Vulpine Summer

Esme stared at the wall opposite. It was grubby and grey but it helped her focus. She gripped her knees tighter, trying her best not to sink into despair. Seeing Fox had given her a swell of strength. He was alive and he was still fighting for her. Even bruised and bloodied as he was, being beaten and shackled, he was claiming she was innocent. He looked at her with such fire she couldn’t help the little slither of doubt in her head. Maybe he was right. No one would go that far for someone they didn’t believe in, surely?

She kept murmuring to herself that she had promised Fox and her uncle that they could test her truth, to truly figure out if she was indeed the killer of her aunt. Despite the oppressive memories and growing waters of despair, she clung onto that thought, like a rock in a murderous stream. She couldn’t let them down. She wouldn’t. It was the only thing keeping her going.

She shivered. Despite the summer around the Granite Tower causing people to hide in the afternoon and heat to shimmer off anything it touched, the little cell she’d been put in was cold. It crept up her skin and seeped into her bones, making her teeth chatter now and then and to violently rub her arms in a mad attempt to warm herself. She tried to distract herself and thought of what Lithgow, the thieves and Absolon could be doing, but ended up just worrying herself more.

Quite suddenly, Esme wasn’t so alone anymore. It took her a few seconds to register the entity in the room, staring at her with wide white eyes. It was a cat, slithering through the air like a fish in water.

‘Hello, sir Spirit.’

‘Lord Bulwark.’ He said back as he swam forward, his fur rippling fluidly.

‘What can I help you with?’ Esme asked automatically.

‘Sate this one’s curiosity.’

Esme furrowed her brow. ‘What are you curious about?’

‘The Bloxham Sprite. Her pain. Her misfortune.’ He spun around swiftly, chasing his tail, before settling close to her face. ‘This one heard her cries when she was locked up in her cell. They made little sense.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Esme responded honestly. How could crying not make sense?

‘The cries were false.’

Esme’s face reddened in insult. ‘I assure you, they were not false.’

‘They were caused by falsity, which in turn, made the cries false.’

Esme stared. The little seed of doubt of her memories sprouted a little, taking root in her head. The memories reacted, rising like a wave and intending to swallow her whole. She heard the screams in her head, felt the warm blood on her fingers, saw her aunt’s gasping twisted expression.

And then it stopped.

Bulwark nose was pressed against her forehead, spreading warmth through her. She blinked away, feeling a sense of clarity taking hold. The memories wobbled in her head, flickering like static on a TV. The sounds lost clarity, the visuals breaking and snapping, revealing instead an imagine behind it. One of Suellen armed, summoning a spell of dark green and black.

The moment Bulwark pulled away the memories of her murder snapped back into place and instantly tried its best to stamp out the rooting doubt.

Esme stared at Bulwark, her eyes wide with confusion. ‘What did you do?’

‘Falsified memories. Put there to suit the need of another.’ Bulwark said, as if confirming a thought to himself. His ears flicked up. ‘It comes.’ He hissed then glanced at Esme. ‘Be strong, little Bloxham Sprite. It’s angry.’

And with that, the floating cat was gone and, seconds later, was replaced by Suellen Denver.

She towered over Esme in all her splendour and her red mouth turned into a soft smile but her eyes glimmered with an unfriendly light.

Without a word, she snatched up her Grimoire and summoned a spell. Esme flinched but no more than that. She felt the spell, knowing it was nothing more than probing her head again. Just why? Why did Suellen keep probing her memories? As she thought of Cassandra dying before her with Suellen striding forward with a healing spell ready, the memory shifted, flickering so Esme was holding Cassandra’s hand protectively, staring up at Suellen’s cold features as sickly green smoke billowed about her.

Suellen removed the spell sharply, causing a small thudding ache to flicker through Esme’s head. Esme watched Suellen, curling her body tighter as if to protect herself. Suellen was suddenly scary to Esme; threatening and dangerous. The idea she was harmless, a victim in all this mess, was shifting.

