Candlewax

by C. Bailey Sims

  “And the fairrier cats? You saw what they did!”

  “They were hungry.”

  Catherine shook her head and walked past him. She glanced over her shoulder. He looked miffed. Good.

  “You wouldn’t care for these Allianans so much if they had murdered every last one of your living relatives—if the skins they wore were human,” Pokos said behind her. Catherine stopped in her tracks and turned. She held out her hand and waited until he reached her, his warm breath gently pulsing around her palm and wrist. She stroked the fur under his chin and enfolded his enormous head with her other arm, an unlikely embrace. A rumble vibrated gently in his throat.

  “I know, Pokos. I know. But even we had to kill fairrier cats in Cinna, remember?”

  The rumbling stopped. Pokos pulled his head away. “Yes. And I fear for Lackanay.” His eyes were a dark, dull gray—almost violet—a color she had never seen before. He padded away slowly, his tail and head low. She wanted to go after him, searching for words to console him.

  “We’ll find a way to bring them to Lackanay, Pokos!” she called, with more bluster than sincerity. “There is the prophecy, you know. It’s bound to happen!”

  Pokos paused but did not look back. “Prophecies are but shadows of the future, Catherine. I fear that shadows have no substance.”

  “But you and I are more than shadows, Pokos. And right now we are in the middle of Cinna with lots of fairrier cats everywhere. We will find a way!”

  Pokos turned his head at that, his eyes brightening to an olive color. He stared at her for what seemed to be minutes. She did not look away. Then he padded off, his steps quick and sure. Catherine took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. What would my grandmother do?

  They set up camp a mile away from the Allianan settlement. Pokos had refused to remain within the compound, and no one had argued. Smoke from the funeral pyre drifted downwind toward them through the pines. Menard had reminded Quor that the fire was likely to alert Magnus of their pursuit, but Quor insisted that the remains be burned. It was a chance they would have to take.

  The night held no dreams for Catherine. She could not sleep, even in the midst of a large camp with Cinnan guards all around her. She lay awake, chafing at the confines of her tent, until both Bessie and Mekrita began snoring. The noise sounded deafening in the otherwise quiet darkness. Catherine wriggled out of her bed and silently donned her pants, boots, and sheepskin coat. She ducked beneath the tent’s opening and inhaled the cold air, turning her face to the sky. A bright, frosty ring encircled the moon. She bounced on her feet, adjusting to the chill, and thrust her hands deep into her pockets.

  She found herself walking to the edge of camp, feeling an idle energy that had no purpose, yet needed to be spent. The Cinnan guards observed her with a cool watchfulness. She snorted. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to read your minds.

  Somewhere around the periphery of the camp Pokos also wandered through the darkness. Guards or no guards, she knew he was their best protection against a surprise attack by human or fairrier cat. Catherine paused and stood looking out into the trees. Do fairrier cats climb? She had never really considered the possibility. She had not spied Pokos in the trees yet, but then they had been traveling together, so it wouldn’t have been practical anyway. He was certainly very agile climbing over rough terrain. Even with her as a passenger.

  She scanned the larger branches, half expecting to see some feline form poised to leap down at her. The image of the foot still attached to its bloodied leg bone filled her thoughts and she remembered their first night in Cinna. The cats would have done the same to us if we hadn’t fought them off. She shivered. A feeling of impending doom washed over her, and her hand felt for the pendant tucked underneath her clothing. I should get back to the tent... I shouldn’t be out here. She turned and began to retrace her steps.

  A squeezing net suddenly descended on her consciousness. Someone was reading her thoughts, and they weren’t bothering to be as polite as Mekrita. She glanced around at the Cinnan guards. None of them were paying any attention to her. Catherine’s head felt light, as if her own will were disappearing, supplanted by baneful cords of malice. She tried to scream, but no air moved through her vocal chords. Her throat, chest, and diaphragm were paralyzed. Her feet staggered forward.

  Catherine fought against the impulse to run into the forest. Her feet refused to obey her, though, moving steadily away from the camp. She grabbed at the branches of a thorny shrub as she passed it, gripping them tightly in spite of their biting thorns. She pulled hard and felt her body lifting off the ground, as if she were being swept away in a torrent of water. Her boots flew off her feet. Her hands began to bleed and she saw the branches fray as she twisted wildly in the air. I can’t hold on much longer!

