Tailchaser's Song (24 page)

He stopped, pivoting slowly back around to face his companions. Pouncequick was a jump or two behind, and Roofshadow trailed the kitten at a slight distance, a look of grim concentration on her solemn gray face. As Tailchaser waited, Pouncequick also stopped, peering down from the ford into the Hararscrape.

“Tailchaser, Roofshadow!” he keened above the wind. “I can see a flock of birds below us! Below us! We’re higher than the fla-fa‘az themselves!” In his excitement Pouncequick leaned even farther out to savor the sensation. Fritti’s heart raced with fear, and felt as though it had grown to block off his air.

“Pounce! Get away from there!” he snarled. Pouncequick, startled, jumped back from the edge and slipped, skidding on the slick stone. Roofshadow, right behind the kitten now, swiftly seized him by the scruff of the neck. Her bite, sure and hard, drew a squeal of pain from Pouncequick, but she held her grip until his questing paws found a solid hold once more. She then gave Tailchaser a look that caused him to turn around without saying a word and continue on across the span.

On the downward-sloping section Roofshadow herself lost her footing for a moment in a heavy gust of wind, but managed to crouch and hold until the danger was past.

At all times the Caterwaul bellowed and shouted up at them: three tiny little creatures on a thin strand above the mighty waters. When they at last reached the opposite side the trio collapsed to the ground with trembling legs and lay for some time before they could go forward.

 

The landscape on the far side of Slenderleap was undistinguished and lonely. From the canyon’s rim a jumble of rocks and hummocks of earth spotted with brush and clinging shrubbery stretched before them. As they moved away from the tapering span and the rushing of the Caterwaul subsided behind, the cold silence of the land rose around them like a fog.

Except for birds, which from time to time passed silently overhead, there were no signs of animal life. The breeze that whispered past Tailchaser’s face and whiskers brought nothing but chill air and faint mist-traces of the river.

Pouncequick also sniffed the wind curiously, then turned to Fritti for confirmation of his senses. “I don’t smell any other Folk, Tailchaser. I don’t sense much of anything.”

“I know, Pounce.” Tailchaser looked around. “It’s not the most hospitable place I’ve ever seen.”

Roofshadow gave Fritti a significant stare and said: “I am sure we will find life in Ratleaf Forest, if only in the deeper places.” Fritti pondered the look.

I suppose she doesn’t want me to frighten Pounce,
he guessed.

As they walked, Fritti became aware of a slight feeling of irritation, something unsettling at the very rim of his consciousness. He felt a faint buzzing, or humming—but it was as thin and insubstantial as the noise of a brzz-hive a hundred leagues away. But it was there—and very subtly, it was getting stronger.

When they stopped to rest in the wind-damping shelter of a standing stone, he asked his companions if they had sensed it, too.

“Not yet,” said Roofshadow, “but I expected you would first. It’s a good thing you can.”

“What do you mean?” asked Fritti, mystified.

“You heard Squeakerbane. You heard Fencewalker. There’s something happening in these wilds, and that’s why we’re here. Better that we sense it before it senses us.”

“What kind of something?” Pouncequick’s eyes were bright and curious.

“I don’t know,” said Roofshadow, “but it is bad. It is os in a way that I have not sensed before. I knew that when I found the home of my Folk. If we are going to walk into its territory—and here we are—then we should at least not deceive ourselves on that account.”

As Roofshadow spoke, eyes clear and spine straight, Fritti could not help wondering what she had been like before the death of her tribe. She was a hunter, no doubt of that, but the hard-edged look that she wore seemed to be more from sorrow than other causes. Would she ever dance or laugh? It seemed odd to try to picture it, but he had seen her play with little Pouncequick. Maybe someday she would be happier. He hoped so.

 

They walked for a while into the evening, and when Meerclar’s Eye was high above them, stopped to rest. The humming that was not quite a sound seemed closer, more pervasive now, and even Pouncequick and Roofshadow felt something—a current, just below the surface. After hunting for some time without success the three cats conceded victory to the desolate wilderness and curled themselves up together in a furry pile to sleep.

