Albert didn’t reach for her again. “You’re so selfish,” he said. “Stop crying.” And then he went into the house for the last time.
Saskia shouldn’t have followed. But she was too young to stop and think. “A-Albie,” she sobbed. “We have to . . . to call someone. We can’t—”
He twisted and lunged so suddenly Saskia barely had a breath to get out of the way. Albert smashed into the sideboard, glass and wood exploding with strength that had never been his. Saskia stumbled deeper into the house, towards their shared bedroom, not thinking, blinded by tears and terror. But when Albert struck out again, like a venomous snake, something turned to rock in Saskia’s stomach. “Stop it!” she shouted, as if it were just a game and she’d had enough.
And she met the blow of her brother’s whole body, turning him aside with a powerful shove. Slowly, as if underwater, Albert’s shoe caught the carpet, his eyes his own, only for a second, before his head struck the bedpost, and the light left those frightened eyes forever.
*
Be brave, Saskia thought again. She unwrapped Albert all the way and did so gingerly, afraid that she would catch the black sickness that had twisted her golden-haired brother so. But she would do anything Urka said if it meant bringing him back. If it meant untangling the thing that had wrapped itself so firmly around his heart. Or erasing her own horrible mistake.
She stood back and turned. Urka had grown enormous, like it was carved from the munro it had split in half. It spread its arms, and at the end of them, the two axes it had for hands twisted and changed into claws. It gathered Albert up and fed him into its belly furnace. Albert did not burn, but glowed like a coal. Saskia held onto herself in a tight hug, because there was no one else to hold her, to tell her it would be okay. Because she knew she could never go home again.
“You must believe,” Urka said, straining its horrible hands to the sky and then to the ground, its rocky body growing and humming and glowing ever brighter. “Will you help my masters rise to their rightful place? Will you devote yourself to your fathers? Your mother?” A flicker in the furnace. “To their one true child?”
Saskia was not stupid, no matter how many times Albert had told her she was. Saskia was bright and selfless and knew deep down she was a good person. But she would have done every terrible thing she was afraid of to bring Albert back. So she took that goodness and locked it tightly away, hoping maybe one day it might save her.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
Deep within Urka’s furnace, she saw Albert’s eyes open, and a black tendril from her brother reached for her and made her part of it.
About the Author
S.M. Beiko has been writing and drawing strange, fantastical things since before she can remember. She currently works as a freelance editor, graphic designer, and consultant and is the co-publisher of ChiZine Publications and ChiGraphic. Her first novel, The Lake and the Library, was nominated for the Manitoba Book Award for Best First Book as well as the 2014 Aurora Award. Scion of the Fox is the first book of the Realms of Ancient trilogy. Samantha lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba.
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Copyright © S.M. Beiko, 2017
Published by ECW Press
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editor for the press: Jen Hale
Cover design: Erik Mohr
Interior illustration: S.M. Beiko
Author photo: Teri Hoffard Photography
Type: Rachel Ironstone
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Beiko, Samantha, author
Scion of the Fox / S.M. Beiko.
(The realms of ancient ; book 1)
Issued also in electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77041-357-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-77305-070-6 (PDF)
ISBN 978-1-77305-071-3 (EPUB)
I. Title.
PS8603.E428444S25 2017 JC813’.6 C2017-902409-4 C2017-902988-6
The publication of Scion of the Fox has been generously supported by the Manitoba Arts Council, by the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country, and by the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays. Ce livre est financé en partie par le gouvernement du Canada. We also acknowledge the support of the Ontario Arts Council (OAC), an agency of the Government of Ontario, which last year funded 1,737 individual artists and 1,095 organizations in 223 communities across Ontario for a total of $52.1 million, and the contribution of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.