Page 64 of The Inheritance

If the fox-creature did somehow break the cord and rush out, thinking it was free, it would run straight into a barrier which would leave it in agony. Once the pain subsided, it would realize that an invisible wall blocked its escape, a wall that could only be opened from the outside. It would see the dial, but it could never touch it.

This was a human level of cruelty. Killing it would have been more humane.

“Can you understand me?”

The fox stared at me, its eyes hot with menace.

For all I knew, it was some kind of criminal sentenced to die in this cell for a horrific killing spree.

I flexed. The fox didn’t glow. It wasn’t toxic, it wasn’t an immediate source of pain or danger the way the barrier was. It didn’t glow red like the hunter I had glimpsed. It simply was.

I took an empty canteen from my waist, pulled the full one off as well, and poured about a third of our total water supply into the first canteen. The fox watched me with an almost feverish focus. I screwed the lids back on, reattached the fuller bottle to my belt, and held the other one in front of me.

“Water.”

I tossed the canteen to the fox. It snatched it out of the air. Its long fingers twisted the lid with practiced dexterity, and the fox drank in long greedy gulps. It emptied the canteen and stared at me.

Whatever it had done, I couldn’t leave it here to die.

I pointed at the metal cord and shaped my sword into a short thick cleaver.

The fox bared its sharp fangs again.

I waited.

Two burning eyes glaring at me with fierce intensity.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

I pointed at the cord again, made a chopping motion with my cleaver, and took a step back with my hands up.

The fox rose and padded to the opposite wall, stretching the metal cord as far as it would go. Okay. The ball was in my court.

I walked to the bracket securing the cord to the wall. It didn’t seem particularly sturdy, as if whoever put it in place wanted the prisoner to break free. Otherwise, why even bother with the barrier? The cord itself seemed light and felt like a meld of plastic and metal.

Here goes nothing. I swung the cleaver and brought it down onto the cord. The blade cut through the five-millimeter thickness, severing the metal in a single clean strike. The cord fell to the ground.

The fox dashed past Bear into the passage and vanished from sight, dragging the metal cord with it.

Bear tilted her head and let out a puzzled noise.

“I know, right? Not even a thank you.”

I looked around. Nothing left here.

“We’ve done our good deed for the day. Let’s see if it goes unpunished. Come on, girl.”

We were halfway across the stone bridge when I saw a clump of dark fur up ahead. The fox had made it about a hundred yards before the exhaustion and starvation brought it down. It fell and dropped my canteen on the stone bridge.

I crouched by it. It was still breathing. Bear sniffed it and looked at me.

“No, not food.”

I stood over it for a moment. I could just leave it. But it was hurt and alone, trapped in the breach. Just like me and Bear.

I sighed, made my sword into a knife, and sliced through the collar on the fox’s neck. The strange half-plastic, half-metal band fell apart. I retrieved my canteen, picked the fox up, and headed forward, back to our original route.

10