Windswept: The Mapweaver Chronicles, #1

For Mom

Your magic could never be written, or replaced

Chapter One

Caravan

Fox sat cross-legged on the upstairs windowsill, nose pressed against the cold glass.  His breath clung to the windowpanes, slightly obscuring his view with each steady exhale.  Every so often he would raise a finger and sketch pictures in the foggy glass, briefly clearing a patch of window before his breath misted it over once more.  Outside, a cold spring sunrise was only just beginning to brush the frost-covered grass, but Fox knew that the whole of Thicca Valley was awake.  Awake, and waiting.     

Even through the haze, Fox could see all the way to the outskirt farms.  Every chimney was smoking, and every kitchen window was lit.  Here and there he could see shadows moving in the weak morning light: children running to the valley pub, hoping for news, or mothers shaking out rugs and anxiously peering up at the mountain road.  Downstairs, Fox knew his own mother was busy sweeping the stone kitchen floor.  Again.   

As if the house could possibly be any cleaner.  But Father was coming home any day now, and Fox knew better than to argue when Mother started worry-cleaning.  It was easier simply to take his chore assignments and do them without complaint.  And so, Fox and Mother had both spent the last week washing windows and scrubbing doorframes, airing the bedding, and sweeping out all of the fireplaces.

It wasn’t just Mother.  Everyone got restless this time of year.  Winter was releasing its tyrannical grasp on the valley, and spring was beginning to fight its way through the ice.  And with that first hint of warmth, every Thiccan began looking west, watching for a sign of movement on the mountain road.  The waresmen were coming home from their yearly trade caravan, bringing with them the provisions and coin required to make it through another year.  They’d been gone all winter, and the moment the Tessoc Pass cleared, their wives and children started looking for their return.  Fox’s own father was among them, Thicca Valley’s only trapper and fur-trader.  Any day now, someone would spot that first wagon emerging from between the peaks.  And until then, people watched, waited, and indulged their anxious little habits.

Something moved at the corner of Fox’s vision, making him turn to look.  A bird was winging its way toward the Five Sides, the valley pub.  It was a small, grey bird, with a scrap of blue tied around its ankle.  A short-range messenger bird, probably coming from one of the mines.  As Fox watched, the bird disappeared behind the pub.  He waited for several minutes, but no responding bird was sent out.  A lunch order, then.  Or a trivial piece of news.  Nothing serious or urgent, and certainly nothing interesting enough that it might take his mind off waiting.  So instead, Fox scrubbed the glass clean of its fine layer of mist and turned back to watching the cold and dark mountain road.

He’d heard once that the country of Sovesta used to be warm and prosperous.  Now, looking out on the thick layer of frost that brushed the early spring grass, he found it hard to believe.  The legend was that Sovesta had been favored by the gods.  Then, it was a blessed nation, covered in rich, lush farmlands.  Until a foolish king, hundreds of years ago, had offended the gods.  Whether the king had stolen a god’s daughter or wife, or enslaved the god itself, Fox didn’t know.  Every storyteller spun the legend a little differently.  But the punishment was always told the same: a curse, throwing the country into turmoil.  Sovesta became a ruined nation, dominated by snow and ice.  The gods pulled the Highborn Mountains up from the earth to isolate Sovesta from the rest of the Central Kingdoms.  It was even said that before the curse, magic ran thick in the bloodlines of many Sovestan families.  But the gods stripped them of even their Blessings, leaving the country barren of any magical gift ever since.

Now, in Fox’s lifetime, the brief summer months were crucial.  Crops were planted early, sometimes even before the ground was fully thawed.  The whole of Thicca Valley worked tirelessly throughout the waking hours to store food and supplies for winter.  Children spent their days gathering firewood and fishing.  Meats were smoked, the small farms were constantly tended and everyone prayed that the snows would wait to fall until after the harvest.

And then as summer ended, just before the Tessoc Pass closed, the valley’s fire merchants, waresmen and traders would take to the Merchant’s Highway, journeying south to sell their wares.  Each year, Fox helped send his father off with the caravan, making sure his gear was in order and his goods were primed for selling.  And, each year, Fox grew more and more restless as he was left behind.  He knew that technically he was not old enough to be allowed to join the men, but he felt sure that he was ready.  His fifteenth birthday was coming up this summer, and already he knew more about trapping than Father himself had at that age.  But still, he was left behind.  And so, he filled his time during the dark winter months in the only way that kept him sane: he practiced.