Suellen’s eyes narrowed and she shut the Grimoire with a snap. ‘Up, Esme Dupont.’

Esme hesitated but obeyed, rising to her feet and keeping herself as far from Suellen as she could. It wasn’t safe to be close to her. She didn’t seem to like that and her smiling mouth snapped into a frown.

‘Esme. You’re to be shipped off back to the Ivory Tower within the hour.’

Esme’s heart stuttered. ‘What about Lithgow? He wants me to be tested first.’

‘Lithgow has no power here anymore. He has proven to be an accessory to murder. His title was stripped this afternoon and all say within this Tower gone.’

Esme’s heart plummeted. How? Stripping power from a Grand Wizard took months of deliberation, even when there was certain evidence of corruption or abuse of their station. How was Lithgow stripped in mere days?

‘I don’t understand.’ Esme stammered, trying her best to get some kind of grasp on the situation. How was it all going so wrong so fast? And then her eyes flicked up to Suellen, who watched Esme with growing irritation behind her carefully place expression. It was because of her. Suellen. She was moving people about like pawns. Including herself.

Esme suddenly had a moment of sheer clarity. Her fire burned in her chest, her eyes flashed and nostrils flared. Suellen killed her aunt! Not Esme! She had tried to curse her into a fox, tried to implant memories! And, as the fake looming despair tried to crash down her, swallowing her up in flickering, cracked memories, Esme knew. She knew she hadn’t killed her aunt. It had been Suellen.

‘You did it!’ Esme spat out, her old fire returned and sheer will to fight back Suellen’s closing net. ‘You killed aunt Cassandra!’

What was said next was unexpected. Suellen didn’t deny it. She didn’t try to lie or twist about like a snake. Instead her eyes steeled, her mouth thinned and she spat out, ‘Your Fox is dead.’

Esme’s heart stilled. Her whole being went cold, the fire draining out of her within seconds. ‘What?’ Esme echoed weakly. She didn’t quite understand what she had heard.

‘You Fox is dead. That man. He is dead.’

Esme’s whole body began to quiver, every inch shaking. Her stomach churned so violently she felt like she was going to be sick and her heart felt dead. Nothing more than a lump of stone. Dead. How was he dead? She’d only just seen him. He was so alive. His eyes furious and gazing at her with comfort. He’d tried to get to her and reached out to her with his large hands, earning himself a punch in the process. How was he gone? He couldn’t be.

‘You’re wrong.’ Esme stammered out.

‘No. He was executed this morning for abetting a wanted criminal.’ Suellen said coldly.

Her. That criminal was her. She’d killed Fox. She’d snatched out that life from his face; that face that made her weak at the knees. She’d snatched away the sarcasm, stubbornness and smarts. Stamped it out. All because she blackmailed him into helping her run away. She had killed him, the first man she loved. She was never going to be able to kiss him lovingly again. No one was.

Whatever doubt that began to take root withered away, curling up in her heart. The images of Cassandra gasping for help from Esme, asking why, began to correct themselves; healing and strengthening. The unnatural despair began to whirl, crashing against her, eroding her willpower and strength, dousing out the fires of certainty and clarity. Within seconds, Esme was gone, swallowed up whole by the curse. Her head was hung, tears filling her eyes and her shoulders were sagged with defeat.

She didn’t notice how Suellen smiled in relief, her eyes glimmering with excitement. She couldn’t. She’d killed her aunt. She’d killed Fox. Nothing mattered anymore, only her punishment. Her own death.

She didn’t fight Suellen gripping her shoulder and propelling her out of the cell. She didn’t notice the White Wizards who stepped in line in front and behind her, the muttered whispers of others who watched at a distance, the steps she climbed and descended. She noticed nothing.

Suellen took her out of the main Tower and into the large, open space. The ground was derived of bits of granite and soft white stone that glimmered in the heat and surrounded by tall carefully cared for shrubs. In the centre was a small blimp. Its body hummed from the churning propellers keeping it in the air, heat rolled about its belly and taught ropes kept it from drifting off. The paint-work of the balloon itself, a mix of white and black, was a clear indication this was a prison ship, and one specifically for Wizards.

