The Mage

by Inbali Iserles

  I looked around. Smoke puffed up in clouds, concealing the sky. Steaming pools dotted the land, their burnt orange outlines just visible. White froth rose on them and from nowhere they spat molten water. I knew at once these were the bubbling fires. The cache must be near. I wrinkled my nose. I would need to be wary not to stumble into one of the frothing pools. There was the hiss of steam, the gurgle of water. But when the gurgling stopped, it was eerily silent. I saw no signs of life. No creatures dwelled in the wastes beyond the Ice Razors.

  Warily, I crept through the Caldron. I sensed the heat under the frozen earth and veered away from it, winding between the scorching pools. Pale rocks rose between them. I sniffed at one, scared of burning my paw, but the rock was icy against my whiskers. I climbed up it to see further. The smoke from the bubbling fires prickled my eyes. I blinked, my heart sinking. I saw rocks and pools stretching out in all directions. Where would I start to search for the cache in this barren wilderness?

  Why did Pirie choose such a hostile place? Did he really go this far just to hide the cache from wolves?

  A wind sliced through the Ice Razors. It picked up the gravelly sand and spun it in low patterns. For a moment, the smoke was blown away, revealing the night sky. Beneath Canista’s Lights, I spotted a lone tree. It was huge, dark, stooped in a clearing between two burning ponds. Its branches hung low, like dangling limbs. It wasn’t like the white-barked aspen, or the green-leafed spruce. Its trunk was ruddy, almost red.

  It was a strange sight so far north, but I knew it at once.

  A blood-bark tree.

  A frosting of light hung around the tree. A thrumming of maa. That’s why the cache was buried here. It was beneath its branches that I’d find the hidden treasure.

  My heart was thumping as I sprang off the rock. I started running between the burning pools, ducking away from water that spat and scorched the earth.

  I’m coming, Pirie!

  I skidded to a halt under the blood-bark tree. Without catching my breath, I started to dig. The sandy soil was frozen. It slipped between my claws, and I growled with effort.

  I kicked up dirt, found nothing, and moved to another spot, repeating this over and over beneath the branches of the tree. With a scrabble of paws, I felt a change in the earth. All of a sudden it was softer—more yielding. A moment later, my paw pads touched a muddle of long white hairs.

  I drew in my breath. Fox fur. The very tip of the tail.

  Nothing was more valuable to a fox than their brush. It was balance, warmth, comfort. It was the very essence of our kind. I had seen how the Elders’ tail-tips glowed silver when their thoughts united, when they spoke with one voice—when they practiced foxcraft.

  I knew then that the Mage really had chewed off his own tail, or at least the tip. He could not risk his own thoughts being invaded. As an expert in pleaching against a fox’s will, he must have been fearful of the same fate.

  I sniffed, but the stench of the pools disguised more subtle smells. I prized out all the white furs with my claws, resting them gently on the earth. I had released the cache, just as the king had said.

  I sat, waiting to sense a change. A shift in the air, a murmur from the earth. I scanned the rugged land for my brother. Where would he appear? How would he be?

  A dark thought clawed at the back of my mind. If the pleaching has harmed a great wolf, what has it done to a young fox?

  My tail tapped lightly. My ears twisted back and forth.

  Nothing happened.

  The smoke still rose on the pools. The frost clung to the earth. The ball of white fur tipped in the breeze. But beyond the burning pools, it was silent.

  I slammed my forepaw on the sandy ground, sending up grains of dirt. Why wasn’t it working? Frustration bubbled inside me, like the stinking water of the pools.

  I sank to the ground and yowled. “Where are you, Pirie? Why are you hiding from me? You lied to me about your gift! You made me think we were the same. It isn’t true. You’re better than me! You were always better.” My ears were flat, my voice shrill like wind. “I trusted you! I never kept any secrets. But you … you and Greatma …” I shook my head violently, as though to shake the memory of their conspiracy. Deep down I knew they meant no harm. But that did little to dampen the fire inside me.

  I scraped at the dirt. I missed him. I missed them all—my family.

  With a long sigh, I let out the anger. Beyond it I sensed a vast emptiness, worse than anger, much worse. This time when I spoke, my voice was a whimper. “Why would you pleach with a wolf? Didn’t you know you could never control him? Some furs should never mingle.”

