On the third day, during one of these naps, Arcove said, “So what did Storm say?”
Roup opened his drowsy eyes. They were just out of earshot of the rest of the clutter. Roup’s cats slept together like a pile of cubs when they were this far from their own territory. It gave them comfort. They would have welcomed Arcove, but he chose to sleep apart. Roup knew that they thought he did it to preserve his dignity, although Roup suspected that Arcove just didn’t want to hurt anyone if he had a bad dream.
“Say?” Roup repeated.
“When you talked to him,” said Arcove with excessive patience, “what did he say?” They’d been sleeping back-to-back—as they’d used to when they were cubs. Roup was reminded of those days when they’d slept by turns because they had so many enemies.
Roup refused to sit up and look at his friend. “What makes you think I talked to him?”
“You always talk to them.”
Roup gave a sad chuckle. More’s the pity.
“If you made him a promise, I’ll keep it.”
Roup sighed. He sat up. “You’d like him, Arcove.”
“I’m sure I would. Fed on spring grass and seasoned with light running.” It was a joke. Most creasia found the taste of ferryshaft unpleasant.
Roup laughed. “One conversation and you’d be friends.”
“I doubt that.”
“He doesn’t know anything. No one’s talked to him. He overheard Sharmel’s cats talking about Coden. That’s the only reason he knew the name. You should have seen his face—so young, so curious. He does remind me of Coden. He’s a lot smaller, but he’s the same color and…something about the eyes. I think they’re related, but I don’t know how. I’m not sure it matters.”
“Is he a leader?” asked Arcove. “Do you think others will follow him?”
Roup thought about it. Others won’t even sleep near him. “No. He’s not like Coden that way. What little training he has, he got from Pathar. I thought that was odd.”
Arcove cocked his head. “Pathar? That is odd.” He thought for a moment. “Somehow, Storm must be Coden’s. I can’t see Pathar inconveniencing himself for anyone else’s orphan.”
Roup inclined his head. “That’s what I thought, too. Charder…”
Arcove laughed. “You think he managed that? It would make him so proud—one small victory over me. Might be what’s kept him going all these years.”
Roup glanced at him. “I promised Storm that no one would suffer because of what he told me.”
“Oh, I’m not about to kill Pathar,” said Arcove, “or Charder. Pathar is too good at predicting the Volontaro, and it wouldn’t do us any good anyway. He’d never tell me the truth, and I’d like to know.” He hesitated. “What about the telshee? Did you recognize the scent?”
Roup could hear the change in his voice. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but Arcove was never a coward. “Shaw,” said Roup immediately. He’d always had a good nose and a better memory.
Arcove made a face. “Did you have to chase Storm onto the beach?”
“I wanted to test him on unfamiliar terrain. I suspected that he did not frequent the beach, and I was right. The fact that he ran from the telshee, rather than seek shelter with it, tells us a lot.”
Arcove inclined his head. “I suppose.”
Roup watched him. Arcove had not shared his plans for this hunt, and Roup still couldn’t tell what he intended to do. Treaty code forbade them to ask for a specific animal, and Roup didn’t think Arcove was ready to break treaty code, even with the possible excuse of Storm’s behavior. “Assuming you don’t kill him in the initial rush…will you turn him south, try to run him into Leeshwood?”
Arcove’s tail twitched. “All the other chases have gone south. It didn’t seem to work.”
“And this time…”
“We go north,” said Arcove.
Roup was surprised. “You’ll drive him into the ghost wood?”
Arcove snorted. “Only if he’s unlucky. If he’s lucky, I’ll kill him long before that.”
Chapter 20. Round 6: Arcove
“Storm!”
The rabbit he’d been stalking vanished in a spray of earth. Storm turned to see Sauny galloping out of the boulders. He felt the fear and excitement roll through him even before she spoke. “The creasia,” she gasped.
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” panted Sauny. “They just started turning up all over the place.”
“Are they attacking?” asked Storm.
“No. They’re ignoring everyone. I think they’re looking for you.”
At that moment, he heard a rally cry. Well, they’ve found my scent. There must be enough of them who know it by now.
