by Paul Chafe
“My female? As in my property?” Understanding dawned. “No, she's not a personal effect, she's a sentient legal entity in her own right.” He gave Trina a look. “And she uses her sentience far too well for her own good. And mine.”
“Hrrrr.” Night Pilot's lips twitched over his fangs. “She told me she was cargo.”
“Please don't be mad.” Trina looked like she was about to cry. “I heard you and Curvy talking about my luck. If I'm with you, you'll be lucky too.” He could hear her trying to convince herself as she said it. She hesitated, looking at her toes. Tskombe had never been upset with her before, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” Her voice was small.
Tskombe took a deep breath. She didn't want to be abandoned again. He couldn't bring himself to be angry and turned to Night Pilot. “We have to go back.”
“Hrr.” Night Pilot paused, choosing his words carefully. “This is possible, but it presents a problem.”
“Why is that?”
“You have purchased the use of my ship for the run to Kzinhome, and the fuel load and charges are computed accordingly. We are halfway out of Centauri system now. To decelerate and return to Tiamat means we will be unable to make Kzinhome without refueling. Tritium deuteride is expensive. I mention this only because I understand you will not be able to afford the fuel for another trip. The decision is yours. I will alter course if you order it.”
Tskombe just looked at him. The kzin remained impassive. He was right, and there was nothing that could change that. I could abandon the mission. Of course he couldn't, so instead he counted to ten, slowly, to get his frustration under control. Trina was going to get her way.
He turned around. “Trina…” He still couldn't bring himself to scold her when he saw her eyes. “Where we're going is dangerous. You're going to have to do exactly what you're told, when you're told, no questions asked.” He met her too serious gaze and held it. “Understood?”
“Oh yes. I'll do that.” Relief flooded her face. “I'll do whatever you say.”
“Good.” Tskombe nodded. “I've had about all the rebellion I can handle for one day. We'll talk about this later.” The kitchen chimed and delivered his approximately-chicken. He left it for Trina and went to his cabin to lie down and think. There was nothing to be done now, but Trina was going to present him with a problem on Kzinhome. Probably many problems. Time to think about that later. He put a pillow over his eyes and eventually went to sleep, to dream troubled dreams.
When the scent is right, mate.
— Wisdom of the Conservers
Darkness was falling as Pouncer's tuskvor came to the sandstone dome that was Ztrak Pride's high forest den. The three-day journey from Mrrsel Pride had taken some of the urgency from Pouncer's drive to warn Ztrak Pride of the danger of the Tzaatz. All day as he rode he had scanned the skies for the glint of gravcars and had seen nothing. The forest was big, but the canopy cover was not absolute as it was in the jungle. Finding a well hidden den by tracking the vast herds of tuskvor now aimlessly wandering through the trees would be a difficult task. Too difficult, I hope, but they found Mrrsel Pride. He was relieved to see the faint glow of Ztrak's pride circle fire in the den mouth as he came up to it. That is something that will have to change. The signature may be visible from space. Reflexively he looked overhead for the fast-moving pinpricks that were ships or satellites. He saw none, but perhaps it wasn't yet dark enough.
He was challenged as he climbed the trail, and Silverstreak greeted him when he answered. He went past, and when he came to the den mouth he could see the pride circle was already gathered for hvook raoowh h'een, the fire glowing bright and warm in the middle. I will wait until the first story is told, and then tell my own tale and give warning. He took his usual place to V'rli's left in the pride circle, and looked to see who was telling the story. Immediately he froze. This is not tale-telling-time! In the center C'mell was crawling on her belly, her tail twitching back and forth in a mesmerizing rhythm. He found he couldn't look away, and then she called. Chrrroowwwl! Her deep need clear in the way the sound was torn from her very being. Reflexively he stiffened. The sound spoke directly to his hindbrain, flooding him with desire, and all thoughts of the Tzaatz and the slaughter of Mrrsel Pride were driven from his mind. Some distant part of his brain remembered the last time he'd heard that sound, fleeing for his life ahead of the Tzaatz attack on the Citadel. T'suuz had stopped him then. Who will interfere if I want her? He became aware of the rest of the pride circle, every male there with his eyes fixed on C'mell. What are the rules here? He had no idea. C'mell chrowled again, triggering another avalanche of desire in his system, and he twitched. She was in front of the more senior males on the other side of V'rli, presenting her haunches to Sraff-Tracker.
