Fox and Faun Read online

  FOX AND FAUN

  WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY

  DANI SMITH

  QUICK DRAW STUDIOS

  SAN DIEGO, CA.

  FOX AND FAUN: SHALE CITY BOOK I © 2019 by Dani Smith/QuickDraw Studios. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Edited by Cameron Yeager

  Cover art © by Dani Smith

  Interior illustrations © Dani Smith

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except as provided by U.S.A. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the artist’s/author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Poetry snippet in library scene from “Shema”, by Constance Plumley. Her book TRANSLATION can be found in bookstores and online retailers worldwide.

  For Alex.

  Let’s shoot for the moon and land among the stars.

  OI OI OI!

  And for Mandie, my favorite YA librarian.

  This love that thou hast shown

  Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

  Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;

  Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;

  Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.

  What is it else? A madness most discreet,

  A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

  ~Romeo and Juliet

  Love o love o careless love

  See what careless love has done.

  ~Stephen King, The Dark Tower: Wizard and Glass

  PROLOGUE

  They move through the shadowy wood of close-packed pine and oak that hums with magic as blue moonlight glints off Ashe’s raised kukri. His tail twitches uneasily, its tuft rustling the thick grass under his feet. He can smell the power here, taste it: a cobalt shimmer that coats the dripping leaves and swirls through the air before him, permeating his senses. Ashe grips Scarlett’s small hand and leads her forward as a minnow of disquiet flutters in the tender place beneath his breastbone. He ignores it.

  “Papa?” his daughter whispers. “Papa, I—”

  “Hush.”

  Ashe pushes through a close knot of underbrush and they enter a clearing where the trees surround them like the towering walls of a cathedral. Above their high, loose branches, galaxies spin in the black sky and the Sister Moons shine down.

  The clearing is host to a pond, shimmering silver as moonlight falls into it in lustrous bars filled with slow-dancing pollen and glittering faerie dust. The rusty rick-rick of crickets ceases abruptly, replaced by the flutter of hundreds of white butterflies, dipping and swooping above the surface of the water. The beauty of their surrounding is only matched by the lithe figure floating above the pond’s center. From where he stands, Ashe can see the bright sheaf of the figure’s hair flowing to her feet and trailing in the water beneath them, like a flood of molten copper.

  Ashe makes a choked sound as Scarlett cries out “Mama!”. It is impossible that she remembers her mother. Iona died bringing Scarlett into this brutal world. And yet here she is, standing in pale robes the same hue of the moonlight, her peacock-colored eyes gazing at her lost little family with a mixture of pity and sorrow. A memory stabs at Ashe’s mind like a bright needle.

  “Why so sad, pretty fox?” he chided teasingly. “Am I not handsome enough for you?”

  She giggled, lifting her hand to her lips.

  He loses his mind, rushing the pond, calling her name. Behind him, Scarlett cries out as he lets go of her hand, and she falls away into the darkness and the underbrush. Iona screams silently from her pond, scattering butterflies, her hands reaching not for him, but for the child that he has so foolishly let go. Ashe spins back toward where his daughter had been, shrieking her name, but it’s too late. His boots freeze to the grassy earth.

  Drake emerges from the dense underbrush, his eyes glowing like twin coals. He grips a struggling Scarlett by her hair, as coppery red as her mother’s. He jerks the thrashing child off the ground, holding her aloft. Grinning, his burning eyes never leave Ashe’s face as he slowly draws the blade of his knife across the little girl’s throat. Blood gouts in a dark sheaf, splashing the shimmering grass and leaves, spattering Ashe as he screams.

  Ashe sat bolt upright, thrashing as a scream left his lips, his sword hand finding the hilt of his kukri where he’d laid it beside him before falling into a fitful sleep. He felt wildly for his daughter on the ragged blanket beside him, but she was gone.

  “Scarlett? Scarlett!!!”