Fox glanced down at the foot of his parents’ bed, where his welcome-home gift for Father lay, wrapped in thick brown paper.  A rabbit-fur vest, and matching hat.  All caught, skinned and treated by Fox himself, and carefully sewn together during the days of Deep Winter.  Yes, this year, he was sure of it.  This year, he’d be invited.  This year, Father would let him officially begin his apprenticeship.

The sun had risen properly, with no sign of the traders, by the time Fox decided to finally abandon his windowsill perch.  He slipped down to the floor and scurried across the hardwood planks to the ladder that led up to his room.

Houses were built to stay warm in Thicca Valley, nestled as it was in the Highborn Mountains.  The cabins were tight and cozy, with rooms kept small to better hold the heat from the fires.  Fox’s room was more of an alcove set into the upper wall of his parents’ bedroom.  It was just tall enough that he couldn’t quite stand upright in it anymore, but he needed little space.  The walls had been carved into shelves and nooks for his personal things, and an old trunk sat at the foot of his sleeping pallet, just beside the ladder.  A single row of firestones, set directly into the curve where the wall met the ceiling, kept his nook warm and softly lit.

Fox rather liked his little room.  It reminded him of a den, or a burrow, and he’d always felt comfortable in tight spaces.  It was one of the many reasons his nickname, Fox, was so appropriate.  That, and his often uncanny animal instincts.  He had a keen nose for weather and, somehow, managed never to get lost.  He supposed this was why Father found him such an invaluable trapping companion.  Of course, one of the other reasons his nickname was so apt was his size.  While the people of Thicca Valley were often small and sturdy, Fox was simply small.  He had none of the natural bulk that the miners were built with, and he could never spend his days hauling ore and felling trees like so many of the other youth his age.  His talents were in his fast fingers, nimble feet and the ability to slip soundlessly to and from the forest path like so many of the beasts he and Father hunted.

Fox dressed quickly, pulling on his own rabbit-fur vest, and lacing his knives into place around his waist and thighs.  He tied Father’s old scarf around his neck as he slid back down his ladder, and finally made his way to the ground floor.

An overwhelming and mouth-watering bouquet of smells met him as he entered the kitchen.  It seemed that Mother had moved on from sweeping, and had now thrown herself into cooking.  A whole tub of freshly-peeled potatoes sat beside the large, circular firepit at the heart of the kitchen.  A bundle of small, plucked chickens sat on the counter top, waiting to be roasted on the spit, but Mother herself was nowhere in sight.

The kitchen door was propped open.  A cool breeze swept through it, airing out the cabin, and bringing with it two female voices.  The lower one was unmistakably Mother.  And the other?  Fox smiled, scooped himself a cold cup of elk broth and a hunk of bread for breakfast, and went out to join them.

The raised porch curved most of the way around the cabin, built up several lengths from the ground to accommodate firewood storage underneath.  Fox followed the voices around the corner, to the back stairs, where Mother sat with a young, dark-haired girl Fox had known all of his life.  The two were up to their elbows in a basket of mussels, scrubbing grit and sand from their shells.

The girl looked up at his approach, a mocking smirk on her face.  Look who finally decided to wake up and join the living, she teased.

Fox hopped up on the porch railing, being sure to kick the girl gently in the shoulder as he did so.  Laila Blackroot, the innkeeper’s daughter, was Fox’s closest friend in the world.  His own parents treated her like family, and her father did the same for Fox.  With Fox’s father gone so often, and Lai’s mother dead long ago, the Blackroot and Foxglove families had come to rely on each other quite comfortably.  Lai pulled her weight as much as any of the boys, often keeping Fox company in his own chores.  He returned the favor at the Five Sides when he could, and the two spent their warmer months running all over the valley.  They hauled water, delivered food to the mines, cut firewood, and filled their nets with more fish than anyone else.

Good that the mussels are back, said Fox through a mouthful of bread.

Decent fishing won’t be far behind, confirmed Lai.  And I’ll be the first to find it.  Been checking every day.

There’s a finely-knitted shawl and an iron bit in it for you if you give me first pick, said Mother, stopping to tuck a stray hair back into place behind her ear.

As always, Mum Foxglove, said Lai.

