“Redlegs stilled his merriment, and said: ‘I am Redlegs, of the line of Harar.’
“The mastiff looked at him. ‘I am Rauro Bite-then-Bark, of these dogs the King. It is not meet or seemly that I should be mocked in this way!’ At this the dog-king puffed out his chest and goggled his eyes in such an important way that Redlegs almost laughed again.
“ ‘How long have you been building your gate, O King?’ he asked.
“ ‘Full three seasons it has been,’ replied Bite-then-Bark, ‘and we but lack one bone to make it complete.’
“ ‘So I see,’ said Redlegs, and suddenly he was of an inclination to play a trick on the puff-puddle-pompous King of the Dogs. ‘Your Majesty, if I can finish your gate for you, will you grant me one favor?’ he asked.
“ ‘What would that be?’ inquired the King suspiciously.
“ ‘If I can do your task, I would like a bone for my own.’
“The King, thinking of the thousands of bones that he held sway over, yapped with delight at the cheapness of the request and said: ‘You shall have any bone you desire in my kingdom, only you do this for me.’
“So Redlegs agreed, and, taking the last bone-piece of the gate in his mouth, climbed carefully and skillfully up the swaying arch. When he got to the top, he carefully pushed the final piece between the tips of the two curving towers, where it fit like the last scale Meerclar put on lizards. Then he walked down again while all the Growlers barked and harrumphed with pleasure to see their work completed, and their mighty gate standing finished.
“While all stared upward, ears flopping and tongues lolling in glee, Redlegs walked to the base of one of the gate towers. He searched scrupulous careful for a moment, then leaned forward and tugged out one of the bones that was therein piled.
“Nothing happened for a few hiccoughing heartbeats—then waver, wail, and wallow, the gate bent a little to this side, a little to that side ... then collapsed, with a noise like all the dancing dead.
“When King Rauro Bite-then-Bark, drooling with shock and horror, turned to look at Redlegs, the Prince only said to him: ‘See, I chose my bone, as you stipulated!’ and began to laugh.
“Looking from Redlegs to his shattered gate, the eyes of the King became red with fury, and he woofed: ‘G-g-g-get that c-c-c-c-ursed c-c-c-cat! K-k-kill him!’ And all the Growlers of Barbarbar leaped up at once, and did sprint after Redlegs, who was nonetheless too fast for them and made his escape.
“Over his shoulder as he ran, he called back: ‘Think of me, O King, when next in your pride you gnaw at a hipbone on your unburied dunghill throne!’
“So it is that these days We Cats and Those Dogs are enemies wherever we meet in these fields we know. They have never forgiven the humiliation of their King, and pledge they never shall—till the sun falls from the sky, and snakes learn to fly on the morning breeze.”
When Eatbugs finished his song Pouncequick was already asleep, rumbling softly. Fritti felt the strange feeling of true-seeing leave him. He wished to question the muddied stranger-cat, but Eatbugs was in a staring trance, half asleep, and would not respond. Finally, Tailchaser also succumbed to the voice of sleep, and crossed over into the fields of dreams.
The morning sun had risen high into the sky when Tailchaser was ousted from slumber by the kneading pressure on his chest and stomach.
Pouncequick, still dozing, was treading softly with his paws as he lay curled against Fritti. The kitten, only recently weaned, was probably dreaming of his mother and nest. Tailchaser again felt a prick of worry over exposing his young companion to the dangers of the quest. The Folk were normally solitary hunters and adventurers once out of kittenhood; responsibility felt a little unnatural.
Of course,
he thought,
many unnatural things have been happening of late.
As Pouncequick continued his sleepy milk-tread Fritti was reminded of his own mother .... and was suddenly glad for the security of another warm, furry body to curl up with in these strange environs. He licked the soft fur of Pouncequick’s inner ear and the sleeping kitten rumbled happily. Fritti was just drifting back down into sleep when he heard a voice.
Eatbugs was up and stalking around, talking to himself. His eyes had the faraway look that Fritti had already seen. He carried his tattered, grime-spattered body erect and tensed.
“ ... Pounding and pumping and trapped ... here we are ... trapped! Pinned beneath this wall, this wiggly-woggly wall and all ...” Eatbugs mumbled vehemently as he paced back and forth before Fritti’s fascinated stare.
