The first snow of the season had turned the large rock over Twitch’s burrow into an island emerging from a white pond. An icy breeze made its way through the trees and carried a few leaves across the unmoving snow. Snow had blown underneath the overhang, blocking the larger entrances and the small mice-ways Nero and his brothers used.
Images from the previous night’s dream came flooding back. Konal chasing me, finding fox-Bremen hurt in the snow, and a missing entrance that trapped me outside.
Russet nudged me out of my thoughts. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just an image from the dream,” I said. “Konal chased me here. There was no entrance, only stone.”
Sylvia hopped alongside me. “Is that him?”
Twitch was digging at a run, the weasel pushing snow out of the way. The dream image clung to my mind, telling me it was real and Twitch was not.
Thankfully, the white-pond was only about half a paw deep and easily hopped across. I let the others get ahead of me and tried to clear my head. Being closer to the entrance helped a little.
The crunch of the snow alerted Twitch to our approach. He stood on his hind legs and watched us. “Hello Russet, Bremen. Is this Sylvia?”
“Call me Syl,” she said. “How do you know who I am?”
“Herbalist grass weave,” Twitch said. He looked a little nervous, unsure how to explain his familiarity with the warren. “I knew Herb, and he mentioned Thistle’s apprentice.”
She hopped forward to sniff at Twitch. “You don’t smell like herbs, more like mice.” She gulped and added, “No blood though.”
He shied away from the attention. “It was cold. They all huddled together and were kind enough to help me keep warm. In return, I helped them dig out this morning.”
“Don’t weasels eat mice?” she asked, ears shaking and pointing forward.
“I don’t,” Twitch replied. “Nor rabbits.”
“Then what do you eat?”
“Uh...” Twitch stammered, “I’ve been taking scraps from a local wolf pack. Only every half-moon or so. Usually, I survive on berries and insects.”
“Those aren’t enough.” Sylvia leaned in to paw at Twitch’s side. His ribs were noticeable in the morning light. She asked, “You steal scraps from a wolf pack?”
“Regent was willing to share for tales of his exiled son.” Twitch turned his head away. “Rebel is an old friend.”
“Was he like you?” Sylvia asked. “Someone who didn’t eat mice?”
“I’ve never actually seen him hunt,” Twitch said. “From what I understand, he doesn’t kill.”
“How could he find enough food to survive?” Sylvia continued to crowd Twitch, nudging against his thin frame and taking a look at the weasel’s ribs. “How can you?”
“Rebel is a seer,” Russet offered. “Perhaps that’s how he survives.”
Sylvia grunted and took another sniff of Twitch, ears splaying sideways.
Twitch coughed. “I make due. I’m no seer, but I can scavenge better than a wolf.”
“But there won’t be many insects or grubs now that it’s winter,” Sylvia said. “Is there an herb you can take?”
“None of the herbalists I talked to had ever considered herbs as an alternative to meat. And none had any idea how to make one.”
“Maybe I can help you experiment,” Sylvia offered. “And Russet, you’ll help too, right?”
“Yes, of course,” Russet said.
With a laugh, Sylvia turned to Russet and hopped around him once. “We can work on it over the winter.”
“Wait.” Twitch shrugged off his embarrassment at the implied claim on his friend and let out a slight hiss. “Russet, you’re not returning to Hazelford?”
“Sylvia is the one who found me last fall.” Russet lowered his ears. “But I was thinking of staying before I found out. I can do a lot of good here.”
“Then I will have to get to know you.” Twitch gave Sylvia a nod. “Thank you for helping my brother.”
“That’s right, the oath you took. There’s more, isn’t there?” Sylvia shook her head. “But that can wait until we save the warren. You were going to talk to the owls about Hue’s death?”
“Yes,” Twitch said. “Best to wake them sooner rather than later. They’re staying awake for us. Sylvia, if we get separated, can you find your way back here?”
“Of course.”
Twitch poked his nose into one of the small openings and shouted a quick, “Nero, I’m heading out.”
The group of us headed out of the clearing and through the snow-covered forest. The forest was quiet; except for a few birds calling to each other, there was no activity. We crossed the badger’s tracks once, but in general the snow was undisturbed. I jumped at a few sets of fox-tracks that weren’t there when I landed. A few drops of blood here and there likewise vanished when someone else looked. Staying focused kept the hallucinations in their place, but my mind kept wanting to drift back to the dream.