Fox finished his breakfast while they worked, breathing in the cold morning air.  It was fresh, filled with woodsmoke and the bite of frost.  And, somewhere in the distance, snow.  It would snow tonight, he could smell it.  Around dusk, by his reckoning.  And his reckoning was almost never wrong.

Soon, the mussels were cleaned and prepared for cooking, and Mother retreated to the kitchen once more.  She made Fox and Lai promise to air out the stable before they left, and the two obediently set off across the small stretch of property.

The family’s pony, Cobb, was out on the caravan, so Fox didn’t spend much time in the stables during winter.  But with the caravan on its way home, now was the time to ready it for habitation once more.  As they worked, Lai chatted on about this and that.  Her father’s plans for the Homecoming Festival; the Bracken boys and their troublemaking; how much she loved the smell of fresh hay as she laid it down on the stall floor.  And Fox was content to listen as the two worked their way through a steady stream of chores, preparing the stable for Cobb’s return. 

They had done this so many times, for so many years in a row, that it was a habit by now.  Lai was a good hand’s-breadth taller than Fox, and so it was she who pulled things from the high shelves and took to climbing up to dust the rafters.  Fox himself kept to the floors and checking that the woodwork hadn’t been compromised by the winter.

It was absorbing work, and easy enough to lose himself in.  Even so, each time he passed the small window, or the open stable door, Fox found himself glancing out across the valley, trying to catch the slightest glimpse of movement on the mountain road.

All that looking won’t make him come home faster, said Lai finally, pulling bits of straw from her long black braids.

Fox rolled his eyes.  "Easy for you to say.  You’ve never had anyone go out!  Your pa’s got the inn, and all your cousins are miners, except Picck.  No one in your family’s a waresman."  Fox kicked lightly at the doorframe, dislodging clumps of dirt and straw from his boot.

But he’s on his way home now, so it won’t be too long to wait, said Lai, coming to stand beside Fox.

He smiled ruefully at her.  Always the cheerful one, aren’t you?

She placed her hands on either side of his face and grinned.  Have to be, don’t I?  Without me, you’d only smile maybe twice a year! And she pushed, squishing Fox’s face out of shape and making his lips pop out, startling a laugh out of him.  Ha! Lai said triumphantly.  They both knew perfectly well that she was the only person in the world who could get away with a move like that.  Anyone else, and Fox would have punched them in the nose.  But instead, she scurried away, laughing as Fox chased her all the way down to the river.

AN HOUR LATER, SOAKED from the knees down and armed with a fresh basket of mussels for the kitchen, Lai and Fox sloshed into the Five Sides Inn and Tavern.  Da, I’m home! Lai called out.  They heard a muffled reply from the basement.  C’mon, said Lai, over here.  He’ll be up soon, I’m sure.

They heaved the soaking basket up onto a long table and collapsed onto either side of it, stripping off their wet shoes and stockings.  This early in the day, the common room was completely empty.  The long wooden tables were clean, the air free of the usual smells of pipe smoke and ale.  A fresh pile of firewood was stacked neatly on the wide, stone hearth, and the dark wooden beams running from floor to ceiling were wiped clean of their nightly film of soot, bringing decades of carved initials dancing across their surfaces into sharp focus.

It was easy to imagine that The Five Sides had been around since the beginning of time, and certainly since the beginning of Thicca Valley.  The tavern was the heart of the town, both in location and importance.  It had been there all of Fox’s life, and he spent more time in the tavern than his own home when Father was gone.  But while it was a staple of Thiccan life now, Fox knew that it hadn’t always been so.  He loved to hear Lai tell the story.

My grandpa was sixteen, she would say.  "He was the youngest of six brothers, and he hated working the mines.  So one day, he didn’t show.  Instead, he wandered around town, looking for another job."

But, of course, you didn’t just find another job in the valley.  You worked the life you were born into.  Fathers taught their trades to sons, or the occasional nephew.  Family businesses were passed down through bloodlines, or inherited through marriage.  And every so often, if you happened to show a natural talent toward a certain profession, you might be taken on as an apprentice.  But to leave your place in the community when you had nowhere else to go ... it was unthinkable.  It was madness.

Mad, that’s right, Lai would say.  That’s what they all called him when he knocked on the waresmen’s doors, looking for work.  They told him ‘Go back to the mines, boy!  You’re no use to us here!’ And she would flap her hands, as if shooing away a flock of crows.  But he didn’t go back.  And when he refused to go back to the mines, his parents threw him out.  So what do you do when you’ve got no place to stay?

