The Legend Begins

by Isobelle Carmody

  “Three nights of going toward the high houses,” Sly added. “That is outside my territory.”

  “What if sleeping power not wanting to be waking?” Crow said.

  “I must find a way to wake it,” Little Fur said.

  “Must?” Ginger murmured.

  Little Fur sighed. “What is the use of coming so far for advice if I won’t follow it?”

  “That is a sensibleness,” Crow conceded.

  “I don’t know if it is sensible or foolish,” Little Fur said wearily. “Will you come with me?”

  “Crow coming,” Crow said at once.

  Sly rose sinuously, stretching herself out so that the bones in her spine cracked loudly. “I will hunt now,” she said, and mantled herself in cat shadow.

  “Soon the sun will open its eye,” Ginger said. “You should find a place to rest for the day.”

  “Crow not tired,” Crow complained.

  “Then fly back and tell Brownie what has happened,” Little Fur told him. “Hang my seed pouch around your neck and ask the rabbits to fill it again while you are there. But come back before the sun closes its eye again. And be careful.”

  “Crow having more carefulness than any other creature,” Crow declared solemnly. He fluffed his feathers in readiness to fly, saying, “I telling Brownie we going on long terribleness of a journey.” He flapped into the air before Little Fur could beg him not to exaggerate so poor Brownie wouldn’t worry himself sick.

  Then she thought uneasily that perhaps the dangers they would soon face could not be exaggerated.

  She turned to look at the human high houses rising in the distance. At the top of the tallest, a green dome winked ceaselessly on and off. The color seemed a good omen, but the land between it and the beaked house was a jumbled mystery of low human buildings and black roads, and who knew what dangers lurked there. Yet the owl had said that the task was appointed to her, so there must be some hope of fulfilling it.

  “Sleep,” Ginger said, padding up beside her on velvet paws. “You stink of tiredness and tangled thoughts.”

  Little Fur climbed high enough into the tree that no passing human would catch sight of her and curled against the trunk. She had a leaf-scalloped view of the beaked house, and behind it, the dark blue sky arched down to a pink seam of light opening up at the horizon.

  As she slept, Little Fur was drawn so deeply into the tree’s dreaming that she became the tree. A fragrant spring wind rattling softly at her branches teased tender shoots to life, making them unfurl. She sent a root into the damp earth, probing for a subterranean stream, and drank her fill of the pure water springing from the deep stream at the heart of the world.

  She felt the sun on her leaves, turning them golden and then brown, and the small sorrow that was their falling. She dreamed of snow flying and of snow melting, and of sunlight again, wan and pale and then bright and hot.

  The dream seemed to last years. It was compelling and full of interest, though nothing happened other than the changing of the seasons. Then the sky darkened and a dreadful storm tore up a tree that had once grown on the other side of the spiked fence. The tree crashed against the wall of the beaked house, cracking part of the stonework.

  Little Fur woke with a thundering heart. She wondered if the beaked house and the still magic it contained had made her dream the tree’s dream, for that had never happened before. She looked over to the beaked house and was startled to see that the doors were now ajar!

  A human came out, its long black tunic snapping in the wind. It came across the cobbles and disappeared under the tree. Curious in spite of her fear, Little Fur crawled carefully to the end of the branch she had been sleeping on and peeped down. She could not see the face of the human, but she could smell the sour reek of its discontent as it gazed back at the beaked house. The smell strengthened when another human came out and turned to close the doors behind it. It wore the same black tunic as the other, but its movements were stiff and slow and its hair white. The old human called out to the younger one, and there was so much kindness in its words that Little Fur was astonished. But when the younger human answered, its voice was full of cold, hard places and cutting edges. It made a sneering gesture at the tree and the moss-covered cobbles; the old human shook its head and made a gesture that embraced the beaked house and the tree and the cobbles. The younger human spoke again, its words soft and accepting, yet such hot waves of rage and greedy impatience burned off it that Little Fur wondered the old human did not recoil. It was clear to her that the younger human would do anything to get what it wanted.

  Both humans went out through the gap in the spiked barrier, and Little Fur saw how the younger fretted at having to measure its step to the slow tread of the old human.

  When they had gone, she climbed down.

  She had slept away most of the day and the air was very warm, full of the drowsy hum of bees and the whirr of cicadas. She drank some water from her bottle, knowing that she must soon find a way to fill it. There was no sign of Sly or Ginger, but maybe the humans had shooed them away while she had been lost in the tree dream. Or they might be hunting for food before the journey. She did not want to think that they had decided to come no farther.

  Crow’s absence troubled her more. She thought he would have remembered to come, but he might have forgotten to hurry. To pass the time and stop herself from worrying, she set about gathering edible seeds from small plants growing in the grass about the tree, tucking them into the hem of her tunic.

  Very soon the sun had closed its eye and the world fell into shadow. Little Fur decided that she had to go on. She knew that humans retreated into their dwellings when it grew dark, even if they did not sleep at once, and so if she was careful, she ought to be safe. If the others came after she had gone, they would know where to go, for she had told them all of the Sett Owl’s instructions.

