The Prince Who Fell From the Sky (8 page)

Watching the child playing ahead, she said, “Any signs of your mischief?”

“Not yet,” he panted.

“You sure this is the right way?”

“Sure I’m sure. They might be traveling out in the Forest beside the highway. Stormdrain would know better than to risk being in the open. Too easy for voras to sniff his mischief out. They’re out there. We’ll find them.”

Casseomae heard the hesitation in his voice but decided not to say anything.

At midday, she foraged chickweed, while the child ate
more of his food, tossing the wrappings to the ground. Dumpster was nosing through the leaves for seeds when he scared up a bright green anole.

Dumpster chased the lizard around the underbrush until it disappeared through a crack in the side of a car half-buried under a fallen tree. As the rat barreled through the narrow gap to follow it, the side of the car moved in a squeal of rust and shut. A moment later, Casseomae heard the muffled cries of the rat, and she lumbered over to investigate.

Through an unbroken square of glass, she could see Dumpster batting his nose against the surface, his eyes wide with panic.

“What’s the matter?” Casseomae snorted. “Where’s the lizard?”

“Scratch if I know,” he squeaked. “I’m trapped! The door … it closed.”

“The what?”

Dumpster gave her a venomous look. “The door. That … Just get me out already.”

Casseomae sniffed at the car, searching for a way to get to the rat, but somehow the relic had sealed Dumpster inside. She pressed her paws against the glass and pushed. The clear surface bowed a little under her weight but didn’t break. “I can’t open it,” she said.

Dumpster scampered back and forth inside. “There should be a latch. A metal part that you can turn.”

“A latch?” she said.

“Yes, a latch, you idiot! I don’t have time to explain about these Old Devil devices. Just look. Right down there somewhere,” he said, jabbing his nose to the bottom edge of the glass. “Don’t you see it?”

Casseomae sniffed along the frame. There was a part sticking out, not nearly as rusted as the rest, but she didn’t know what to do with it. She bit at it, like she was prying the shell from a turtle, but nothing happened.

She backed up in frustration as Dumpster lashed his tail angrily at her. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said.

“I want you to get me out of here!”

The child came up beside Casseomae, putting his hand on her back. He chirped something at her as he grabbed the part with his delicate fingers and gave it a turn. She heard a click, and then the child tugged open the door with a screech of rust. Dumpster dashed out as the child held it open. He wiggled his whiskers at the cub and then ran from the car.

“Don’t you want the lizard?” Casseomae called.

“It ain’t worth it,” Dumpster said, licking his front paws and shivering.

Casseomae looked over at the grinning child and gave a snort. The child plucked another package of food from his side, broke off a piece, and tossed it down to Dumpster.

Dumpster eyed the lump and then nibbled gingerly at it. “Not lizard, but it’s not bad,” he murmured before finishing it off.

The air was still and muggy as the three began a hard climb up the highway.

“That vermin-ridden Faithful is following us, you know,” Dumpster said, scampering up beside Casseomae.

“I know,” Casseomae grunted. “I smell him.”

“The cub likes him,” the rat said. “That’s not good.”

Casseomae grunted.

“You are trying to figure out a way to get rid of that cur, aren’t you?” Dumpster said.

Casseomae grunted again. She wasn’t sure what to make of the cur. He was a Faithful, and that meant he was a traitor to the Forest. But she was protecting the cub, so what did that make her? She knew she couldn’t have the dog continuing to follow them. It would only bring trouble. But she felt a certain pity, admiration even, for this tough and lonely creature.

As they reached the top of the climb, the cub wiped his brow. The tuft of hair atop his head was wet and dripping down his face. Casseomae didn’t remember the child dipping his head in a stream, and it certainly hadn’t rained. “Why is he so wet?” Casseomae asked.

“Got me.” Dumpster rose on his hind legs and sniffed. “We’ve got to run that cur off—” He began waving his long nose back and forth more vigorously.

“What is it?” Casseomae asked.

Dumpster scampered a few steps, sniffed, and then ran rapidly toward an overturned car. “Look! Look!” he cried.

Casseomae came over. “What?”

The rat was sniffing at a scattering of black pellets hidden among the weeds. “They’re droppings. From my mischief!”

“Are you sure?”