  Something flickered into his field of vision, a bright green flash: The Jade, a shimmering leaf-green crystal ball with a sentient consciousness of its own through which one could glimpse visions of the world beyond and gift its user with foresight if it so chose to.

  “Where is she?” he shouted.

  “Hi, Papa,” a small voice called. “Are you awake now? You were really sleepy!”

  Scarlett stood in the open doorway of the ruined temple where they had set up camp the night before, a small figure surrounded by a corona of blinding late afternoon sunlight. Her arms were loaded with brightly colored wildflowers. Her baby gryphon, Grym, fluttered on his puny wings beside her, his feathers shining gold

  “Look what I brought you, Papa!” Scarlett cried brightly.

  Ashe saw red. He had told her many times that she was not to leave his side, not for anything, and here she was disobeying. Didn’t she know what could happen to her out there, all on her own? Hadn’t he made it clear? He threw the blanket off and stood up, shouting as he did.

  “Blast, little girl, I have told you to never, never leave without me, gods damn it! Do you want your throat slit? Is that what you want?!”

  Scarlett stood gaping, her gold eyes—his eyes—welling with tears. Her chin wobbled and her arms dropped. As the wildflowers tumbled to the floor, they wilted, scattering rotting petals across the dusty temple floor. Ashe felt a bright stab of guilt.

  She’s just a child, man. Go easy.

  Ashe sheathed his blade and went to her, plucking her up in his arms. She clung to him, her small arms gripping his neck, face pressed against his shoulder. She sobbed, trembling, and he kissed her red hair and the floppy spotted goat ear beneath it.

  “I’m sorry, Scar,” he whispered. “It’s just that you can’t go out like that without me. Do you understand? You are so special, not just to me, but to everything. Your mother knew it.”

  Sniffling, Scarlett nodded as he gently he lowered her to the floor and squatted before her in the scatter of dead flowers, brushing strands of hair from her tear-streaked face. She had her mother’s freckles and his soft brown nose spots. His heart overflowed.

  “I’m hungry, Papa,” she whispered.

  Ashe’s heart clenched. He kissed the tip of her nose, stroking her hair back once more from her tear-stained cheeks.

  “Here,” he said softly, digging into his pack. “I have a little of that jerky left.”

  He produced a few meager pieces of chewy, salty meat and handed them to her.

  “What about you, Papa?” she asked. “You have some, too.”

  He smiled at her generosity. “I’m not hungry,” he lied. “You go ahead. I want my girl growing up big and strong.”

  He dragged on his shirt and vest as she stood there munching, tossing little bits of jerky to Grym, who snapped them up with enthusiasm.

  “We have to keep moving,” Ashe said when she had finished eating. “Come on, get your things ready. I expect you to be my loo
kout, understand?”

  She brightened at that, smiling. “Okay! I’ll be the best lookout ever, Papa!”

  He watched her gather up her own meager belongings, Grym following behind her, his little paws leaving soft prints in the dust on the floor. Ashe fingered the hilt of his kukri and walked to the cracked stone prayer font on the other side of the cavernous room to stare at his watery reflection on its murky surface, remembering another prayer font in another sanctuary long ago.

  A tall, lean faun man in a worn and scuffed spiked vest, the big patch on its back smeared with the old blood of his enemies, gazed back at him. His eyes had the look of a faun who had lost nearly everything, and who had so much more left to lose. He was getting thinner—days with little food would do that—but he still looked strong, his body wiry and ready for battle. His coal-black mohawk spiked along the center of his skull, bristling and proud. His grandmother would have approved, he thought, running his hands along the sides of the crest, spiking it further before the bitterness of truth stole into his mind, draping any joyful memories in a black fog of grief.

  She’s dead. Grandfather is dead. They’re all dead.

  “Come on, Papa!” Scarlett shouted. “Come on, come on, come ON!”

  They left the temple and trekked across the shambles of a ruined outpost of broken concrete peppered with the same ratty grasses and tangled yellowing vines as the temple they had sheltered in. As Scarlett passed, the overgrown brush flowered to brilliant color.

