Catherine stretched out next to the fire and looked up at the night sky. She saw the constellation of the Two Great Fairrier Cats to the northeast. The stars shone down in peaceful permanence. And always will. I hope there is another fairrier cat out there somewhere. How lonely Pokos must be.
Out in the darkness, miles away, there came an eerie, mournful cry. Catherine stiffened and sat up. There it is again! It started high and dropped to a very low tone. Catherine had never heard anything like it. It’s Spelopokos. Once more, the sad scream filled the night air. Then silence.
Catherine built up the fire and found a stone for a pillow. She stared at the flames and noted how the front of her body was hot, and her back was chilled right through her woolen clothes. She should have felt wretched, but as she thought of Pokos, she began to feel alive. A sense of purpose and excitement flooded through her. I am Catherine of the Onyxes. I will help Pokos find his mate if it’s the last thing I do.
Catherine awoke sweaty and breathless, with the vision of deer, squirrels, and rabbits fleeing before a mass of trodliks still etched in her thoughts. No matter. Pokos and I will not let this happen. She took a deep breath and pressed into the comforting warmth of the cat next to her. On impulse she stroked the soft fur at his neck. The fire had died out.
“Should I build another one?” she murmured.
“We will be leaving now that you are awake. You must get new boots and warmer clothes before the snow comes. There is a village not far from here.” Pokos stood up. Still stiff, Catherine rose to her feet, stretching.
“Should I buy a horse in the village?”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Catherine,” said Pokos. “But there are plenty of deer in these woods. Keep your crystal.”
“I hadn’t meant to eat! I meant to ride!”
Pokos considered this. “No sensible horse could travel with a fairrier cat. I suppose if you found one that has lost its senses, you could bring it along in case I get hungry later.”
Catherine saw that he was serious and thought again about the beautiful horse he had eaten and sighed. Definitely no horse. She gathered the water skin and the empty satchel and her dagger, and then swung carefully onto Pokos’s back. He started off to the north, picking his way over difficult terrain. Trees grew thin, the air colder. Catherine buried her hands in the thick fur at Pokos’s neck to keep them warm. Her face felt raw and sunburned. She wished she still had the hat she had borrowed.
At midmorning, Pokos stopped.
“You will take this trail for one hour. It will crest the ridge and then descend into a protected valley. Take some of my loose fur and stuff your socks with it. That will help your feet.”
Catherine climbed down and started running her hands through Pokos’s thick coat, careful not to pull too hard. She was surprised at how much fur came out.
“Do you always shed like this?”
“Only when I want to. Fairrier cat fur is a valuable commodity. I doubt anyone will recognize it for what it is.”
“Wait! Where will I meet you? How long should I stay?”
Pokos turned. “Meet me at the waterfall once you have your boots and provisions. The villagers will tell you where to find it.” With that the great cat sprang up the hillside and out of sight.
Catherine sat down dejectedly. Feeling foolish and uncertain, she took off her socks and stuffed them with the fur, then rose to her feet. After a few tentative steps, she decided Pokos was right. The fur helped. In fact, it felt very comfortable. She started the trek to the village. I might sleep in a real bed tonight. Her spirits lifted. I can buy dinner and a bath.
The trail was hard and rocky, but Catherine’s feet felt only the softness of the fur. Her legs felt strong and springy, and, for the first time since riding into the branch, her shoulder and arm had ceased to ache. Why doesn’t holding onto Pokos’s neck fur make me feel this way? Curious. Maybe the fur has to be a gift in order for it to better one’s condition.
She reached the top of the ridge. Like a jewel revealed in its velvet housing, a pleasant valley lay below her, nestled among the mountains. Orchards, planted on the higher ground, appeared pruned and well cared for, their branches heavily laden with fruit. White cottages dotted the valley, and a small cluster of buildings lay about two miles away. The sight took her breath away. Now this is worth saving, she thought.
Threads of smoke rose from the cottage chimneys in the still air. Perhaps Pokos’s fur was doing things to her, but she swore she could smell food cooking. Bacon. Cooked cabbage. Chicken soup. Baking bread. Why, she might have been standing right in Cook’s kitchen! She inhaled deeply.
