Foxheart (9 page)

“Sorry,” muttered Sly Boots. He glanced over at Quicksilver. “It's just a pretty good story, actually, you know? I'm getting overly excited.”

Quicksilver threw him such a fierce look that he immediately fell silent.

The witch of our story
,
who called herself Quicksilver (though that wasn't her true name), didn't come into her magic until the age of twenty, which is much later than she would have, had the Star Lands still been full of witches and bright with magic, as they had once been.

When she was twenty, magic settled in her companion, an old dog named Fox, who then became her monster. There now existed a mighty bond between them, connecting their hearts.

Quicksilver didn't know much about magic—other than what she had learned at the convent when she was young—but she knew it was forbidden, and that the Wolf King hunted those who possessed it. Quicksilver lived nowhere and everywhere, stealing to survive. She was good at stealing, so though it was a lonely life, it was not a hard one.

Then one day Quicksilver was imprisoned in a town for thievery. Another prisoner there had been arrested for witchcraft and was gravely injured. His name was Filip, and he recognized Quicksilver for what she was. Together they escaped and fled into the wild.

Soon after, the Wolf King heard of their escape and gave chase. Every hour on the road made Filip and his tiny mouse monster weaker, but they managed to teach Quicksilver about magic—its shape, its taste, and most importantly, how to work with Fox to use it.

One cold night, with the Wolf King nearly upon them, Filip and his monster promised they could send Quicksilver and Fox somewhere safe, in thanks for helping them escape. Just as the Wolf King attacked, Filip and his monster made the ultimate sacrifice. Even though Filip knew it would kill his monster and leave Filip himself defenseless before the Wolf King, he sent Quicksilver and Fox back to an earlier time—a time when many witches still lived, and the Star Lands were bright with magic.

Quicksilver took her birth name, Anastazia, for she felt that she should leave behind the relics of her old life. Anastazia decided that if no other witches would challenge the Wolf King, she would. Once she had been the best thief in all the Star Lands. Now she would be the best witch—and nobody would get the better of her, not even a king.

When she realized the Wolf King was searching for the skeletons of the First Ones' monsters, she began searching for them, too, and found some of them, and lost some to the Wolf King when they battled, and stole some back from him, and fought him again, and lost, and won, and hid herself away, and this went on for long decades, while Anastazia crafted spells that extended her life far beyond that of any normal witch, and the Wolf King became desperate and dangerous.

Anastazia fought until she was a frail old woman—and then she found her younger self, the twelve-year-old orphan thief Quicksilver. Anastazia brought Quicksilver back in time, to an even earlier point than she herself had traveled, and taught her younger self how to use magic, and how to fight the Wolf King. And this happened again, and again—a cycle of war fought through the endless ring of time.

Anastazia and Quicksilver searched and stole and battled, for decades and centuries and lifetimes, over and over, and in none of
these lives did they manage to defeat the Wolf King—though they often came close.

Each time—

“Did you come close to defeating him in
your
lifetime?” Quicksilver interrupted. “You, yourself?”

“Yes, tell us about your battles,” said Sly Boots, leaning forward with shining eyes. “What was the worst one? And I mean worst as in, a really
exciting
one, not one where the Wolf King got the best of you and left you for dead, wounded and defeated. . . .”

At the sight of Anastazia's furious expression, Sly Boots trailed off and hid his face behind his pillow. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got carried away.”

“Indeed,” Anastazia snapped. “And yes, I came
quite
close to defeating him during my own lifetime, thank you very much, Quicksilver. This is the last time I'll tolerate such cheek from either of you, remember that.”

Then she cleared her throat, muttering to herself, “Ruining the ending. Interrupting me.
Children
. Nasty little creatures, truly.”

Each time, Anastazia hoped this fight would be the last, and each time, it was not.

Until, perhaps, now.

Silence fell. Sly Boots looked at Quicksilver, at Anastazia, then at Quicksilver again.

“Is that the ending?” he whispered. “She yelled at us because of two measly sentences?”

