Tailchaser's Song (39 page)

It was not laughter that he had heard, but a strange whimpering. He pushed his head through into the fissure—his whiskers just fit—and peered around. A dark shape was huddled down in a small cave formed in the tunnel wall.

“Eatbugs?” Fritti whispered quietly. If the creature heard him, it gave no sign. Tailchaser carefully levered himself down into the cavelet. The darkness inside was nearly complete, and the cave was so small that Fritti could find no room to stand; he was forced to crush himself up against the matted, bristly shape.

It must be Eatbugs,
thought Fritti.
No one else has fur so dirty.

He gave the sobbing shape a sharp nudge. “Eatbugs. It’s me, Tailchaser. Come on now, I’ll get you out of here.”

Fritti prodded the mad cat again, and the whimpering sounds became a disjointed stream of words.

“Trapped, trapped and twitted ... twitted like the twinkling ... twinkling ... oh, there is badness, os and f-f-further ...”

Fritti was disgusted. He might have expected that Eatbugs would have lapsed into this gibbering state. “Come now,” he said. “There’s no time for this.” His eyes had become better adjusted to the near-absolute blackness; he could just barely make out the tufted, wild-haired form beside him.

“ ... Don’t you see, don’t you see,” moaned the voice, “they have suited us with a pelt of stone ... they have taken the skulls of stones and made us altogether a cage out of it ... the fitting is too tight. Nether depths, how it
burns
!” On this last, the voice rose until it was nearly a howl. Tailchaser flinched. If this continued they would surely be heard.

His patience now beginning to smolder into fear, Tailchaser seized a mouthful of dirty fur in his teeth and pulled, hard. A paw, with a force like a great stone, pushed him over and pinned him down. His heart leaped. Had he been mistaken? Was this not Eatbugs after all?

That would be the final irony,
he thought.
To go following my tail name on a mission of selflessness and then crawl stupidly into a hole with a ravening beast.

Tailchaser tried to struggle out from beneath the firm grip, but he found he was clutched as securely as a newborn. His efforts caused the thing that held him to turn, and for a moment its face was spotted with faint light from the crevice’s opening.

It was Eatbugs. The dim light showed his eyes, crazed as cracked ice.

“My blood has called the whirlwind!” Eatbugs shrieked. “The sucking, spinning thing ... 0, pity me. I am its center, it will never leave me ... 0, even the
void
would be sweet... !”

As the last echoes of the cry rolled out into the corridor beyond, Fritti heard the sound of running paws and sharp, questioning voices. They were discovered. He gave, one last heave, but Eatbugs—with deranged strength—had caught him fast. He might as well have been pinioned beneath a fallen oak. Helpless. He closed his eyes, and waited for death.

Time seemed to slow, as it had before when the Clawguard came out of the night ... such a long time ago. Drifting, he found something at the edge of his memory, and drew it in to examine. It was the prayer that Quiverclaw had taught him—or, rather, the start of it. As his mind lazily examined the fragment of song, part of him still heard the scuffling sounds outside the fissure, and the muffled lamentations of Eatbugs.

The bit of lore floated before his mind’s eye.... Tangaloor, fire-bright ... yes, that was how it began. How curious, that he should remember it now.

“Tangaloor, fire-bright ...” He said it aloud now, and listened to the sweet contrast it made: to the harsh breathing of the beast beside him, and the harsh cries of the beasts without. More of the prayer came unbidden to his voice, more song. “Flame-foot, farthest walker ... your hunter calls ...” What was the last? Oh yes: “ ... In need, but never in fear.” That was it.

He sang it again, straight through, oblivious to the gasping of Eatbugs beside him. The Clawguard in the tunnel above were curiously still.

Even with his eyes closed, Fritti was aware of a change. Light was streaming in, shining crimson on the inside of his eyelids. The luminous earth must be aglow again. He opened his eyes ... but the crevice-glow was as dim as before. Instead, a red brilliance was springing up within the cave itself.

In the darkness, Eatbugs’ legs and paws had begun to glow as if they were afire.

