Catfantastic II

by Andre Norton

  “Yeowl-hiss!” Prosh stood with back arched and fur on end and for a second Rasson froze in horror. Would the beast attack Cat Prosh? He couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

  He scrambled back up to the cliff top. “Stand clear!” he hollered at Prosh. Then with a great shove, he pushed the boulder over the edge. Plop! Crash! Crunch.

  Heart pounding, Rasson peeked over the edge. “Did it squash him?”

  Cat Prosh relaxed. Probably not, but it blocked the entrance. Let’s get out of here in case there’s another way out of the cave.

  “Wait for me,” Rasson said, scurrying down with a final glance at the stone blocked cave, happy he finally did something to help the cat.

  After they put distance between themselves and the cave, Rasson began to laugh. “This time I saved you,” he said.

  I was in no danger. Prosh padded forward through a sloping meadow toward the forest.

  “What? That wolf-dog could have gobbled you in three bites,” Rasson protested, hurt that Prosh did not appreciate his efforts.

  I only needed to climb a tree to be safe. You saved yourself, not me.

  Rasson charged into an angry run to dash past the cat into the forest. The trees blotted out the lowering sun as if it turned to night. A chilly breeze swept by, making the boy shiver. He paused to wait for Prosh.

  “I can’t see,” Rasson complained, as the cat brushed by his ankles.

  Then take the glowfly lantern from your knapsack. Cat Prosh sat and fluffed his fur as the boy obeyed, soon a twinkling glow radiated from the old lantern.

  The boy held it up to illuminate the path, spilling light across sprawling roots and green fleshy vines strung from the trees. The canopy of leaves, branches, and vines completely obliterated the sky, making Rasson shiver again. “I don’t like this place. Can we go another way?”

  We’re only cutting across a narrow strip of the forest here. Be patient and we will be through it soon.

  True to the cat’s prediction, they soon emerged into the slanted rays of a sinking sun. Once beyond the forest, Rasson carefully replaced his glowfly lantern into his knapsack and strapped the pack over his shoulders. He felt he had been walking forever and his back was stiff from the weight of his pack. So when they reached low marshy ground, he slipped his pack off again and carried it in his hand, slinging it to the ground the first opportunity he found.

  “What’s that horrid smell?” Rasson asked, as they stopped by a fallen log to rest.

  The swamp is not far from here. You sit for a spell while I hunt for a tasty morsel. Prosh disappeared into the willows, leaving a rustling trail in his wake.

  “I’m so tired,” Rasson said to himself, then he stretched out on the flattened log. It felt good to be off his feet; he hadn’t slept much last night and they had been traveling all day. His eyes drifted shut. He listened to the soft hum of a flitterwing, letting the sound lull him to sleep.

  Sensing something staring at him, Rasson awoke to see the red slit eyes and twitching nose of a giant rodent, a creature as big as Cat Prosh. The boy couldn’t move. Sweat beaded across his forehead and all he could think about was the swamp rat drooling inches from his face. Swamp rats carried a disease fatal to humans and Rasson knew one bite from this creature would kill him-a painful, slow death. He had heard stories and they’d given him nightmares. Should he scream? Or would a scream spur the rodent to attack? What could he do?

  “Meoow!”

  The rat turned from boy to cat. Rasson rolled behind the log and peeked over the top to watch as Prosh threateningly approached a rat as large as the cat himself. What could a cat do against a rodent his own size? The cat sprang forward. The boy saw a tangle of fur, claws, and teeth accompanied by hisses and growls.

  Rasson felt terrible-now Cat Prosh would die because of him. Tears pricked his eyes, blurring his sight as the fur and teeth rolled to a stop and gray separated from brown. He swiped the tears away with his sleeve to clear his vision.

  For you. Prosh released the rat’s throat from his teeth and the rodent lay limp and bloody.

  “How did you kill it? It’s as big as you are,” Rasson gasped in astonishment.

  Size isn’t important. To a cat, a rat is a rat.

  “Did he bite you? Will you die?” the boy asked, afraid to hear the cat’s reply.

  Prosh sniffed. Of course not, human. I am a cat. With that he pranced away down the trail, obviously expecting the boy to follow.