Once, when hearing Lai tell the Five Sides Tale to a group of younger children, Fox heard one little girl say excitedly, No bedtimes!  Another time, a goat breeder’s son piped up with, You sleep in the barn loft, like my da does every time ma kicks him out!

But the correct answer was, You build a place of your own!

Lai would continue.  "He traded every favor he had to buy the empty scrap of land where the old bakery used to be, before it burned down.  And he started to lay out a foundation and such, a wall here and a doorway there.

And every night, men would come by on their way back from the mines.  Or they would come into the town square from the farms, hoping to buy flour or trade with the fire merchants.  And then, suddenly, the men were offering to help.  They would help lay stones, or cut wood, just for a little while to take their minds off mining or the children or waiting for dinner.

It was Fox’s favorite part of the story.  He loved to picture it.  He could just imagine all of the men in town, coming together for no good reason, but enjoying each other’s company all the same.  And then, as Lai would continue her tale, he would find himself wishing that he could have been a part of that accidental team so many years ago.

It was summertime, Lai would say, so the evenings were still light.  Women started bringing dinners to the men out in the square, instead of making them come home to eat.  And the whole valley watched and helped the building come together.  And while grandpa didn’t know what his new house was going to become in the beginning, he started to figure it out with those nightly parties.  He hated mining, but he loved this.  Being around all the people, and talking and laughing and eating together.  So, the plan changed.  The house kept growing and stretching, filling all the space he’d bought and even a bit more, but nobody minded.  By the first snowfall of the season, he’d opened his doors.

It was all of this adjusting, and changing the design halfway through the building process, that gave The Five Sides its name.  It was an unbalanced and sprawling building, and the far left wall was much longer than the right, but the valley loved it.  And Fox, looking around at the polished oak bar, and the glowing embers in both the gigantic fireplace on the far wall and the circular fire pit at the heart of the room, loved it too.

And, of course, Lai would say as she neared the end of her tale, let’s not forget the heroine of our story.

Everyone knew her name.  It was carved ornately onto the mantlepiece for all to see, and it was always kept clean.  Sometimes Lai’s audience would answer excitedly, all at once.  At other times, the name would trickle around the room in a series of whispers, like a breeze.  "Amaree."

Grandad met the baker’s daughter by accident one day.  He was working on his own while everyone else was off in the mines.  Almost all of the walls were up, and he was experimenting with different brews to give the men.  Getting quite good at it, too.  He was gathering blackroot at the edge of the forest when a shoe dropped out of the trees and hit him on the head.

This part of the story always made the girls in the audience giggle excitedly.  And every so often, they would pipe in with the next few pieces of the tale.

He looked up, and there she was!

And he said, ‘What in Spirit’s name are you doing up there?’

And she tried to jump down and run home, but he caught her around the waist and wouldn’t let go until she told him why she was up in a tree, watching him!

During one such outbreak, Fox distinctly heard one of the miners by the fireplace say to his companion, Every girl in the valley hopes she can have a love story like this one.  So steer clear of the woods in the springtime.  Shoes dropping all over the place from eager hands.

Amaree had seen Grandad trading in the valley square one evening, Lai would continue.  She heard him talking about spices and recipes with her father, and you might say she liked the look of him.  The prospects for a baker’s youngest daughter aren’t the best, so Amaree took matters into her own hands.  And when Grandad caught her that day, she offered her services.  Here, Lai would smirk mischievously.  Offered, I say, but truthfully she wouldn’t take no for an answer.  When Grandad sent her home, saying he didn’t need any help, did she listen?

An emphatic No! from her listeners would echo through the common room.

Every morning he would find her in the kitchen, pounding out dough and grinding cinnamon.  And every morning he would kick her out.  But she came back in the evening with the dinner customers.  She’d sweep floors and clean up tables.  Run drinks from the bar.  She would stay until closing.  For weeks this went on, until one day Grandad didn’t turn her away.  He handed her a key and said, ‘Take the room at the far end.  I never fill it anyway.’  They were married at the midsummer festival, and the Five Sides remains, to this day, a tribute to the family they created here when they brought the valley together.

Fox had heard the story so many times, but it still made him feel warm and at home.  He looked around the empty common room and smiled to himself, excited for nightfall when the place would fill up with music and miners and games.