Eatbugs began to roll and pitch strangely. The light spread, and the red-lit air itself began to shimmer as if from great heat, but the temperature did not change.

There was a great flash, and a voice like the singing of all the Folk beneath Meerclar’s Eye cried out, triumphantly:

“I
AM
...!”

The sheer force of it flung Fritti back; he struck his head against the crevice wall. As he rolled groggily back over he saw that the great light had faded. Eatbugs crouched before him, his body black, nearly invisible—his legs red as fire, red as sunset. The marks of madness and disarray were gone, the fur thick and fine; Eatbugs’ eyes stared back at Taikhaser with a wisdom and love and pride such as he had never seen before. There was a sadness, too, that hovered as close as a second pelt. Fritti knew that he was in the presence of all that was great in his race.

“Nre‘fa-o, little brother,” Eatbugs said to him—but Fritti knew now that it was Eatbugs no longer: the true ka had come back. The voice was the melody of night, of things that know the old, delicate pattern that earth and her things know. Fritti dropped to his stomach, hiding his eyes behind his paws. He curled himself into a ball.

“No, little brother,” said the wonderful voice, “you must not do that. You have no need for shame before me—quite the opposite. You have helped me find my way back after a long, dark journey, and in a time of great need. It is I who should bow to you and your efforts.” So saying, Lord Firefoot—for it
was
he—took up Fritti’s paw and touched it to his brow. The white star on Fritti’s own forehead flared up in the gloom of the small cavern.

“Ah, little one, I followed your special light as Irao Skystone followed the dawn-star into the trackless East,” sang Lord Tangaloor. “I only hope I have come in time.”

The air in the small place shimmered again, and Lord Firefoot seemed to grow to fill every crevice in the room. “I must needs settle some old accounts,” he said. “I have wandered many years, trapped in the prison of my own madness, while my brother nursed his corruption. He has called up powers that the earth was not meant to hold—as I did myself, upon a time. My reasons were better, but still it left me with a wracked shell, and my ka flown far away. Many perversions have been loosed by my brother Hearteater. I must try to put an end to his ways.” The presence seemed to shrink slightly. “Aahh, and my brother Whitewind must be avenged, too, or never again will his ka rest. Alas, that innocents such as you should be caught up in the doings of the Firstborn. Come now, young Tailchaser, what may I do for you—though naught I try will go far toward equaling my debt? Speak, for soon I must be gone.”

Stunned, Fritti sat for a moment in silence. When he spoke at last, he found himself unable to look up at the one before him.

“I wish my friends to escape safely—all the brave Folk who came here.”

The Firstborn was silent, as if staring out over a great distance. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“Little brother, many of those brave ones are gone; their kas have fled to the bosom of the Allmother. Even I cannot quicken them, else I would have saved mine own brother, who I loved. As for the fela and the youngling, well, I shall try to help, but at this moment they need your presence more than mine. I cannot explain, but it is so.”

Fritti jumped up and scrambled toward the way out, but Firefoot called him back with a laugh.

“It can wait but a moment more, I promise you. I did see something else, another desire that courses strongly in you. You seek someone, although you have lost your search. This search helped lead you to me, so it seems only right that I should aid you.”

Fritti felt as if he were falling into the sky-deep eyes ... a moment later he was staring wildly from wall to wall: the tiny underground chamber was empty. Then a voice came to him, treading his mind as effortlessly as Hearteater had, but nimbly ... and with respect.

The presence was gone, and Fritti was completely alone.

Wondering, he remembered the Clawguard who had been massing outside. When he cautiously lifted his head through the fissure, he discovered the tunnel to be as empty as if it had been undisturbed since the days of Harar. Only several piles of dust, gently sifting in an unexpected cool breeze, spoiled the absolute stillness.

 

Unable to remember how he had covered the distance or what paths he had followed, Tailchaser found himself mounting the curving path that circumscribed the cavern of the Scalding Flume. The great, boiling river roared as vigorously as ever, and seemed to be striking even higher on the stone walls that penned it. The path before him was masked in mist. Fritti started upward.