  Rasson hurried along behind, too wound up to feel tired any longer. Soon they left the willows, reeds, and swamp stench behind to enter what appeared another section of the thick, pungent forest, but trees here grew thinner and allowed in more light.

  “How much longer before we reach the Dark Fortress? What do soul robbers look like?” Rasson asked. “Can we stop and eat yet?” He hopped on one foot trying to get the cat’s attention. “Do you really know where we’re going?”

  Humans talk too much. Prosh curled up in a downy patch of wild grass. You eat and I’ll doze awhile. Maybe food will keep your mouth quiet, boy.

  Rasson found a comfortable rock and sat down. First he sipped from his flask, the water cooling his parched throat. Then the boy wiped off his knife before cutting a chunk of cheese and a slice of bread. He gazed around him as he munched on the strong goat cheese and wondered again if they were lost. He no longer had any sense of direction and the forest closed around them like a maze.

  “Wake up,” Rasson coaxed, stroking Prosh’s silky fur and tickling the cat’s ears.

  One green eye opened. Rest, boy, you’ll need all your strength in a short while.

  Rasson tried, but couldn’t rest. He thought about the swamp rat, the snake, and the wolf-dog, and how he wanted to reach the fortress and save Master, Mistress, and Cook. Then he could rest. Only then. He played with the pouch of herbs hanging from his belt. Opening it, he looked inside to see the dahi blossoms, wild fluta, and bloka leaves that he had picked in the woods that morning. It seemed so long ago. He drew the pouch closed just as Cat Prosh yawned and stretched.

  When we reach the edge of the forest, leave your knapsack behind a tree. When we arrive at the fortress, you can move faster if you only carry your knife-and the herbs, of course. Prosh trotted away.

  Rasson trudged along behind, wondering what would happen at the fortress. How did Prosh plan to battle the soul robbers? Could they save the imprisoned souls? Or would they lose their own? The boy’s pulse quickened with his stride. Whatever would happen, he wanted it over.

  They paused between trees before leaving the forest. Ahead, silhouetted against a violet-smudged evening sky loomed a stone fortress, dark and forbidding, rimmed by a high wall that looked impossible to scale. Cat Prosh streaked through the meadow grass. The boy began running after Prosh, not daring to call out “Wait for me!” Instead, he followed in silence, his gaze drawn by the fortress appearing larger as he drew closer.

  The cat stopped so abruptly that Rasson nearly tripped over him. “Why stop now? We’ve finally reached the fortress,” the boy said, regaining his balance.

  A moat. I won’t get in that water-not even to save Mistress Sunlee. The cat drooped from his ears to his head to his tail.

  Rasson had never before seen Prosh appear defeated. “I won’t let some water stop us,” he declared, watching the cat.

  Cat Prosh gazed down at the murky swirling waters and shook. I cannot enter the moat. It’s impossible.

  “Nothing impossible!” Rasson protested in alarm. “After the dangers we’ve survived on our quest, we can’t give up now.”

  It’s no use. I cannot cross this water. It is cursed. Things live within it which will devour us. Prosh circled around to begin the journey home, looking so dejected and forlorn that it tore Rasson’s heart.

  “I will swim across alone,” Rasson said. “You can wait for me here while I rescue the souls.” The boy felt his body tremble as he spoke, but he bit his lip against the icy fear seeping through him.

  Even if y
ou survive the moat, you cannot fight the soul robbers without my magic. They will steal your soul and imprison it with the others. Come, let us return home. Prosh would not look up at the human boy, as if he could not bear the shame of his decision.

  “Wait! I can make us a bridge. See that towering balta tree? It’s very skinny and if I cut it here…” the boy dashed over to the tree and pointed to the far base of the trunk, “… it will fall across the moat and land near the top of the wall.”

  What will you use to chop it down?

  “My hunting knife is very strong,” Rasson answered. “What do you think, Cat Prosh?”

  Humans are good for some things. Prosh stared through desperate green eyes at the boy, who grinned smugly.

  Whack, whack, whack. Rasson chopped at the slim tree with his heavy knife until his arms ached. “Why won’t it fall?” he grumbled.

  You need to make the cut wider.

  “What does a cat know about chopping down a tree?” Rasson snapped, wishing he could just wake up and discover this had all been a bad dream.