  Leaving the cobbled yard and the beaked house, Little Fur struck out directly toward the high houses, but almost at once she came to another black road cutting across her path. There was nothing to do but to follow it and hope she would find a way to cross. She thought it would not be too hard, for this road was narrow and cracked along the edges. All she needed was a crack that ran from one side to the other.

  The road soon brought her to a long row of human dwellings. There were lights in many of the windows, but Little Fur had no fear that she would be seen if a human glanced out, for the moon had not risen and there were bushes growing along the grass path where she could hide. Even so, she stopped often to sniff at the wind because she was alone now and must keep a watch for greeps and road beasts, as well as for bad trolls.

  Little Fur walked for at least an hour seeing nothing more frightening than a rabbit, which ran away before she could speak to it. Then she came upon two lines of metal which cut across the grass path and ran over the black road to vanish into a lane on the other side. Wooden fences rose up on either side of the lane, hiding it from the human dwellings. Little Fur felt a surge of excitement, for it ran directly toward the high houses!

  She knelt to look at the metal rails more closely and saw that grass grew along a gap in the black road. She stood and looked both ways along the black road. Not a single road beast had passed and she decided to take a chance.

  Little Fur had gotten more than halfway across the road when her foot brushed one of the rails. It stung savagely. When she leaned close, her nose told her that something poisonous had been spilled along it. But the smell was old and the poison too weak to do more than cause her discomfort, so she forced herself to go on. When she got to the other side, she felt a burst of pride at having managed her first obstacle alone.

  She followed the metal rails into the lane and sniffed. There was the merest trace of faded human scent, and trolls would not go there because of the earth magic flowing through the grass paths beside the rails. But Little Fur stayed alert, for this was just the sort of place where greeps might lurk.

  She saw none, but she was relieved t
o reach the end of the lane, for it took a long time and more than once she had heard human voices on the other side of the fences. The metal rails ran out of the lane and over a grassy field. She could see human dwellings around the edges of the field but they were far off, so she continued to follow the rails.

  Little Fur had walked for some time and was wondering what purpose the metal rails served when a gust of wind brought her the unmistakable perfume of ripe cherries. Her mouth watered, for she loved cherries almost as much as mushrooms.

  There was not a single tree in sight but there was a stone wall a little distance off, and she guessed the cherry tree must be on the other side of it. She abandoned the rails and went to the wall. Clearly humans had built it, but it was a long time since they had bothered with it, for there was no human smell about it at all.

  The scent of cherries was stronger than ever and Little Fur was suddenly determined to get to them.

  CHAPTER 8

  An Attack!

  “Don’t ssstep on me or I will bite you,” a voice said. Little Fur’s heart gave a great lurch of fright. She had been so intent on the smell of cherries that she had not noticed an eroded hollow in the ground close by the wall. A green snake lay at the base of it, half inside its hole, watching her with bright yellow eyes.

  “Greetings, Snake,” she said politely.

  The snake lifted its head off the ground, its eyes glowing. But Little Fur was careful not to look directly into its gaze. Snakes were always trying to hypnotize you even if you were too big for them to swallow. Seeing that she would not fall under its sway, the snake laid its head down again and hissed crossly, “Jussst don’t tread on me. I am waiting to shed a ssskin and that wantsss great concentration.”

  “I won’t,” Little Fur promised. She found herself lingering because the snake was the first creature she had spoken to since Crow and the cats had left her the night before. It occurred to her that she ought to ask it about the human burying ground, even though snakes did not travel far or lift their heads up much from their own affairs.

  “Humansss!” the snake sneered, its tongue flickering between sharp white fangs. “I do not like humansss. What have you to do with them?”

  “Nothing,” Little Fur said hastily, wrinkling her nose at the smell of its malice. “It is only that I am looking for a chasm near this burying place.”

  “I do not know where humansss bury one another,” the snake told her, settling back down, its eyes growing cloudy.

  “I wonder . . . is there any way to get under this wall? A tunnel or a hole?” Little Fur asked, catching the rich scent of cherries again.

  The snake’s eyes cleared. “Well,” it said slowly, “there isss a broken place in the wall where you can ssslither through.” It withdrew into its hole as Little Fur stood up.

  She followed the wall around until she came to the broken place the snake had mentioned. It looked as if a giant hand had knocked it down a long time ago, for there were mosses and lichens growing all over it. She had no need to worry about where she stepped, for the earth spirit ran all around the stones. On the other side was a yard choked with long grass and bordered by high stone buildings. Their windows were as dark as blind eyes and she could see that the roofs had fallen in and some of the walls had holes in them. The smell of cherries was so strong now that Little Fur felt half drunk with it as she climbed over the crumbling wall.

  The cherry tree grew in the deeper darkness between two of the ruined buildings, and she made her way over to it, struggling a little in the thick grass. She was quite close to the tree before she smelled the rotten, rancid sweetness of fermented fruit. It was too strong to be the result of windfall cherries, but she was hungry and did not stop to wonder what else might be causing it.