“Bremen, are you okay?” Twitch asked when we took a short break.
“I think so,” I said. “More nightmares about foxes. I tried to talk to Basil about them, which got him to attack me.”
Twitch frowned. “How long has it been since they haunted you when you were awake?”
“Last spring, but that stopped once Lord Sun showed himself. This feels different.” I flicked an ear at Sylvia and took a breath. “My best guess is it’s how the foxes are controlling Fig. Which means I might be next. I’m not sure about Basil, but I know Fig has been trying to warn us, in his own way.”
“What?!” Sylvia grunted. “That’s what you think is going on?”
“It’s my current thought.” I winced under her gaze. “As I said, I didn’t want to accuse anyone without being sure.”
“Then why say it now?”
There was an awkward silence. I didn’t want to say that I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to explain things later. For a number of possible reasons.
Russet finally said, “Because this is the life you’d be sharing with me. If you still want me to stay.”
“I’d say I wanted a time to adjust before more surprises, but the next attack is tomorrow. Only, how could they control Fig?” Sylvia asked. “Neither type of nightshade required for that herb are common around here, and you’d need a lot to keep both of them dosed with Bitterberry this long. Besides, it has to be smeared on; it would matt their fur.”
“We thought it was a seer-trick,” I said. “But at this point, it’s only a guess.”
“But it makes sense to you. And Russet.” She sighed. “So, we’re meeting the owls at their public nest, right?”
“Yes.” Twitch explained, “They’re a bonded pair. Taran will do most of the talking but will take cues from Belenus. If they’re interested or not, she’ll show it. So long as we leave when they ask us, we’ll be safe. They do too much trading and gossip to risk damaging their reputation. Are we ready?”
With that, we traveled further, until we stopped by a gnarled, almost broken, tree. Dwarfed by the surrounding forest, it still loomed over the four of us. The bark was dark and seemed to twist in on itself, bent from old age and ancient trials. Deformed branches reached upward, leafless in the winter chill, covered instead with angry looking needles as long as my paw. In a simple roost, on one of the lower branches, the two great owls huddled and napped in the morning light.
A lichen-spotted rock about a rabbit height and maybe a half-bound across provided a platform to address our hosts and to spread out the herbs we intended to trade. Russet and Sylvia started unpacking their bags as I noted the talon-grooves that marred the stone in several places. While weathered, they were fresh enough to remind us what could happen if things went poorly.
Twitch stood on his hind legs and called out a basic owl phrase, “Greetings, honored hosts. May we seek an audience?”
With a deliberate pace, the bundle of feathers rustled. A slightly lighter-feathered head lifted from the mass and turned around. A black beak crept around the head and was framed by two ridges that sheltered pale eyes. The eyes squinted in the sun as the round face they were set in aimed directly at Twitch. Blind in the light but able to hear our breathing, its body turned as well. The larger, darker-feathered owl shook itself awake, but stayed behind the first one.
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“Who disturbs Taran’s rest?” the owl in front demanded. “You have until my eyes adjust to state your reason.”
“I am Twitch; we have spoken before.” He switched into Lapine. “Forgive my use of the rabbit language, but I hope that all here may understand each other. My pale companion is Bremen. This is Russet. And I believe you have already met Sylvia.”
“Thistle’s apprentice?” Taran switched to Lapine like he was born speaking it. “Indeed, this is a good day. We have missed trading with your teacher and look forward to establishing a new agreement with the warren. Allow me to remind you of my other half, Belenus.”
The larger owl nodded lightly, still blinking against the sun. “Rabbits do make the more interesting herbs. And gossip. There are many questions we seek proper answers for.”
Twitch nodded. “Of course, great owls. We also have many questions, ones that require long memories from times before our meager lives.”
Belenus clicked her beak and Taran leaned forward. His talons dug lightly into the branch beneigh him. “Let the apprentice speak for herself.”
“Of course,” Sylvia hopped forward as Twitch stepped back. “The warren has long valued the wisdom of the owls. We welcome whatever counsel you deem to bestow, and the rare herbs from your vast territory.”
Taran ruffled his feathers.
Sylvia added, “I mean, we welcome the chance to trade. We brought what herbs we could, but the warren is almost destroyed. We seek knowledge, so that your great understanding might illuminate a mystery. In return, anything we uncover would be yours.”
