The Mage

by Inbali Iserles

  I gave my fur a shake. It didn’t help to think that way. Farraclaw had a duty to his Bishar. Already, the wolves would be making the journey north, uphill to the edge of the Taku Grounds. There they would wait until dawn, to start their daylong lament to their ancestors.

  A cool fizzle touched my nose. I looked up. It was starting to snow. Colors had faded from the darkening sky. Pigeon-gray clouds concealed the stars.

  That’s what Amarog saw as she watched the mountains. The coming snow.

  I wondered what this meant for our journey. Turning, I realized that Métis had fallen far behind. I hurried back to him. He was hunkered low between two frozen mounds of snow, his muzzle contorted with strain.

  “I’ll be all right,” he snapped as I approached. He started to raise his paw, then dropped it again. With a crinkle of his nose, he finally met my eye. “All right. A snap of maa, no more. I don’t want to take what you can’t spare.”

  “I can spare it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t overestimate yourself.”

  My whiskers twitched, but I kept my eyes fixed on his. I started to chant. “With my touch, I sense you; with my eyes, I heal you. By Canista’s Lights, I share what I have, we are knit together and you are whole.” The tumble into green was almost instant. A fox was running through a forest. He took in the familiar scent of resin and firs. He paused, his ears pricking up. He had heard a twig snap. Hushed voices reached him. He crept around a tree trunk, listening.

  “This way,” hissed a vixen. She was leading a skulk through the undergrowth. Her paws crunched over the forest floor. Her thickset shoulders muscled between dead branches. Her small ears swiveled back and forth.

  Karka.

  She had reached the edge of the forest, where the tall trees bowed, their trunks turning black with decay.

  Amidst a huddle of Taken, a pitiful voice arose. “Please, let me go. My family will be worried.”

  “Your family are lucky to be alive,” snarled Karka. “The Mage welcomes new recruits to his skulk.”

  That silenced the young fox. He lowered his brown head, his long brush drooping behind him.

  Karka disappeared between the trees. The other foxes trudged after her. Ravens cawed overhead. Several of the Taken looked up, watching the blackbirds with wary eyes.

  The captured fox seized his chance. He turned to one of the Taken in appeal. “Please, won’t you let me pass word to my family? You must have a skulk of your own? My name is Liro. I’ve never done anything to you … Where are you taking me?”

  Karka bounded back into view. “Did the traitor dare to speak?” she spat. She shunted through the foliage, reaching the Taken, who cringed away from her. “Vile rat, you will learn the folly of idle words.” Her lips peeled back. Her single gray eye shot across the forest. “The Elders!” she yelped suddenly. “I sense one of them watching. Quickly.” They shoved and shunted the young fox to where the trees were dead and the long vines closed around him.

  I blinked and collapsed in a heap of snow. The power of the vision had awakened a terror deep inside me.

  The Black Fox was watching me. “Are you all right, Isla? I couldn’t pull away. I tried … I couldn’t do it.” He lowered his head. “That’s why I refused your maa. I am a husk now. I’m empty, like a dusty furrow that used to hold a stream. You could pour in all the maa you have and watch it seep into the thirsty ground. It will never be enough.”

  I gave myself a shake. “The captured fox, the one I saw in maa-sharm …” I frowned, remembering. “His name was Liro.” My voice quivered. The maa-sharm had tired me. Snow was falling more rapidly, tumbling down in clumps. It clung to my whiskers.

  “A young fox from the Wildlands.” Métis cocked his head. His tail-tip quivered, lit with a silver glow. “You knew him?”

  “I knew his skulk. They had no idea where he’d gone.” My ears flattened. “Liro was captured, but not pleached?”

  “The Mage had other plans for him.” The old fox looked out over Storm Valley. “We need to keep moving. A gale is rising. The snowfall will hamper us.”

  I started to move. “Liro had strong maa.” My legs quivered and my head felt groggy. “My brother has strong maa,” I added quietly.

  “Is that so?” muttered Métis. He was already padding ahead. Snow dappled his dark fur.