“So here we are, Quicksilver,” said Anastazia, her body sagging against the pillows now that her story had concluded. “You and me—the next pair in this war, just as we have been many times over.” She paused, drew a long breath, and fixed her tired violet eyes upon Quicksilver's matching bright ones.

“Are you ready to become the witch you were born to be?”

Q
uicksilver let Anastazia's question linger in the air while she turned it over in her head.

Was
she ready to fight? Ready to become a witch? She could not imagine how to answer. So much had happened in the last few days—most of all in the last few hours—that she had hardly had time to catch her breath.

“Hang on a moment,” Sly Boots spoke up, pounding his fist against the pillow. “The only thing we're going to do is return to our own time. I mean, is there really any question about this? My parents are there, our home is there. We can't just leave it
behind.” Silence met his words. He looked to Quicksilver, his face tense and earnest. “Quicksilver?”

She could not look at him. Now that he had said the words aloud, it was very easy to decide that she wanted to stay in this time after all. For what was there for her to return to? She had nothing and no one. The only creature in the world she cared about was sitting by the window—well, except for the girls and the sisters of her convent, but when had they ever cared about her? Although even they didn't deserve whatever the wolves had done to them.

“If we defeat the Wolf King,” Fox murmured, as though he had heard the thoughts in her head, “then we'll change the future, and they'll be all right, won't they? They'll never be attacked, because the Wolf King will never have been alive to attack them.”

Quicksilver considered his sharp, whiskered face. “I suppose you're right.”

“I'm afraid there's no way to return just yet,” Anastazia said. “Not only does such an act require much more powerful magic than we have access to at the moment, it also would require Fox to sacrifice—”

“Absolutely not,” Quicksilver interrupted. “There will be no
sacrifices here.” She tilted up his face. “I promise I'll never make you do that, Fox.
Never.
”

Fox huffed indignantly. “I should think not.”

“What do you expect me to do?” asked Sly Boots. “Leave my parents to die of fever or be killed by the Wolf King when he burns Willow-on-the-River to the ground?”

“Do keep in mind,” said Anastazia evenly, “that if we succeed in our task, and therefore change the future, we could prevent your parents from ever getting cursed in the first place.”

Sly Boots opened his mouth and shut it again, looking stumped.

“But in the meantime,” Anastazia continued, “we cannot afford to concern ourselves with the fates of individuals. This is a war. We are fighting to save our kind.”

“Witches aren't
my
kind,” Sly Boots pointed out, his voice low. “They're the reason my parents are ill. And now they're the reason why I've been separated from them.” The expression on his face reminded Quicksilver of how he had looked in his parents' bedroom, right before he had shattered the bowl against the wall.

Quicksilver rolled her eyes. “No one forced you to come thieving with me. You could have said, ‘No thank you, I'd rather
cry at home alone in my slippers,' and you wouldn't have been there when the Wolf King came, and Fox and I would have come back to the past by ourselves.”

Flushing, Sly Boots said, “Well, I didn't ask you to break into my home and try to rob me, did I?”

“Hah! As if you'd anything worth stealing.”

Sly Boots shot to his feet. “I would have had something worth stealing—lots of somethings—if I hadn't had to sell it all to get medicine for my parents, and
they
would have never taken ill were it not for you—you—”

Anastazia raised a cool eyebrow. “Yes? Go on.
Us
what?”

Quicksilver crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, please. Do say whatever nasty word you were about to say.”

Fox curled his tail around his body, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, this ought to be fun.”

Sly Boots tossed the pillow onto the bed. “Never mind.”

“Quite right.” Anastazia sniffed. “Unless you would like to wander off into this world and fend for yourself against any rogue witch who might fancy making you her servant—and believe me, you have the air of a particularly useful servant—or some beast so savage not even your sleeping mind could have imagined it, then you will have to remain here, with us, and help us fight our fight.”

Sly Boots glared at Anastazia, but his glare was sorely outmatched. He looked down at the bedcovers.