Catherine started to run down the path. She ran without thought, without effort, without tiring. Her arms pumped naturally. Her strides were long, powerful, and sure. The land rushed by her. She executed each stride with a kind of spontaneous precision, bounding off boulders and leaping over bushes.
She reached the valley floor, forcing herself to slow down. The smell of food was making her ravenous. She remembered the shoes she needed, and jogged to the edge of town, walking only when she reached the first building. People were giving her curious looks. Be careful.
She spied a hard-faced woman with two reluctant children in tow. “Can you please tell me where I can find a cobbler?” Catherine asked. The woman stared down at Catherine’s woolen socks then peered into her face.
“Mercy, me! What happened to your shoes, missy?” the village woman asked. “An’ why are you dressed in boy’s things?”
Catherine slouched and spoke in the country speech of the farmers of Crystallia. “Me an’ me dad was tendin’ goats up the mountain. He wants... wanted me to dress like this so I won’t get into trouble. We was robbed at night.” Catherine looked down. “They killed me dad and stole our goats an’ took me boots! Would have killed me too, but I threw a burnin’ log at them an’ got away. Me poor dad. Left without a proper burial.”
The woman’s expression went from shock to concern. “My dear! Losin’ your father like that. And you at such a tender age. Got all of your money, did they?”
“No, ma’am. I ran off before they could.”
“Come with me. I’ll take you to Phineas. He’ll fix you up proper like, with a pair of shoes. You’ll stay with us.” She nodded and started off, dragging her now wide-eyed and staring children.
Catherine forgot her accent. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that!” She hurried to catch up, recovering her voice. “I mean, that is sure kind of you, but I can stay at the inn.”
“Now don’t be foolish. A missy like you needs to hang onto what’s left and make it last.”
Catherine thought of the five crystals in the handle of her dagger. The woman had a point.
“You’re right. I needs to be thinkin’ wisely now me dad is gone. Thank you.”
The woman’s frown dissolved into a large smile. She looked quite pretty when she smiled. “Come along, then. Me name’s Abigail Brine. This here is Kaylee, and Tim.”
“I’m Clara Smith.” Catherine provided the first name that came to mind, her maid’s.
“Well, Clara, I’ll take you to the cobbler straight away. Maybe he can put your order ahead so you don’t have to walk around in those worn-out old socks no more. What is that, goat hair?”
Catherine looked down at her socks and saw they were nearly falling off her feet. Pokos’s fur was sticking out of several holes. “Yes ma’am.”
Every shop they passed emitted powerful scents that kept her head turning right and left—a whiff of apple pie and baking bread, spicy sausages, pungent cheeses. Catherine swallowed hard, but the woman and her two children swept ahead without pause.
They passed a tall cottage with a ‘Woolens’ trade sign showing a striped sweater. An unfamiliar musky odor pricked her nostrils over the smells of wool. She glanced through the open door at colorful racks of yarn and glimpsed a big orange tabby cat sprawled in front of a hearth. That’s what cats smell like? Catherine marked the
shop’s location, thinking that she could use some woolens too.
Out of a stable wafted the strong scent of horses, at once familiar and comforting. And Spelopokos would think appetizing.
Catherine’s guide glanced over her shoulder and darted inside a doorway. Overhead, a trade sign in the shape of a big boot creaked in the breeze. Inside, Catherine was assaulted with the sharp smell of tanned leather. A tall, balding man with a circle of white hair on his crown was cutting a piece of hide. The cobbler. Catherine took interest in the rows of tools, scraps of leather and shoes and boots in various states of completion. In Crystallia she rarely had the opportunity to see craftsmen working. Instead, trades people came to the royals, proffering their best goods, sometimes taking measurements to return later with finished garments.
The man looked up and smiled. “Need new shoes for the little ones, do you Mrs. Brine?”
