.17.

A THOUSAND BATTLES

For the next two days, Olli and his coven led Quicksilver, Fox, Anastazia, and Sly Boots through the meadows and woods west of Willow-on-the-River, staying clear of the road.

They were a large group—Olli’s coven consisted of fifteen witches and their monsters—and they moved slowly, but no one seemed to mind the frequent stops to rest, talk, and eat. The sun was high but gentle, the wind soft; the cows grazing in field after field were placid and calm. The warm weather lulled everyone into a sense of peaceful contentment—everyone but Anastazia.

She refused to speak to any of them, instead choosing to read a leather-bound journal she pulled from a large pocket inside her cloak and to communicate only through nasty faces or rude gestures.

At first Quicksilver enjoyed the respite from Anastazia’s constant harping about magic, and how Quicksilver wasn’t doing it right. She and Fox worked without the old witch, practicing glamours, cloaking, and shifting under the guidance of Olli and his friends Lukaas and Freja.

“Now, try it again, but this time, try to look like Freja,” instructed Olli on their second afternoon of traveling together. They had stopped for the night, to pitch their patched tents and start cooking fires. The smell of smoking sausages filled the air. Olli took a bite of a crisp red apple. “And remember—concentrate on the details. The slightest inaccuracy can ruin the whole illusion.”

Quicksilver closed her eyes and pictured Freja—a witch around twenty years of age who sported a purple birthstone on her neck and wore her vivid fire-orange hair short and spiky. She had fifty-three freckles on her cheeks, and her left eye was slightly smaller than her right one.

Change me, Quicksilver thought, keeping the image of Freja firmly in her mind and pushing the image toward Fox. Instantly she felt Fox receive the image, acknowledge it, and obey. He shifted into a shimmering gray swirl of fog, wrapped himself around her, and settled over her like a cool invisible cloak. And all of this happened in the time it took Olli to finish his apple and toss the core into the field for the cows.

Quicksilver grinned, her body tingling with happiness. Fox was beginning to understand what she wanted before she had even finished forming an image herself. They were getting better, and faster. Why, they’d be seamlessly thieving together in no time at all!

When Quicksilver opened her eyes, she looked down at her arms and saw Freja’s arms instead, freckled and strong.

Olli applauded. Lukaas, his dark face framed with bouncing bright green curls, gave a sharp whistle and waved his faded patchwork cap like a flag. Freja admitted grudgingly, “Not bad.”

“Not bad? It’s a job well done, very well done!” Olli chuffed Quicksilver on the shoulder. “You’re a natural at glamours, Quix.”

Quicksilver grinned.

Fox made a gagging sound in her head. Tell him to stop calling you that or I’ll mutiny.

But Quicksilver would do nothing of the sort. So what if Olli had given her a nickname? It was only practical. Her full name was something of a mouthful. And she liked having a nickname. It meant that she was important to Olli and his coven, and well liked.

Which meant they would never guess that she would rob them and abandon them, and the whole job would go off easy as stormberry pie.

Fox reappeared, panting. He rolled over and showed the world his belly. “Please, oh please, can we be finished now? I’m absolutely starving and can’t possibly go on until I’ve had a sausage or twelve.”

“Oh, you can do one more, can’t you, Fox?” said Quicksilver, scratching his tummy. “I’d like to try making an Olli glamour next.”

“But could you ever hope to truly capture my magnificent physique?” Olli posed in the sunlight, flexing his muscles. Lukaas threw an apple at him.

Quicksilver looked away, her cheeks burning, although she didn’t understand why. Olli’s smooth brown skin and bright smile were no concern of hers. He was a mark, not a friend.

But a pleasing-to-look-at mark, Fox thought mischievously. Eh, master?

Shut it, Fox!

“Quicksilver!” called Anastazia, her voice crackling with impatience. “Come here at once.”

Anastazia sat beneath a cluster of towering trees some distance away, thumbing through her journal. When Quicksilver stalked over to her, Anastazia didn’t even look up.

“Have you finished playing games with your little friends?” Anastazia asked.

“We weren’t playing games,” said Quicksilver. “We were practicing magic. They’re helping me, which is more than I can say about some people.”

Sly Boots lay on the ground beside Anastazia, sniffing the air longingly. “I’ve been reading to you for hours, Anastazia. Can I go get lunch now, please?”

“Go get lunch for all eternity, if you wish,” Anastazia snapped. “I’ve had enough of your whining.”

Sly Boots sprang to his feet. “And I’ve had enough of your everything,” he grumbled, storming off to the cooking fire.

Quicksilver smirked as she watched him leave. “What do you want, then?” she asked Anastazia.

“Your help.” Anastazia patted the ground beside her. “Sit and look at this with me.”

Reluctantly, Quicksilver joined Anastazia in the grass and looked at the map she’d unfolded from her journal. It was a map of the Star Lands, so covered with scribbled notes that Quicksilver could barely see the original lines marking the borders of the seven kingdoms.