  I sat up sharply. My gaze shot to the ball of white hair. Fox hair. So where was the wolf’s pelt? To pleach, wouldn’t there need to be both?

  I crept back to the trench where I’d dug out the white hairs. I started to burrow with my forepaws, doing my best to be careful this time, to slow down, despite my thumping heart. I kicked away the earth, feeling nothing but dirt. Then something soft tickled my paw pads. Stepping back, I saw it—a tangle of silvery fur. Hairs from the wolf king’s tail.

  I could hardly believe it—I had uncovered the secret of pleaching. The furs were buried together, one on top of the other. My brush started thrashing. I looked around excitedly. I didn’t care what my brother had done. I didn’t care if he’d kept secrets. I just wanted to see him again.

  I paced under the blood-bark tree. A couple of times, I barked Pirie’s name. I looped between the pools. Why couldn’t I see him?

  Light touched the base of the Ice Razors, slowly creeping along the columns. The night was fading.

  He didn’t come.

  Wearily, I returned to the trench. I sniffed the wolf and fox hairs, discovering nothing. I tapped my paw against the dirt. What was I missing?

  I thought of Siffrin, who knew so much more about foxcraft. Not that he’d taught me wa’akkir. Even when I knew the chant, even then he was reluctant to help me. My ears pricked up. That was it! A chant—there had to be a chant. There was one for all the higher arts. Had the Elders guessed that Pirie had pleached with the wolf? What else could their riddle have meant? Why hadn’t they told me what to do?

  I tried to remember what I knew about pleaching. Siffrin had told me it could be undone.

  Not easily, he’d said. The thing that’s stolen must be released.

  I’d asked him if he meant the fox’s will. Of course, he’d meant their fur—but he didn’t say so. Instead he whispered the same words the Elders said when they parted. Run fast, be safe, live free.

  If only Siffrin was here, if only he could help … The Elders’ farewell was bittersweet. “What’s the point in being safe—being free—if you’re alone?” I’d already said enough goodbyes. My spine stiffened. I wouldn’t give up on Pirie. I was close now, I knew I was.

  Siffrin had looked so guilty when we spoke about foxcraft. Torn between helping me and staying loyal to Jana. I closed my eyes. The bubbling of the pools seemed to grow louder.

  A thought slowly dawned on me. Siffrin knew he mustn’t reveal the secrets of pleaching. But he wanted to help me. What if he told me in a way that wasn’t obvious?

  When I opened my eyes, the light against the Ice Razors had brightened. A shiny pink glimmer crept over the sandy earth. I stood above the fox and wolf fur, raising my eyes to the blood-bark tree. Although I was alone, I spoke out loud.

  “Run fast, be safe, live free.”

  A tremor of movement shifted beneath my paws. A hiss of white froth rose on the pools. The pink light pulsed red. Something’s happening! I drew my brush along my side.

  The white tip was silver.

  My heart was thumping against my chest. I started darting between the pools, racing toward the Ice Razors. The great gleaming columns shifted with color. My claws scrabbled against the ice, but I couldn’t slow down. I slipped and slid between the columns, smacking bars of ice that chilled my fur. I didn’t care—I was close now.

  I could sense the c
hange in the air. As I emerged between the columns onto the tundra, the light was so bright and low that I could hardly see. I paused, blinking. I knew where to go—toward the foothills, where the sunrise dazzled the crags.

  “Isla?” It was Lop trotting over the snow.

  Farraclaw hurried behind him. “You’re back!” He paused. “You’re alone.”

  “Not for long.” I cocked my head toward the foothills. “They’re free now,” I said. “The pleaching’s reversed.” I didn’t wait to hear the wolf’s reply. I ran over the snow, glaring into the sun. Searching for signs of movement.

  My breath caught in my throat and I slammed to a halt. A silhouette stood against the sunrise—a black figure with a slender muzzle and a long, puffy tail—the unmistakable shape of a fox.

  “Pirie!” I called, starting to run again. I bolted over the tundra, my legs pumping wildly, my paws scarcely touching the earth. As the sun broke over the frozen land, I reached the craggy foothills. I blinked furiously, blinded by light. “Pirie! Is that really you?”

  The voice that replied was cracking with age. “You are mistaken,” he said. “My name is Métis. They call me the Black Fox.”

