The next morning we rose, reenergized. We walked together to the edge of the Darklands, where the trees still dared to flower. We drank thirstily from the winding stream.
Pirie rested his head against my shoulder. “I knew you would come. Even when I begged you to stay away. You never were one for being told.”
I gave him a gentle nip. “Neither of us are.”
He looked beyond me, his ears rolling back. I instantly regretted my words. Was he thinking of our time back in the Snarl? If he’d listened to Greatma, Karka wouldn’t have found our den. He was only playing—was just a cub. He hadn’t created the Taken. He hadn’t pleached with the White Fox. Métis was right—it wasn’t his fault.
I nudged Pirie with my nose. “I know how to slimmer now,” I said boldly. For a moment, I flickered in and out of view.
“Show-off!” He batted at me with a paw. In the wag of his mottled tail, I saw the Pirie I used to know—my mischievous, loyal, affectionate brother.
Siffrin still limped but his wounds were healing. I’d offered him maa-sharm and this time he hadn’t refused. It was only my own maa now—my pleach with the Elders had ended—but it was enough. I had never felt closer to the red-furred fox. As Pirie rested next to Farraclaw, I licked dried blood from Siffrin’s coat. The mark of the broken rose was still there, half-concealed beneath his fur.
I looked up at him. “I was wrong about you, Siffrin. Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He cocked his head. “I hope that you finally know I’m your friend.”
I touched his nose. “Maybe you can be more,” I said bravely.
His amber eyes glowed with light. “I’d like that, Isla.” He twined his tail with mine and my heart beat faster.
I studied his face. “What did you see under the petris trees?” He’d looked haunted. What memory had the ancient branches shared with the red-furred fox? What had disturbed him so much?
Siffrin shook his head slowly. “I felt like I was tumbling back to my time as a cub. I saw the Marshlands as they used to be, the tufty grasses and watery ponds. I could smell the pungent fragrance of the floating flowers. But then …” He shook his head. “Nothing. That’s what upset me. The memories have gone. The Mage stole them when he took my will.” Siffrin looked down at his paws. “I am a fox without a past.”
I couldn’t bear to see him sad. “Red,” I said quietly. I concentrated. “Your ma’s fur. The deepest red I’ve ever seen. She was beautiful.”
Just like you.
Siffrin looked up.
“She loved you so much,” I said. “All of you. You were one of six! Such sweet little cubs. Your fa had died and she raised you alone. She managed it somehow. She was a great hunter.”
Siffrin’s mouth opened slowly. “Six of us …” His eyes widened in wonder. “I feel them. I feel the warmth of them.” He stared at me. “She watched over us fiercely. She caught ground squirrels … I remember the ground squirrels!” His tail started wagging. “Isla, how did you know?”
“It was in maa-sharm at the Snarl. After the fight with the Taken, you healed me. I lost myself in visions. I didn’t understand it at the time but now I do. I saw your memories—they were hiding inside you all along.”
* * *
Dusk settled over the bank of the stream. It was here we would part with our friends. Simmi and Tao would return to their old meadow with Karo, Flint, and Liro. It wouldn’t be the same, but in time their skulk would grow. I pictured the meadow in full bloom, saw it alive with cubs. Could almost feel their fuzzy brown fur and see them gamboling near the nettles.
Some of the freed foxes would return to their abandoned dens, claiming them back from the Darklands. These lands had once been green and vibrant. They could be again. Thinking of the Lower Wildlands reminded me of Haiki and my tail drooped in sadness. I felt no anger for the gray-furred fox, not now that I understood him better.
The wolves would return to the Snowlands. Farraclaw padded up to me, flanked by Cattisclaw and Lop. My heart thumped with warmth for them.
“There is always a home for you in our Bishar,” said Farraclaw.
“Please come,” said Lop. “Even Storm Valley will soon be dotted with flowers, and the mountain hares are jumping. You’ll be happy with us.”
I nuzzled between Farraclaw and Lop, lost for a moment in their bushy ruffs. I would miss them most of all. “It’s time for us to build a new skulk,” I told them. “Far from here, and far from the furless.”
“You won’t go back to the Graylands?” asked Simmi.
I glanced at Pirie. “There’s nothing for us there.”
He trod alongside me. “We’re chasing the rising sun,” he said. “Fa told us of the lands by the sea, with their giant rabbits and beautiful valleys. We want to see them for ourselves.”
“I’m coming too,” said Siffrin. “So are Shri and Zilla. We’ll find a new territory, build a new skulk.” His handsome brush drifted close, the tip touching mine.
Lop glanced at Siffrin with knowing eyes, then his gaze shifted to me. His tail bobbed up with a curious wag and I looked away, suddenly shy.
Farraclaw sighed. “We will howl for your ancestors along with our own. We will say rites for those who have passed.” He dipped his head. “For friendship. For honor. Forever.”
