“As Your Regal Softness is aware,” he began, “we First-walkers are few in number, and our thanages are widespread. I myself have jurisdiction over much of the Sunsnest Plains and this part of Rootwood—excepting Firsthome, of course,” he added, with a sly smile for Dewtreader. “The territories U‘ea-ward, north of the Caterwaul, were formerly the protectorate of my cousin, Thane Brushstalker. Now, he is dead.” Squeakerbane paused significantly. The Queen leaned forward, curiosity in her bright eyes.
“We are sad to hear of the passing of Brushstalker from these fields, of course,” said the Queen thoughtfully. “He was a brave and canny hunter. But we still do not understand the purpose of your embassy. The First-walkers have always determined their own succession without recourse to our Court.”
Squeakerbane sat back and scratched impatiently. “And so we shall continue to do, O Queen. It is not Brushstalker’s legacy but the manner of his passing that brings me here. Brushstalker was attacked by an unknown enemy and
torn to pieces.
The other Walkers of his thanage have disappeared.”
Queen Sunback, crouched in the split-bark hollow of the Vaka‘az’me, gave a shudder of distaste. The pearly inner wood of the trunk framed her white form as she peered out at the Thane.
“How horrible!” she said.
Dewtreader stepped toward the Thane on silent pads. “What beast committed this act?” he demanded. “And what can
we
do about it, that you have come to us with this story?”
Fritti, seated among the few remaining onlookers, felt Pouncequick go tense like a bent sapling at his side.
So this is what had brought Quivereclaw and the others up from the South!
he thought.
“None of the Folk can say, Majesties,” answered Squeakerbane grimly. “It was a powerful creature, indeed, if it was only one. If it was a hunting pack it is no less disturbing. Brushstalker was savaged.”
Sunback had regained her aplomb. “Why do you come to us, though, to make us uneasy?” she asked. “Brushstalker’s fate is terrible to hear of, but Ratleaf and the northern area have long been dangerous, forbidding places. Why do you bring us these upsetting stories?”
“I do not bring these portents just to upset the tranquillity of Firsthome,” spoke Squeakerbane, scarred head proudly erect. “I come to alert you to peril, because I think the Court is in a hazardous state of complacency. This is not an isolated incident. I know that, and so do you. Your son has been patrolling the borders of Firsthome because of troubles closer to nest.”
“Now we’re getting to it!” said Fencewalker, pleased, but Dewtreader raised a slender paw and interrupted him.
“There have been marauders on our borders, but it is nothing to raise hackles over,” said the Prince Consort in his musical voice. “Wild Growlers, perhaps, or a sickened Garrin-there could be many explanations; so also with the lamentable death of Brushstalker.”
The battered old Thane eyed Dewtreader with quiet contempt. “The massive Garrin can be dangerous, of course,” he said, “but they are winter sleepers, and these developments began during the last snows. I think that they will continue through this year’s snow, when the Garrin have again gone to ground.” Dewtreader met his stare, but said nothing. “Whatever is lurking in the northern territories—and beginning to spread out—is not a natural child of this world, as many can attest. The earth has a great forgiveness for its creatures. I have lived in the high places and the deep places, but I have never seen anything like this.”
“What do you mean, Thane?” questioned Queen Sunback. “I am afraid we do not understand.”
“Something strange has settled in the area across the Hararscrape. The forest creatures of Ratleaf are migrating outward, fleeing the area in swarms. The birds who nest there at this season are flying away across the Bigwater. Of all the Folk, you in Firsthome should know why that portends dangerous times.”
“Make your point, First-walker,” said Dewtreader, his voice cold.
“It should be obvious. Here, around Firsthome, is the greatest concentration of the Folk to be found anywhere: a hungry, hunting mob constantly beating the brush for fla-fa‘az and Squeaker. Yet those creatures still remain—having bigger litters and hatch ings than in other places, perhaps, but still living out their lives here. Rootwood is their ancestral home as much as it is ours. We Folk—and the ones on whom we prey—all dance together. That is how it should be.
“Whatever has taken up the northern flats, though, and raised a
mound
—a pile of tailings near as big as all of Firsthome—that is something that the creatures of Ratleaf cannot live with. This is a danger we would all do well to regard.”