  He was a slight fox. Up close, I could see that he was old. His legs were bony, his forepaws splayed. His brush was long and thick. The white tip shone in the morning light as it floated over the ground. Silvery furs dappled his forehead and shoulders. The rest of him was the same dark sheen as a raven.

  The Black Fox.

  I stopped in my tracks. “I thought …” My words faded as Farraclaw and Lop drew near.

  Métis cringed away from the wolves. The silvery hairs rose on his shoulders. “Another step and you die,” he hissed.

  Farraclaw looked amused. “You know this fox?” he asked me.

  It isn’t Pirie. It was never Pirie.

  I grappled for words. “He’s an Elder.”

  “Not just any Elder,” he replied. “And who are you?”

  I didn’t like his tone, or the wrinkle in his muzzle as he peered at me. “My name is Isla. I’m from the Great Snarl—the Graylands.” I blinked at him, still trying to put it together. “Who did you expect? Jana?”

  “Did she send you?” The fox glared at me, though his eyes flicked nervously to Lop and Farraclaw. He blinked hard, as if he couldn’t focus.

  I thought about his question—wondered how wrong I’d been to think I would find Pirie here. I’d been a fool. A fox is lost to the Elders … Not my brother. It was Métis they’d wanted all along. I remembered Brin’s uneasiness, and Shaya’s words of warning. They hadn’t agreed with Jana’s plan. Yet Jana had conspired with the other Elders to send me out here. To search for the pleached fox and release him. She’d known all along that I wouldn’t find Pirie in the Snowlands.

  A chill crept deep under my fur.

  She’d used me.

  At last I spoke, my voice as icy as the frozen earth. “The Elders sent me. Though I didn’t realize it until now.”

  Farraclaw frowned. “Where is your brother, Isla?”

  My shoulders sagged. “I doubt he ever came this far north. The Elders tricked me. They sent me here to find Métis.” I paused. “Though I’m not sure they knew it was Métis who was pleached with the wolf. Another Elder has also gone.”

  Métis looked at me. “Keeveny.” He didn’t seem surprised.

  Waves of disappointment crashed over me. “Do you know anything of my brother Pirie? He disappeared from the Snarl. One of the Narral was there, and the Taken. They caught the rest of my family, but I think he escaped. Where could he be?”

  “Your brother?” His ears flicked back. “A Graylands foxling … Why should I know him?”

  My throat was dry. I had no response.

  “What are you?” barked Farraclaw.

  Métis recoiled. “Back away, Wolf. I have already warned you.”

  “Warned me?” snorted Farraclaw. He sprang toward Métis.

  The Black Fox stumbled backward, chanting. “Feel my gerra, share my glance—calm your terror, enter trance.”

  Farraclaw threw open his jaws, then shut them slowly. He lowered his muzzle to meet the Black Fox’s eye. A calm enveloped him. He reclined onto his belly, as though taking a nap, though his eyes stared vacantly ahead.

  “What have you done to Prince Farraclaw?” snarled Lop.

  Métis wheeled around to face him. I saw his tail flicker with a silvery gleam, then fade. He was grasping at foxcraft, but it wasn’t working. He gritted his teeth. Trembling, he collapsed onto the snow.

  “What’s wrong with the fox?” asked Lop.

  I trod closer to Métis. “He’s injured.” I sniffed his coat, sensing a deep weariness. I glanced at Farraclaw. He was still lying on his belly, his breath coming slowly. “Whatever you’ve done, undo it right away!”

  “And have that beast kill me?” panted Métis. “It’s only pakkara, a trance state. It will not hurt the wolf. But if I release him, he will hurt me.”

  “He won’t.” I looked at Lop and he nodded stiffly.

  With a sigh, Métis raised his head toward Farraclaw. “When you feel my gentle claw, you will be in trance no more.” Gingerly he outstretched his foreleg to touch the wolf on the nose.

  Farraclaw blinked, then rose with a shake. “What did you do?” he snarled.

  “You are unharmed,” said Métis quickly. He tried to rise, staggered backward, then slumped down. His legs seemed unable to hold him. Already, he was out of breath.

  I studied the old fox. “You pleached with King Birronclaw.” It was a statement, not a question. “You were trapped.”

