I wasn’t about to argue.
As we crossed into the Bishar of Fang and the low, dark trees, Farraclaw looked back.
“I’m sorry to be taking you away from your home,” I said.
“It’s all right,” he breathed softly. “I was once dragged from the Bishar of Claw by the furless. Now I am leaving of my own will. My heart tells me I shall see it again.”
The lines between the Bishars seemed invisible. Where the furless of the Graylands would have built walls, the wolves laid scents I could not interpret. All I could see was a row of spiky willow. Yet I noticed the change in Farraclaw and Lop. Their bodies tensed as they trod low to the ground, their ears rotating. I dared not interrupt their concentration.
My mind roamed to the strange dream I’d had where I was Pirie—Pirie practicing foxcraft. The colors and sounds were so powerful, much greater than anything I’d felt myself. It left me uneasy. Was it more than just a dream? It had felt so real.
We continued through the Bishar of Fang. The light between the trees grew brighter. Birds twittered in the branches. A hare raced over the ragged grass, disappearing into the foliage. There was the faintest whiff of petals on the cool air. But malinta’s warmth had not arrived in the Snowlands. A pelt of snow clung to the branches of the trees and crunched beneath our paws.
In time, I picked up another odor. Acrid, like something rotten. My whiskers bristled—it reminded me of the foul scent of the Taken. But no, this was different, moist … A moment later, I saw blue smoke edging beneath the trees.
Farraclaw glanced back at me. “We’re near one of the burning pools. Be careful; they’re deadly. You mustn’t touch them.” I spotted it between the tree trunks. The water was a deep, metallic blue. Shingles that marked the edges of the pool were scorched bright orange. Heat rose in the air in bursts of vapor. The water spurted and bubbled.
King Birronclaw’s words came to me.
The cache is buried far away, amid bubbling fires that reek of decay, surrounded by frozen splinters that are larger than wolves and sharper than teeth.
Excitement touched my whiskers. We were getting closer. I tilted my head and gazed into the pool. “Why is it hot?” We were surrounded by snow, by freezing air—it didn’t make sense. The Snowlands had a magic of their own, one that seemed to challenge the very laws of the earth.
“Just don’t go anywhere near,” said Farraclaw.
Lop spoke quietly, as though he feared to awaken the fury of the pool. “There is a restless fire beneath the soil. Some say it is the source of as much of our maha as Queen Canista’s Lights. Where the fire leaks into the pools, it makes them boil with heat.”
I cocked my head with interest.
Farraclaw sighed impatiently. “We aren’t far from the Raging River. The tree cover will be gone before nightfall. Why don’t you rest now, Isla, while we look around?” He turned a hard gaze on the floppy-eared wolf. “Lop, follow the path of the trees and find out exactly where they end.”
“Yes, Sire.” Lop dipped his head.
“I will explore the river bank. I won’t be long. Isla, stay by the trunk of this tree. You should be safe here. If anything happens, call for me.”
My limbs felt heavy from walking all day in the freezing cold. I couldn’t keep it up as long as the wolves. I settled down against the tree, drawing my brush around me. My nose became accustomed to the stench of the pool. Its warm air was soothing. My eyes soon grew heavy and I dozed.
I awoke to the cawing of a crow. It was pecking at a branch over my head. It stretched its glossy wings and took flight. I rose with a sniff. The crow had built its nest there, a complex crisscross of twigs. By throwing my forepaws on the trunk of the tree, I could almost reach it. There was something in there … I craned my neck. I caught the gleam of a pale green shell, speckled brown and gray.
Eggs!
Fa had told us all about them. As a cub in the Wildlands, he had gone foraging for eggs with his brothers and sister. They were prized above other meals, rich and delicious.
I licked my chops.
I reached a forepaw toward the nest, straining to grasp one of the shiny eggs. A shrill cry and I shot around, losing my balance to stumble against the tree trunk. A crow bombed toward me. Its pointed beak grazed the top of my head. I yelped in surprise and cringed against the tree.