The river
did
in fact seem to be leaping to greater heights: the tendrils of water splashed up against the cavern’s massive ceiling, then fell back as hissing rain. Despite the poor visibility, Tailchaser moved quickly and surely along the pitted, eroded trail. He had been touched by something far beyond himself, and still felt the buoyant aftereffects.

The breeze changed direction, coming about into his whiskers, and in that instant he heard Pouncequick’s shrill squeal of fright and pain.

“Pouncequick, Roofshadow, I’m coming!” Fritti howled. Suddenly he was leaping along the narrow path, trusting to instincts that he knew he did not possess in his frenzied hurry to reach his friends. As he skidded around a bend in the narrow trail, scrabbling for footing above the booming, steaming waters, he saw his two companions ahead. Roofshadow was standing over a bleeding Pouncequick, struggling fiercely with a great dark creature twice her size——Scratchnail.

The black beast, striped and spotted with blood, turned his mad eyes toward Tailchaser’s approach. A snarling grin curled his wide face.

“Star-face. Star-face the Tailchaser! I’ll kill him someday! I will!” Scratchnail gave out a loud bark of laughter, and Roofshadow fell back, wounded and panting. Tailchaser bounded grimly forward as Scratchnail fell into a crouch, thick tail thrashing the air behind him. A rumble from the ceiling stones seemed to pass through the cavern.

Fritti pulled up short in the wide part of the path, dropping to a bow-backed hunch several jumps away from the Clawguard. The ominous rumble mounted once more above the clamor of the Flume.

“Come for me if you want me, Scratchnail,” Tailchaser said, putting as much scorn into his voice as he could muster. The Claw-beast grinned again, and his tail whipped. “Come for me—if you’re through fighting kittens, you stone-headed Garrin.” Scratchnail growled and stood, the short fur on his back rising up like black grass.

“Roofshadow!” Tailchaser cried, above the increasing tumult from above and below. “Take Pouncequick and keep moving!”

“He’s badly hurt, Tailchaser,” the fela called back. The Clawguard was moving sinuously down the path toward Fritti, death in each scarlet claw.

“All the more reason to get him to the surface!” Fritti called. “This is my fight. You’ve done what you can. Go on!”

Fritti saw Roofshadow and Pouncequick turn and move up the trail, the kitten stumbling badly. He turned his attention back to the creature before him.

They faced each other—the small orange cat with the white star; the dark, blood-nailed beast from the earth. Hips and tails wriggling, they stared for a long moment. The Clawguard sprang, and there was another great noise from above. In the instant before contact, Fritti saw showers of small stones come pattering down—then Scratchnail was on him.

Biting and kicking, they rolled over on the narrow causeway, the dark beast’s low snarls matched in intensity by Tailchaser’s own maddened yowling. They gouged and snapped, then broke apart, walking a constrained circle on their tiny ledge, death-instincts drawing them slowly nearer each other until, leaping, they closed again.

The ritual was repeated over and over. The superior size of Scratchnail was wearing away Fritti’s failing strength, but the smaller cat would not let up. They struggled and bit, fell apart, then fell together once more. Both cats moved with the anguished slowness of dark, blind creatures on the bottom of the Bigwater, blind things thrashing in the mud.

Finally, Fritti was overborne, pushed down on the edge of the pathway. His head hung limply, a dizzying drop above the rolling waters. The cavern now reverberated to a ceaseless pounding from the very stones of the roof, as if giant shapes danced above their heads.

Fritti lay motionless. An arching jet of burning-hot liquid shot up past his face. Scratchnail buried his teeth in Tailchaser’s nape, gripping tight on the spine. Fritti could feel the mighty jaws closing ... closing ... and then the pressure stopped.

The Clawguard had released his hold. He was staring down at Fritti, squat paws on the smaller cat’s chest. Something in Scratchnail’s eyes changed, and they lost focus.

“Star-face?” he said questioningly. His look of mad hatred seemed to change, to shift into something like fear. “It really is you, star-face?” He seemed to be recognizing Fritti for the first time, as if he had been fighting spirits, shadows that suddenly had become real. Scratchnail’s expression began a slow twisting back into hatred.