“I know!” the rat said, his black eyes bulging wide. “I know my own mischief. They came through here. Not so long ago. Come on.”

Dumpster ran ahead down the highway, dashing from bush to relic and keeping close to cover as he went. Casseomae and the cub followed him toward a collapsed bridge over a creek, where Dumpster stopped with a shrill curse. There was fur everywhere and black spots speckling the grass.

Casseomae sniffed. “Blood.”

“They were attacked here,” Dumpster said, his teeth chattering with fright. “I smell weasel all over this place.”

Casseomae lifted her nose. “It’s not here anymore.”

The rat followed a faint scent trail into the underbrush off the highway. He had just disappeared in a thorny cane of blackberries when he gave a cry. Casseomae trudged around the bramble with the child at her side until they were on the bank of the creek.
Dumpster backed out of the blackberry cane dragging a rat with his teeth.

“Is he alive?” She snorted. But the rat was stiff and crusted in blood.

Dumpster let go of the rat’s scruff and bumped noses with him once. “Tarmac was our best scout. One of Stormdrain’s sons. Probably fought off the weasel while the rest of the mischief escaped. Oh, poor Tarmac. You’re in Lord Murk’s den now, brave buck.”

The child knelt over the dead rat and touched a finger to his tail.

“At least the others got away,” Casseomae said.

Dumpster sniffed. “Yeah.”

“And we’re on the right path, so—” she began before hearing panting and running paws coming from the highway. She rose quickly on her hind legs as Dumpster disappeared into the brambles and the child got behind her. “It’s him again,” Casseomae snorted.

The dog yipped as he went into the cane and then rustled his way around.

Dumpster poked his head out, clicking his teeth angrily. “What’s it going to take to get rid of that Faithful piece of mite-infested cur?”

As the dog appeared, Casseomae growled, “I thought I told you—”

“A patrol of coyotes,” the dog barked rapidly. “Just over the hill.”

“A
re they coming up the highway?” Dumpster asked, springing out from the brambles.

The dog cocked his head. “Highway?”

“The trail! The spittin’ trail back there.”

“No,” the dog said.

The child seemed oblivious to their urgency and squatted to pet the dog’s head, clearly happy to see him again. The dog licked the child’s hand, giving Casseomae a cautious look. He then pointed his nose with a front leg cocked. “They’re out in the trees. Over that way.”

“Did they smell you?” Casseomae asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure. They were distant still and I had the high ground.”

“Let’s move,” Dumpster said, his shock over finding
his dead mischief mate giving way to action. “We’ve got to get away from the highway. Follow the creek bed. It’s an old mischief trick.
‘Stay in the puddles and the voras it muddles,’
as my old da always said. They’ll have a harder time picking up a scent in water.”

Casseomae snorted. She wasn’t feeling as concerned as the rat and dog seemed. These were only coyotes, after all, not the Ogeema’s wolves or his cougar.

The dog began splashing downstream and the child followed him. Casseomae lumbered after them in the creek with the rat leaping behind her from rock to rock. When they got farther from the highway, Casseomae rose on her hind legs.

“Anything?” Dumpster panted.

“Hard to say,” she replied.

The creek twisted and turned until at last it ran through a section thick with laurel. A covey of quail took flight from the trees ahead and flew toward them.

The dog stopped in the creek. “The coyotes scared up those birds,” he whispered.

“They’re up ahead,” Dumpster said. “I don’t know if they’ve smelled us or not, but they’re up there.”

Casseomae wasn’t sure how to proceed. She wasn’t used to hiding from other voras. This was not part of her instinct.

The dog held his nose high, sniffing, while the child kept one hand on the dog’s back, looking around
wide-eyed and seemingly more aware that something was amiss.

“How many were they?” Casseomae asked.

“Five, I think,” the dog replied.

“I’ll fight them,” Casseomae said. “Five coyotes are nothing to me.”

“You old fool bear,” Dumpster said. “Quit thinking with your claws! It’s got to be Rend’s rout. If those coyotes see it’s you, they’ll know sure as scratchin’ that the pup is near.”

“I can drive them off,” Casseomae growled.

“They’ll split up,” Dumpster said. “And most likely send back word of what they’ve found. You might bust noses on a few coyotes, but you can’t take a whole patrol of wolves!”