Sraff-Tracker! The kill rage swept through him. Rage is death! He held on to his self-control, barely, though his lips twitched away from his fangs. Understand the rules first, leap later. His late arrival had caused a small stir, and C'mell, who was looking backward at Sraff-Tracker, looked around and saw him, her gaze locking with his. She looked back at Sraff-Tracker again and twitched her tail, then leapt with easy grace across the pride circle and landed in front of Pouncer. She lowered her head and turned around, her luscious tail switching back and forth, her ripe female scent enveloping him. What are the rules? The entire pride circle was watching him now. In his world kzinretti were mated only by their owners, or those their owners chose to share them with. How does it work when the kzinretti choose for themselves? C'mell was inviting him in no uncertain terms. Did anything else matter? As if she were reading his mind she chrowled again, and raised her haunches. A fresh wave of her musk came over him, and everything else was forgotten. When the scent is right, mate! He moved to mount her.
A killscream echoed through the cavern, and he barely had time to look up as Sraff-Tracker came at his head, hind claws extended to kill. He rolled, not fast enough, but Sraff-Tracker's claws found his shoulder instead of his eyes. Flesh tore, and then he was free and flowing into v'scree stance. Sraff-Tracker had rolled with his attack and came back at him. Pouncer bent at the knees to lower his center of gravity, claws extending to slice his adversary's belly, but Sraff-Tracker was pivoting in midair, his hind leg coming around to slam Pouncer's wrist. Pain shot through Pouncer's arm and blood spattered. Sraff-Tracker's other leg straightened and connected hard with the side of Pouncer's head. The impact slammed him to the ground, his head spinning. His vision danced with sparks, but he retained the presence of mind to roll with the fall, so Sraff-Tracker's stabbing fangs closed on empty air instead of his throat. Fight juices flooded his bloodstream as he flipped back to his feet, and he screamed in the kill rage. Rage is death. Some distant part of his brain struggled to regain control, but the red rage overcame everything but the need to feel his enemy's flesh tear beneath his talons. He screamed and leapt, knowing it was a mistake, oblivious to the consequences. Sraff-Tracker was on the ground, off balance and recovering from his not quite successful attack. He jerked his arm up protectively up as Pouncer came at him. The motion was late, but the razor edge of his talons still sliced along Pouncer's outstretched arm. Pouncer screamed again, in pain this time as bright arterial blood pumped from the wound. Sraff-Tracker rolled backward and came to his feet a leap and a half away, breathing hard.
“First blood!” Sraff-Tracker's voice was exultant. “I'm going to kill you by slow cuts, kitten.”
“Come claim your victory, son-of-sthondats.” Pouncer spat the words through a fanged smile, claws extended once more in v'scree stance. Rage is death. His loss of control had cost him blood, and the sliced muscles in his forearm hampered him. I shall not ignore my teaching again. Guardmaster be with me now. He settled his feet into position and scanned the area around his opponent, visualized what was behind him. He must not surrender to his emotions here. Muted snarls rose from the watching czrav. He was breaking a rule. What is it?
Sraff-Tracker dro
pped to attack crouch, teeth bared, ears instinctively folded flat and back behind his skull. His eyes were narrow with pupils dilated wide with the kill rage, locked on Pouncer, but he did not leap.
His anger wars with his fear. Even as the realization came to him, Sraff-Tracker leapt, his scream echoing in the confines of the chamber. Pouncer twisted sideways to avoid him and brought his claws up to rake at Sraff-Tracker's spine. His wound slowed him, but his claws found the flesh along his adversary's rib cage, ripping deep into muscle and winning a scream of infuriated pain. Sraff-Tracker lashed out and caught Pouncer a glancing blow on the hip but drew more no more blood. The pair separated and again they faced each other across the dueling circle.
“The score evens.” Pouncer's voice purred with satisfaction.
In response Sraff-Tracker leapt, though he had not yet recovered attack crouch. The suddenness of his attack caught Pouncer by surprise, and his dodge was too slow. Sraff-Tracker double kicked at Pouncer's head, his claws connecting with one ear, almost tearing it off. Pouncer snapped around instinctively, his jaws closing on Sraff-Tracker's ankle, but his attacker's momentum carried him away. Sraff-Tracker hit the ground and rolled and Pouncer scrambled clear. Again Sraff-Tracker leapt as soon as he had gained his feet, snapping as he went past. Pouncer had not expected such a fast reversal and dropped flat, feeling the razor edged fangs slice through the hair on his neck.