I blinked at him gratefully. I pictured Ma, Fa, and Greatma—their agile bodies and sparkling eyes. A fox had no rituals, no rites or laments. Yet it gave me comfort to know the wolves would keep our fallen in their thoughts. That somewhere, in a land of ice and flames, the memory of my family lived on.
The sun set in a twirl of pinks and reds. Beneath its fading light, we said our goodbyes. Simmi and Tao struck out west with their ma, fa, and Liro. The other freed foxes headed south. The regal wolves ran north. As they faded from view, I heard their howls. The power of their maa rose through the trees. I dared to hope that in their wake green shoots would stir in the Darklands. That buds might form in the bowing branches.
“Come,” said Pirie. His tail was lashing. “We’ve got a long way to go and those giant rabbits won’t catch themselves!”
Siffrin hurried after, his gait loping with his injured leg. Yet somehow he was still graceful. Shri and Zilla followed eagerly. We were all so young, scarcely more than cubs, yet cubs who had seen enough for a lifetime.
We would run through the night. Our journey would take us far, but not too far. Come next malinta, I’d return to the Elder Rock. I had a role now, one I would never outgrow.
The stream had cleansed the ash from Pirie’s fur, but mine was forever changed. For as I’d emerged from the ruins of the Mage’s Lair, I’d stepped out with a blackened pelt.
The other foxes had stared in wonder. The wolves had looked to one another. And I had twisted around, taking in the raven furs that covered my back and swept down my tail. Only the tip remained white.
“You’re the new Black Fox,” Siffrin had gasped in amazement. “You’re the fox of legend.”
Young and from the Snarl. It hardly made sense. Yet Métis had known it before the rest—Métis had touched my maa with his own.
The other foxes ran ahead. I paused, taking in the music of the night, my ears rotating forward and back. I heard the chirping of cicadas. The hooting of an owl. The distant murmur of the earth.
The sunset had faded, leaving the black mantle of the sky. Canista’s Lights shone over the Wildlands. Wolves and foxes, from the Snowlands to the Snarl, fought to survive beneath the same bright stars. I thought of Métis, who had put so much faith in me. Who had given his life in the name of our kind.
“Farewell, old friend,” I whispered. “Run fast, be safe, live free.”
THE END
I have run with the foxes for several incredible years and am grateful to those who have shared my journey.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my editors— Zachary Clark, Abigail McAden, and Samantha Smith at Scholastic—for insights, encouragement, and the best fox gifs
the Internet has to offer.
Thank you to Team Fox at the Blair Partnership, including (but not limited to) Neil Blair, Josephine Hayes, Jessica Maslen, Georgie Mellor, and my fabulous agent, Zoe King.
Sincere gratitude to my family: my son Amitai Fraser Iserles, the light of our lives, who has shared our passion for stories from the youngest age; my soulmate, Peter Fraser, for always having the time; my sister, Tali Iserles, for being the most considered, enthusiastic reader I could have hoped for; my mother, Dganit Iserles, for patience, support, and cake-baking virtuosity; and my father, Arieh Iserles, my oracle and adviser-in-chief for every book I write.
Thank you to Priscilla Barrett for your gimlet eye and unparalleled understanding of canid behavior; to Naomi O’Higgins and Richard Mansell for being there from the beginning; and to the Charlotte Street Group for writing camaraderie. Deepest gratitude to every reader who has taken the time to write, tweet, or dress up as a fox for World Book Day—your support means everything.
My friend Lee Weatherly has been my “trilogy twin” throughout the process of writing Foxcraft. Lee: You have helped me celebrate the highs and buoyed me in times of doubt. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge the foxes of Myddleton Square. One evening at twilight I stepped out of my old apartment in London to be greeted by a magnificent red fox. She looked at me with her amber eyes. Come, her gaze told me. Come on an adventure … She turned to hurry along the street.
I followed.
Inbali Iserles, Fall 2017
Inbali Iserles is an award-winning writer and an irrepressible animal lover. She is one of the team of authors behind the New York Times bestselling Survivors series, who write under the pseudonym of Erin Hunter. Her first book, The Tygrine Cat, won the 2008 Calderdale Children’s Book of the Year Award in England. Together with its sequel, The Tygrine Cat: On the Run, it was listed among “50 Books Every Child Should Read” by the Independent newspaper.
Inbali attended Sussex and Cambridge Universities. For many years she lived in central London, where a fascination with urban foxes inspired her Foxcraft trilogy. She now lives in Cambridge, England, with her family, including her principal writing mascot, Michi, who looks like an Arctic fox and acts like a cat, but is in fact a dog.
Text and illustrations copyright © 2017 by Inbali Iserles
Map art by Jared Blando
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, October 2017
Cover illustration © 2017 by Liam Peters
Cover design by Nina Goffi and Christopher Stengel
Author photo by Richard Mansell
e-ISBN 978-0-545-69089-8
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
The Mage Page 21