She knew this was true. While her every muscle craved a fight, she realized the rat’s approach was more sensible. “So what do we do?” she asked.

“We just need to hide somewhere they can’t smell us,” the dog said. “Follow me.”

He trotted into the thickest part of the laurel grove.

A yip sounded from over a rise: the unmistakable call of a hunting coyote. The child looked up at the sound and then over at the dog crouched down in the laurels. When the dog gave a pleading whine, the child got down on his knees and crawled to him.

The dog called, “Get on in here, old bear. Not likely
they’ll smell you down here in this creek, but if they come over the hill, you’ll be spotted.”

Casseomae eased into the thicket beside the cub. “And what now?”

As Dumpster scampered in, he cast a look of loathing at the dog but then settled down into the leaf bed. “What else is there to do? We wait.”

Casseomae dropped her chin to her forepaws, snorting irritably. She hated this. It felt strange. She watched the child rub the dog’s coppery fur, and the dog stared at him bewildered.

“It’s … remarkable,” he said. “I’ve journeyed far across the Forest. I know every tree and relic. But I’ve never heard tell of a living Companion or even one who remembers the days when they ruled. The Companions are gone! And yet here before me … please, I have to know. Where did the pup come from?”

“Not a scratchin’ word, Cass,” Dumpster murmured.

But Casseomae did not share the rat’s distrust of the dog. He had warned them of the coyotes. He could be useful. And the cub clearly liked him. However, there were more important things at the moment than satisfying the dog’s curiosity.

She lifted her head. “You’ve traveled far in the Forest, dog? Where can I bring the cub where he will be safe—?”

A bark rang out from the top of the rise, answered by a yip.

“They’re getting closer,” Dumpster whispered.

Casseomae shifted anxiously, digging her claws in the earth. “Cursed Rend and her rout! If she reaches us here, I’ll tear them apart.”

“They’ll never fight you,” the dog said. “It won’t do any good.”

More calls echoed through the Forest, growing nearer to the top of the rise.

“Well, there’s no other choice,” Dumpster spat. “They’re coming. She’s got to drive them off.”

“There’s another choice.” As the dog stood, the child sat up on his knees. The dog looked at Casseomae. “You’ll have to keep him from following me.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll draw that rout away,” he said. “They don’t know I’m with you.”

“You’re not with us!” Dumpster said.

“Hold on to the pup,” the dog said, ignoring Dumpster. “You understand?”

The child was watching the dog anxiously, a hand on his back. Dumpster clicked his teeth. “Stupid Faithful and his charms over the pup. He’ll make an awful racket when you go.”

“I’m not casting any spells on the pup,” the dog said. “You ready?”

Casseomae huffed, inching closer to the cub. “Dog, tell me. Isn’t there somewhere safe from the wolves?”

“If there were,” the dog said, “why would I be here?”

He eased out from the thicket. The child leaned forward to follow, but the dog growled at him. A coyote called out just over the top of the rise. The child blinked rapidly at the sound.

The dog was out from the laurel thicket. He lifted a leg to spray urine on the outside branches. He trotted around and did it again. “Don’t let him follow me, you understand?”

“We know!” Dumpster said, twittering his whiskers anxiously. “Get going.”

“Bear?” the dog said.

“What?” Casseomae growled.

“If I were you, I’d ask the Auspectres your question.”

“The who?” she asked.

A coyote bark rang out. The dog gave one last look back at the child and then in a blur sprinted up the rise toward the call.

The child leaped forward, snapping laurel branches. Casseomae lunged for his back and caught the blue hide with her teeth, not puncturing the material but not letting him go any farther either. The child called out and tried to scramble forward, but Casseomae had him.

Through the trees came booming barks, not the cries of a coyote but what Casseomae knew had to be the dog. His barks echoed through the Forest and soon
were joined by the yowling, yipping coyotes converging on him.

The child shouted several more times and batted Casseomae’s nose. She didn’t growl but held him until the sounds of pursuit disappeared into the distance. The child reached back to tug the blue skin from Casseomae’s teeth, and she released him. The child emerged from the laurels and stared at the Forest.

“We’ll never see that cur again,” Dumpster said as he scampered beside Casseomae. “But I’ll have to give it to him. He’s brave. Stupid, but brave.”