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A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 44

Deep in the murky heart of the Nahet Fens, old Fassil sat within the gloom of an enormous tree, the hollow trunk of which he had made his home. Already, he had constructed furniture, shelves, and chairs. Small candles burned to pools of wax on the table at which he sat, presiding over a letter with a shaking paw.

Through the opening of the trunk blew the cold rain, its chill wind rocking the small basket that hung from the wall. The basket's moss-lined interior contained a tiny red fox cub. The cub had been born with a long red mane, bright eyes . . . and a small pair of wings folded tight to her back. Fassil was there when she was born, had witnessed the mother die, and knew the child's wings marked her as a demigod. As such, she could not remain among the dogs. The dogs had records of such god-touched foxes, records that would condemn the child to death if word of her appearance spread.

So in the middle of the night, Fassil gathered the child from her bassinet and stole away with her into the forests of Celankobi. It was not his intention to stay in Celankobi, as the forest had been burned to the ground. Its withered trees stood solemn and sad, black with fire, roots swept with ash. No birds sang, no creatures chirruped. It was a place barren and lifeless. Even the river swam silent.

Fassil crossed the river and continued the long journey south. There were entire tribes of foxes south who could care for the child in the event of his death, recognizing by her wings that she was god-touched. The fact that she had been fathered directly by a god - and not by a god possessing a fox - meant she was destined for great things. And other foxes would understand. He had to find them. He didn't have much time. He was old. Far too old to care for the child. But his kin in the Nahet Fens, they would care for her.

The gray foxes of Nahet were known as the Ayni Tribe. His tribe. They lurked in the darkest corners of the wetlands, trapping crocodiles and wearing their teeth. They were one of the more fearsome fox tribes, avoided entirely by the dogs because they lived in such a dangerous and even toxic place, were savage killers, and - what was more - had ugly gray pelts anyway.

The dogs feared the Fens and those who dwelt inside but were still desperate enough to trade with those Ayni who emerged from its borders with crocodile skins, panther pelts, and teeth that they wouldn't acquire otherwise. Fassil was captured by such dogs seeking to trade with him. He was a young male in late adolescence and had been quite handsome and fit. Given the heat of the summer, he'd been wearing nothing but a loincloth on his muscular frame, with a necklace of crocodile teeth falling against his bare and bulging pectorals. Another crocodile tooth had been pierced through his nostril, and his long gray mane was pulled behind his shoulders in a low tail. Fassil made the mistake of flirting with the dog, and Nicholas Kingsley - Evelyn's great ancestor - looked at Fassil and decided he wanted him. He shot him with a tranquilizer, threw him over his horse, and rode home with him just like that. Initially furious, Fassil spent many nights resisting his desires as the duke strolled about before him, tauntingly in the nude. But he wanted the duke as much as the duke wanted him. Eventually he surrendered, becoming the duke's sex slave and later . . . a valued lover.

Present-day Fassil coughed. That was many years ago. More than a century, in fact. And in all that time, he never would have guessed that such a precious creature would fall into his care.

Fassil glanced over at the hanging basket, in which the little cub slept soundly. He touched the nearest candle, and its pool of wax reversed its flow to harden again and push the candle taller. The wick burned brighter, dazzling his eyes. He dipped his quill and went back to scribbling:

Whosoever may find this letter,

_ _

The child you see before you is the daughter of Ainanani, once princess of the Ti'uu Tribe and blessed of the Ti'uu spirit. It was her dying wish that the child should be called Azrian, and that it should be taken far from the dog lands to a place of safety. I have carried out her requests as best I am able, but I am very old. I am dying. Whoever you are, please take o -

_ _

The quill scratched hard across the parchment, dashing out the word Fassil had been writing. Pain struck hard up his arm and to his heart. He choked, eyes wide, and clutched his chest, swiping the inkwell from the table as he fell. The ink oozed black across the earth as he lay there, unseeing eyes wide.

Azrian screamed from her basket and it began to glow like fire.

Not far away, Nhlahla's ears pricked forward. She touched Sampson's big arm, not looking at him as she listened. "D'you hear that?"

Sampson listened. His lips parted in surprise. "A pup?"

"A cub," Nhlahla corrected. Her eyes searched the distant trees frantically. She hated the Fens. Every moss-draped willow looked alike. It was dark and wet and foggy, and the foxes there had already tried to kill Sampson once. But they were as good as dead if they stayed in the dog lands. She had wanted to live in Celankobi, but returning there and seeing the dead trees had only brought on tears. And so they wandered, in sadness and despair, but always finding joy in each other.

"There's a light," Sampson said, nodding ahead.

Nhlahla followed his gaze and saw it: a soft orange light was glowing in the darkness, glowing beneath the vine-draped branches of a great tree. The crying grew louder. Nhlahla hugged herself in the cold and rain. What sort of monster left a child to scream like that?

Sampson touched a gentle paw to Nhlahla's shoulder and looked at her, soft questioning eyes. He was waiting for her to decide. He always left things up to her, as if he were utterly lost without Captain Lenard. She took his big paw and squeezed it, "Let's go."

Together, they moved toward the light.