  As they crossed the tarmac and neared a field lying beyond the dead settlement, a thin, liquid warbling sound rose up just beyond like dirty water rising from sour earth. Ashe’s eyes started to water, and a headache settled behind his temples.

  Scarlett stopped and looked to the right. Ashe came up behind her, looking in the same direction.

  “What is it, Papa?” she asked. In her arms, Grym shifted uncomfortably, mewling and grumbling in his throat.

  At the end of the tarmac opposite the field, the land faded into a strange, shimmering opalescent fog, which wavered like a mirage and sparkled like diamond dust as it emitted that unpleasant tinny hum.

  “A gossamer,” Ashe said, wiping his forearm across his brow. “A place where reality has worn thin. I haven’t seen one in a while, but they are scattered throughout our world. Some are growing. It’s a bad sign.”

  “Where did it come from?” Scarlett wrinkled her nose in distaste and turned away.

  “Some archmage opened it up centuries ago, and they abandoned it when they had no use for it anymore. It’s like a sore on the skin of our world.”

  Scarlett’s small brow furrowed, as if in deep thought. “What would happen if someone walked into it?” she asked.

  “They would die. Come, let’s move on.”

  They hiked into the field, leaving the moaning, shimmering mass behind. Butterflies rose before them as they swished through the tall yellowing grass, their pale wings catching the patchy sunlight. Ashe shuddered in revulsion, remembering his dream. Scarlett marched ahead, chattering merrily all the way, Grym a puffy bundle of golden fur and feathers in her arms. As she walked, the grass that brushed her legs ripened to a deep emerald and tiny pink blossoms sprouted from her small footprints.

  Ashe fingered the hilt of his kukri, his eyes darting from one end of the field to the other. Somewhere a crow cawed harshly. He jerked his attention in that direction but saw only the Jade hovering near him. The green orb sparked and shimmered, then suddenly swung in front of him, blocking his way. Just beyond, Scarlett had stopped marching and was standing silent, staring across the field.

  “Papa …” she whispered, barely audible.

  A murky image swam across the surface of the crystal bobbing in front of Ashe’s face and that evil minnow began to circle and twitch in his midsection, just as it had in that horrendous dream. This time, he listened.

  Scarlett squeaked as he grabbed the back of her dress, pitching her behind him and onto the ground where she was hidden in the tall grass. Grym let out a startled squawk and Ashe clamped one fist around the little gryphon’s beak before clapping his other hand over his daughter’s mouth.

  “Shhh, both of you!” he hissed. “Stay here, right here, and don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Someone is coming. Keep that fluffball quiet!”

  Her eyes saucers of fear in her small face, Scarlett nodded. Ashe noted briefly how pale and frightened she was.

  “Did they find us, Papa?” she whispered, her voice muffled by his big palm.

  He skirted the question, had to; he felt that if he didn’t, he would frighten her even more. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than you could ever know. Please, please be quiet, Scar. I love you forever.”

  He tossed his pack off his shoulders, shoved the green glass orb into it where it flickered and went dark, and tore his kukri from its sheath. He then snatched up a jagged chunk of brick lying nearby with his free hand and stood above his huddled child, legs spread, tail twitching aggressively. He started off in the direction of the woodlands, determined to meet the enemy—whoever they were—head-on, to show them what they were up against.

  The tall grass beyond rustled. Ashe chucked the chunk of brick in the direction of the movement. He heard a shout of pain as the missile found its mark with a hollow thud!

  “Ow! Gods bug it, I mean you no harm! Hold off!”

  Ashe blinked but stood his ground. He watched a pair of hands rise from the grass, then wave gently, sending another butterfly whirling upward toward the heavens. Behind him, he heard Scarlett shift in her hiding place.

  “Papa?” she whispered.