“We’ll have to head north soon,” muttered Anastazia. “I can’t believe I’ve let us linger for so long with these people. Must be losing hold of my senses at last.” She pointed at a black star in the kingdom of Menettsk. “That’s where I found the first skeleton when I was young—in the Burren Bogs of Menettsk. It’s as good a place as any to start.”

Quicksilver crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not doing that.”

Anastazia glared at Quicksilver, her eyes burning. “Have you forgotten why I brought you here, child? Oh, forgive me—Quix?”

Fox trotted over, his mouth full of food. “If there has ever been a more repulsive nickname, I can’t imagine it,” he snorted.

Fox, you’re not helping.

Pardon me, O master Quix.

“You brought me here to fight the Wolf King,” Quicksilver recited, “and to find the skeletons of the First Monsters, so that we can destroy them, because if the Wolf King finds them first, the First Ones will come back to life and kill everyone. And if we don’t find the skeletons, we’ll never be able to defeat the Wolf King, because the First Ones are working through him, and they’re too powerful. But if we destroy them, then we can destroy the Wolf King, and everyone will be saved, and the witches will not be hunted away into memory and nothingness.” Quicksilver glared back at Anastazia. “Have I got that all right?”

Anastazia chewed expressionlessly on her candy—a fresh bag of her beloved mint-and-chocolate stars that Olli had given her as a peace offering, to no avail. “You’re remarkably flippant,” she said, “considering how serious the situation is.”

“And you’re remarkably . . . annoying!” Quicksilver barely resisted the urge to knock the journal out of Anastazia’s hands. “I don’t know why you think I want to take part in any of this. Just because you did when you were my age doesn’t mean I want to. I’m different from you. We may be the same person, but we’re not the same person.”

Anastazia lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve noticed as much.”

Sly Boots stomped back and threw himself onto the ground with a half-eaten sausage in his hand. “Those monsters make my skin crawl. Animals aren’t supposed to look so smart.”

“I’d take offense at that remark,” mumbled Fox, “if I weren’t enjoying my lunch so terribly much.”

“I think they’re wonderful,” said Quicksilver. “They’re funny, and they like me.”

“Are you talking about the monsters, or your precious Olli?” muttered Sly Boots.

Quicksilver bristled. “I mean all of them. They’re certainly more pleasant to talk to than either of you.”

“The Wolf King is pleasant too, if you catch him on a good day,” grumbled Anastazia. “But if you’re not careful, before you know it he’s talked you into a trance and slit your throat, and you’re left wondering what happened as you lie dying in the dirt.”

“Such a cheerful person you are,” said Sly Boots. “I can see where Quixxy here gets her temper.”

“Listen, Boots—” Quicksilver rolled up her sleeves.

Then Anastazia began coughing—a terrible dry, hacking cough that made Quicksilver’s throat hurt just to hear it.

Quicksilver and Sly Boots watched in horrified silence as Anastazia’s body spasmed. Black flecks flew out of her mouth, dotting her lips in slimy clumps.

“What do we do?” Sly Boots whispered, his face pale.

Quicksilver did not know how to answer him. She sat frozen in shock until Anastazia’s breathing turned steady again.

“Anastazia?” Fox asked, his whiskers full of crumbs. He curled up beside her, put his snout in her lap. “What is it?”

“Everything all right over there?” called Olli from the cooking fire.

“Splendid,” Sly Boots answered. “Just leave us be for once in your life.”

“As if we’ve been traveling with them for our entire lives,” spat Quicksilver.

“Well, that’s certainly what it feels like!”

“We don’t . . . have much time,” said Anastazia, her breath rattling like teeth in a cup. “I won’t . . . be here forever.”

Quicksilver shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“It’s what happens when . . . you spend your life . . . fighting a mad king.” Anastazia closed her eyes. “This old body’s full of holes and curses like you wouldn’t believe. Should’ve died long ago, but he won’t beat me that easily.”

Quicksilver settled quietly beside her. “The Wolf King?”

Anastazia nodded and handed Quicksilver her journal. “Boots has been reading to me, helping me remember. Now it’s your turn. Someday this will be yours, after all.”

“What is it, exactly?” Quicksilver turned page after page. The paper was old and stained, filled with maps, charts, drawings, and notes—all written in variations of the same scribbled handwriting. Sly Boots read over her shoulder.

“It’s us, isn’t it?” asked Quicksilver. “It’s all the yous and mes. We kept notes.”

“Yes,” whispered Anastazia, absently stroking Fox’s head. He remained perfectly still, his eyes closed in happiness. “Everything we’ve discovered, in all our lives—all the important clues and locations. All our battles. All the spells we’ve designed to extend our lives past their natural boundaries. It’s all there.”

