Memory Hunted (17 page)

Timothy’s chest stopped moving.

Kit froze.

His chest didn’t rise again.

No.

She laid her head against his chest. A flutter. Only
a flutter. She lurched back and slammed his chest with her fist. "Beat. Don’t leave
me, Timmy." She hammered her fist down. Again.

He has to breathe.

She tilted back his head, opened his mouth, and forced
air into his lungs.

"Breathe. Don’t you dare leave me." Tears streaked her
cheeks. She forced more air into him.

His hazel eyes remained closed.

Kit felt the cold wind on her heart. Memory stretched
beyond the ruined gate. Vines grasped at the blackened stone, and ice crystalized
on slumbering trees. Belafonte’s ruins formed a grid of once-straight streets
that were now choked with saplings reaching through the snow. Few buildings stood,
and those that remained testified of fire. A single straight road cut through the
center of the village, toward the mountain that loomed over the trees. Kit guessed
it would only be a few more years before the forest completely engulfed what was
left.

Daeric, Tell, and the rest were right. Ghosts haunted
Belafonte.

Kit meandered through the streets, waiting for a memory
to pounce, and not caring if it did. Soft pine needles under the snow hushed her
steps. Her exposed ears froze. The wind sawed at her legs with ice, and her tail
felt heavy. It had felt wrong to walk through her home covered like some thief.
She didn’t care if anyone happened to see her. The cold didn’t matter. It was preferable,
distracting.

The price for coming here was too high.

She paused at a toppled home. A low stone fence peeked
above a snow drift, separating the wide ruin from the street. The chimney still
stood. Kit stepped over the wall and entered.

A fire danced in the hearth. A woman worked
on an embroidery hoop nearby. She looked up as Kit entered. "Kitsune, dear. You
are going to catch your death of cold. Go put on some dry clothes."

The red-haired woman looked strong and tall.
When she smiled her green eyes crinkled.

"I was following Daddy," Kit heard herself
say. Her voice sounded strange.

"I thought as much." The woman sighed. "You
can’t do that."

"Why not?" Kit wanted to shiver but refused.

"Young ladies don’t hunt."

"Why not?"

The woman put aside her hoop and knelt in
front of Kit. She smoothed Kit’s ears. "Kitsune, ladies have to mind the house and
the children. That is work enough."

"I don’t want children. I want to be a hunter."

Kit’s mother chuckled. "Stubborn just like
your father."

Kit blinked, feeling disoriented. The hearth stood empty.
Wind whistled through gaps in the stone walls.
Did I…live in this house?
She
rubbed her temples and crossed into a room that held a skeletal sapling.

"Now, Kitsune, I don’t want your mother to
know." A man gripped her small shoulder in a strong hand. His red hair fell over
his eyes.

Her small hands held a knife made just for
her. "I won’t tell her, Daddy."

He winked. "Ladies aren’t supposed to have
hunting knives, but when you get to be this tall." He held a hand a head higher
than Kit stood. "I will take you with me."

"Really! You swear."

He laughed. "I swear."

She pulled the knife a knuckle’s width from
its sheath and smiled.

"Kitsune! Urien! Dinner."

Kit wiped her cheeks. "This was my house, wasn’t it?"
The stones didn’t answer.

She stumbled over what was left of the north wall and
sat down. Her tail curled around her knees. She sat for a time, rolling her
fragmented memories in her mind. The blurred images she had of her mother and
father sharpened. Her father’s strong hands and her mother’s kind eyes stood
out. Her father’s face remained hazy, and she couldn’t remember what her
mother’s hair looked like.

"What did I expect, to suddenly remember every
detail?" She stroked her tail. "I was too young, and it was too long ago."

The quiet of the ruins contrasted with the noise of
her thoughts. An hour passed without any new memories surfacing.

 "This isn’t worth it. Timothy…." She bit her lip. "You
were right, Mom. I wasn’t a hunter."

Her grandmother shimmered in her mind. The woman’s brown
eyes, tanned face, and white-streaked hair looked more solid than the phantoms lingering
in the stone walls behind her.

"Grammie, I…I don’t know what to do," Kit said.

The memory smiled encouragement.

"I made it home, but the price was so high. I…I don’t
know what I am going to do. My shepherd…."

"Grammie. Grammie." Kit limped in, all bruises
and cuts, her tail bald in places.

"Kitsune, what happened?"

She sniffled. "They found out. They are coming
again, Grammie."

A tough hand swatted her bottom. "I told
you not to bother those folks." The same hand caressed Kit’s cheek. "A lot worse
could have happened to you."

"Are…we going to have to move now?"

Her grandmother nodded. "Aye."

"Why is having a tail so bad?"

"Someday you will find someone who will love
your tail like I do."

"No, I won’t." Kit crossed her arms. "I am
going to be burned like Mom and Dad."

She found herself on the floor with her cheek
burning. Grammie stood over her. "You will not speak that way."

"But I don’t remember them. I just remember
they burned."

"Your parents were good people. One day you
will go home, and you will be with others like you."

"Why don’t you take me there? Where is it?"

Grammie looked away. "East. Someday I will.
Not now."

"I had found someone who loved my tail," Kit said.

"Aye, and it is a fine one."

Kit jumped and her healing thigh gave out from under
her. She fell back onto the stone wall. Gert sat on a jumble of stones a short distance
away. Gray smoke floated from his pipe. He held up a hand. "No need to be startled.
I’m not after you." He removed his pipe and gestured with it. "I take it Daeric,
Tredere, and Jan were killed."

