Tailchaser's Song (23 page)

“ ‘That sounds nice,’ said Windflower, raising a wonderfully tapered paw. ‘Would you like to walk with me awhile?’

“Lord Firefoot was overcome with admiration for the beauteous Windflower, and they walked together.

“ ‘Windflower, do you have many brothers in your home?’ asked Firefoot after a while.

“ ‘No, I live in a dwelling of M’an. No other Folk share my nest.‘

“ ‘That is odd, then, because I scent a strange torn—although very faintly. Could we be followed?’ Firefoot looked inquiringly about as he padded along on his fiery red paws.

“ ‘I do not think so,’ spoke Windflower sweetly. ‘You are the only tom—besides myself—that I have seen all day.’

“Lord Tangaloor whirled about, stunned. ‘Are you not a fela?’ he yowled. ‘But how can that be? You seem in all respects unlike a male!’ The Firstborn was terribly upset.

“ ‘Oh,’ said Windflower, embarrassed. ‘I suppose it is because of what the M’an-folk did to me.‘

“ ‘M’an!!!‘ howled Lord Firefoot. ’Treacherous brood of Ninebirds! They have defiled the Folk! I shall be revenged upon them all, someday!‘ So saying, he ran into the forest, departing forever the crippled Windflower.

“And so the First-walkers, by the word of our Lord Firefoot, never will walk in the shadow of M‘an.”

Squeakerbane, having finished his story, lay down again between Furscuff and Fencewalker. There was a moment’s strained silence, and then the Prince spoke.

“Well, now, I’ve never held much with those stretched, hairless folk myself. Quite a story, quite a story.”

Everyone relaxed, and many of the group congratulated Squeakerbane on his tale. More riddles and songs followed, and eventually even the overexcited Pouncequick was tired enough to fall asleep.

Fritti, too, his head full of Hushpad and Firefoot and red claws, finally crossed the borders of the dream-fields. The furry tangle of Folk drowsed and grumbled away the waning Hour of Final Dancing.

The Hour of Smaller Shadows found the travelers descending to the Rootwood fence, the final stand of conifers and aspens that separated the ancient forest from the bluffs overlooking the Hararscrape canyon. Here the Prince’s party would establish their border watch, and the others would go their own ways. The sun shone brightly, although the weather was chill.

Stopping at the fence, they could see the sparsely foliaged flatlands—shrouded in the merest sprinkling of snow—stretching away before them to the edge of the mighty canyon.

Turning to the First-walkers Squeakerbane and Furscuff, Prince Fencewalker bobbed his head in farewell. “Well met and good dancing, Thane,” he said. “Be sure to see me first when the Thane-meet is finished—before wasting your news on those old sit-on-tails back at the Court. Know that I, for one, will value your words.”

“Many thanks to you, O Prince,” said Squeakerbane gravely. ‘It is good to know that true hearts still beat in the ancient home of our Folk.“ The First-walker looked over to Tailchaser and his two companions. ”These three Furscuff and I will accompany for a short while—until our paths separate. Go in the watchfulness of our Lord Firefoot, Fencewalker.“ He and Furscuff then moved a respectful distance apart as Fritti, Pouncequick and Roofshadow came forward to say their farewells.

On the verge of departure into the unknown but seemingly ill-starred territories, Tailchaser found himself reluctant to part company with Fencewalker. He knew he would miss the bluff, warmhearted Prince very much. When he tried to speak, no words came forth, and he had to pretend to dislodge a burr from his tail while Roofshadow stepped forward and thanked Fencewalker for his aid.

“Good dancing, Prince,” added Pouncequick. “I saw ever so many fascinating things at Firsthome that I will always remember. You’ve been wonderful to us.”

“Pounce speaks for me, also,” said Fritti quietly. “We owe you much.”

Fencewalker laughed. “Marsh mud! I’m in your debt, also—for information about the E‘a-ward territories, if nothing else. Stay, out of trouble, and that will be my reward.”

The others in Fencewalker’s party crowded forward how, and said their raucous farewells. As Tailchaser and the others walked away, Fritti found his words and called back to the Prince.

“Prince Fencewalker! You, also—keep yourself safe and happy!”

“Not to worry, little friend!” boomed the hunter. “I walked these borders before I was old enough to be Named. You need have no fear for us!”

The Prince and his band disappeared back into the outskirts of the forest.

The sun was low in the sky as the five cats picked their way down the sloping plains.

Squeakerbane, with help from Furscuff, was describing the terrain that they could expect to find ahead. “Actually,” he was saying, “you need to proceed north, rather than in the direction we’re going now, if you want to get across the Hararscrape. That way lies the ford. But I think you should come with us a bit farther, just to see Grumbleroar. It is worth the extra half-day, and not really very far out of your path.”

As they walked, ever-curious Pouncequick questioned the Thane about the story he had told the previous night, and the First-walkers’ attitude toward the Court of Harar.

“After all,” he asked, “don’t lots of the Folk live with M‘an, in M’an-dwellings? Why is that wrong?”

The crusty old Thane took the querying in good grace. It seemed that no one ever felt offended by Pouncequick, Fritti noted wryly, except badgers and Visl.

“The wrong, youngest hunter,” explained Squeakerbane, “is that we are the Folk, not Growlers who need to be led to live; who hunt in packs and fawn on any that give them food. The Folk have always survived on their wits and skill, performing the earth dance without help. Now half our number live in bloated indolence, emasculated and imprisoned—but uncaring—rising only to eat the food provided them by the children of Ninebirds.”