“I don't see any other way about it, Boots,” said Quicksilver. “If we're stuck here, we're stuck here, but I don't like to remain stuck for long.” Quicksilver rose to her feet. “If you'll teach me magic,” she said to Anastazia, “I'll help you fight the Wolf King. Or find the what's-it things. The bones of the First Ones' monsters.” She paused. “You already have some of them, right? You've managed to hang on to at least a couple of skeletons, maybe?”

Anastazia's face fell, her mouth thinning. “No. I had two of them, and then I lost them to the Wolf King before I found you. In every one of our lifetimes, we have found these skeletons hidden in different parts of the Star Lands, and they don't always stay in the same place for long. Before the First Ones died, they put a spell on their monsters so that their skeletons might never be found, and they did a fine job. They can cloak and glamour themselves to look different than what they are. They're here one instant, and three kingdoms away the next. You'll find one only to lose it a moment later if you don't grab it fast enough. That's what happened to me—for
ten years
I hid two of them, carrying them with me wherever I went. I was lucky. And then, only days before I found you, they vanished.”

Anastazia took a deep, shuddering breath and then let out a rattling, wet cough. “I've brought you to a time in the past when the Wolf King hasn't yet found any of the skeletons—at least I don't
think
he has—but as for us . . . we'll have to start with nothing. No skeletons, no advantage . . .”

Quicksilver swallowed hard. “Well . . . once we
do
have the skeletons, we can destroy them, right?”

“We haven't yet designed a spell strong enough to do it, but we will,” said Anastazia. “Each time we get closer. Meanwhile, we'll steal as many of them as we can and try to keep them out of the Wolf King's reach until that day comes.”

Quicksilver was silent for a long moment. When she finally held out her hand, she tried to make herself seem more confident than she felt. “All right, then. It's a deal.”

Anastazia, amused, slapped her palm. When their skin touched, a spark zipped between them.

“Agreed.”

“And,” said Quicksilver, turning to Sly Boots, “as soon as I figure out a way to return, I'll send you right back home, so you can be with your parents. I can't imagine it will take me long. If magic is anything like thieving, I ought to learn quickly.”

“Hah!” snorted Anastazia.

“Don't worry, child,” Fox said, stretching and yawning. “With me as your monster, you can't go wrong.”

Quicksilver flushed. “Child? I'm
twelve
.”

“Can't go wrong,” Anastazia repeated, shaking her head. “Oh, stupid little fools. You've no idea what lies ahead.”

Ignoring her, and Fox's smug face, Quicksilver thrust out her hand again. “Agreed, Boots?”

Sly Boots considered her. “You promise you'll do that for me? You'll send me home the moment you can? Even if . . . ?” He trailed off, glancing Fox's way.

“I won't do it if it hurts Fox, no,” said Quicksilver. “But I'll find another way, I'm sure of it. I always find a way.”

After a moment, Sly Boots gave a nervous smile, and they slapped hands. “Agreed.”

Quicksilver wiped her palm on her coat. “You're always so nasty and sweaty. First thing I'm going to do is find some sort of . . . witchy thing . . . to fix that.”

“It's called a spell,” Anastazia hissed. “Witchy thing. Indeed.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know what it's called?”

Fox stretched, sticking his rump into the air, and then sat up. “Shall we begin now? I'm still bored, you know. No offense, child,” he continued, cutting off Quicksilver's indignant reply,
“but when you're a monster, the rest of the world seems dull as pudding.”

“I like pudding,” Sly Boots offered.

“Of course you do,” said Fox soothingly.

Anastazia, grumbling to herself, fluffed her pillows and blew out the candles. “First, we sleep. We'll begin in the morning—that is, if I decide not to run away and leave you noisy lot to your own devices.”

With the candles out, the room soon fell silent. Fox padded over to the window couch and curled up in a ball with his nose tucked under his hind leg.

Quicksilver watched him for a long time, forcing her heavy eyes to stay open, for when he was like this—quiet and still—he was the Fox she had always known, and not the strange, sharp creature he had become.