“Bravo!!” shouted Fencewalker. “Leaping Harar, but it’s good to hear somebody has some sense around here!”
Queen Sunback seemed about to speak. Fritti and Pouncequick—indeed, all those assembled—leaned imperceptibly forward to hear her pronouncement. Dewtreader, however, rose and yawned.
“Well,” he said calmly, “there is much in what you say, Thane, and much of it is new to us. The mound, in particular, sounds a very strange thing indeed—we shall have more discussion of it later. For the moment, however, we do not find it meet to go kitten-paddling off after rumors, and mounting uninformed expeditions into what
you yourself
have said is very evil territory.” Squeakerbane seemed about to protest, but Dewtreader whipped his brown-tipped tail from side to side and the First-walker held his peace.
“However,”
continued Dewtreader pointedly, “we are not insensible to danger. The Queen’s son, the gallant Prince Fencewalker, has our permission to levy what Folk he deems necessary, with an eye to safeguarding the borders of our territory. He may begin at once.”
“Wonderful!” The Prince leaped excitedly to his feet. “I’m so pleased!” he burbled—a little inappropriately, Tailchaser thought—and with a leap and a bound, Fencewalker was gone into the darkness.
“Now,” continued the cold-eyed Prince Consort, “we will also ask that when you have met with your fellow First-walkers, Thane, you return and do us the courtesy of sharing your conclusions with the Court of Harar. Is that possible?”
“Certainly, Your Highness!” said Squeakerbane, somewhat taken aback, “I hope we can continue to cooperate on this ...”
“Of course, of course,” said Dewtreader. “Those are the Queen’s wishes. Am I correct, my many-whiskered Queen?” he asked, turning to Sunback. The Queen, lulled by the familiar sound of Court routine, only waved her tail distractedly in assent.
“Very well, then, I suppose that brings an end to the night’s audiences. We thank you again, Thane Squeakerbane, for bringing these matters to our attention. Please extend our heartfelt sorrow to the friends and relations of Brushstalker.”
Dewtreader had actually begun to leave the plateau when Rumblepurr spoke up distractedly.
“Err... hmmm ... um, begging your pardon, Lord, but I believe there was one more... umm ... waiting their turn... if you see what I mean.” Dewtreader returned to the grassy knoll wearing a look of annoyance that was swiftly muted into bland indifference. The Queen was paying no attention at all—in fact, she was grooming her flank as she reclined between the spreading roots of the Vaka‘az’me.
“Very well,” said the Prince Consort, “where are they? Bring them forward.”
Fritti and Pouncequick, totally unprepared, were urged forward by Rumblepurr. The chubby tom leaned forward and whispered to Fritti: “Try to keep it short, youngling. Their Eminences are a trifle out of sorts.”
Nervous Fritti could see this clearly. Pouncequick was almost completely overcome by shyness, and trembled silently beside Tailchaser as they stood before the Great Oak.
“What are your names and why have you come before us?” asked Prince Dewtreader impatiently.
“I am Tailchaser, and this is my companion Pouncequick. We are of the Meeting Wall Clan, from the far side of the Old Woods. We are seeking a friend of ours named Hushpad.” Fritti’s voice was weak.
The Queen finally seemed to notice the two small cats.
“Do you think she is here in Firsthome?” she asked, turning her gleaming eyes on them. Pouncequick, keyed up to a fever pitch, gave a whimper of despair and buried his head in Tailchaser’s hip. Fritti swallowed and spoke.
“No, great Queen, we do not think so. We do think it is possible that she has been taken by the creature or ... creatures of which Squeakerbane spoke. Many of the other Folk of the Meeting Wall Clan have also disappeared mysteriously. The elder sent a delegation to this Court for that very reason,” he finished hurriedly.
Sunback yawned widely, showing sharp teeth as white as her pelt, and an impossibly pink tongue. “Have we received such a delegation?” she asked Rumblepurr. The old Chamberlain pondered for a moment. ‘ .
“Can’t say as we have, Your Softness,” he said finally. “Don’t think I’ve heard of the Meeting Wall Clan before this, and it’s a dead-rat certainty that no embassy has arrived from there.” .