  Catherine fought to stay conscious. I need air. She struggled to breathe, her fear increasing. Can’t the guards see what’s happening? Someone help me! Sharp pains shot through her hands. She pulled harder and managed to bring a foot to the ground. THIS IS MY BODY! she screamed in her head. Her vision began to darken. I’m going to faint!

  The urge to give in was overwhelming. But just as the darkness closed over her, the impossible took its place: An image of her dagger appeared, growing ever larger, glowing and triumphant.

  Astonished, Catherine stilled her terror. An incredible peace flowed through her. This is all wrong. Their efforts are a lie. I can breathe. I know it. She opened her eyes. I CAN BREATHE! she declared. Suddenly air rushed into her lungs. She forced her other foot to the ground.

  Dimly, through her tangled hair, she saw Pokos running toward her. He galloped between her and the forest, roaring at the darkness, and Catherine felt the net dissipate. Pokos growled low and long, tensing to spring forward. Even on the other side of that growl Catherine could feel the vibrations. Five Cinnan guards appeared and nervously lined up next to her, staring intently into the woods. Like the sudden quiet after a violent storm, all sensation of pulling ceased. Catherine fell into the bushes, tears and blood from her hands spattering her face. Pokos bounded out of sight, heading into the menacing gloom.

  Quor appeared at her side, gently loosening her fingers and sleeves from the thorny branches. His eyes were full of compassion and something else. Respect.

  “Catherine!” Cyril’s panicked voice came from the direction of camp. He began to sprint toward her with his sword in hand, no shoes on his feet. Menard was a few paces behind.

  “That was a focused attack, Catherine,” said Quor. “There must have been ten of them out there. Maybe even Magnus and Julia. You did well.” He regarded her curiously, some unasked question hovering in the air.

  “I thought I was going to be sucked away.” She gasped. She closed her eyes as the pain in her hands grew to an intense throbbing.

  “I believe that if you hadn’t grabbed this thornbush, they would have gotten you. That was very brave. I am surprised that they didn’t stop your breathing.”

  “They tried,” Catherine managed. Quor’s eyes widened.

  “That’s impossible. Their attack should have killed you, then, or at least knocked you unconscious,” Quor whispered. “It is the way of assassination. That is how they killed their guards after the Duray Principas.”

  “I knew it was a lie. I...” Catherine tried to think back to what exactly she had done when she fought for her breath. Was it Pokos? Did he scare them off?

  “Why were you out here?” Quor asked gently.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She winced as he separated her left hand from the last thorny branch.

  “No doubt they started to focus on you while you were resting and brought you to the edge of the camp.” Quor rose and glared into the darkness.

  “I don’t think so. I couldn’t sleep and I just went for a walk.”

  Quor frowned, turning his head to stare down at her. “It may have felt that way, but I am not so sure.”

  Cyril pushed his way through and knelt beside Catherine, taking her bleedin
g hands in his. His face was ashen. He tenderly brushed the hair from her eyes and picked out a few thorns that had broken off in her flesh. Quor took a step back.

  “There is nothing you could have done, Cyril. Catherine is all right,” Quor reassured him. “This kind of attack cannot be countered by sword or bow.” Quor scrutinized Catherine, as if seeing her in a new light. Catherine squirmed. Why is he looking at me like that?

  Cyril took a corner of his shirt and began to clean her face. The desperate worry in his expression made Catherine cringe. I should never have wandered from the tent. This is all my fault.

  Menard scowled at the darkness, looking for the hidden enemy. “Cowardly bunch. Attacking a lone girl at night! I can’t wait to get my hands on that Magnus. If it weren’t for those blasted fairrier cats I’d go out after ‘em right now.” Pokos arrived with Catherine’s boots in his mouth just in time to give Menard a cool stare. He set the boots down at Catherine’s feet.

  Mekrita and Bessie came running up to them.

  “What’s happened?” asked Bessie breathlessly.

  Quor and Mekrita were locked in silent communication. Catherine smiled weakly at Bessie, but found it a difficult question to answer. What did happen, exactly? She opened her mouth to recount her vision of the dagger, but closed it again as Quor cleared his throat. All eyes flew to his face. “I have always wondered if the bloodline of the talisman keepers carried Cinnan traits. You have proved it does, Catherine.”