A heavy tread on the back stairs announced the arrival of Lai’s father, Borric Blackroot.  Moments later he emerged, a fresh barrel of drink balanced easily on his shoulder.  He was a massive bear of a man who made Fox’s own father seem downright weak in comparison.  What’s this? he said, his booming voice echoing in the empty tavern.  Dripping all over my clean floor?  He set the barrel down and swept Lai up into his arms.  "I ought to send you off to bed without supper.  For a month!  How would you like that, little missy? he said.  He sounded completely serious, and slightly terrifying, but Fox knew the man all too well.  Sure enough, Lai laughed and planted a kiss on her father’s cheek, and his false anger melted into a warm smile.  I suppose I’ll let it slide, just this once."  But Fox and Lai both knew that Borric would never punish her, nor would he ever need to.  Lai did more than her fair share of work around the tavern, and the few times she actually did get into any real trouble, Borric would laugh it off and say That’s my girl!

Fox found Lai and her father to be fascinating.  They seemed to enthusiastically break the rules of Thicca Valley, where people were often smaller and stockier than they were in the south.  But here was Borric, big enough to graze the sides of any door frame, and his daughter, slight and delicate and taller than all of the other girls.  They were a mismatched pair if ever there was one, and they attracted oddballs and strays like moths to a candle.  And Fox, quite proudly, was one of them.

Borric set Lai back on her feet.  Off to the kitchen then.  Put those wet things up to dry, and take care of those mussels.  You brought ’em, you clean ’em.  Picck’s got enough work to be getting on with, without you adding to it.  As Lai scrambled into the kitchen, Fox scooped his boots and socks off the floor and nodded to Borric, who hoisted the ale barrel onto his shoulder again and said, Your mother’s doing well, I take it? 

Very well, sir, said Fox.  She’s cleaned the house so much this week, Father won’t even know he’s in the right place.  And he followed Lai into the kitchen as Borric’s hearty laughter filled the air.

The kitchen fireplace was already lit and crackling merrily, bathing the room in warmth.  At the hearth, Lai was laying out her wet socks and tucking firestones into the toes of her boots to help them dry faster.  As Fox joined her, there was a cheerful cry of welcome from across the kitchen.  Morning, Foxglove!

Lai grinned at Fox, and he rolled his eyes.  His full name, Forric Foxglove, was almost never spoken.  He’d always preferred simply Fox.  But Lai’s cousin Picck, the kitchen boy, ignored this completely.  Fox dropped his socks next to Lai’s and turned to greet Picck with a resigned smile.  You owe me for that, Picck-ling, he said.

Picck smiled a wide, red-cheeked smile, and Fox felt his slight irritation simply fizzle away.  Picck was so genial, and so delightfully odd-looking, that Fox could never stay mad at him for long.  Lai’s cousin looked absolutely nothing like her or her father.  His hair was so curly and bushy Fox wondered how he ever ran a comb through it.  His ears stuck out too far, and his nose was almost the only thing on his whole face that you noticed.  Still, he had always been a good friend to Fox, despite his oddities.  Well, I’m working on something special just for you, you know, he said, giving Fox a quick punch on the arm.  Smell it out, and you’ll get the first taste.

Obediently, Fox closed his eyes and breathed in deep.  Rabbit; cinnamon sticky buns; fresh spring onions; rabbit stew with carrots and corn-silk mushrooms.  And there, another scent.  Fox felt a wide grin spread across his face as he opened his eyes.  My bread.

Ha! said Picck, clapping Fox on the back.  I tell you, that nose of yours could find a lost snowflake in a blizzard.

The rosemary bread? asked Lai.  When Picck nodded, she squealed excitedly.  Oh, how long until it’s done?

Another hour, but you get those mussels done and it’ll make the time go by faster.

They set to work, sitting and scrubbing the mussels by the fire.  As they did, Picck bustled around the kitchen singing.

Picck was nearly seventeen, but he’d been working at the Five Sides since he was nine.  He belonged to Borric’s younger sister, and while all her family were miners, Picck’s lungs weren’t right for mining work.  But even from childhood, his family knew he was a very gifted cook.  So, when it came time for him to start learning a trade, he moved into the kitchen, where he rolled out a sleeping pallet by the fire for himself every night.  Borric had offered him a room, or even a space in the basement storage, but Picck refused time and time again.  So finally, they just let him be.

