by Nicola Shill
It was only a matter of seconds before the cat stopped, but Cassandra knew they were now a long way from Ith and the rest of the children. She dropped down on to the ground. The cat appeared to be unaware that it had carried a passenger and lay down, dropping Gita in front of its mouth. Gita had gone completely still and silent now. Please don’t be dead. Dear Gita, please be alive.
Cassandra knew from her own cat that the more she tried to rescue Gita, the faster the cat would deliver the killing bite. The only chance of saving Gita was with distraction. She scanned her surroundings, hoping for either inspiration or divine intervention, and found both. A short way away, Cupid hovered fretfully. Cassandra crept noiselessly towards her. Cupid came down to land and stood for Cassandra to mount. At Cassandra’s signal, the two of them zoomed in front of the cat’s eyes to catch its attention. To Cassandra’s dismay, the cat’s initial reaction was to gather Gita defensively back up into its mouth, but as they swooped cheekily backwards and forwards, it was unable to resist this new game. It batted at them with a paw and then, eager for more, spat Gita out on to the ground and stood up, one foot planted firmly in the centre of her back. Cassandra noticed with horror that Gita’s other wing was almost torn through and that she still wasn’t moving or making a noise. Cassandra had to get the cat right away from her. Cupid seemed to agree. Their teasing became more and more daring. The cat batted at them and snapped with its jaws, and a few times Cassandra thought they would be caught, but the cat was loath to lift its other foot off Gita, so its movements were severely restricted.
As they had hoped, the cat soon forsook Gita for this far more exciting challenge. Cassandra and Cupid took off farther into the bush with the cat chasing and leaping after them. Cassandra saw a side of the normally sedate Cupid that she would never have dreamed existed. Cupid was scaring her witless with the brazen game of chicken, staying in range longer than Cassandra would have dared. She felt gusts of air as time and again the cat’s deadly claws came frighteningly close to impaling them. The game went on for what seemed to be hours, but it was actually no more than a few minutes before Cupid shot vertically, way out of the cat’s range and view, and circled around to race back to Gita.
Fresh panic assaulted Cassandra when she and Cupid found Gita lying exactly as she’d been dropped: battered, bloody and motionless. With tears streaming down her face, Cassandra leapt from Cupid’s back and launched herself at the precious little body. She sat on the ground and pulled Gita into a compact little ball on her lap, wanting to protect and nurture every single cell at once. She laid a hand on Gita’s chest and bent over so that her ear touched Gita’s nose. She held her breath, straining to detect air moving in and out of Gita’s tiny lungs … and exhaled in a rush when the merest whisper touched her ear.
Relief was tainted by guilt for Gita’s pain and torment. Tears dripped off Cassandra’s nose on to Gita’s bare arm. She hated herself for being unable to heal Gita with fae magic. She loathed herself for having fallen asleep in the first place. She wept and rocked and willed Gita to be well.
But this outpouring of emotion was a luxury she could not yet afford. The cat was almost certainly on its way back.
She picked Gita up and carried her across to Cupid. She tried to climb on with Gita still in her arms, but it was impossible to get her leg over enough to pull herself on without using her hands. She draped Gita’s body over Cupid’s neck, squeezed on behind her and gave Cupid the signal to take off. Cupid tried her hardest, but she was only a small dragonfly and had worn herself out baiting the cat. With the combined weight of the two of them and Cassandra sitting back farther than usual, hindering her wings, Cupid was only able to skim the ground for a short distance before she had to land. Cassandra wanted to scream with frustration. She dismounted and stood staring forlornly at Cupid with Gita still lifeless across her back.
Cassandra’s priority was to see Gita safely home where the fae could heal her. The obvious solution was to send Cupid back with Gita alone, but how did she keep Gita from falling off along the way? She would have to bind her on somehow. The reins wouldn’t do: they were too large to fit around Cupid and Gita securely, and too small to loop around twice. They were certainly too strong to break and re-tie. The only other binding material Cassandra could think of was her own clothing. She sat down, slid her trousers off and set about tearing them into strips. It wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. Like everything else they crafted, the fae fabric was supremely durable, and she could find no seams to tear apart. Cassandra resorted to using her teeth. She tugged and struggled with the fabric, her panic regaining intensity as she imagined the cat’s inexorable progress back towards them. The dry fabric in her mouth made her gag. It squeaked under her teeth, sending shivers around her skull and down her back. It slid out from between her jaws making them smash together painfully. With a surge of anger and desperation she bit down hard and yanked with every last shred of energy she possessed … and the fabric tore in a smooth line up the inside of one leg and down the other. It was suddenly so easy that Cassandra knew it was no fluke. Her emotions had, in some way, been responsible. She tried again, this time concentrating hard on what she wanted. She hoped, she prayed and she formed images in her mind. It took a few tries, but eventually she tore one outside leg open and then, more easily, the other. Knotted together, she now had enough length to secure Gita on to Cupid’s back. She gave Cupid a pat and Cupid took off slowly and gently, hovered for a second, then disappeared from view.