“There you are, then,” said Dewtreader. “I’m afraid that the doings of the big, wide world sometimes pass this little Court right by. I’m truly sorry that we couldn’t help you. Feel free to stay in Firsthome as long as you need to. Perhaps, if you’re interested in all that, you could be of help to Fencewalker. You are past your hunt-song, aren’t you? Well, no matter. Mri‘fa-o. The Queen’s audiences are at an end.”
Howlsong, who had fallen asleep at the outer edge of the canyon while he waited, led them silently back through the forest. Fritti, full of vague resentment and gloom, had no conversation to offer, either. After a long stretch of unspeaking travel, Pouncequick finally broke the stillness.
“Just think, Tailchaser,” he said, “we’ve actually been to see the Queen of Cats!”
15
CHAPTER
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
—Wallace Stevens
The days passed swiftly in Firsthome. Outside the sheltering vastness of the Rootwood winter had come.
Fritti and Pouncequick chased away time beneath the great trees, exploring, hunting, becoming fat and glossy of coat. Roofshadow, still polite and reserved, spent a great deal of time with them. She seemed, in particular, to enjoy accompanying Pouncequick on his various expeditions.
One dark afternoon, when the kitten and the gray fela were out wandering the mazes of Firsthome, Tailchaser found himself alone. Howlsong was on an initiation stalk, prior to his Oel-cir‘va ceremonies, and would be gone for two sunrises. As the other residents of Firsthome, very few of whom Fritti even recognized, bustled to and fro on secret errands and assignations, Tailchaser strolled beneath the trees by himself. It had been a long time since he had gone anywhere without the accompaniment of a chattering voice, or even the presence of a companion.
He meandered to the southern edge of Firsthome, where the trees gave way to the edge of Sunsnest—walking at his own pace, listening to his own inner songs. He wandered out beyond the forest’s eaves and down a grassy, sloping meadow sprinkled with feathery early snow. He was so tightly wrapped in thought that he did not hear the icy burblings of the Purrwhisper until he stood on its banks.
Crouched on his haunches, fur ruffled against the chilly wind and fluttering snow, he watched the river splash past—passing out of his sight to the east, Vez‘an, where it would eventually join the Caterwaul. Farther, much farther still, was the place of his nesting and kittenhood, and the forest and fields where he had run with Hushpad through the bright-sky summer.
He slit his eyes against the cold breeze as he stared out across the plain; he thought about going home. Rootwood would never be a home to him. Somewhere out there, beyond the winter lands, was the Meeting Wall. Somewhere out there were his friends.
But not his family. Not Hushpad.
For some long time he sat, tail curled around his paws, then rose and walked back up the steep meadow, with the laughter of Purrwhisper diminishing behind him.
“Tailchaser!” chirped Pouncequick. “We’ve been looking about for you. Did you go exploring? Roofshadow and I have something important to tell you!”
Fritti stopped to wait as the kitten bounced up the trail toward him. “Good dancing, Pounce,” he said, “and to you, Roofshadow.” The fela looked brooding and preoccupied. “I have some news myself. Let’s go back to our tree, and out of the wind.”
In the bower, as the wind shook the treetops high overhead, Fritti addressed his friends in a serious tone. “I hope you will understand what I am going to tell you, and will think well of me. I have been thinking about it quite a lot, today. The decision was not so hard as wondering how to tell you.
“I have to leave Firsthome. I have stayed here too long already, and I am losing my purpose—but the promise I made is just as important as it was when I made it. I cannot winter here quietly while Hushpad is undiscovered.
“After going to the Court, and hearing all that was said, I have concluded that no further help can be expected here. It seems that something is happening in the North, and I believe that is where I must go to continue my search. I am quite frightened, really, and every one of my whiskers is atwitch at the prospect, but I must go. Harar knows, sometimes I wish ... I ... Pouncequick, are you
laughing?”
Pouncequick was indeed laughing, snorting little giggles and thumping Roofshadow with his paw.
“Oh ... oh... oh, Tailchaser,” he said between sneezes, “of course we must go. That’s what Roofshadow and I were talking about today. And several other days, also. But Roofshadow said you had to decide for yourself when to leave.”
Fritti was taken aback. “We? But Pounce, it’s the cold season. I can’t take you along with me. It’s not your oath, your ridiculous promise. And besides, forgive me, you’re awfully brave, but you’re still just a kitling. This may be terribly dangerous—don’t you see?”