  I stumbled behind him. The maa-sharm had reversed us, as though I had aged rapidly and he was the younger fox. It seemed like such a selfless foxcraft, the gifting of life source. The hairs prickled along my back. Could it, like pleaching, be performed against the will? What was the term? Skree-maa? Tu-maa-sharm. A dark fear crept over me.

  Any foxcraft might be twisted. Haven’t you worked that out yet? Why do you think the Elders exist? To oversee its practice. Without foxlore, the arts can be abused.

  Métis was speaking to me through my thoughts. I gave my head a shake. I hadn’t invited him in. “You said the Mage was leeching maa?”

  Métis pressed forward. “What’s that?”

  “This morning. What did you mean? Where is he taking it from?”

  Métis turned back to me. Through the thickening snow, I caught the light in his eyes. Suddenly, I knew. “Foxes,” I mumbled. “Foxes of exceptional maa. They’re not pleached.”

  “That would be a waste,” said Métis. He turned back to the steep path over the tundra.

  “Not Pirie! He wasn’t killed with the rest of my skulk. He’s not one of the Taken. He got away.”

  “How do you know he got away?” asked Métis.

  My ears flattened. “In gerra-sharm, I sensed him running. He moved through the Snarl, to the winged furless.”

  “He was alone?”

  I tried to remember. I sensed a blur of movement, of foxes in pursuit. Pirie had made it to the winged furless. Was that where Karka’s skulk had caught up with him as others, led by Tarr, followed me? “Maybe not …” I said slowly. Then I recalled how Karka had continued to track me, even after I’d reached the winged furless. So she couldn’t have found Pirie after all. “Karka followed me through the Snarl to the edge of the Wildlands. She was looking for Pirie. That proves he got away!” It was what I’d rested my hopes on—that my brother was still safe. Now that I spoke the words out loud, I realized how uncertain they sounded. “Why else would she be following me?” I said in a small voice.

  Métis paused, panting heavily. “Do you really need to ask?”

  My maa …

  “I imagine that was the original plan—to trap you for your maa.” Métis started over the slippery ground. “But once you were in the Wildlands, and a friend of Siffrin’s, Keeveny hoped you’d lead Haiki to the Rock.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked suspiciously.

  “I’ve spoken to the other Elders. You know of gerra-sharm: you’ve used it yourself.” Métis gave me a sharp look. “Of course, Keeveny’s an Elder. It wasn’t the Rock’s location he was seeking.”

  My tail hung low. “He needed the Elders to lower the shana. He knew that Jana would let me in, so he had Haiki come with me.” I spat angrily, “I should never have trusted him.”

  “Keeveny would have terrorized Haiki into doing what he did. He must have had something over him.”

  “His family.” I crunched over the snow.

  Métis coughed. “I’ve been wondering about you, Isla, and your brother’s disappearance. I couldn’t imagine that the Mage would bother with a Graylands foxling. But perhaps the Narral have broadened the scope of their search, to feed their master’s hunger for power. Perhaps your brother’s maa was worth the journey.” Métis paused, drew in his breath, and kept trudging. “I take it Pirie is special?”

  “Yes,” I answered quietly. My heart throbbed for him—my playful, affectionate brother. My paws fell giddily onto the earth. I’d run to the Snowlands with so little thought, had left on a mission that led me to Métis. Half-formed ideas were blurring and reshaping. “You shouldn’t use gerra-sharm,” I warned. “The Mage may be listening. That’
s how he tracked me. Every time I spoke to Pirie through my thoughts, the Taken appeared.” I longed to reach out to my brother, but even here in the Snowlands, I didn’t dare.

  Métis slammed to a halt. There was a strange look in his green eyes. “Only if one is caught. Only if those thoughts are intercepted.”

  I knew then—knew for certain.

  Pirie is in the Mage’s lair. That’s how the Mage could spy on us.

  My throat was so tight it was hard to breathe. “Pirie was in the Wildlands all along.”

  “We don’t call them that anymore—not the part where your brother must be.”

  I swallowed. “The Darklands.”

  Métis drew in his breath. Through spinning snow I caught the restless movement of his ears, back and forth, back and forth.