The mussels were scrubbed clean and a whole bundle of onions chopped when finally Fox and Lai were excused with a hot loaf of rosemary bread each.  They sat on the bar in the common room to eat it, munching away happily as they watched Borric wipe down the mantle.  And then they sat playing cards, waiting for the tavern to fill.

The children were first in.  As they finished their chores, they came looking for news.  When Borric said he hadn’t heard anything, some of them joined in the card game, and others went home to update their mothers.  Then some of the shopkeepers wandered in and ordered drinks, and sat down to wait.  Outside, a light snow began to fall as afternoon faded into evening, and Fox smiled to himself in satisfaction.  His nose never lied.

The youth from the mines started trickling in, shaking snow from their hair and clothes.  A handful joined in the game, but most sat, exhausted, by the now-roaring fire.  By full dark, it seemed most of the valley was packed into the Five Sides.  Farmers and their wives, and most of the miners.  Almost all of the children had come back and were gathered on or around the bar with Fox and Lai.  Many of the waresmen’s wives were perched on stools by the fire, telling their neighbors over and over that no, they hadn’t heard anything yet.

Hours dragged by, with heads turning every time the door opened and people pressing their faces to the windows whenever someone thought they heard something.  But finally, when Dirrik Bracken fell asleep in his stew, the women of the valley seemed to decide that they’d had enough waiting for tonight.  Fox watched as the tavern began to empty again, with mothers plucking their children out of the group and wives dragging their husbands away to bed.  His own mother, who’d made a brief appearance for supper and then disappeared again, wasn’t the kind to come and fetch him, but Fox knew on his own when it was time to go home.  He said goodbye to Lai and fetched his warm, dry shoes from the kitchen, then journeyed out into the cold spring night.

It was still snowing, but Fox didn’t mind.  It would be over by tomorrow morning, he was sure.  As he made his way home, his eyes kept wandering to the Highborns.  He wondered if Father was as eager to get home as they were to have him.  Well, he would ask him tomorrow.

Tomorrow.  Fox stopped, frowning.  He hadn’t meant to think it, but now that he had he was sure.  Tomorrow.  The caravan would be home around midday tomorrow.  He could feel it, just like the snow.  He could smell it.

Fox rubbed his nose vigorously and then breathed in, focusing hard.  There were the smells of the tavern behind him, and the Lillywhites’ grain mill far off to his left.  The familiar odors of the valley that he’d known all his life.  And then, there was just the hint of something else.  Something he couldn’t place.  But he knew it was the caravan.

He wondered for a moment if he should turn back, and announce to those few left at the tavern that the caravan was near.  But, almost at once, he reconsidered.  No one would believe him, of course.  Why would they?  Smelling the caravan ... it sounded like nonsense, even to him.  Lai would believe him, perhaps, but she would be busy now helping her father clean up.  If tomorrow came and went with no homecoming, then who had to know?  And if they did show up ... well.  That was another matter entirely.

FOX DIDN’T WASTE TIME waiting by the bedroom window the next morning.  Instead he dressed at top speed, hurried through breakfast and then got right to his chores.  By the time Lai came to see him, Fox had weeded the back garden, gathered wild goose eggs from the riverbank, and snared a beaver which he then traded for a packet of soap cakes.  Lai found him on the front porch, scrubbing a pair of trousers in the washbucket.  Need a hand? she asked, leaning on the railing.

Nope, he said, almost done.

Good, said Lai.  Then you can come berry-picking with me.  Dad says the timing is perfect, because the lingonberries are newly showing, and they’re just tart enough for his pies!

Fox looked up quickly from his washing.  Did he hear something?  About the caravan?  Because if he’s starting to make his pies, it means he’s preparing for the Homecoming and that means he knows —

No, nothing yet, said Lai.  He just wants to get things ready.  He’s waiting to make the crust, but he wants his berries now before the rabbits start getting at them.

Fox wrung out his pants and hung them over the porch railing to dry, thinking hard.  Then, as casually as he could, he said, Maybe he should start making all those crusts anyway.  You know, just in case.

In case?

In case the caravan comes home soon ... or today.  Fox turned away from his laundry and went on quickly.  I mean, so many pie crusts must take a long time, right?  And he should really be prepared, shouldn’t he?  Because there’s always a chance that they could be home sometime today ... this morning, or afternoon, or ...

Fox? said Lai carefully, have you heard something?  When Fox didn’t answer, she cocked her head to one side curiously.  What’s going on?

