Was this demon ascended? It was the obvious assumption, and yet… Des, what do you make of her? …Them.
Yes, she said slowly, as if herself unsure. And yet… the burden of care seems reversed. Magal’s doing, maybe?
It took Pen a moment to figure out what Des meant by that. The demon is trying to look out for the vixen? Like… like a pet?
Or a child. Which is what people make of their pets, I suppose. She seemed to consider the cubs, and added, Children.
“Lunet,” Pen whispered. “Let’s you and I try to get closer, without alarming the vixen. Don’t want her to bolt. You other two stay here, for now.”
“She’s already alarmed,” Lunet whispered back, swiping a strand of rusty hair off her sticky forehead. “She won’t bolt till the very last gasp, though. Because of the cubs.”
“Right.”
Trying to move quietly, Pen and Lunet made their way to the bottom of the ravine and angled up again until they were just a few paces from the den. Lunet wriggled her finger at the ground, and Pen nodded; they both sank down to sit in the leaf litter, he cross-legged, she on her knees. The silence from under the screen of grape leaves matched their own. The gleam of wary eyes, the faint outline of the furry mask, might almost have seemed a trick of the light and shadows in Pen’s sight. But not his Sight.
Can the demon-fox still understand human speech? Pen thought to Des. You were once a mare. And a lioness. Could you then?
That was two centuries ago, Pen! In any case, no. Neither one had ever been in a human yet to acquire such skills. Going the other way… is not something I’ve ever done. Thankfully.
Could the fox’s brain even process the complexities of human tongues, to pass along to its demon? Pen, who possessed six languages so far, did not underestimate the task. The sounds, presumably, must pass through unimpaired—foxes had keen hearing—but could a demoted demon retain such comprehension? No spirit can long exist in the world of matter without a being of matter to support it, the basic Temple dictum ran. Could the skills of a spirit exist piecemeal? Linger for a time, at least?
There seemed no way to find out but to test it.
Oswyl, Pen had noticed, routinely used Thala to speak with any female interrogatees. Possibly another reason for the canny man to value his assistant, which he obviously did. Perhaps the fox shaman could be such an ambassadress?
“Inglis has this weirding voice,” he whispered to her. “I’ve seen him use it to command dogs. And men, though I should warn you it doesn’t work on demons. Can you use such to speak to the vixen? Draw her out?”
Lunet frowned, and whispered back, “The voice is more command than enticement. And dogs already have some grasp of speech. Although there are also songs.”
Pen didn’t think she meant mere Temple hymns; he needed to find out more about that. Later. “I’ve heard there are stronger spells, geases.”
She nodded. “Those only last as long as the shaman pours life into them. Or parasitizes some source of life, most handily the subject himself, but that’s a more complex and costly compulsion to set.”
“Mm.” Compulsion in general only lasted as long as it was enforced. Persuasion could linger more usefully. “Try speaking to her, first. Coaxing gently. Keep the message simple.”
“What message?”
Any threat to take the vixen to the Bastard’s Order, as Hamo had wished, would terrify the demon. With cause. “Offer to take her—and her cubs—to the Royal Fellowship. You have the wherewithal to keep foxes healthy at your menagerie, yes?”
“Of course.” Lunet smiled. “Good notion.” She walked forward on her knees closer to the shadowed mouth of the den, and crouched again. “Hey, lady. We mean you no harm. With all these men hunting, we want to take you to a safer den than these woods. My shamans’ den. And your children. Will you trust me?”
The resonance of the weirding voice, though familiar to Pen by now, still made the hairs stir on his arms. The vixen crept forward into the light, wriggling low to the ground, lips drawn back on her white teeth, ears cycling back and forward. Panting in anxiety. Lunet leaned forward to lay her hand up between the two black front paws, and hummed to no tune Pen recognized, faint and eerie.
Slowly, the vixen lowered her muzzle to touch her nose to Lunet’s palm.
Communication of some sort achieved, although with the fox, the demon, or both Pen was not sure. Pen thought back to his own immense confusion upon first acquiring Des. He couldn’t very well hand the fox a slim volume on sorcery to read up on her new state, despite all the unnatural awareness that seemed to shine from those copper eyes.
“I suppose,” Pen murmured, “we must first get them all back to the manor. And then maybe have Wegae lend us a farm cart to take them to town.” Or pannier baskets, or something. If he’d been thinking, they might have brought some such transport aids into these woods. “Six cubs. Can they walk that far? Will they follow?”
Lunet seemed to be making inroads with the vixen, her humming becoming a wordless song, the animal relaxing into her moving hands. She stroked the vixen’s head, made play with her tufted ears, ran her slim fingers though the ruddy ruff. Half shamanic persuasion, Pen thought, and half simple, honest delight, persuasive in its own right.
Fascinated, Pen crept forward and extended his own hand, only to have the vixen tilt her head and curl her black-edged lip back on a toothy growl. Lunet shot him a look of annoyance, and Pen subsided, feeling weirdly disappointed at his exclusion from this love-fest. You just want to pet her, too, Des snickered. The strange communing continued for a few minutes, then Lunet crawled into the den, to return momentarily followed by the half-dozen sleepy and bewildered cubs, who were indeed, as touted, darling. They blinked shoe-button eyes and made a concerted run on their mother’s dugs, but the distracted vixen irritably shoved them away. Almost automatically, Pen took a moment to rid them via Des of their fleas and ticks, which drew a sharp look from the vixen—or her demon—but her sudden tension faded again as it was plain the cubs had taken no harm from him.
So, how much of Magal’s demon’s powers, or control of its powers, did the fox have? Insect eradication was one of the simplest of destructive magics, the first Des had ever shown him back when he’d so inadvertently acquired her. This did suggest the fox-demon might be less dangerous than he’d feared.
Simple, observed Des, but requiring fine control.
Magal should have been able to do it, though. And Svedra.
Oh, certainly. The point is, less-fine control is not necessarily less dangerous.
Hm.
“Let’s get them all back to the manor,” Pen said. Which would give him a bit of time to think. “And then to the Fellowship.” Which would give more. This conundrum was going to need it. Because, having coaxed the trust of both fox and demon, betraying same, in any of the many ways it might be required by his Temple duty, was growing… unappetizing.
At Pen’s beckoning, Inglis and Nath left their vantage and approached curiously. Pen explained the new plan, and the whole party rearranged itself for the trek. Lunet took the lead, the vixen at her heels. The cubs followed with about the orderliness one might expect of any other six toddlers, which was to say, none. Inglis and Penric secured the flanks, shooing their little charges back into line, and Nath brought up the rear. For all that he smiled at them, the cubs, after a first wary glance back at him, seemed intimidated by his bearish aura. At least they didn’t fall behind.