“ ... The birds and the shrieking, shriking, jelly-eyed red ones ... laughing and dancing—can’t get out! ... scratch at the door, where is it? ... must find it ...”
Suddenly the old cat went all abristle, as if surprised by sound or smell. Fritti sensed nothing. Hissing and spitting, claws shot, Eatbugs flattened himself against the ground and snarled in a voice forced out between bared teeth: “They’re here! I feel them! Why do they want me? Why?”
He yowled, looking wildly from side to side, as if surrounded by enemies. “They need me, and it ... hurts ... Ahhh! ... the Vaka‘az’me ... forgive ... Ah! There’s a crack! A crack in the sky!”
With this, Eatbugs squirmed and shook all over, then sprang away into the underbrush. The commotion of his flight quickly receded into the distance.
At Tailchaser’s side, his young companion had awakened.
“What was that?” he yawned sleepily, and stretched. “I thought I heard the most terrible ruckus.”
“It was Eatbugs,” Tailchaser responded. “I think he’s run away. He was having one of his fits—he seemed to think that something was following him.” Fritti shook his head from side to side, trying to shed the weird image of Eatbugs.
“Well, I expect it had to happen,” said Pouncequick matter-of-factly.
“He may be back,” Fritti pointed out.
“Oh, he’s not a bad sort, really. Mad as a mocking-bird. Tells good stories, though. I quite like the one about Redlegs. Who was Redlegs, anyway, Tailchaser? I’ve never heard Bristlejaw sing of him. Or of Queen Cloudleaper either, for that matter.”
“I really don’t know, Pounce,” said Fritti, and was about to suggest a hunt for breakfast when he finally noticed that the birds had stopped singing. The forest air was completely silent.
Suddenly, as quietly as grass growing, several large cats appeared out of the surrounding vegetation: stranger cats, every one as silent as a shadow. Before the startled Fritti and little Pouncequick could say a thing, or make a move, the strange cats had drawn themselves into a wide circle around the pair.
Pouncequick began to whimper in fright. The strange cats stared at them with cold, cold eyes.
8
CHAPTER
My body translates mysteries with ease.
My body is the Book of How to Go.
I swear my ways are as deep as water’s ways.
I send a message with my arching spine.
But keep back more a message than I show.
I lift my paw and give a secret sign.
—Philip Dacey
A moving ring now surrounded Fritti and his companion. The strangers circled them, passing each other with sinuous shrugs, sniffing and sniffing and not making a sound. The ring drew tighter, until finally the strangers were nosing Tailchaser and Pouncequick.
Fritti could feel the small cat growing ever more frightened. The strange cats could sense it, too. Tension hummed between the outer circle and the inner core of two.
Finally, Tailchaser could not stand it anymore. As one of the strangers brushed by, snuffling at Pouncequick, Fritti hissed and struck him with the flat of his paw. Instead of attacking, or leaping away in surprise, the strange cat merely nodded his head and stepped back a pace.
He was all black. His muscles rippled glossily beneath the short fur of his coat. His eyes were narrow slits, chinks of smoldering color, but he did not seem to be angry. This cat was not angry at all, but terrify ingly calm.
“So,” said the black cat. His voice was like gravel sliding. “Now we know where we stand. Good.” He lowered himself to the ground in front of Tailchaser, his ears back, his eyes low-burning embers. Tailchaser—caught in a reflexive response—found himself crouching in mimicry.
The black one spoke again. “I was wondering how long it would take mela-mre‘az like you to respond honorably.” With this remark, the black cat paused and looked at Fritti expectantly, as if waiting for him to say something. Tailchaser—already terrified—had no idea what he was supposed to do.
“Do ... do you want me to surrender?” he asked tentatively. The black cat looked at him appraisingly. A moment passed.
“Well? Get on with it!” said the stranger.
“Well ... well ... I won’t give in to you!” blurted Tailchaser, in an agony of fear and confusion.
“Excellent!” boomed the black cat. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” All four of the black one’s companions now drew back from where he and Fritti crouched.
“I am Quiverclaw, Thane of the First-walkers,” proclaimed the black cat, tail lashing back and forth hypnotically behind him. “Offer your face name, trespasser!”
“I am Tailchaser, of the Meeting Wall Clan ... and I am no trespasser!” finished Fritti. He was angry now.