  Anger rose off my fur. “That’s why you showed me Liro’s capture. You wanted me to see what the Narral are doing. Why didn’t you just tell me where Pirie was? I’ve wasted so much time in the Snowlands waiting for you to recover. I should have left right away!” My ears flattened. I shouted over the wind. “I guess the other Elders knew too? Can’t you be honest with me? They knew that Pirie had been taken by the Mage, didn’t they?”

  “No,” said Métis sharply. He turned and caught my eye. “What you witnessed in maa-sharm I saw before the last gloaming. I was alone in the fir forest where I live. The Darklands have crept closer and closer. The Deep Forest suffocates leaves and life with its clawing branches. I considered challenging Karka, but even the Black Fox cannot fight off so many Taken when they’re with one of the Narral. When I guessed what they were doing with the foxling, I felt sick to my core. I needed more strength. I needed something Keeveny didn’t have … I made straight for the Snowlands in search of the wolves. I didn’t tell Jana, or the others. They would have tried to stop me.” He shook his head. “I should have sent word. They must have feared for me. They must even have wondered if I was the Mage … Once I’d pleached with the wolf, I couldn’t reach them. All my foxcraft failed.” His voice was brittle. “Don’t you see? I let them down.” His head dropped and he started trudging again. “I’ve let everyone down.”

  I stared back at Métis. It was true, the Elders hadn’t known whether he or Keeveny were the Mage. Which meant they hadn’t been included in his plan.

  Métis drew his long tail around him. His paws slipped on ice. “I still can’t be sure that’s what happened to your brother. I showed you my memory of Liro because my mind is wearied from fatigue. Because yours is quick. Because you’ll catch things I don’t …”

  I was shocked into silence by the proud fox’s frankness.

  “I’ve wondered if the Narral captured your brother. Of course I have … Yet something in all this troubles me. Keeveny is from the Wildlands, as are all the foxes of the Narral. They would hardly imagine that a fox of great maa could dwell in the Graylands. I cannot think what would have led them to Pirie.” He blinked into the sky. “We mustn’t tarry—to do so is to freeze here. Come, Isla.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but no words escaped. Slowly, I padded after Métis. We walked for a time without talking, struggling through the wind that whipped up the snow. The silver of Métis’s tail-tip paled. His pace wearied.

  I was tiring too. My limbs were stone. I focused on setting one paw in front of another. I hadn’t noticed that the Black Fox had stopped until I smacked into him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He slouched onto his belly. “I must rest.”

  I blinked the flakes from my eyelashes. Fresh snowfall covered the tundra. Trees, bushes, and rocks disappeared beneath its white touch.

  “The birch,” I gasped. I had completely lost sight of the trees. “Métis, I can’t see the birch! How will we find the stepping stones?” I craned my neck. “Métis?”

  The old fox had closed his eyes. He didn’t reply.

  Exhaustion shuddered through me. “Métis? Don’t leave me! I can’t do this alone.” I’d shared my maa with the old fox, but it wasn’t enough. Now we were both shattered, unable to continue. I slumped onto my belly. Icy wind ruffled my fur as wisps spun overhead. The vast Snowlands stretched in all directions. I had come to this brutal terrain for nothing. Now Métis would die. The Elders would lose against the Mage, and I wouldn’t see Siffrin again.

  The White Fox would rise.

  Pirie would never escape …

  The blizzard whipped around me. In that swirling, brutal wilderness, hope vanished.

  My head sank into the snow. Shivers juddered down my back. I yearned for my family. I tried to picture Ma and Fa. To remember Greatma with her mottled fur and her stern, kind face. She was the wisest fox I had ever known. If only I could feel the warmth of her tail wrap around me.

  Faintly, I remembered what Farraclaw had said about his ancestors.

  Those who have passed do not forget. They watch over us.

  They were just words. Greatma was gone—like the rest of them.

  The wind shrilled in my ears, the biting cold sank its claws through my fur. My heart clenched in terror and grief. I shut my eyes. I’ll fall asleep … I’ll drift away and never come back.

  The shush of the wind and snow. The chatter of my teeth. Shivers like shockwaves racking my body.

  Fear is your friend, but it must never be your master. It will leash you just as surely as the furless do their dogs, and drag you to an even darker fate.

  The wind dropped. Warmth swathed itself around me. I opened my eyes.

  “Greatma … ?”