It was only now, as the grim looking blimp loomed before her, that made Esme halt. She felt her feet instantly begin to slow, sinking into the grit, as he instincts began to kick in. That blimp was death. The moment she boarded it, her life was over, and there was a small, but increasingly loud voice in her head, that told her that wasn’t the correct move.

Suellen frowned as Esme began to dig her heels in deeper. Despite the despair on her features and tears still trickling down her blotched cheeks, Esme was putting up a fight. She didn’t mean to. Her body was doing it alone. Even as her mind screamed to just give up, her body was locking up, becoming rigid and unmovable.

‘Dupont, move. You must go fulfil the Tower’s punishments.’ Suellen hissed.

Esme nodded her head, whimpering in agreement, but she still didn’t move. Suellen sniffed then summoned her Grimoire to her side, the pages flicking through before settling softly on a spell.

But just as her magic began to wake up, spilling out under her fingers, something popped into existance before Esme. A familiar face and soft song. Absolon.

His blue eyes grinned and he laughed softly, letting his long arms reach out to probe Esme’s face. Esme found her tears stopping and she stared at the familiar Sprite, the one thing that had always been there and still was.

Suddenly he was ripped away from her. A White Wizard had grasped Absolon, who wiggled and whined in protest. Seeing him being pulled about and desperately trying to get to her pulled her out of the despair murk.

‘No.’ Esme croaked out. ‘No, he’s safe. He’s a baby. Leave him be.’

‘Take it away.’

‘No.’ Esme said louder.

She noticed then, deep in his belly, the glittering whistles sat. The whistles given to her by Oak and Willow and the Everwood God. The God. Panic was beginning to take hold. Absolon had her whistles and Suellen was going to get hold of them.

‘Absolon, run away!’ She said abruptly and frantically.

Esme knew the moment Suellen noticed the Whistles. Her eyes widened then snapped down and her hand snapped out, sinking deep into Absolon’s belly. He squealed in pain and he desperately tried to hold onto them but he stood no chance. The magic within Suellen poured into her hand, allowing her to rip the whistles free.

She stared at them in her palm, glancing them over curiously. ‘Such power.’ She glanced up at Esme. ‘How did you do it? You have no training in Witchcraft.’

Esme didn’t hear her. Her head was a mess. Dark despair was crashing upon her, wave after wave, but a little fire was glowing in her chest. A little light of clarity and strength, re-ignited by Absolon. The push-and-pull in her head made her feel sick to the stomach. She felt dizzy with every pulsing ache and her bones jarred.

Suellen shrugged and pocketed them. Esme only barely noticed how little of a reaction there was from White Wizards.

‘Now, let’s go Esme.’ Suellen said firmly. ‘You have to return to the Ivory Tower.’

Esme didn’t feel her mouth move, didn’t think to, but it did. ‘No.’

Suellen froze. ‘No?’ She hissed then arrested Esme’s wrist violently. ‘You have no choice! You have been tried and found guilty for murder, so you will be going back. You will be shot. Blood must be paid for Cassandra’s death.’

‘No.’ Esme whispered again. It was as if her mouth had a mind of its own.

Esme was yanked forward, dragged violently towards the blimp, muttering savagely under her breath.

‘I won’t have this plan ruined, Esme. Cassandra would want this. She should’ve.’

But just as they began to mount the landing pad, Esme’s feet still leaden, magic stirred. The air warped in front of them, swirling and wobbling like water, and then Lithgow came into existence, his expression furious and Grimoire glowing threateningly.

And he wasn’t alone. On his left was an old haggard woman, deeply wrinkled and dressed modestly with whistles glittering on her ample chest like medals. But Esme didn’t really notice her or her kind smile. All she could focus on was the man on his right. His passionate eyes, fiery hair and wideset shoulders.

It was Fox.

Fox was alive.