As Belenus’ eyes finally adjusted to the light, she took stock of the group before her. A scrawny weasel, two herbalists with sparse supplies, and an albino rabbit with an injured shoulder. Her gaze focused on me. With a slow tilt of her head, she invited my gaze to her toes. As Sylvia and Russet explained what they had to trade for information, Belenus scratched at the tree. The three talons of her left foot, the three of right, and again with her left. Three by three.
Stunned, I returned the code.
“You are his son, are you not?”
The discussion of herbs stopped; even Taran stepped to the side to let Belenus lean forward.
“Blackfeather is my father.”
“And Sathe is our son.” She tensed, head forward, wings still down, but preparing to fly if she chose.
The memory, dream, story of Sathe struck. “Run, little rabbit.” It wasn’t real. No one said those words. I winced and forced myself not to collapse.
“I know of him, but I have not met him in this life,” I managed to say. “My father saved him.”
With a huff, Beleanus ruffled her feathers and stepped back.
“Please forgive my mate,” Taran said. “After what Balethorn did to our son, storytellers are a sore subject.”
“Who are you talking about?” Sylvia asked.
“Sathe was a captive of Balethorn’s storytelling,” Taran grumbled. “When the mad king was killed, Blackfeather created an organization so that storytelling would be used for what he called ‘good’. It was the reason we didn’t scour his kind from the land.”
“How can a story make one captive?” Sylvia asked, then answered herself. “He was trapped in a web of lies and false information?”
“More or less.” Russet comforted her. “Twitch, Bremen and I belong to that order of storytellers. Cinnamon was also one. But, Blackfeather didn’t found it.”
Belenus tapped her toes, light but quick.
“So,” Taran said, “you came to talk of the foxes?”
“Yes,” I reluctantly agreed. My side ached from the memory of Sathe’s attack, but that was done to fox-Bremen, not me, and we had more pressing matters. “And a quick question. Two nights ago, I was pinned by one of the foxes. When I called for help, someone knocked her off of me, but I didn’t see them. Was that you?”
“No,” Belenus spat. “We would not save one of your kind.”
“Saving a storyteller is how we met,” Taran corrected. “Regardless, we weren’t there to see what happened.”
“Please forgive the question.” I gave a short nod. “Then, perhaps, we could ask about the confrontation between Hue and the foxes from several winters ago?”
“We didn’t see that directly, but the whole forest shook from the cry of her final vision,” Taran said. “Hue was one of our regular visitors, because her visions made other rabbits nervous but did not affect us the same way. They contained... Forgive me, your language does not have a word for it.”
“I speak Avian,” I offered. “Just use that one; I can explain it to the others if needed.”
“Her visions were in color. It’s like a shade, only much easier to tell apart. While many birds and similar animals can see color naturally, legend has it that a rabbit, weasel or fox cannot see more than the most basic of colors. And no matter who one is, Death’s eyes are always blood-red.”
Sylvia spoke up. “Her visions were like touching Death. The older rabbits who experienced them were almost always haunted. That’s why Buttercup was so broken.”
“Yes,” Taran said. “Because owls can see color, they were only unusual for us, not scarring. She spent much time here, and often came on the days her visions were strongest.”
“Fourth days?” I asked, and Taran nodded.
“The day she died, one of her visions washed over the forest. Every bird remembers that day.” Taran winced. “We were a flight away, but even at that distance, there was an impression of falling from a great height. Some of us were lucky enough to be nested when it hit. Most recovered quickly enough, but several hurt themselves. We quickly went to find where it had come from.
“At the bottom of a nearby cliff there were four foxes and Hue, all dead from the fall. Perhaps they were scared off the cliff by her vision; perhaps the vision made the fall deadlier. Out of respect for Hue, we told your warren that Hue had sacrificed herself and the foxes were gone.”
“Examining where the original vision might help,” Russet said. “If it looks like what I sensed in the warren, it would show a clear link.”
“Do you know the names of the foxes?” I asked.
“There was the vixen, Talus, and the others were Chiron, Fang, and the leader, Konal.”
Belenus interrupted, “No dear. Konal was injured by the wolf pack.”
“That’s right,” he corrected. “When they were attacking the warren, Chiron was in charge.”
For some reason, my face and ears felt warm at that thought. I remembered Chiron was a cute, friendly fox when I first met him, full of life and—how did I know who he was? How could I know that his small face only smiled for Talus, and was the same as one I’d seen recently?