Lai would believe him.  She had to.  She was Fox’s best friend in the entire world, and she had always been on his side.  Fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, he said, Last night ... I had a feeling.  It was like I could smell them coming.

Like with the snow? said Lai.

Exactly! said Fox excitedly, glad she was catching on so quickly.

So when are they due?

This afternoon.  At least, I think this afternoon.  This has never happened to me before, so I’m not exactly sure, and I don’t —

"You don’t want to say anything, in case it turns out not to be true," Lai finished for him.  She stood there for a moment, surveying him thoughtfully.  Then, she seemed to come to a decision.  She turned abruptly and started back down the road.

Where are you —

I’ll take care of it, she called over her shoulder.  Come by when you’re done!

Fox watched her go, a slight smile tugging at his lips.  Not for the first time, he found himself amazed by Laila Blackroot.

AN HOUR BEFORE THE midday bell, Fox let himself into the tavern’s kitchen entrance and stopped, staring around in amazement.  A thin cloud of flour hung in the air, and he was almost overwhelmed by the smells of fresh berries and honey.  Picck and Borric were rolling out and shaping pie crust so fast it made Fox dizzy just to watch.  He found Lai in the far corner, peeling her way through a pile of small, pink frost apples.

Lai? he said.  What did you do?

Da, Fox is here! called Lai, barely looking up from her work.

Ah, excellent. said Borric, looking over his shoulder and spotting Fox.  C’mere, boy.  I’ve got a job for you, too.

When Fox ambled over to the long counter, still amazed at the pie production surrounding him, Borric handed him a heavy bowl full of freshly-washed blackberries.  There’s cinnamon in the cupboard over there.  Just finished grinding it this morning.  Go mix.  And then he turned back to his crust and Fox hurried back to Lai’s corner, fishing the cinnamon out of the spice cupboard on the way.

He sat cross-legged on the floor next to Lai’s stool and began stirring cinnamon into the berry bowl, delighting for a moment in the mixture of smells.  Then he said in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, What’s going on?  What did you say to him?

Lai glanced quickly over her shoulder to make sure her father was occupied.  Then she said quietly, I told him you got a messenger bird from your father, but that it wasn’t set in stone and you didn’t want to excite the whole town.  Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.

His secret.  Was it that?  For a moment, Fox wondered what would be so wrong with telling Borric that he simply smelled the caravan coming.  Like he could with the snow.  His keen nose for weather was widely known, and Picck was fascinated by his ability to identify any scent.  So why was this any different?  Fox couldn’t even explain it to himself.  But for some reason he felt that if people knew, it would change the way everyone looked at him.  For now, better to keep it to himself.

The midday bell rang from the heart of the town square, making Fox jump and drop his spoon into the thick berry paste.  He looked up and met a pair of eyes that danced with excitement.  Well, Lai said, go and look!

Fox stood nervously and crept out into the common room, wiping his hands on his shirt front as he did so.  He climbed up onto one of the high benches at a table by the window and wiped a spot of glass clear with his sleeve.  His eyes found the mountain road, and for a moment he saw nothing but grey and snow.  And then, a flash of color caught his eye, and he shifted his gaze.  There, making its way down the last curve into the valley, was the caravan.  Father was home.

Chapter Two

The Homecoming

Things started happening so quickly Fox could barely keep up.  The bells in the square began to ring out again, and messenger birds filled the sky, heading to the mines and the outlying farms.  Within minutes, the town square was filling with eager families, and Borric was stoking the common room fire.  Then Fox was swept up in a flood of people taking refuge from the cold at the Five Sides.  He scrambled out of the way and hid in the kitchen with Lai, who was pulling a hot pie out of the oven.  It’s mad out there! said Fox.

As it should be! said Picck, swooping in quickly to scoop the pie out of Lai’s hands and set it on the cooling rack.  A little madness now and then is good for you, Foxglove.  Embrace it!

Go, said Lai excitedly.  Go see your father!

Yes, said Picck sagely.  Go to him.  Brave the madness!

Fox grinned and hurried back to the kitchen doorway, peering out into the common room.  He could hear cheering and whistles outside.  He put one foot out the door and then stopped, hesitating.  In a moment Lai was at his side.  Fox?  What’s wrong?

Fox turned to her.  I was right, he said quietly.  I knew they were coming.

Yes, said Lai, just as quietly.