At that moment, Cassandra’s gratitude for Cupid’s intelligence, bravery and benevolence was boundless. She took a few steps after them, but realised that she was utterly lost … and also very, very small, perilously alone and utterly defenceless. Staying put and hoping for rescue was her best option. She found a banksia tree that was growing at a low enough angle to allow her to lie on the trunk and shinny up. She knew that the cat would have no trouble coming up after her if it knew where to find her. All she could do was get herself as high as possible as quickly as possible, while watching out for the cat’s return and hope that, if she held very still, the cat wouldn’t see her … or smell her … or however else it was that cats found prey. This had to be better than staying on the ground … didn’t it?
Exhaustion stopped her far sooner than she would have liked. Looking down, she had climbed a long way, but she knew it would only take a couple of good bounds for the cat to be upon her. A little higher, a branch, almost as wide as she was, grew upwards from the trunk. With her last reserves of energy, Cassandra reached it and manoeuvred herself above it so that she was wedged in its vee. It was supremely uncomfortable, but it would have to do. Tucking her feet up, she hoped that she was invisible from below. She had certainly cut off her own view of the ground. She would have to constantly assume that the cat was somewhere down there and remain as quiet and as motionless as possible.
She pressed her face into her knees and allowed herself the luxury of crying silent tears.
— CHAPTER 47 —
Rescue
Lorcan knew something was wrong even before he heard the shouting.
He could sense mass panic: a tangle of intense negative emotions that made it nearly impossible to identify individuals in the mix.
He stepped out of his front door and became truly alarmed when he saw Garris rocketing towards him with a look of pure dread on his chalk-white face such as Lorcan had never seen in the lifetime he’d known him.
‘Cassandra,’ Garris panted out. Lorcan was flying like a missile towards the agora before Garris could finish, ‘We think it’s a cat.’
The agora was already crowded. Fae were streaming in from every angle, their auras starting to shimmer in the gloaming of approaching night. It was going to be a cold one. Garris dropped down into the middle of the crowd while Lorcan was forced to land at the outer edge, fold his wings and push through on foot with liberal use of elbows. Eventually, he came upon the tiny, inert body of Gita, lying on the ground, bleeding from numerous scratc
hes and punctures, one wing missing, the other attached only by a filament. Huddled around her head were her mother, father and Treus. Garris knelt down beside his mother. Oonnora and another healer, kneeling at each side, were running their hands over the wounds, their eyes closed in intense concentration, sweat beading on their foreheads. Lorcan looked wildly around for Cassandra. His eyes connected with Ith’s, sparkling with unshed tears.
‘She sent Gita back tied to her dragonfly.’ Ith’s voice started to crack. ‘I had to get Gita and the other children safely home first.’ He appeared to have more to say but the words wouldn’t come, so he rubbed his hand over his trembling mouth instead. He shrugged his sagging shoulders and dropped his eyes. Iznaya laid a comforting hand on his arm.
Lorcan knew how hard it must have been for Ith to leave Cassandra behind without knowing what had become of her, but as hard as the decision had been, it had been the right one.
Now that Gita was safe, there was not a moment to lose. He glanced at Cupid. Her wings were drooping and her body was shaking with shock and exhaustion. She would be no help. Ith, too, would be more hindrance than help: his strength was obviously spent.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded of Ith, more roughly than he intended.
‘We should organise a group …,’ Ith began.
‘What for?’ came a voice from the crowd. Lorcan looked around to find the culprit. Chayton had made his way to the middle and was looking down at Gita. ‘Look what that human’s done. Why would you even bother trying to save her?’ Brack stepped up beside him, grabbed his arm and spoke directly into his ear. Lorcan couldn’t hear what Brack said, but Chayton stopped talking.
‘I’m not waiting for a group,’ Lorcan said to Ith through gritted teeth. ‘Where is she?’
‘To the cliffs …’ A huge silvery wing hit Chayton in the side of the head and almost knocked him over as Lorcan took off. Ith had to shout the next bit skyward, ‘then back into the bush.’
Lorcan flew above the canopy. It was a dangerous place to be, exposed as he was with his aura glittering like a firecracker, but he didn’t care. It gave him an unimpeded flight path. A sound close behind him made him look around to find Garris trying to keep up.
Make that one glittering firecracker and one glowing beacon.
‘Go back to Gita and your family.’ Lorcan turned back and fixed his focus on the cliffs ahead. ‘They need you now. I can handle this.’
‘She saved my sister. I owe her.’
Lorcan had neither the time nor the inclination to argue. In truth, he was glad for Garris’s help. He didn’t know what he would find. He didn’t want to think too hard on it. The pictures coming to mind were making him nauseous.
Arriving at the cliffs, they turned and circled over the bush behind, but the canopy blocked their view from above and, when they landed, turned the darkening twilight to full night. They walked and flew, backwards and forwards, around in circles, up and down, calling out and holding quiet and still to listen. The cliff area was wide, and they didn’t know the exact point where the group had been assembled. Lorcan tried to open his mind to Cassandra’s, but he could detect nothing above the usual background buzz. They could find no sign of her.