  Cats know everything. Prosh looked his old arrogant self and so Rasson chose not to argue.

  The boy hacked away at the tree to widen the deep cut as Prosh suggested.

  Crack, rumble, crash! Finally the towering tree fell, snagging the top of the wall with a shower of leaves.

  “Do you think the soul robbers heard it?” Rasson asked, startled by the noise.

  Hide! Prosh commanded. We must wait and watch.

  Together they dove back into the cover of the deep woods and peered out from behind a bush to view the fortress. Nothing happened. They watched in silence until Rasson felt the cat’s claws kneading his arm.

  Now it is time. We must go before darkness falls. Ready, boy?

  Rasson nodded. Cat Prosh ran to the fallen tree, jumped onto the trunk, and began scaling the boy-made bridge. Once Rasson thought he saw Prosh pause and stare down into the moat, but the cat moved ahead quickly, leaving the boy to wonder if he had imagined the hesitation.

  Rasson had more difficulty climbing the tree. Under his weight the trunk shifted slightly and limbs caught at his feet. Sometimes, he could only grab twigs which snapped and threw him off balance, but the sight of Cat Prosh watching and waiting for him from the top of the wall kept him going until he finally hauled himself up beside the cat.

  “What now?” Rasson whispered, trying to catch his breath.

  Enter the fortress. Prosh leaped off the wall to land neatly upon the rock sill of a deep window. Come.

  Rasson glanced down at the cobblestone ground far below, then across at the window sill. He felt sick. How could a boy jump across here? He was no surefooted cat; if he could not exactly reach the window, he would plummet to his death. No human could survive such a fall.

  Boy, I’ve seen you jump farther playing with Koge at the creek. Prosh gazed at him through bright green eyes. Now jump!

  The boy took a deep breath, focused on the window and dove into the air. For a moment he stayed airborne, then as he began to drop he stretched frantically for the window. He felt the rough stone edge hit solid beneath his fingers and grabbed. His torso and legs slammed against the wall, knocking his breath out, but he held tight. Using his arms, he pulled himself up onto the sill.

  When his heartbeat stabilized, Rasson let out a slow breath. “I made it.”

  Of course. Prosh had hopped to the floor of the upper chamber and stood twitching his whiskers and sniffing. We must find the soul prison. I think it is below. The cat dashed through a doorway and Rasson followed.

  The boy moved as quietly as possible, but when he saw Cat Prosh slinking down a spiral stairway of stone, he hesitated. The cat paused to glance up at him. Hurry, before the soul robbers awake.

  “They’re sleeping?” Rasson whispered in relief.

  Yes, only until darkness. We haven’t much time. Prosh continued down the winding steps.

  Try as he might, Rasson couldn’t keep his feet from clattering as he descended the narrow uneven stairs. They went down to the bottom level, then the cat scurried through a long hall and disappeared into an adjoining chamber.

  The boy entered the chamber, aware of a foul odor as a prison of crystallized ice drew his attention to the center of the room. There, trapped within the frozen walls, an iridescence glowed and flickered with the essence of life. Excitement and wonder throbbed through Rasson. Souls!

  SQUAWK!

  At the cry, Rasson whipped around to see the sharp-hooked beak and midnight black feathers of a bird swooping at him in attack.

  Protect your throat! Prosh ordered.

  The boy cowered, trying to obey. He felt a sharp sting as the bird grazed his forehead. Instinctively raising a hand to the wound, Rasson drew it back, sticky with blood. Prosh meowed in warning and the boy glanced up in time to see the bird dive again.

  The cat pounced but missed the bird. Too late, Rasson turned to run as the bird delivered a stunning blow to his upper left arm. A stabbing pain shot through him, making him stagger. The boy fell, collapsing onto the cold stone floor, his throat exposed as he landed. He saw the bird dip back toward him.

  Cat Prosh sprang, catching the bird in mid-air and bringing it down. Rasson struggled to his feet as he watched cat battle bird. Feathers flew, screeches filled the air, and then there was silence.

  “Prosh!” Rasson cried, relieved as the cat shook free of the bird. “You’re amazing!”

  Tear off your sleeve and use it to bandage your wounds. You’re bleeding all over. With raised tail Prosh trotted over to the prison.