Circling back, the crow dropped again, a whirr of anger and feathers. Another crow darted toward me. Darkness leaped before me as the birds beat their wings in my face, beaks aimed at my eye. I stumbled backward, but they didn’t let up. A blur of darkness and fury whirled around me. They dived again and again with ear-splitting shrieks. Their beaks stabbed my skin, drawing blood.
I spoke sternly to myself. Don’t panic! They’re only birds!
But I couldn’t help it—the crows kept coming.
I started to run. They screeched and chased me, stabbing furiously. My paw slipped, a jag of scorching pain. I’d brushed against the orange shingle. I wobbled dangerously, the crows driving harder. With a slash to my ear I cried out. I was losing my footing on the shingle. As I tumbled backward, the bubbling waters leaped at my paws.
A white cloud burst between the trees. Jaws clamped the back of my neck and flung me onto a patch of grass.
I looked up at Farraclaw. His eyes were luminous, the black circles tiny against the glare of the sun. It only made him fiercer. The pool bubbled behind him, spitting up boiling water. “What were you doing?” he snarled. “Do you think you’d survive a dip in there?”
My ears pressed back against my head. “I’m sorry …” I glanced around but the crows had flown at the sight of the wolf. I saw Lop hurrying between the trunks.
Farraclaw breathed out slowly. “It’s all right. It was an accident.”
Lop trod toward me, sniffing at my paws. “Isla, are you hurt?”
I examined my singed pads. It was nothing compared to what might have happened. “I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. I rolled onto my paws with a flinch.
“Can I help?” asked Lop. He shuffled forward on his belly and licked my forepaw. It was soothing. He focused on each paw in turn, and when he finished I was already feeling much better.
“Thank you,” I murmured, flexing my paws. I looked around. Farraclaw had backed away. He was stalking between the trees.
He hurried back toward us. “I think wolves are close. They might have heard us.”
My hackles rose. I followed Farraclaw, with Lop right behind me. We kept low as we slipped between the trees. A thick clump of foliage sprang in front of us and we edged around it. As Farraclaw reached the next tree, he froze. A moment later, I heard it: wolfish voices.
“Ambitious plan,” said one of them. “With or without the king, it won’t be easy.”
“Easy enough,” sniffed another. “You heard what he told us, the Bishar is weak. Now every wolf knows that from here to the deep sea. We’ve been cautious too long. Why must we wait as the bison hunker in their lands? Why must our pups go hungry?”
“Lord Raùfang,” called another voice. I realized that the two wolves weren’t alone. Between the trees, I could make out the shapes of two more.
“Not now, Brave Sneeglefang,” growled the first wolf. “Can’t you hear two lords are talking?”
“I’m sorry, Lord Raùfang. I thought I heard—”
“I said not now.” The wolf turned back to his companion. “It isn’t right how our pups have suffered.”
The first wolf was quick to agree. “For that alone I would kill them in their sleep. King Orrùfang’s first litter, all gone. It is upon us to avenge them.”
I could hear the wolves scratching in the dirt. I pawed Farraclaw. It wasn’t safe for us to stay here. I started backing away, into Lop. But Farraclaw stood still.
“Just so,” agreed the second wolf. “There is no space for mercy.”
The first wolf—the one called Raùfang—turned toward the other who’d spoken. “Now, Warrior Sneeglefang, what was it you wanted to say?”
I could see the wolf stoop low to the ground. “Forgive me, Lord Raùfang, Lordess Bezilfang. I did not wish to interrupt you. But I heard some rustling behind those leaves.”
My heart leaped to my throat.
“Farraclaw,” I whispered urgently. “We have to go. There are four of them, and they’ll raise the alarm.”
The wolf prince gave a small nod and sank low, winding away between the trees. In silence, we jogged between boulders. I could no longer hear the wolves. Instead, there was a misty sigh, the beating of water. It grew louder as we strode forward, swirling and crashing.
The Raging River.
As the trees parted, it came into view. In daylight it seemed even greater. Water crested white rocks, battering the shingle. The land beyond it was lost in a haze of mist and spume.