“Nah, Phineas. Just brought along this young miss so’s she could get a proper pair of shoes to replace the ones that was stole from her.” Mrs. Brine lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “Thieves killed her dad and stole their goats. I feel a chill in me heart, Phineas. Worse each day, I tell you.” She sighed. “Anyways, she says she has what to pay you.”
“Aw, now that be a right sorrowful tale. Sit down and I’ll take your measurement. Me price be five drats for a pair of boots and two for a pair of shoes. For you I will come down half price, seein’ your misfortune and all.” Phineas stared at Catherine’s woebegone socks and muttered, “Poor lass.”
Catherine sat down on a bench. “I hope you can barter a crystal. It is all I have to pay with.”
“Crystal? Now where would a young missy like you come across a crystal?” Phineas’s white eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Me dad an’ me, we were savin’ for a new house an’ for when I find a husband. He always made me keep one in case—in case somethin’ happened to him.” Catherine threw her hands to her face and pretended to sob.
“Now look what you’ve gone and done!” Mrs. Brine sat next to Catherine and patted her on the back. “There, there. O’ course he can barter crystal. He’ll just have to come up with a bag of drats to give you. Won’t you, Phineas?”
“Why o’ c-course,” the cobbler stuttered “Crystal will go a long way, missy. You’ll see.”
Catherine offered a weak smile. Phineas got a piece of grease chalk out of a box and grabbed a piece of hide. Catherine took off the tattered socks, careful not to drop any of Pokos’s fur, and stuffed it all into her coat pocket. She’d sort it out later and throw away the socks.
Measuring her feet, the cobbler suddenly drew a sharp breath.
“What is it, Phineas?” asked Mrs. Brine.
“Her feet. Same size and shape as my son’s the year he...”
“The year the poor lad perished in the storm?” asked Mrs. Brine.
Phineas nodded and opening a wooden chest, pulled out a pair of boots and set them in front of Catherine. She felt the supple leather of the oiled uppers and noted the fine stitching.
“Try them on, missy. They’re good boots.”
“He wasn’t wearin’ ‘em when he died, was he?” asked Catherine, thinking that would not bode well for her quest. The boots fit perfectly and they were already softened with wear.
“No, missy. He liked goin’ barefoot. Hadn’t taken his coat with him either.” Phineas reached back into the chest and pulled out a thick sheepskin coat and handed it to her. “If’n he had, maybe he could have withstood the cold. I’ll give you a fair price on the coat, too.”
Catherine nodded in agreement. The sooner we get on with our quest, the better.
“Now about them drats... it will take me a while to change your crystal. Do you need anything else by chance? A pack?” Phineas rummaged through the chest and handed her a leather pack.
It could be a good idea, a pack. I can put food in it. She nodded again.
“And how about a sheath for your dagger?”
Catherine looked down and saw the handle of the dagger sticking out of her pocket. The cobbler was right. “Yes, Mr.—”
“Swig. Phineas Swig.”
“—a sheath for the top of me right boot, on the outside where I can reach it fast.”
Catherine pulled out the dagger and handed it to him. Phineas took note of the heft of it and the thistle emblem with its amethyst jewel on the upper bolster, the subtle form of the thistle blossom on the butt of the grip. With a deft motion he traced an outline of the blade and handed it back to her. “Very nice.”
“Family heirloom,” Catherine said quickly. “Some king gave it to me great granddad for helping pull his prize horse out of the muck.” She didn’t want him to think that the crest was from her family. “I am glad the thieves didn’t get it.” That part is true.
“Eighteen drats in all. Still getting half price on the boots o’ course. I am glad it will all be put to good use.” Phineas studied the ground and cleared his throat. “Make sure you get some warmer clothes in the village.”
Catherine pried open the secret compartment and carefully let one sparkling crystal come tumbling out into her palm. There’s nothing for it but to trust these people.
“Look how it twinkles in the light. Ain’t it pretty, Kaylee?” cooed Mrs. Brine. The little girl nodded her head and smiled. Catherine replaced the cap on the end of the dagger and handed the crystal to Phineas. He felt the weight of it and held it to the light.