Quiverclaw seemed pleased by this, for he nodded, but nothing but readiness showed on his face. Hugging the ground even more closely, the black cat’s haunches began a slow, rolling motion, and his tail thrashed wildly. Tailchaser unconsciously adopted a similar pattern. Their eyes locked and held.
Fritti suddenly realized that Quiverclaw was almost half again as big as he himself was—but as he stared into the stranger’s eyes, it didn’t seem important. What was important was that slinky black tail, lashing this way ... and that way...
“Well met, Tailchaser,” hissed Quiverclaw. “I commend your ka unto the bosom of the Allmother.”
“Tailchaser!” cried Pouncequick, his voice full of panic. Fritti turned and pushed the kitten away from his side and out of danger.
“Be quiet, Pounce.” He turned to the black one again and stared hard at the almond eyes. “Do not be so quick to neglect your own ka, Thane of Bullies.” Fritti leaped forward. A whoop went up from the other cats, overwhelming Pouncequick’s bleat of fear.
Everything seemed to happen at the same moment. Fritti felt a shock of impact as Quiverclaw sprang. Then he was on the ground, thrashing, trying to get away from the claws of the bigger cat. He rolled onto his back, bringing up his back feet to pummel the belly of his opponent.
Quiverclaw pulled back slightly, and Tailchaser was able to slither away and climb onto his feet. But it was only a moment’s respite, and then the black cat was on him again.
Over and over they rolled—clawing at one another, yowling in sliding, swooping discord. Tailchaser gave as good as he got for the first few seconds—kicking at Quiverclaw’s stomach, biting and scratching at legs and chest—but he was young and inexperienced. The black one was big, and obviously a veteran of many battles.
The two combatants pulled apart for a moment, and circled each other, hissing. They both felt the pull, though, the need for resolution; after a heartbeat they threw themselves together again.
Pinned beneath Quiverclaw, Fritti managed one final effort—writhing and twisting in the larger cat’s grip, then wriggling free long enough to bite down hard on the black cat’s ear and draw blood. Then his strength was gone, and he was again crushed beneath Quiverclaw’s weight. He felt the jaws clamp down on the back of his neck.
“Do you cry ‘enough’?” growled the Thane into Fritti’s neck fur. Fritti was trying to catch his breath long enough to surrender when suddenly the jaws were gone from his neck and an ear-deafening yowl was echoing through the clearing.
Tailchaser rolled weakly onto his back in time to see Quiverclaw—leaping and twisting like a demon-cat—batting with his paws at Pouncequick. The kitten was hanging on grimly, needle-sharp kitten-teeth sunk to the gums in Quiverclaw’s shiny black tail.
Finally able to dislodge the young cat, the Thane slid to the ground in pain and exhaustion less than a jump from where Fritti lay. Quiverclaw licked his wounded tail and stared reproachfully at Pouncequick, who haughtily returned the look.
The other cats surrounded Pouncequick, growling angrily, but Quiverclaw caught his breath long enough to wave them off, saying: “No, no, leave him alone. His protector fought bravely—and he, too, is courageous enough for his age. Not too wise in his choice of enemies, perhaps ... well, no matter. Let him be.”
Seeing Pouncequick safe, Tailchaser rolled onto his back with his paws in the air. First he saw myriad tiny spots floating above his eyes, and then for a time he saw nothing at all....
When he awoke, Fritti found that Pouncequick had become the center of attention.
The group of strange cats were huddled around him with expressions of surprise and amusement on their faces. Pouncequick was apparently telling them about Eatbugs; Tailchaser saw Quiverclaw laughing as Pouncequick attempted to duplicate one of Eatbugs’ capering leaps.
Drawing himself quietly up into a sitting position, Fritti surveyed the cluster of strange cats. They seemed friendly enough, now—they had certainly put Pouncequick at ease—but Tailchaser was not so quick to trust. Who were they?
It was obvious that Quiverclaw was the leader. Even laughing, lolling on the ground, he had a look of controlled power and command. Beside him sat a fat, grizzled old tom, orange-and-black body striped like summer lightning, his stomach flattened against the ground between his stocky legs.
On the Thane’s farther side were two more cats: one gray, one patched in black and white. Neither was as large as Quiverclaw, or the old tiger-stripe, but they were lean and well-muscled, with the quiet look about them of successful hunters.