The Wildlands, the Elders. Was Siffrin safe? Had Simmi and Tao reached the Free Lands? My gaze traveled west, remembering the Mage with his acid eyes. Was that mist I saw rising over the Darklands?
Always, it longed to take physical form … And yet in growing it could only destroy and enslave the living. It began to take shape, a ghostly being forged of ash and dust—that is why we call it the White Fox.
I wondered what Jana and the other Elders were doing. Were they preparing to battle the Mage? How could they defeat the White Fox? It wasn’t even alive. Not like a real fox.
Farraclaw disturbed my thoughts. “Those wolves were talking about us.”
I glanced at him. Worry was etched onto his features. “They didn’t mention Claw,” I pointed out.
“That doesn’t matter. ‘With or without a king,’ they said. They have learned of my father’s infirmity. The king has not been seen for moons. Of course they suspect … And they spoke about King Orrùfang’s anger. It can only be Claw.”
Farraclaw had a point.
“Who do you think told them?” asked Lop.
Farraclaw turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”
Lop dropped his gaze. “‘You heard what he told us, the Bishar is weak.’ That’s what one of them said.”
“You think we have a spy among our own?” Farraclaw’s eyes were blazing. A growl rose in his voice. “Never.”
I tried to reassure him. “Maybe it’s just talk.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Farraclaw, rising to his full height. “I will invoke the Custom of Serren.”
My ears rolled back. “Didn’t you hear those wolves? They won’t give you peaceful passage.”
“They don’t have a choice. It’s tradition.”
“So what?” Tradition didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t air. It wasn’t earth or rain. It could be ignored.
Farraclaw gnawed at his tail impatiently. “You’re a fox. You don’t understand. They’ll respect our ancient customs; it’s a matter of honor.”
“But you said yourself—”
“I was just being cautious.” Farraclaw glared at me. The prince wasn’t used to being contradicted. He began to turn. “I want to find out what they’re planning.”
Lop’s eyes were wide. “But they could hear you. What if you’re captured? The Bishar needs you.”
Farraclaw glanced at him in annoyance and Lop fell silent.
The prince was going to get himself killed. A twitch of irritation touched my tail. “Do what you like,” I snapped. “I’m going to the Ice Razors. I follow the bank of the river, right?” I started padding away, ignoring my throbbing paws.
I heard Farraclaw sigh loudly. “Very well,” he replied. “I won’t chase down the lords of Fang. Not yet anyway. I promised to take you to the Ice Razors. After that, we will see.”
My tail started lashing. Farraclaw was brave and strong, but we were in enemy territory. Even he couldn’t win against a whole Bishar.
No sooner had this thought sprung to my mind than a howl rose over the din of the Raging River. “Enemies are close!” bellowed a wolfish call.
We exchanged fearful looks. My heart was thumping.
Farraclaw started running along the bank of the river. Lop shot after him. Their long legs pounded over the snow. In the distance, spruce gathered over the tundra, but we’d have to cross an open valley before we reached it. The wolves of Fang will see us! I realized in horror.
Lop turned back to me. “Can you run any quicker?”
“Hurry, Isla!” hissed Farraclaw, pausing ahead.
I willed my legs to move faster, but it was no use. The howls were growing louder. The wolves would be nearing the edge of the forest. In moments, they’d see us.
I thought of slimmering.
But what about Farraclaw and Lop? The wolves of Fang will raise the alarm. Sooner or later, they’ll be caught!
Another howl rose from the trees.
“Keep going!” I urged them. “I’ll see you at the spruce.”
Lop and Farraclaw stared at me, making no move to run.
“Go!” I barked. I spun around and started back toward the forest. When I glanced over my shoulder, they were sprinting over the tundra. Good, I thought. At least they’d listened. I can do this. I considered karakking. In the past, I’d underestimated the foxcraft. There was so much more to it than a simple trick, a crow caw tossed into the air.
Crows … The angry blackbirds beneath the trees had almost driven me into the pool. Perhaps I should not underestimate them either.