  “What?” asked Cyril. “You mean Catherine is part Cinnan?”

  “More than that, Cyril. She fought a focused attack. Most Cinnans could not have done as well, unless... unless the heir of the talisman is also an heir of...” All around her the Cinnans stared at Catherine.

  “An heir of what?” murmured Catherine.

  “Not of what, Catherine. Of whom,” said Mekrita. She eyed Catherine as if seeing her for the first time then lowered her gaze and bowed her head for a moment. Cyril, Bessie, Menard, and Catherine stared at the Cinnans. Pokos nudged Catherine’s elbow and she unconsciously ran her sore fingers through his soft, thick neck fur.

  Quor broke the silence. “Catherine is the scion of Elsath, the prophet.”

  Catherine caught her breath. Elsath. I know that name! Pokos! The blessing of the fairrier cats!

  “El... who?” asked Bessie.

  “Elsath,” said Mekrita.

  Quor pressed his fingertips together as he spoke. “The first Speaker. Elsath took the onyx stones into Tabrek centuries ago. Under his guidance they were crafted into the pendant you now wear. They say he took a wife in Tabrek who taught him to speak. Legend has it that they had a son. The son was father of the first Keeper of the Pendant.” Quor’s eyes bore into Catherine’s, laden with meaning. “When his wife died, Elsath returned to Cinna to teach others to speak. He never returned to Tabrek.”

  “It is Elsath who blessed Lackanay to stop the trodliks when they devoured Devona. It is his blessing that all fairrier cats know. This name is revered in Tabrek,” said Pokos. “His wife... What was her name?”

  Quor smiled. “Surely you must know, Pokos.”

  “Yes.” Pokos turned his gaze to the princess at his feet. “It was Catherine.”

  “Just so. The first wearer of the talisman.”

  “But it skips generations, these Cinnan abilities?” asked Catherine.

  “Yes—from grandmother it goes to granddaughter. If there is no granddaughter, it skips again. In Cinna, the ability to speak does not always pass from one generation to the next, nor do certain other capabilities.”

  “But all Cinnans can read minds?” asked Bessie.

  “Yes of course, but Catherine is only part Cinnan. She may never learn. Or it could take years,” said Quor.

  Cyril smiled. Menard elbowed him and whispered something. Cyril turned red and frowned at his counselor. Pleased, Menard beamed at Catherine, who was struggling to tug her boots back on. She gasped at the pain and Mekrita swiftly bent to help her.

  “Come now,” said Mekrita. She gently slipped the boots on Catherine’s feet and brushed the dirt from her coat. “It will soon be dawn and you need to rest before we travel. I will walk with you again today. Perhaps I can teach you more.”

  “Yes, and let’s get you cleaned up,” said Bessie. Mekrita and Bessie looped their arms in Catherine’s and helped her to rise. Catherine looked longingly at Cyril as they pulled her away. He smiled a lopsided smile. The three girls headed back to the tent, every pair of eyes following them.

  Spelopokos ran through the woods, moving fast enough to put some distance between himself and Quor. Pokos and Quor had followed Magnus’s group for hours, but now Pokos wanted time to think, without Quor.

  The events of the night before still tumbled through his thoughts. Magnus must be stopped. He almost killed Catherine! If I get there first there will be no capture, only my vengeance. These Cinnans are much too civilized to deal with scat like him. Menard. Menard and I think alike. He would make a good fairrier cat if he weren’t so stubborn.

  Pokos cleared a ten-foot brook with a gentle bound and turned to take a sip of water, keeping one eye out for Quor. He huffed as he spotted the Cinnan flying through the forest. Shouldn’t have given him that fur—at this rate I’ll have no privacy. He felt Quor touching his thought as he bounded away again, and sped up until the sensation faded.

  It wasn’t long before he found that rare and yet now so shockingly familiar scent. Fairrier cats! At last I can finally tell them of my plans for the Allianans. They will listen. After we kill the Allianans, Catherine and I can take the fairrier cats to Lackanay where there is game enough to spare. I can teach them much.

  “Are they shadowing Magnus and Julia and the others?” asked Quor, suddenly back in his thoughts.