 

Tailchaser wiggled his nose free from Pouncequick’s hind leg and sniffed the air groggily. The Eye had slipped below the horizon, and the dew of Final Dancing was wet on his muzzle. Something had awakened him, but what?

Trying not to arouse his sleeping comrades, he craned his head up from the knot of warm bodies like a hlizza rising up on its coils.

The humming, the strange pulsing that he felt bone-deep, had changed pitch. It was more vibrant somehow—not closer, but sharper.

He felt a strong, piercing sensation. In the darkness outside the circle of warmth something was watching them. Tailchaser froze, holding his head motionless, aware even in his fear that it was an uncomfortable position.

Suddenly, as if he had fallen into cold water, a great wash of loneliness flowed over and through him—it was not his own. Something, some being, was wearing this hideous isolation like a skin—he could sense it as strongly as if the tortured creature were right beside him. He remembered the cat of his dream, spinning forever through the darkness, radiating cold despair. Was this the same feeling?

Even as he thought of the catmint nightmare the feeling was gone. The hum had become a low throb again, and the wilderness around them was empty. Fritti could feel, although he could not say how, that the watcher was gone. When he woke the others they listened blearily to his excited story, but after some time had passed it became obvious that whatever it had been would not return that night. They returned to uneasy sleep.

 

After marching for a short time in the sunlight of the following morning, they sighted the mound.

They were descending down a rocky plain into a wide, shallow valley. It stretched away before them to the foothills of a range of tall mountains, so far away they seemed only dim shapes against the sky. The snow had begun to fall again, and as it fluttered down to land and cling on their coats they looked across the cracked, gray valley floor to the mushrooming bulge in its center. The mound, low and massive, thrust up from the cold ground like the shell of an enormous dun-colored beetle.

Coming over the low rim of the valley the travelers felt the pulling sensation suddenly increase. Fritti shied back, hackles raised, and Pouncequick and Roofshadow shook their heads as if beset by an unpleasant noise.

“That’s it!” hissed Tailchaser, feeling panicky and short of breath.

“It is,” Roofshadow agreed. “We have found the source of many problems.”

Pouncequick had retreated several steps, and now crouched, eyes wide and small body shivering. “It’s a nest,” he said quietly. “It’s a nest, and the things in it will sting us and sting us!” He began sniffling quietly. Roofshadow, walking a little unsteadily herself, went to his side and nuzzled him comfortingly behind the ear. She looked up from the kitten inquiringly.

“What do we do now, Tailchaser?” she asked.

Fritti shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t have the slightest idea. I hadn’t ever expected... this. I’m ... I’m frightened.” He looked down at the huge, silent mound and shuddered.

“So am I, Tailchaser,” said Roofshadow, and the tone of her voice drew his gaze. She met his eyes, and the shadow of a smile passed across her face, the merest twitch of her whiskers. Something else passed between them. Fritti, feeling awkward, padded over to Pouncequick.

“It’s all right, little friend,” he said, sniffing Pouncequick’s nose. The small cat smelled of terror, his body trembling, his bushy tail curled up between his legs. “It’s all right, Pounce, we won’t let anything happen to you.” Fritti was not even listening to his own words—he was staring off again, across the valley.

“Well, whatever we
will
do, now we must move,” Roofshadow pointed out. “The winds are rising again, and we are completely exposed. And not only to the weather.”

Fritti realized that she was right. They were as naked and unprotected in this spot as a bug on a flat rock. He nodded in agreement, and they coaxed their young comrade to his paws.

“Come on, now, Pounce, let’s find a better place to lie up for a while, and then we’ll have a bit of a think.”

Roofshadow, too, moved to reassure the youngling. “We will not go any closer, Pouncequick ... not now. I don’t want to spend the Hours of Darkness very close to that
os
-mound in any case.” The youngling, persuaded into movement, walked quietly between them as they began a long march around the outside rim of the valley.

 

Along the valley edge, circling the mound like small planets orbiting a gray, dead sun, the companions paced quietly and kept close together. As the sun rose into the sky, bringing a sickly light to the valley, stands of trees became visible over the far rim of the great bowl. A vast sea of woodlands reached into the distance.