My paws clattered against the shingle. I scrambled to an ungainly stop, diving behind the trunk of a tree at the edge of the small forest. I could hear the wolves quite clearly now. One howled so close that my fur sprang on edge. Instinct told me to run, but where?
They’ll see me.
Better to make them run …
But how? Wolves weren’t scared of crows. They weren’t scared of anything.
I realized my mistake. I’d been hoping to drive the wolves away. I should try to lure them instead. I crept along the edge of the wood, drawing in great gulps of breath. I thought of Kolo, the Elder Fox who was master of karakking. I remembered his head thrown back, shaking the treetops with the power of his voice. I couldn’t hope to emulate that but perhaps there was something I could do.
With one last gulp of breath, I raised my muzzle. Picturing the thick-furred bison, I threw my voice as far as I could across the forest. What emerged was a soft groan that floated over the leafless trees.
Dangerously close, I heard a wolf speak. “Bison!” he gasped. “I’m sure that was a bison!” There was a shuffle of paws against the forest floor as she turned away from me.
“Bison?” said another wolf. “It can’t be! We’re wasting time. I can smell strange wolves. This way, to the river.”
My heart was slamming against my ribs. I hardly dared breathe with wolves so close. I tried to calm my panic, to call upon the strength of the stars. I couldn’t see them beneath the sun’s gaze but I knew they were there—Canista’s Lights. Every hair, every whisker on my muzzle shivered with maa. I sucked in my breath and spat it out across the trees. This time it boomed, a deep, rumbling growl. The unmistakable battle cry of the bison.
“You’re right, that was a bison!” gasped one of the wolves.
They started running. I could hear twigs crack beneath their paws and feel the thump of their weight on the earth. They ran away from me, deeper into the forest, chasing the mysterious bison.
I could hardly believe what I’d done. I allowed my tail a wag before turning to hurry in the opposite direction, along the river bank, over the tundra.
* * *
I crossed the tundra, safe in the knowledge that the wolves of Fang were chasing invisible bison. My legs were tired by the time I reached the spruce trees but my tail couldn’t stop lashing.
Lop and Farraclaw sprang on me, licking and nipping me gently.
“You made that sound?” asked Farraclaw. “You roared like a bison!”
“It’s karakking,” I explained. “A foxcraft.”
“She must have so much maha,” said Lop.
Farracl
aw drew back, surveying me with yellow eyes. “Foxes are quite amazing creatures. I never realized …”
My tail wagged even more at that. “But I don’t know the way to the Ice Razors.”
“Well then, we still have some use.” Farraclaw began to tread a path through the spruce trees.
* * *
Over several days we walked and walked. We were more active at night when the cover of darkness concealed my coat. Days seemed to last forever in the Snowlands, with twilight slow to appear. The nights were short, and light blurred at the edges.
The wolves took turns keeping watch, insisting that I slept when I could. It was a long journey … Where possible, we hugged the rocks, wandered through forests, or traced the path of the Raging River. Farraclaw was always tense to fight, but we met no resistance—no further wolves. We passed unseen between bubbling pools, where seething waterfalls leaped and spat. We drank from melting ice at the river’s edge. The land swept north into towering mountains, disappearing into the clouds.
As a slow night finally closed above our heads, green shimmers of light danced over the tundra.
“What is it?” I gasped.
Farraclaw and Lop dipped their heads in unison. “The colors foretell Queen Canista’s arrival,” said the prince in a solemn voice. “They will strengthen daily until the Eve of Maha, when our ancient queen stands directly above us once more.”
I remembered what Rupus had said. The wolves thought the lights represented a great canid, the queen of their warlike ancestor spirits. In the stories of their Bishars, Queen Canista existed in our own world.
“What is the Eve of Maha?” I asked, peering up at the green lights. They shimmered over the tundra, touching the snow flats with color.
“The night we remember the queen of the wolves. The night we pay tribute to our ancestors.” Farraclaw cocked his head thoughtfully. “We howl in memory, thanking those who have passed. For only with memory of the past can we strike boldly to the future. We are all of maha. All of the same magic pelt. It is the wolf’s way.”
The Mage Page 8