He is fast, and dangerous. Pouncer leapt to his feet, and again adopted v'scree stance. He gains strength and speed from his anger, but he is skilled too. Even the veteran Tzaatz warrior who'd nearly killed him at the gate to the Forbidden Garden hadn't been so skilled. The czrav are deadly warriors indeed. C'mell chrowled again, the sound now not even a distraction as he focused all his attention on Sraff-Tracker. On the other side of the circle his opponent had paused to breathe deep. He should attack now, while Sraff-Tracker was tired, but his wound throbbed and his vision swam with his exertion. Sraff-Tracker's talons dripped with his blood. Fear is death. Pouncer leapt, his kill scream shaking the walls as he pivoted his hind claws around to launch a g'rrtz high kick. With his left he kicked Sraff-Tracker's block to one side, lashing out with his right to connect with his opponent's sternum. Sraff-Tracker stumbled back, overbalanced, and then Pouncer was on him. They went down in a snarling heap. Claws dug deep into Pouncer's belly, the sudden pain overriding his exhaustion. He ignored the damage, using his weight to force Sraff-Tracker down. His jaws found his enemy's shoulder and clamped hard. Sraff-Tracker screamed in rage and pulled away, flesh tearing around Pouncer's fangs.
“C'mell will be mine, and your kz'eerkti will be my mating feast.” The big kzin rolled clear, barely able to speak through his fanged snarl. He wastes energy. Now is the time. Pouncer screamed and leapt again. Sraff-Tracker pivoted to dodge, but he was slow and Pouncer connected, tearing flesh and driving his opponent to the ground. He screamed again, connected with the lower rib cage. Bone snapped and Sraff-Tracker screamed in pain, thrashing. Pouncer leapt clear, anticipating counterattack, but none came. He flowed again into v'dak stance, saw the big kzin writhing and spitting blood. The fractured ribs had lacerated a lung and he was screaming now in pain and fear rather than rage.
Without thought Pouncer leapt again. His jaws snapped and Sraff-Tracker's screams ended in a gurgle as Pouncer's fangs sliced out his throat. He is dead. Pouncer found himself trembling with reaction. He attacked me, now he is dead. The last stroke was mercy. He looked up, readopted v'scree stance as he faced the rest of the Pride. Rage is death, fear is death. I must clear my mind. But his mind would not clear. He forced himself to meet the gazes of the pride whose pridemate he had just killed. For a long moment the tableau held, and then it became clear there would be no further attack. He knelt by the still-warm body. What are the rules here? After a long moment he leaned back and screamed the zal'mchurrr up into the gathering dusk. Sraff-Tracker had fought well, he deserved no less.
Chrrrrowwwl! C'mell's mating call split the night and he stiffened at the sound, sudden desire flushing away the kill rage. She was crouched in front of Kr-Pathfinder now, her haunches raised, flipping her tail for him. Pouncer took a step forward, then another. Kr-Pathfinder didn't move. His gaze was fixed hard on C'mell, but he wasn't showing his fangs. What did that mean? M'mewr was alongside him, her left forepaw over his, and her fangs were showing. He came closer, and C'mell began to edge out of the way. As she turned her hindquarters to him a fresh wave of her ripe, fertile scent washed over him, and without thought he leapt for her. She dodged out of the way, but he managed to grab her, rolling her over, the pain from his wounds not registering. He came around on top of her and she struggled madly to get away. With instincts he didn't know he possessed, his teeth found the nape of her neck. Her haunches came up, opening herself to him, and he mounted her. The mating frenzy took him then, his body spasming beyond his conscious control, and he was aware of her raising herself, her body tensing beneath his. He roared, and her mating scream mixed with his to echo off the cavern walls, and in the universe there was nothing for him but C'mell.
He collapsed then, suddenly aware of the silently watching pride. He found to his surprise that he couldn't separate himself from her. Awkwardly they moved out of the center. Pouncer started for his old spot on V'rli's left, but C'mell guided him to lie beside Quicktail, Night-Prowler, and Z'slee. He had been accepted.
V'rli-Ztrak moved to the center of the circle and raised her voice. “Was the fight fair?”
“It was fair, Honored Mother.” The voices rose from around the circle.