“Not much of it makes sense,” Sly Boots observed, crumbs flying onto Quicksilver’s arm. “At least not to me. At one point I got lost and just started reading nonsense to her—blah-blee-bloo, hoo-diddy-day—and she nodded as though I was quoting poetry.”

“Some of it’s a bit . . .” Anastazia murmered, and then fell silent.

Fox lifted his head, and Quicksilver’s heart went cold with fear.

“Anastazia?” Quicksilver shook her older self. “Anastazia, wake up!”

Anastazia’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

Quicksilver shared a glance with Sly Boots, who looked as uneasy as she felt.

“As I was saying, some of these notes are rather patchy,” said Anastazia. “Sometimes I wrote in code when I was in the more dangerous parts of the Star Lands. Sometimes . . . well, the longer you live, the more your mind fades. Not even magic can prevent that. But I’ll help you through it. As much as I can remember, anyway.”

Quicksilver frowned. She held the journal right side up, and then upside down. “What are these? I can’t make them out.”

“The skeletons,” said Anastazia, glancing blearily at the journal. “A starling, and a snowy hare. A hawk, a cat, a mouse. An owl. An ermine.”

“Those were the First Monsters?” Quicksilver peered at the scratchy illustrations.

“Those are the skeletons we must find.” Anastazia placed her hand on Quicksilver’s, her palm cracked and callused. “Quicksilver. I know this is difficult. I’ve tried to give you time to adjust. But I must insist that we be on our way, and soon. These skeletons will not be easy to find.” Anastazia squeezed Quicksilver’s hand, letting out a shuddering breath. Her shoulders slumped. “To have to start over,” she whispered, “when I spent so many years collecting them . . .”

“We’ll find them,” Quicksilver said briskly, snapping the journal shut.

Will we? Fox’s surprise swept through Quicksilver. I thought we were going to forget about all that Wolf King nonsense, and rob the Star Lands blind.

Well, she doesn’t have to know that, Quicksilver replied. Not yet. We’ll keep her happy for now.

“Shouldn’t be a problem for us, should it, Fox?” Quicksilver went on, looking pointedly at Fox. “Remember breaking into Sister Veronika’s office to steal the love letters from her secret beau?”

Fox shuddered. “Please don’t remind me of those. I wanted to scrape my brain clean with a knife.”

“You actually read them?”

“I said, don’t remind me!”

“Quicksilver, this isn’t like our games at the convent.” Anastazia’s eyes drifted shut. The harsh sunlight made her look as creaky and brittle as the ancient trees around them. “This is real, and we can’t . . . let him win. We can’t let him hunt us all until there’s nothing . . . left. No one else will stop him. But we can. We have. A thousand battles, all part of one long war, and we could be the ones . . . to finish it.”

Anastazia began to snore, her head nodding to the side. With Sly Boots’s help, Quicksilver settled her in the soft grass, balled up her cloak, and tucked it beneath her head like a pillow.

“Tomorrow?” Anastazia murmured sleepily, cracking open one eye.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Quicksilver reassured her, tucking the journal back into her cloak.

Once Anastazia was asleep, Quicksilver and Sly Boots sat in a silence that seemed ill fitting with the cheery summer day.

“What will you tell them?” Sly Boots said at last, gesturing to Olli and the others, who were playing games around the fire. Some of the witches sat apart, sullen and sharp faced, watching Olli and his friends suspiciously. But Olli did not seem deterred; he grabbed the hands of an older, stone-faced witch named Bernt and swung the man around for a dance. Bernt’s bright fuchsia-colored badger monster growled in warning, fluffing up its fur, and Bernt himself glowered down at Olli like he was ready to give him a hard thump on the head, but Olli merrily ignored both of them.

The fool, Quicksilver thought. Can’t he see they don’t like him? Witches aren’t meant to live in covens. It’s unnatural. You can’t trust anyone.

You sound just like her, Fox said, picking twigs from Anastazia’s mess of red and silver hair. With barely a thought, Quicksilver shifted Fox into a small, speckle-breasted wren, so he might have an easier time of it. He flitted happily around Anastazia’s head.

Well, and so what if I do? Quicksilver settled back and sat frowning at the world. I am her. Suddenly the past two peaceful days with the coven seemed small and silly in comparison to everything Anastazia had endured. She’s fought the Wolf King her whole life. What have they ever done but play stupid games and make fools out of themselves?

As if to illustrate her point, Olli cartwheeled out into the grass and stood on his head. Bernt stalked back to rejoin the sour-faced witches clustered in the shade of the trees, none of whom looked impressed.

“Hello?” Sly Boots waved his hand in front of Quicksilver’s face. “Did you hear what I said? What will you tell them?”

“Nothing,” Quicksilver said. “Our business is none of theirs.”

We’ll steal everything we can, Quicksilver thought to Fox, and then we’ll leave, tonight.