  Métis panted. “I meant only to see what might be done with the wolf’s power.” His eyes slid away, toward the White Mountains. “I shouldn’t have tried it. A wolf’s will cannot be tamed.” He rubbed his eyes with an angry forepaw. “I acted against foxlore. It is not for the Elders to pleach another creature against his will. I have broken from foxlore, and I have suffered the consequences.”

  I sensed it—the exhaustion that gnawed at his limbs. “Your maa …”

  “It’s sapped beyond repair. My gerra is in shreds.”

  “King Birronclaw Valiant-Oolf is my fa,” growled Farraclaw. “He has lost his mind.”

  I placed a paw on his foreleg. “I promised Métis you wouldn’t hurt him.”

  The Black Fox looked up at Farraclaw. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “I meant no ill to befall the wolf. True, I would have used his brawn to our cause. After that, I would have seen him freed. It was reckless. An act of desperation.” He drew in a quivering breath. “Keeveny grows ever more powerful. I thought …” his voice dwindled to a whisper. “I thought if we had a wolf to fight with us, that would be something.”

  My whiskers bristled. “So Keeveny is the Mage?”

  Métis dipped his head in acknowledgment. Face knotted with effort, he rolled onto his paws.

  “Cunning, wicked fox! You risked my fa’s life! You thought you would try to seize his power with your … your foxcraft.” Farraclaw’s eyes were bright with anger. “Don’t worry,” he snarled, glancing at me. “I won’t hurt him. I wouldn’t dignify this shrewling by touching him.”

  Lop cocked his head. “Isla said that the Mage is controlling foxes in the Wildlands. There are few left to fight him.”

  “It is so,” said Métis quietly. “In times of peril, sacrifices must be made. I regret the harm to the wolf king. You must know that I risked my own life as readily as I risked his.” He looked from Lop to Farraclaw.

  Farraclaw’s head was stooped. “My fa will not recover.”

  I padded closer to him and licked his muzzle.

  Métis spluttered in astonishment. “These wolves … Are they your friends?”

  I turned to the old fox. “I wouldn’t have made it to the Ice Razors without them. They are Farraclaw and Lop from the Bishar of Claw.”

  Métis stiffened. His ears twisted forward. “Did you bring others?”

  Farraclaw frowned. “The rest
of the Bishar remained in our territory. Why do you ask?”

  I followed the Black Fox’s gaze. There was a flicker of movement between the distant spruce. It took a moment to work out what I was seeing.

  “Wolves of Fang,” I gasped, my hairs rising in spikes. They ran in formation, their white tails bobbing as they zigzagged between the great trees.

  * * *

  “Quick,” whispered Métis, “Over here.” He clambered around the boulders that circled the foothills. Anger flashed across Farraclaw’s face. He wasn’t happy to be told what to do by a fox he’d only just met—a fox who had sought to snare his fa’s mind. I looked at him wide-eyed, beckoning him to follow. Jaw set, he slipped behind me as I edged around the boulders. Lop took his cue from Farraclaw, hiding just as the white wolves of Fang broke over the tundra.

  Métis hunched against the gray stone. Lop pressed close to my side while Farraclaw peered around the boulders.

  “It’s a watch party,” he whispered. “A lordess, warriors, and an under-wolf.”

  I wasn’t sure how Farraclaw could tell all that at a distance. There were codes of appearance and conduct that were only clear to a wolf’s eye.

  Farraclaw’s ears were flat. “We will have to wait until they pass,” he whispered. “The sun is up now. We can’t cross to the trees without being seen.”

  I shuffled alongside him to watch as the wolves ran over the snow. They were coming closer. Did they know we were here?

  “It’s all right,” said Farraclaw. “They’re stopping.”

  The prince was right. The female in the lead was slowing down and the others followed. At the back of the group was a wolf so stooped to the ground that he barely reached half her height. He hung back from the others, tail between his legs. Even I could now see what Farraclaw had already observed: this was obviously an under-wolf.

  The female turned to look around. The others watched her carefully.

  I could just pick up her words. “And the Ice Razors too. By order of King Orrùfang Valiant-Raa.”

  “No one comes here, Lordess Bezilfang,” said a white male with a single gray paw. Bezilfang. Wasn’t that one of the wolves we’d dodged earlier?