V'rli folded her ears and lay down again. Quicktail got up in her place and started a poetry game. Pouncer licked C'mell's ears affectionately, seeing in her a new beauty he had not known to exist. His testicles contracted with a slow rhythm, inseminating her in steady pulses, gentle echoes of the ecstasy of their first coupling. She was his C'mell, now and always, and she was going to bear his kits. She purred under his tongue, and then licked his wounds in turn. It was painful, but he was too spent even to grimace. He still had news to tell the pride, but it would wait now. There will be a death rite for Sraff-Tracker. That will be the time.
The poetry game lasted half the night, and then there was another story. Finally he and C'mell came apart, to lie close beside each other in the firelight. Eventually the story finished. V'rli rose and went to Sraff-Tracker's body. C'mell nudged him and murmured in his ear, and Pouncer went to kneel beside his recent rival.
V'rli lashed her tail. “Sraff-Tracker was strong. He brought the avalanche down on the Tzaatz in the battle. I remember Sraff-Tracker.” She went back to her place and lay down.
Night-Prowler stood and went to the body. “Once I ran with Sraff-Tracker to the river trail to catch a tuskvor.” He dropped to attack-crouch, as if to leap. “A herd-mother scented us despite the myewl, and she charged with her daughters.” He stood and spread his arms, to indicate the size and ferocity of the herd. “We fled up a spire tree, but I was slow. Sraff-Tracker pulled me up just in time and saved my life.” He stood straight. “I remember Sraff-Tracker.”
V'veen rose from her place beside Kdtronai-zar'ameer. She walked to the body, removed her ornate ear-bands and tossed them in the fire. Without speaking she turned around to sit down again. The death rite went on, each member of the pride coming in turn to the body while Pouncer held his kneeling position, his head and body held close to the ground.
Finally V'rli-Ztrak stood again. “Sraff-Tracker was strong.” She said. “Sraff-Tracker was the son of Sraff-Ztrak, a strong Patriarch who led us well. Sraff-Tracker was our blood, and remains our blood. Now he is dead.” She waited while the pride growled its approval of the death rite, then turned to Pouncer. “Pouncer was brave,” she intoned. “Pouncer came to us for sanctuary and fought with us as a warrior. He has left our circle and returned. Pouncer was our blood and remains our blood. Now he is dead.” She drew her w'tsai from her belt, the blade flashing the light of the roaring fire.
An e
lectric thrill shot through Pouncer at her words and he looked up at her, suddenly ready to fight. I can defeat V'rli alone, but the whole pride will leap then. Am I to die now? He had broken a rule by mating C'mell, and now he would pay for it. What he thought was acceptance was merely patience, as the pride waited for the traditions to play out their ancient pattern.
But no, V'rli was offering the weapon to him, handle first. A w'tsai, symbol of acceptance into adulthood, symbol of acceptance into the pride. Their eyes were on him.
“Does Ztrakr Pride know the legend of Zree-Shraft?” he asked. I will be part of this pride; it is important that my name be in their traditions.
“We do.”
He took the weapon and roared until the cavern shook. “I claim the name Zree-Rrit, to follow Zree-Shraft-Who-Walked-Alone in my quest to avenge my father. May the Fanged God test me, I am ready.”
“Zree-Rrit, of Mrrsel Pride blood. It is a good name.” V'rli's voice was approving. “Your kill was clean, Zree-Rrit. Take the ears.”
Pouncer looked at his blade and considered it. Now is a critical moment. If I am to be Zree-Rrit, if I am to follow the path I have just chosen for myself I must become a leader, and that begins now, in this moment. What was the right course? He put the edge of the blade against his upper arm and, and in a short, sharp jerk that was harder to make than he thought it would be, drew it past, feeling the razor edge burn into his flesh. Blood welled up, and he slid the weapon into his belt.
“No. I do not claim ears. Sraff-Tracker fought well, let him keep them. With respect, take my blood on your blade as my pledge of fealty to Ztrak Pride.”
If the move surprised V'rli she gave no sign. Instead she turned back to the watching hunters. “I show you Zree-Rrit!” And the Pride screamed loud into the night. Pouncer screamed with them. Kr-Pathfinder and Ferlitz-Telepath leapt to throw the body on the pyre, where it sizzled and hissed in the flames. Roars echoed from around the circle, and a scuffle broke out. The tension of the night was about to be released in sparring and feasting and mating.