  She reached out to take a great, fat, dark bunch of cherries from a trailing branch when something enormous and dreadful lurched out of the darkness behind it. Little Fur had never seen a greep, but she knew at once that a greep was what had caught hold of her arm. She had a horrifying glimpse of its small, maddened eyes, barely visible in the great, filthy mass of wiry fur covering its head and chin; then it opened its mouth and the smell of its breath made her want to retch. It was a dreadful stew of rotting teeth and fruit and the rank stench of confused rage from the madness that had transformed it from human into greep.

  Too late she wished she had remembered that animals always spoke of the rotten-fruit smell of greeps.

  The greep loosened its grip slightly as it peered at her, and Little Fur wrenched her arm free. She might have gotten away but, as she turned, she tripped and fell. The greep was on her in an instant, this time closing a huge, hard hand about her ankle.

  Little Fur went limp and closed her eyes. Feeling the creature’s breath on her cheeks, she could smell its puzzlement and guessed that it was trying to decide what she was. It grunted and poked at her with its free hand. She made herself even more still, praying that the greep would think she was dead and let her go. But instead it kept hold of her and sat back, muttering to itself and giving out little bursts of crazed laughter.

  It was silent awhile and then the greep muttered again to itself. Little Fur smelled troll in the words and remembered that the Troll King had given his potion to creatures like this—maybe even to this very greep! What if it decided to bring her to the Troll King?

  Suddenly the greep began to struggle to its feet, and Little Fur realized that in another second it would stand and lift her into the air, severing her from the earth spirit forever. Desperately she struck out with her free foot, catching the greep in the belly. It grunted in pain and let her go. Little Fur scrambled to her feet and darted to the gap in the wall, ignoring the pain in her ankle.

  She had almost reached the gap when the greep caught hold of her tunic. She yelped and tried to drag the cloth free but the greep grabbed her ankle again, this time twisting it cruelly. The pain was so great that Little Fur almost fainted.

  The greep began to drag her back, but at that moment, a shadowy shape with flaring orange eyes leaped over the wall and landed claws first on the greep’s head.

  Ginger!

  The greep gave a screech of shock and Little Fur was free. Sobbing with fear and pain, she hauled herself over the mossy stones and on the other side of the tumbled onto the grass on the other side of the gap. Her legs would not hold her, so she dragged herself along the ground to the hollow where the snake had been lying and rolled into it. She listened with a hammering heart to the greep’s roars and Ginger’s savage battle cries. There was the sound of running and of something heavy falling, and suddenly Ginger gave a yowl of pain. Then there was silence.

  Little Fur prayed that nothing had happened to him.

  The greep clambered over the wall, cursing and moaning and rubbing its head. Little Fur lay very still. At last, the greep shook its fist at the sky and lumbered away in the direction from which Little Fur had come. Fearful of a trick, she did not move until it had gone completely out of sight. When she dared to go back into the yard where the greep had caught her, the smell of cherries was as strong as ever, but the thought of eating made her feel sick. She found Ginger lying by the wall, but her nose told her he was alive even before she felt the warmth of his body.

  Ginger stirred at her touch and tried to rise.

  “Rest,” Little Fur said worriedly, smelling the cat’s pain.

  But he forced himself to get up. “We must go from here before the greep returns,” he panted.

  They had to help one another, for Little Fur was unable to put any weight on her hurt ankle and Ginger was dizzy and unsteady. Mindful that the greep would see them if it returned, Little Fur did not complain as they struggled along, angling away from the broken stone wall and back toward the metal rails. But Ginger did not turn to follow the rails as she had expected. He went over them and headed toward the human houses.

  “Where are we going?” Little Fur asked, looking uneasily ahead.

  “One of those human dwellings is e
mpty. I sniffed it out when I was hunting. We can hide there.”

  His words were slurred and the moment they reached the fence separating them from the dwellings, he slumped sideways. Little Fur half fell with him, pain shooting through her leg as she leaned too hard on it. But her ankle was the least of her worries, for Ginger was losing blood. Disentangling herself, Little Fur turned to the fence and searched until she had found a spiderweb. Balling it up, she scraped up some earth, spat into it and worked it all into a sticky wad. She laid it over the gash on his flank and pressed it down hard, closing her eyes, the better to feel Ginger’s spirit. It was strong, but there were torn places in it. Softly, she began to sing them back together, for she knew flesh could not heal properly when the spirit was hurt. She could not have said how long she sat there, singing and pressing, but when she stopped, the moon was looking down on them, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Little Fur’s senses told her that the cat was no longer in danger, and she lay down, falling at once into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  She dreamed that tree burners were chasing her. They looked like greeps but they had yellow snake’s eyes and breathed a hot madness that was strangely and horribly mingled with a sadness so deep and old that it was sweet and rotten all at once, like fermented cherries. Little Fur tried to run, but she found that her feet had taken root. She stood there, helpless, as they encircled her, the hungry flames in their hands flickering in their eyes.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Mysteriousness of Humans

  Little Fur was awakened by a weight on her chest. She opened her eyes to find Crow peering into her face, her pouch hanging around his neck.

  “Crow!” she cried, lifting off the heavy pouch and hugging him. A sharp pain in her ankle reminded her of all that had happened the night before and she turned to find Ginger calmly licking at his wounds.