Though he strove to maintain calm, the scarred visage of the Thane revealed the depth of his feeling. “And now,” he continued, “even in the Court where our Lord Firefoot once lived, this poison has crept in. Dewtreader and his wearying mysticism and fatalism! It is wrong! Anyone can see that a cat must run, must hunt. And the Queen! Tangaloor forgive me, she eats from a
bowl
—as if she belonged to one of those hulking, unintelligible brutes that we cast out untold generations ago. The Queen of the Folk does not even hunt!” Squeakerbane was trembling with suppressed rage, and after a moment shook his head. “I should not allow myself to become angry,” he said, chagrined, “but in our time of great danger, to see those mewing sycophants lolling about while our kin are being destroyed... forgive me.” The Thane lapsed into silence, and for a long time the others imitated him.

 

 

The travelers approached Grumbleroar near the end of Stretching Sun. Here, on the rim of the Hararscrape, the cold air was thick with swirling mists. A muted rumbling was all around.

Squeakerbane, who had not spoken for some time, suddenly showed a brightened aspect. “This is something you may pass along in story to litters yet unborn,” he said to Roofshadow.

At the canyon edge the sound grew louder, until it was a deafening clamor. Fritti winced. It was obvious that the name Grumbleroar was well chosen.

The mists were so thick at this spot that Squeakerbane decided to lead them across the Purrwhisper near its descent over the edge of the Hararscape. As they traversed the slippery, water-slimed rocks, and the Purrwhisper—no longer the gentle stream that flowed past Firsthome—frothed below them, Fritti felt a moment of regret for all the times he had allowed himself to be led since he had left home.

A fitting end to this whole ridiculous trip, he thought: pounded and splashed to death by the safest river in all of Meerclar’s fields.

But they made it across, even Pouncequick avoiding disaster. Back at the cliffs rim they could see the Purrwhisper pounding over the precipice, plummeting down the canyon’s edge in a foaming white surge to churn and plunge off the rocks into the mighty Caterwaul far, far below. The water rose up from the swiftly flowing river at the bottom of the Hararscrape, and from where they crouched the setting sun, shining through this curtain of mist, tore the sky into glittering gold, red and purple. Grumbleroar falls bellowed like a furious beast, and the cats stared out at its awesome power.

When Unfolding Dark finally mantled the sun, Squeakerbane led them back up the banks of the Purrwhisper—away from cliffs edge. As the roar of the falls faded to a faint booming, they stopped.

Stunned as they were by the magnificence of Grumbleroar, it was some time before Tailchaser and his friends realized that Furscuff and the Thane were preparing to leave them.

“I am sorry we cannot guide you farther,” said Squeakerbane, “but as it is we shall be several sun-turns late for the Thane-meet. My suggestion is that you continue along the canyon wall, as I mentioned before, and cross over at the Slenderleap. It would be well to wait for sun-high before you cross, even if you reach it tonight: it is a treacherous path.”

They said their farewells, then, for the First-walkers were in a hurry to continue onward. “Remember,” said Squeakerbane as they parted, “the lands you are walking into bear an evil name these days. Tread warily. I wish there was more that we could do, but you have set your paws onto strange roads—and who knows what may come of that?” So saying, the Thane and his companion took their leave.

 

 

For the better part of two more Hours the three companions headed west, following the edge of the Hararscrape. All were full of their own thoughts. When they reached the massive tree that stood soli tarily on the canyon’s rim, marking the near side of Slenderleap Ford, they curled up quietly and went to sleep. Fritti did not dream.

Who wakes in the wilderness when night is done
Fancying himself lord of all the land
May see what was not there at the set of sun
And tremblingly will come to understand
The peril that has passed him in the dark—
Tracks ... in the sand.

—Archibald Rutledge

 

 

The light of day showed the Slenderleap Ford—a narrow, arching natural rock bridge flung over the Hararscrape. The opposite wall of the canyon was so far away that Slenderleap seemed to dwindle into nothingness in midspan.

Pouncequick looked out across the formation apprehensively.

“Well, I suppose we shall have to cross it, won’t we, Tailchaser?”

Fritti nodded. “It’s either that or try to go down into the Hararscrape and cross the Caterwaul at the bottom. I don’t fancy that much.”

“It’s the only way open to us now,” Roofshadow said quietly. “Squeakerbane said it’s leagues and leagues to the end of the canyon. I doubt this will be the worst thing we see, anyway. Shall we go?”

Tailchaser sized the fela up carefully.

I don’t think she’s as calm as she wants to put about,
he thought.
My whiskers tell me she’s scared, too. Maybe more than we are. But there are all kinds of bravery, I suppose.

“Roofshadow’s right, Pounce,” he said aloud. “Let’s get to it.”

Once past the giant oak, whose root clusters seemed to anchor one side of the curving bridge, Fritti took the lead. Pouncequick followed him and Roofshadow brought up the rear, keeping a careful eye.

Slenderleap Ford was wider than it appeared from a distance—wide enough that three cats could have walked abreast—and at first the going was fairly easy. The wet weather and chill temperatures had left patches of ice on the stone, though. Tailchaser and his friends walked slowly and very carefully.

When they had moved a distance out onto the span, the canyon walls fell away below them, and the growling and pounding of the Caterwaul rose up to fill the air. The footing became treacherous, and the noise of the river drowned out most sounds. They journeyed over the canyon single-file and unspeaking, like caterpillars on a slender branch.

Near the midpoint of the stone ford Fritti felt the wind that blew down the canyon swirl roughly about him, tugging at his fur. Sudden gusts forced him to take a few shaky steps.