“That’s a right fine crystal. Worth about sixty drats. You’ll be able to live off of it for a long while. What did you say your name was?” He was studying Catherine’s face.
“Clara Smith.”
“And your father was a goatherd and not a smith?” asked Phineas in surprise.
Catherine gulped. Clara’s father was a smith.
“Yes. Broke me granddad’s heart but it turned out right in the end when me uncle took up smithin’.”
Phineas nodded understandingly. “Well, leave the boots here and come back day after morrow when the sheath is done.” He gave her twenty drats in a leather pouch, and told her he would get the rest.
Wearing the sheepskin coat and pack, Catherine followed Mrs. Brine outside, dizzy with hunger.
“Please ma’am, I must buy something to eat.”
“Why o’ course, you poor dear. You’re comin’ straight home for some soup and bread.”
Catherine nearly swooned at the thought. Kaylee and Tim grabbed her hands and pulled her down the street. Her bare feet were sore and freezing by the time they reached the Brine’s tidy white cottage. Smoke drifted out of the chimney above a roof made of a thick layer of reeds.
Inside, a girl with dark brown hair was stirring a pot over the fire. The smell of chicken soup filled the house. She looked up, her smile of welcome fading when she saw Catherine. Her gaze turned into a chilly stare of disapproval.
“Bessie, this here is Clara. She’s goin’ to be stayin’ with us for a while. She needs some food before she drops. Kaylee, go fetch the apple cider. Tim, get a bowl and spoon and a nice hunk of bread with fresh butter.”
Catherine’s hunger overwhelmed her manners. She sat down at the simple table and stuffed her mouth full of bread, spilling soup in her hurry to gulp it down. The sweet, cold apple cider ran down her chin. She was sure she had never tasted a better meal. At last, after two bowls of soup and half a loaf of bread, she sighed with contentment.
She glanced up. Mrs. Brine, Kaylee, and her little brother were all staring at her and smiling. Bessie regarded her coldly, her arms folded across her chest.
Catherine suddenly felt foolish. “I can’t thank you enough. That was right good.”
Mrs. Brine waved away her gratitude. “From the looks of things, you could use a hot bath. Wash the goat off you. I’ve already got the caldron on the fire. Bessie, you and Kaylee bring in some buckets of well water for the washtub. Timmy, you go out to the orchard and tell your dad that we’ve got a guest. We’ll eat our supper while Clara here is takin
’ her bath. After that it will be bed for you. Bessie’s extra nightdress should fit you fine, Clara. The two of you are about the same size.”
Catherine saw that this was true. Bessie looked to be about sixteen, like her. Bessie shot her a look of disgust and then headed outside to the pump. Catherine, who had been catered to all her life, suddenly felt odd waiting for Bessie and Kaylee to bring in her bath water. She rose and gently took the bucket from Kaylee.
“I’ll help her, Kaylee. You go play with Tim.” Kaylee grinned and skipped back to the kitchen to find her little brother.
It was colder now. The evening star hung faintly to the west, and soon the Two Great Fairrier Cats would appear in the sky. Catherine wondered if she would ever look at that constellation the same way again.
They made two trips to the well and back. On the third, Bessie stopped and set the bucket down. “Why are you here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
Catherine drew in a breath. I must be careful now. Slowly, with tears and dramatic pauses, she recounted her tale of woe, praying she sounded sincere. Bessie listened, clear-eyed and quiet, then picked up the bucket of water and lugged it toward the house, obviously unimpressed. She stopped just outside the door.
“Well, Clara—if that be your name, mind you—me cousin saw you running down the mountain, grinnin’ like a fool, with your hair flowin’ out behind you. Now I know that you’re in some kind of trouble, so I’ll keep my peace and not tell on you. But if you so much as steal one fork or do anything at all to hurt my family, I’ll not only tell on you, I’ll punish you proper.” Bessie’s eyes bore into her own.
Catherine was dumbfounded. “I’ll not hurt your family in any way. I am truly grateful for your mum’s kindness. I am not a thief.” Except for the boy’s clothes I’m wearing this very minute. Her face felt flushed and hot.
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