What does this mean? he asked.

Lai bit her lip, for a moment looking just as lost as he felt.  I don’t know, she said finally.  She squeezed his shoulder, and Fox took a deep breath.  Then, he plunged into the sea of bodies, threading his way through the crowd to the open door.

Wagons and carts of all sizes were parked outside the tavern.  As Fox watched, a handful of women detached themselves from the crowd and ran to the caravan, throwing themselves into their husbands’ arms.  Children followed behind them, calling out and waving, and Fox craned his neck, looking around for his own father.  But before he could look very far, he was scooped up into the air and squeezed in a strong hug.  Dad! he said, throwing his arms around Father’s neck and hugging just as tight.

After a moment, Father peeled him away and set him back down on the ground.  Let me look at you, he said, and Fox stood up straight.  Father folded his arms across his broad chest.  You’ve gotten taller, he said sternly.  Taller is no good, you’ll lose your nimble footing and then you’ll be useless to me.

Sorry, sir, said Fox, grinning.  I’ll try to stop.

A broad smile broke through Father’s thick, black beard, and he ruffled Fox’s hair.  Well, it’s the best I can expect, I suppose.  Then, laughing, he put his hand on Fox’s shoulder and said, Let’s go home.

They fought their way through the crowd to where Cobb was standing patiently with the other animals.  Ponies, mules, and a handful of the tall, thick-haired goats that were sometimes used to pull the wagons.  As Father carefully led their pony away from the herd, Fox caught a glimpse of Fire Merchant Terric’s reunion with his wife.  The two were wrapped in such a tight embrace that Fox was amazed either of them could breath, and Terric’s wife was crying and laughing all at once.

First winter alone for her, said Father quietly.  How’d she take it?

Fox raised his eyebrows, taking in the woman’s sobs.  About like that, without all the kissing and laughing.

They left the chaos of the square behind and hiked up to the house together, Cobb following placidly behind them.  As they walked, Father told Fox stories of the trade caravan.  "The colors! he said reminiscently.  The rich autumn reds and golds.  Ah, you don’t see that kind of color here."  He talked about the southern fashions and customs, and told Fox about the time he got to sell his furs to the ruling house of Mirius.

What was their castle like? asked Fox eagerly.

Big, said Father.  "Very, very big.  I can’t imagine what they do with all that space.  They have rooms so big, they should never get warm.  And of course, their castle was nothing compared to Athilior.  The seat of the High King, said Father, answering Fox’s question even before he asked it.  Each of the Central Kingdoms have their own monarchs or lords, but they all have to answer to the High King.  He hummed in a dreamy sort of way and stared up at a lone piece of blue sky shining through the clouds. Someday, I’ll take you to Athilior.  It’s the most beautiful city of silver and white.  There are universities and libraries, the famous temple district, and the biggest marketplace this side of the Westerling Sea."

Fox thought of that morning’s breakfast of simple brown bread with a sigh, imagining what it might be like to have foreign spices and fruit.  Every now and then Father brought back exotic treats, but they were gone all too soon. 

The Sovestan lifestyle was simple, built around survival.  The traders not only brought home money for their families, but many of the daily necessities that the people of Thicca Valley lacked.  Father especially, his trade catering to the wealthy, kept the valley from disappearing.  He bartered for needles and thread, cookware, knives, lanterns, buttons, fishing line.  Tonight, when the three-day Homecoming Festival began, Father would set up shop at the Five Sides and start trading with the valley folk.  And Fox, in his constant efforts to prove to Father that he was ready to be apprenticed, would be there for every moment of it.

Mother was waiting for them on the front porch, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed.  Mother never ran down to the valley square with the other wives when the bells started to ring.  She and Father had always preferred to have their reunions privately, it seemed.  And so Fox, as he always did, turned left when they hit the front path and led Cobb to the stables, where he would remain until his parents called him in for dinner.

COBB WENT EAGERLY INTO his freshly cleaned stall and began tearing through his feeding bucket.  Fox was completely ignored as he unloaded saddlebags and gear from the old pony’s back.  He hummed quietly as he worked, setting packages aside to be sorted later and picking bits of leaf and snow from Cobb’s mane.  He always took an extra long time brushing Cobb after the caravan’s return, knowing that it was impractical to groom the animals thoroughly while on the road, as well as giving his parents as much time together as they might need.  Slowly and deliberately, Fox