"Jan was killed by the Inquisitor." Kit sat back.
What
does it matter if he attacks me. Timothy’s…
She couldn’t finish the thought.
"Daeric and Tredere are on their way to be tried."

Gert shook his head. "Tredere was an old fool. Never
listened to me. Revenge was all he thought about instead of raising those boys properly.
But one man’s murderer is another man’s hero. Tredere never could see that."

"Did you know Daeric wanted to…breed me?"

"He had talked about bringing this back." He nodded toward
the ruins. "Wouldn’t listen either. So I just kept to my books and tried to keep
them alive."

"If it wasn’t for you, Timothy wouldn’t be—"

"I kept Jan and Daeric from killing him, you know. Daeric
didn’t get his idea of using the boy on his own." He puffed his pipe. "I thought
I’d take one last look of this place before I move on. Not much to look at, but
ghosts are like that." He touched his template. "They hunt us no matter were we
go. You aren’t the last fox. Tell and I are still breathing, but there’s a rub I’m
sure you know about."

"Know what?"

"Daeric tried to get girls with pups. Most were willing,
but some were not. But there’s a rub."

Kit crossed her arms.

"It doesn’t work that way. Tell and I won’t be having
pups, but you can, I bet."

Kit blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You are a fox woman. You can have pups, but it doesn’t
work the other way around. Human women and fox men don’t work."

Kit frowned.

Gert pushed from the pile. "For what it’s worth, I am
sorry for what they did. I should have done more than talk sense to them."

"Sis! There you are, Sis." Yuzu slid and fell in the
snow. "Come with us."

"What are you doing out here?" Kit asked. "You should
be at the barracks."

Tell skid beside her and crouched. "Gert! Wh-what are
you doing here?"

"Just taking one last look at home. No need for that.
I’m not going to fight you. You should know I never was much good at fighting."

"Tredere and Daeric are going to be tried and executed,"
Tell said.

"So she was telling me. Can’t say I will be happy to
lose my old friend and an adopted nephew, but actions breed consequences that can’t
be avoided." Gert turned toward Kit. "I hope your lad is well. I enjoyed our too-brief
conversation. Maybe sometime we can discuss Luther again." He hefted a
knapsack.  

"Gert," Tell called out.

Gert turned and raised an eyebrow.

Tell hestitated, and Gert smiled. "Take care of
yourself, Nephew." He strolled away, leaving a trail of gray-blue pipesmoke
behind.

Yuzu grabbed Kit’s hand. "Come on, Sis."

Kit dug her heels into the snow. "There’s nowhere to
go anymore."

Tell looked at Kit, and his eyes widened. "You have a
tail!"

"I already told you she does, Telly. Come on, Sis. Don’t
make me carry you."

"A tail. She has a tail like mine," Tell said.

Kit pulled away. "Just leave me."

Yuzu grabbed Kit’s shoulders. "It’s Timothy. He’s back
from the dead."

Kyle wiped his brow and yawned. "Even heroes need to
sleep. You owe me. You don’t know how much trouble you caused me these last few
days, Lazarus."

Timothy wheezed a deep breath. Pain lanced across his
chest. "Lazarus?"

"You died. Several times, I might add. You are sure you’re
not a cat? It wouldn’t surprise me at this point." Kyle’s face was pale, and dark
bags tugged his eyes. He wiped his mouth. "You are a lousy kisser."

"How long was I…"

"Dead? A few moments here and there over the last three
days."

"Kit. Where’s Kit?"

Kyle shook his head. "Yuzu and Tell went to get her as
soon as you woke. You gave your wife a scare. So much that she ran off without noticing
you were breathing. She pounded your chest and breathed for you. Since then I’ve
had to give you a few man-kisses to keep you breathing like she did."

"She did that?"

"Surprised me too. Hard as steel, that one is. To see
her run with those tears freezing behind her—" Kyle yawned. "You worried me too,
you know. I have to go before you do. I’ve got some years on you. Seriously, you
need to get back to your books and stay there. You aren’t cut out to be a hero."

Timothy felt like he was breathing through wool. Panic
threatened, but he forced himself to take steady breaths. "I remember telling you
something like that."

Kyle waved him off. "Bah. What matters is you are back.
Did you see Saint Peter on the other side like the Church says?"

"Saint Peter?" Timothy frowned.
What did I see?
His
memory fogged. "Where am I?"

"At the barracks. We got them."

"Daeric?"

"And the captain. Seems he was calling the shots from
here the entire time. Balwar and the boys are taking them back for trial. Balwar
gave me leave to stay here with you until you…recovered."

Timothy didn’t miss Kyle’s hesitation. "
Died" was
the word you wanted to say. For Kyle to be this rattled, I must have been close.

"Here. Let me prop you up and give you a drink."

Timothy tried to help Kyle sit him at an incline. His
friend tipped a mug, and alcohol burned the back of Timothy’s throat. Timothy gasped
as its warmth fanned through his chest.

"You know…I don’t…drink."

"Old soldier’s cure." Kyle yawned again. "Now that I
know you won’t die again—and you’d better not—I am going to get a little sleep."
He flopped onto a nearby chair and stretched out.

The warmth of alcohol spread, helping Timothy breathe
a little easier. Exhaustion dragged him to sleep.