Realising that their panic had caused them to launch into a premature, disorganised search, they forced themselves to stop and think. They walked back out to the cliff edge and made their way slowly along, looking for clues. Eventually, they found an area that appeared recently disturbed. A long plant stalk lying on the ground had been stripped of fibres. They were more methodical this time. They turned and walked directly into the bush, taking a few steps, calling out, stopping, listening. A few steps, call out, stop, listen. And so it went.
Some bright spots of colour, out of place on the ground ahead, caught their eye. Garris dashed forward and picked up Gita’s severed wing.
‘This must be where the cat attacked them,’ Garris guessed.
‘It could have been blown here by the wind,’ Lorcan pointed out. Garris tossed the wing up into the breeze and it fluttered back down to the ground at their feet and stayed put. He picked it up again. They both began to turn in circles, scanning the immediate area.
Lorcan cursed Cassandra’s lack of aura. She would be much easier to find if she was glowing – if she was alive.
Of course she was alive.
Lorcan stopped and closed his eyes, tuning in to the general psychic buzz, trying to find Cassandra amongst it, and wishing she knew how to send out a signal. He thought he touched a familiar presence, felt just the brush of a mind in despair, when Garris interrupted. ‘We should have let Ith send out the lizards,’
‘Ith was exhausted, we didn’t have time to wait for him to recuperate.’
‘Might have been faster than this.’
Rage surged through Lorcan. Why was Garris whining at a time like this? He whirled around to confront him, ‘You know, Garris, you didn’t have to come. I told you not to …’
‘Shhhh!’ Garris grabbed his arm and jerked on it. They both stood still and listened.
A faint and frightened voice was calling out nearby.
As one they launched forward, feet barely skimming the ground as they half flew, half sprinted towards the sound. They located it, coming from somewhere above them, but although Lorcan could now quite clearly feel Cassandra, he couldn’t see her. Until she moved. Lorcan had to admire how well she’d hidden herself. She was tucked up in the branches of a crooked banksia tree, wedged against the trunk. Lorcan shot up to float beside her and had barely reached out to her before she leapt out of the tree in her eagerness to be safe in his arms. He crushed her cold body against his chest and she burst into tears.
It took enormous effort on his part not to join in.
— CHAPTER 48 —
Summons
At home, Oonnora sent Cassandra straight to bed, but Cassandra wouldn’t permit Oonnora to so much as touch her until she promised that Gita was neither dead nor dying. Only then was she allowed to stroke the hair back from Cassandra’s forehead and soothe her into a blissfully warm and dreamless sleep.
Cassandra awoke many hours later to hear anxious voices whispering outside her door. She glanced over at Tani to see if she was hearing them, too, but Tani was sound asleep. Before she could make sense of the few words she was able to catch, the door opened and Brack tiptoed in. She sat up when he approached.
‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ he whispered. ‘Zabeth has summoned you.’
Cassandra wondered how that worked. And why? She must be in trouble for failing to take care of Gita today, but how did Zabeth know already?
She stood up and pulled on some long pants. She had fallen asleep in the clothes she was wearing when she had arrived home. They were dirty and blood-stained. Should she change them? But when she noticed Eerin hovering outside her door with Oonnora, she guessed that haste was more important right now than appearance. She hurried down the stairs while the rest of the party floated to the ground. As they crossed to the front door, Oonnora, eyes shining with unshed tears, wrapped a knitted spider’s-web shawl around Cassandra’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.
Now Cassandra was truly alarmed. Anyone would think she wasn’t coming back. Surely Zabeth would accept that she was sorry for falling asleep with Gita? She had tried her best to fix the situation. What possible punishment could there be? Would she be banished? Perhaps she would be sent to live with a different fae community.
It was the dead of night. Was she supposed to leave immediately? How was she to get there? She had those two questions answered when Lorcan strode in, his face a hard, unreadable mask. The solemn procession moved through the front door and out into the chilly night: Lorcan in the lead, then Brack, Cassandra and, bringing up the rear, Oonnora, who was barely holding herself together and was being quietly supported by Eerin. Cassandra felt like she were being taken to her execution.
They stopped in a small clearing.
Brack turned to Cassandra and rested a hand on
her shoulder as he cleared his throat. ‘Lorcan will take good care of you,’ he said with more fatherly emotion than Cassandra had known from him until this moment. Then he stepped stiffly away.
Cassandra turned to say something to Oonnora, although she couldn’t think what that might be. Did she want to reassure Oonnora, or was she seeking reassurance for herself? No words formed on her tongue, and a second later, it was too late. Lorcan whistled long and low behind her and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her back against the length of his body. As before, a couple of beats of his powerful wings and they were catapulted skyward, but then he folded his wings and their upward momentum slowed, stalled and turned to freefall at the exact moment that a fruit bat swooped beneath them, catching them on its back and soaring way up above the treetops in a direct line with a point just below the summit of Arthur’s Seat.
This trip to Zabeth’s was certainly faster and more spectacular than her previous one, but Cassandra was nonetheless able to fit an extraordinary amount of soul searching, speculation and reminiscence into the time, particularly since Lorcan was maintaining a stony silence. Now that she was being forced to leave Gillwillan, she experienced the sad realisation that she had many fond and meaningful memories of her time there, and that she had come to love some of the fae.