“He’s Chimera,” I blurted out. “Chimera is Chiron.”
Belenus was in front of Taran again, eyes and face fully focused on me. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t–” I took a step back, but my hind leg gave out under my weight. There was an old wound that ached and never healed properly.
Belenus leapt from her perch and landed right next to me. She poked at my hind leg with her dangerous beak. “You are not injured! What story is this? What trick?”
“Belenus!” Taran shouted. “He is our guest. Let him speak the truth.”
She lingered, the talons on her feet brushing my haunch. “And only the truth, or this wound will become very real.”
“I had a dream last night about Konal!” I pushed the panic down. “He had the injured leg, not me. I’ve met Chimera, but he never used the name Chiron. I shouldn’t know him, but I do. Just like in the dream, Konal knew who I was. Or I remembered things about Bremen. Fox-Bremen! Chimera bit me; he’s some kind of seer and I think it caused the dream. But Chiron wasn’t. I don’t know how I know he wasn’t, but I know it. That’s all!”
Inscrutable, Belenus stormed off, flapping up to a high branch on the tree. Taran gaped, looking at me, then where she went, then back at the group.
“You’re a fox,” Taran observed. “You’re the fox, the one our son attacked. For that, we are sorry. Calm yourself. There is more you were going to say.”
Belenus landed behind Taran with a bundle of something wrapped in dried leaves. She took a moment to preen a few feathers before settling down.
I looked between them as Russet and Twitch nudged me in support. “We suspect that the foxes are using these dreams to control Fig and maybe Basil. I’m worried that they might want to control me the same way. In my dream, Konal seemed to need me afraid. It’s a little hazy at this point. I’m sorry.”
“Unfortunately, we do not know Fig or Basil,” Taran said. “So, we cannot offer you insight there. You have let us know these are the same foxes, be they ghosts or some echo of Hue’s vision. It is strange, though, that the leader chose a new name from a rabbit myth.”
“Other species have that myth,” I said. “I know wolves and bears both have a version.”
“In the wolf-version, which a fox is most likely to know, the monster was called Chiemon—winter,” Taran said. “Quite a different name.”
“Chimera did speak Lapine to Lily.” I winced and flattened my ears. “Maybe Basil gave Chiron his new name. That would imply Basil is behind this. Could he hate the warren that much?”
“Hue’s vision could have caught them between life and death,” Russet guessed. “I’ve never heard of a real ghost before, but it’s an idea. And Basil could have let them out. Or some mix of them controlling him, but needing him to let them out.”
“But that’s impossible.” Sylvia looked at the two of us. “Isn’t it?”
Belenus hooted. “Things can be drawn from elsewhere through a vision. Sathe witnessed it once while under Balethorn’s control. A powerful seer called forth a fiend from a strange other world. Hue’s visions were powerful enough to call forth color, and the vision that killed her appeared strong enough to violate the natural order.”
“My father didn’t tell me that part of the story.” I shuddered. “How was the fiend dealt with?”
“The seer who called forth the vision of elsewhere was needed to send it back. Unfortunately, this time, Hue is dead.”
“If Basil was infected by Hue’s vision…” Russet pondered. “He’s a seer, and could be some kind of conduit. Seer’s visions can interact strangely, as each tries to impose its own logic on the other.”
“Which would explain the four-day schedule. They’re stronger on those days, or appear easier. It’s a mixture of the two styles of visions.” I grunted. “If he called them forth, we’ll need Basil to put things back. I wish Rebel had come with us; we could use another seer’s insight.”
Sylvia spoke up, directly addressing the owls. “Are there other seers nearby?”
Belenus clicked her beak once and nudged the folded bundle of leaves to Taran. He nodded and flew it down to us.
“Not within a day’s travel.” He paused and unfolded the pouch, separating herbs. “Some Twilight Heart for your information. One Everwatch. Ah, here.” He picked up a separate bundle with the talons of his foot and placed it slowly in front of me. “Thistle visited us before his death. He said that this should be given to his apprentice. She would come with a fox to stop the foxes. It is yours.”
Russet gasped, then slowly advanced. He sniffed the pouch in disbelief.
Sylvia folded her ears back, concerned. “What is it?”
“It’s divinorum. The raw form of Seerleaf.”