  “Hush,” Ashe said, not unkindly. He was loath to make acquaintances with anyone on the road, but they needed food. He raised his kukri into the air, letting the gauzy late sunlight wink off the blade.

  “You see this?” he shouted.

  The hands continued to wave feebly. “Yes! As bright as day, so it is!”

  “I will cut you from throat to pubis if you mean us any harm!”

  The voice came once more, slightly exasperated this time. “Gods burn you, just let me up! I give you my word as a fellow faun!”

  Ashe swallowed hard. He had not seen another faun in ages, only blasted satyrs, those who had enslaved him and his tribe. He gestured minutely with his sword, giving their visitor tenuous permission to approach. “Come then!”

  The other faun rose slowly from the grass and approached cautiously; hands still raised. He was a handsomely chubby, pleasant-looking fellow, with deep brown skin and a short mohawk made of tight, wiry sable curls. His eyes were large and deep-set, the color of turned earth before planting. Ashe held his weapon steady, his eyes narrowed to golden slits.

  “My name is Mayur,” the pudgy faun said. “My camp is just that way, through the woods. I was out scouting and saw you coming my way. Your little one there—”

  “Don’t look at her,” Ashe hissed. “Keep your eyes on me. Only me.”

  Mayur nodded, grinning sheepishly. “Of course, you’re the boss. I mean … I saw you all coming this way, and you looked mighty downtrodden. Thought I could offer you some food and rest.”

  Ashe didn’t blink. “You had better not screw us.”

  Mayur nodded. His light brown horns were decorated with the delicate spiraling patterns that had been passed down in all faun tribes since the beginning. Despite his initial reluctance, Ashe’s heart told him to trust.

  Your heart has brought you nothing but pain, a small, devious voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shoved that voice aside; the call of something close to home stronger than the need for caution. Slowly, he lowered his kukri, then sheathed it. Mayur smiled a friendly, open gesture. Ashe felt the ice between them begin to melt just a little. Behind him, a small voice perked up timidly.

  “Does the man say we get to eat?”

  Mayur laughed softly. “Of course. All you want. Come, follow me. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Scarlett set her gryphon cub down in the grass
and rose, brushing off her dress with the prudishness of a fine lady. She looked up at Mayur with earnest eyes and asked, “Grym, too?”

  Mayur stared at her with his brows furrowed for a moment then grinned, nodding. “Of course. Grym, too. Come.”

  Ashe glared at him briefly before kneeling and shouldering his pack. He picked his daughter up and followed their host across the field, with Grym loping along behind.

  ***

  “Her mother was a Kit.”

  Ashe sat across the fire from Mayur, knees drawn up to his chest. Scarlett lay asleep on the blanket beside him, Grym curled up like a strange kitten in her arms. He absently stroked her hair as he spoke, spreading the copper strands out in a fan around her small head.

  “Kits are powerful, even among the magic races,” Mayur said, chewing on a last piece of the meat they had shared. “Not many left. I had no idea that our kind could mate with fox fey. Or have children with them, at least. Where did you find the fleabag? Don’t usually see them anywhere outside the mountains.”

  “Found him in a cage in an abandoned way station when we were looking for food. He wasn’t much more than skin and bones. She begged me. I couldn’t say no.”

  Mayur chuckled and tossed a piece of gristle into the fire. It flared up, crackling, sending sparks swirling in a mad dance into the jeweled night sky. Despite his tendency not to trust strangers, Ashe found himself smiling. A good meal and friendly company did much for one’s mood, he found.

  “Yes, children will do that. Where are you headed?”

  Ashe nodded toward the forest and the mountains beyond. “Home.”

  “What is home?”

  “Whatever is left of my mate’s Kit tribe. They will help my daughter find her way in the world. Her purpose.”

  Mayur’s brow creased. “Are they still alive? Her tribe?”

  “I don’t know. They fled long ago, and no one really knows where. But there’ll be water if the gods will it. Did you see it?” Ashe gestured back over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come. “The gossamer?”