“That must be Ratleaf,” Roofshadow said. Tailchaser was startled at how loud her voice sounded after their long silence. “It looks to be quite a long walk,” she continued, “but it will certainly provide shelter.”

“Certainly,” agreed Fritti. “Do you see it, Pounce? Think of it! Trees to scratch, Squeakers to hunt—everything!”

Pouncequick gave him a weak grin, and murmured: “Thank you, Tailchaser. I will be all right.” They continued on.

Toward the end of Smaller Shadows a clutch of large, dark birds flew overhead. One of their number peeled off from the others and swooped down to circle over the cats. He had a bright eye, and feathers of glossy black. He hovered lazily for a few moments quite close above their heads; then, uttering a shrill cry of derision, he soared up to meet his fellows. Croaking, they disappeared from sight.

By the dwindling away of Stretching Sun they had come near enough to Ratleaf Forest to distinguish the spires of individual trees protruding above the edge of the valley. With the night fast approaching, the sensation of malevolence coming from the shadowy hump on the valley floor seemed to increase.

Tailchaser felt the throbbing deep inside himself, and only by repeating the First-walkers’ prayer over and over mindlessly was he able to stifle his urge to bolt and run until he would fall down exhausted. “Tangaloor, fire-bright,” he muttered to himself, “flame-foot, farthest walker ...” Pouncequick and Roofshadow did not seem to be feeling it quite as strongly as he, but they looked strained and worn. The forest was now completely visible, stretching for leagues beyond the bowl-shaped valley. It looked very warm and inviting.

When the sun finally began to set, limning the tips of the trees with golden light, they quickened their pace, pressing their bodies to still greater efforts. As the sun dipped below the farthest horizon of the forest, only its red corona left pressed against the sky, a bitterly cold wind sprang up; it bit at their noses and flattened their fur.

Tailchaser, with Pouncequick and Roofshadow struggling gamely behind him, increased his speed. The buzzing sensation was mounting; he felt quite ill. A vast, formless panic seemed to snap at their heels. One after another, the trio broke into a run.

Up the steep outer slope of the valley wall they galloped, topping it at last to look down on the edge of Ratleaf. Heedless now of anything but the gathering oppressiveness behind them they tumbled down the short rise and dashed across the rocky flat, to vanish at last under the eaves of the forest.

 

 

Ratleaf Forest slumbered... or seemed to. A murky, stagnant calm hung in the air. As Tailchaser and his companions slunk wearily through the trees the forest’s silence weighed as heavily on them as their own fatigue.

Once into the woods, Fritti and Pouncequick were quite ready to collapse where they stood, but Roofshadow pointed out the importance of finding a site that was better protected against cold and discovery. Although the mound was now out of sight, it had not disappeared from their memories: with groans of weariness they acceded to the fela’s suggestion and continued deeper into the forest.

Picking their way across the damp loam, past moss and mushrooms, the cats found themselves imitating the silence of their surroundings. Heads down, moving slowly, they stopped frequently to wrinkle their noses at the unfamiliar scents of Ratleaf. Moisture pervaded everything, earth and bark sodden and dripping—the whole forest smelled of tree roots in still water deep underground. The air was steaming-breath cold.

It took the travelers until the end of Unfolding Dark to find shelter: a windbreak provided by a standing granite boulder and the roots of a toppled tree. They promptly fell down to sleep. Nothing disturbed them, but when they woke near the middle of Deepest Quiet—sore and hungry—they did not feel particularly rested.

There were still no signs of any creatures bigger than insects. After a period of fruitless search the cats were forced to settle for a supper of grubs and beetles.

Although they were all feeling poorly, Tailchaser felt especially on edge and upset. The throbbing of the mound, despite its having decreased noticeably when they passed into Ratleaf, still dug at him. Also, unlike his two friends, he had not shared Fencewalker’s squirrel and had now gone two full days without any type of meal he would call satisfactory.

As he swallowed his last grub, he snapped: “Well, here we are, and no mistake about it. I have brought us right to the brink, no question. I hope you are both pleased about following me while I made a complete
M‘an
of myself! Perhaps you’d like to follow me into the mound so we can all be hideously slaughtered.” He swatted an oak boll with his paw and watched it carom away.