  Rasson followed the cat’s orders, wrapping cloth from his sleeve around his head to cover the gash, then binding another strip of the fabric around his arm to effectively stop the flow of blood. It was awkward to do it himself, his head ached and his arm hurt, but he worked as quickly as possible.

  He could hear Prosh scratching at the crystal prison. “What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer.

  Drawing ancient symbols to summon forces beyond your human world. The cat stopped scratching. Done. Now rub the bag of herbs over these symbols. Keep the bag closed and hold on tight to it. Don’t let go-no matter what happens.

  “Yes, Cat Prosh.” Rasson removed the bag from his belt, cinched it shut as best he could, and placed it against the first row of symbols. As he rubbed round and round, touching every symbol, he saw sparks. The bag got warm, then hot, then hotter.

  Suddenly the crystal fortress exploded, the blast flinging Rasson against the wall. He slid to the ground still grasping the bag and sat watching with bewildered amazement as the ice cracked and shattered, showering pieces of crumbling fortress. For a moment the spirit flames hovered, shimmering, flickering so intensely, that the boy could barely stand the brightness. He shielded his eyes with his hand just as the flames billowed together, ascending upward to vanish through a window.

  A meow startled Rasson as the cat wove between his legs. Mistress Sunlee is saved.

  The boy bent to stroke Prosh. “Are the souls returning to their bodies?” he asked, his fingers drawing comfort from the cat’s soft fur. “And shall Master, Mistress, and Cook live now?”

  Yes, they will wake from dreamless sleep and know nothing of our quest or their imprisonment. Now we mustgo.

  The boy started up the stairs, but halted as Prosh declared, No time. Unbar the door. Quickly!

  The cat led Rasson to a wide wooden door. The boy tried to raise the board barring the door, but it stuck. His left arm was sore and he dared not let go of the herb bag, but he tried again. He shoved hard, finally jamming the bar upward to unlatch the door.

  Just as the boy pushed the heavy door open to let in a rush of sweet fresh air, a terrible wail echoed through the fortress, shaking the walls, and jolting Rasson with sheer terror. He wanted to race out the door into the night, but a yowl from Prosh spun him around as a pointed shaft of ice penetrated the cat’s paw, spearing it to the floor.

  Throw me the bag of herbs and r
un. Save yourself, Prosh advised, unable to free his skewered paw.

  “I won’t leave you.” Rasson grabbed the ice spear; it burned his palms with cold, but he held on until he wrenched it free.

  Horror gripped Rasson as he looked up to see shadowy, cavern-eyed figures floating down the stairs. He aimed the ice shaft at them and threw with all his might.

  The spear passed right through the leader, who just kept coming. Behind them the ice hit a stair and broke into pieces. The soul robbers neared Rasson, emitting an evil that sucked at his strength and cloaked him in heavy dread. Teeth chattering, death moving ever closer, the boy drew his knife.

  No, throw the herbs at them. Prosh nipped open the bag. Make sure you get everyone. Or we’re doomed.

  With frantic desperation, Rasson scooped a handful of herbs from the bag and tossed them at the spectral robbers. The herbs sprayed into arrows of fire, piercing the front three soul robbers with a kaleidoscope of sparks. Banshee wails shook the walls as the figures burst into flames.

  Two more robbers charged forward. The boy threw another handful of herbs, leaving the bag nearly empty. The herbs flew through the air, transforming into burning arrows to bombard the moving targets. An unholy shriek ricocheted through the fortress as the figures exploded with magic fire.

  Another shadow advanced.

  Fighting down fear, Rasson emptied out the herbs. One chance. He watched the sinister figure approach, held his breath, and took aim. The herbs sparked and points of colored flame shot out. They hit their target to extinguish the robber with fiery death as a resounding wail echoed through the fortress.

  All that remained of the soul robbers were red wisps of foul-smelling smoke. The boy watched the smoke dissipate. It blew away on a breeze gusting through the open door.

  “We did it!” Rasson cried, turning back to the cat, who was licking the injured paw. There would be no walking on that foot, Rasson knew. The boy swept Prosh up with his good arm and cuddled the cat close. “I shall carry you home, brave cat.”

  Ill be fine, as soon as you bandage my wound the way you did yours. The boy could see Prosh was shaken but attempting to hide it.