  “I think so. Just four or five of them. Tell the others while I scout ahead.” Pokos raced up the trail. I must be careful about what I think about the Allianans or Quor will know my heart. Has he guessed?

  It was about two o’clock in the afternoon, unusually early for fairrier cats. We are opportunists. Pokos’s paws sunk into the moist soil as he surged forward, only a little chagrined. It would freeze again by nightfall. He left large, deep paw prints for Menard and Quor and the rest of them to follow.

  The scent was getting stronger. Pokos slowed. I hope the cats do not double back.

  The trail Magnus had chosen hugged the rim of All Souls Ravine with the sheer drop on the right. Every now and then an updraft carried the scent of the river from far below. He could smell Magnus and Julia, too. Pokos left the trail and crept through the dry grass, bushes, and trees. The fairrier cats were close. Ahead, human footsteps sent pebbles scattering and snapped twigs. Magnus does not hold the lives of his party to be precious.

  Pokos loped through a grove of trees. The Cinnans were moving steadily down the trail in single file. Julia and Magnus were in the center of the group with the priests and priestesses in front and in back. A growl erupted in Pokos’s throat, but he stifled it. Ahead the trail widened. If I were to attack I would do it here. Pick off the stragglers. No sooner had he thought that than he saw the first cat.

  It was crouched in the grass. Pokos could see it, but he knew that if the priests and priestesses looked directly at it they would only see a faint, shimmering blur. The cat was thin and its fur was sparse. It is starving. Pokos concentrated until he felt the tingling of his skin that meant he too blended invisibly with the brush around him. The cat was about to leap.

  Pokos felt his heart pounding, and he bared his teeth instinctively. The last Cinnan in the column was about to die. The attack was quick and silent. The fairrier cat snapped the neck of its victim and dragged the body into the brush. The next Cinnan made a muffled gurgle as his throat was crushed. Pokos stiffened, waiting for the column of Cinnans to stop, but they trudged on, unaware of the death that was stalking them.

  Pokos thought of Quor, running to catch up with him, and deliberately stepped on a branch. It cracked
under his paw.

  The third fairrier cat was poised to jump when suddenly it broke off its attack in surprise and looked back at Pokos. Its eyes were a blazing yellow. Pokos smiled. The cat ran into the forest out of view. Pokos waited, sensing that it had gone to get the others. The line of Cinnans pulled ahead, out of sight.

  There were five of them. Pokos stood unafraid. The cats were females. Their shoulders were three or four inches below his and they were about half his weight. He imagined them hunting deer in Lackanay.

  One of the cats approached, her head low. He could see blood on her chin and mouth. Pokos waited. He looked at her. Her eyes were a mix of green and yellow. Good. The cat sniffed the air.

  “I am Spelopokos,” he said. The cat leapt backward, stunned at his voice. Five sets of yellow eyes bore into him.

  “I can teach you this speaking. It is not hard. All the cats of Lackanay used to be Speakers.” Spelopokos reached out with his mind, “I am Spelopokos. I am here to bring you to Lackanay. You will not go hungry there.”

  The cats circled warily. He sensed no reply. They are afraid of me. Pokos let himself slip into visibility so that Quor would not run into the midst of the fairrier cats, unawares.

  Sometimes scents speak louder than words. First he raked the bark of a large tree with his claws and then he turned, lifted his tail, and sprayed it. He moved away from the tree so they could come near it. The cat that had first approached him padded up to the tree. Her eyes had lost all trace of yellow. She rubbed her head against Pokos and rolled in the grass. Pokos’s head spun with her scent. It had been hundreds of years since he had smelled anything so delicious.

  “Pokos.” It was Quor in his thoughts. He had caught up again.

  “Not now, Quor. Go away.”

  “Look out Pokos!” yelled Cyril.

  Spelopokos tore his gaze off of the female fairrier cat. A large male cat was charging him. Pokos spun around. The females scattered. The attacking cat surged at him with a battle growl. Pokos instinctively growled back, the sound of it shaking the forest. The two fairrier cats fell quiet and circled each other. Pokos was much more robust than the other male, who looked huge nonetheless. His skin was stretched tight across his ribs. He is as big as Nepozadan, only starving.