  Fresh prints in the snow. I stood up, blinking hard. I spotted a huddle of dark fur a short distance from me. Flurries were falling on his back, disguising his pelt. “Métis,” I called. “Métis, wake up!” I gave him a shove. With a groan, he opened his eyes.

  The paw prints dotted the path before us. New snow was already falling, threatening to conceal them. “This way!” I started through the drifts, with Métis limping behind me. We fought against the blizzard. My eyes were fixed on the delicate paw prints, which seemed to appear from nowhere. When I finally looked up, I gasped to see silvery white trunks.

  “The birch trees!” With a burst of energy, I bounded down to the trees. I could already hear the thundering of the river. Where the last tree met the high bank, I spotted a large flat rock. Further stones appeared between the water. “This way!” I barked. It seemed like an age before Métis made it down to the bank. There was no time to fret about the dangerous current. With a deep breath, I sprang onto the first flat stepping stone.

  Gritting his teeth, Métis followed.

  We leaped from stone to stone. The snowfall lightened as we left the bank behind. The sky was brightening.

  I focused on each stone in turn. When I reached the shingle I yelped in amazement. We were in the Wildlands!

  Métis landed at my side. “How did you do it?” he gasped. “How did you find the path to the crossing?” My gaze darted from him to the far bank. A slim shape flitted into view—an old fox with a mottled pelt. She stared at me, her outline faint against the snow.

  Greatma! I called you and you came.

  I watched her fade into blizzard and ice.

  Clouds scudded across the Raging River. Squinting over the rapids, I could barely make out the tundra. The White Mountains peaked above the clouds, pointed as fox ears.

  I turned back to the edge of the Wildlands. The Elder Wood lay in darkness, though a faint yellow haze rose from the west. Trammels of white coiled through the eerie halo.

  Métis sat heavily at my side. “It’s happening.”

  My heart sank. “We need to get you to the Elder Rock.” I wasn’t sure what I’d do after that—how I could begin to save my brother. But hope had kindled inside me in the worst of the blizzard, and I knew I would never give up again.

  Thank you, Greatma.

  Métis’s ears pricked up, but he didn’t speak as he started hobbling over the shingle. His movements were jolting. His muzzle clenched in pain.

 
My frozen limbs were starting to warm up. The shingle was a relief after the icy tundra. With my ease of movement came a quickening of thought. What was it that Métis thought he could do at the Elder Rock? How could he help in this state? “Do you plan to challenge the White Fox?”

  His green eyes flicked my way, then focused up ahead. He grunted, climbing over a mound of shingle. “The Mage is leeching maa. He has stolen an army of Taken. There is only one thing the Elders can do to compete with his power.” He cast another look at me. I sensed he was deciding what he could say.

  Tell me. I need the truth.

  He sighed. “We can pleach.”

  My hairs raised on end. “But that’s how the Taken’s wills are stolen! That’s what you did to the wolf king. You said it was wrong, against foxlore!” Heat rose from my whiskers. “How can you even think about doing that again? Didn’t you learn anything from—”

  “I’m not,” he cut in. “Foxling, you have misunderstood. Pleaching is a dangerous foxcraft. Its practice is protected by the Elders. Yet just like any foxcraft, it can be a force for good.”

  I pounced over the shingle and shook a pebble from between my claw pads. “Against the will of another creature?”

  “No. This is different. This is pleaching as it should be performed. By the Elders, together, of their own free will.”

  I continued toward a rising hummock. I wasn’t sure I understood. “So you all pleach, and then what happens?”

  Métis’s restless ears sprang forward. “Our minds will fuse. Our thoughts and maa will flow freely between us. While we are pleached, we are not alone. We will be six foxes of great power in one.” He paused, cradling his injured forepaw. “With the strength of the Elders, I will leave to find Keeveny. I will stop him, whatever it takes.”

  The ailing fox could hardly walk. With or without the Elders’ maa, how would he defeat the Mage?

  “I’ll manage it,” he snipped, as though I had uttered the thought out loud. “Just let me rest a moment.” He sat heavily.

  Light was trailing along the bank. It crested the river.

  “The Mage won’t pause while you catch your breath,” I reminded him.