“Sauny,” he said quietly. “I want you to hide. I know that you’ve scouted plenty of hiding places around here. I will not be able to concentrate unless I know you’re hiding. Will you do that for me?”
He looked into her eyes. He was afraid she was going to argue, insist that she could run with him or distract them or something even crazier…like fight. But the sight of the creasia seemed to have intimidated her. She was, after all, only a year old. “Alright.”
Storm felt a wave of relief. He turned without another word and ran, intent on putting some distance between himself and Sauny. Evening shadows stretched between the boulders. Storm did not relish the idea of another all-night chase, but it seemed likely. He tried to concentrate on a strategy, on laying a confusing trail, on not trapping himself. The ferryshaft he encountered bolted at the sight of him. He saw mothers hurrying their newborn foals into caves, their movements panicky. Creasia never came at this time of year, and the mothers didn’t know what to do. They could not flee as their instincts demanded, because their foals could not yet keep up. They shot accusatory looks at him as he passed.
Storm ignored them. Something Roup had said niggled uncomfortably at the back of his mind. “I am, arguably, the second most powerful person on this island.”
So, Roup’s superior would have to be…
At that moment, Storm heard another cat-wail—not from behind, but from above him. Storm looked to the cliffs. A quarter of the way up, silhouetted against the blood-red rock, he saw several creasia. One was black and a head taller than the others. Arcove.
Beside him, Roup’s golden fur gleamed in the evening light. From another trail, Storm saw a line of cats bounding down towards the mazes. He recognized the large, dark brown cat in the lead with his strangely abbreviated tail. Halvery.
Storm felt a chill. Have they all come this time?
He realized a moment later that his own pale fur must show as distinctly as Roup’s against the darker red rock. Snow and beach sand are better cover for me. The carrying call sounded again, and Storm realized that it was Arcove. He had spotted Storm and was directing the cats in the boulders to his location.
I can’t stay near the cliffs. Storm felt as though an old friend had betrayed him. He remembered something else Roup had said. “In the future, I’d advise you find a less accessible place to sleep. That, or make yourself less…conspicuous.”
Oh, you were just full of helpful advice, weren’t you, Roup?
Storm turned towards the plain. The boulders thinned, and soon he was running on grass, which grew rapidly taller as he left the mazes behind. The plain, he reflected, would not be such a terrible place to lead a hunt at this time of year. The grass had grown to the height of his shoulders. Storm had only to crouch, and he was out of sight. In addition, the area was wrinkled with dips and ridges.
Motion to his right caught his attention. The grass a few lengths from Storm swayed, and a creasia shot into view. Storm veered away. Other clumps of grass burst into motion as the crouching predators sprang at him. Storm heard Ariand’s voice, “Hello, Vearil! It is delightful to see you again!”
Treace’s voice: “It will be even more delightful to devour your liver.”
Storm barely registered their words. The ambush had been well-positi
oned. He shot away to the left in a sprint that cost him precious energy. The cats were very close. This hunt would end before it began unless he created a lead for himself.
Storm topped a rise and was, for an instant, beyond their sight. He dashed down the hill into the little pool where, only a few days ago, Sauny had been chasing minnows. There was one deep spot—deeper than it looked, beneath a scrubby tree at the far end. Storm splashed through the water. He took a couple of gasping breaths and dropped beneath the surface.
On the muddy floor of the pool, Storm found a twisted root and hooked one hoof through it to keep himself from floating up. He tried to calm his hammering heart and reminded himself that he could go a little while without breathing. The cats had been very close…hadn’t they?
It seemed years, though, before he saw their shadows on the surface of the water. They will think I followed the stream where it leaves the pool. That would be a good way to hide my scent. Follow the stream. Please.
Storm clearly saw Treace’s outline. He felt as though the cat was looking right at him. His heart hammered. But the tree throws dappled shadows across the water here, and my fur matches the pale mud. Be calm. Be still.
And then they were gone. Storm waited for what seemed an eternity, lungs burning. When he could stand it no more, he slipped his hoof from around the root and floated up. Even then, he did not shoot from the water, but brought only his nose into the air, forcing himself to breathe slowly. His ears broke the surface, and he listened. Nothing. Storm raised his head. Not a cat in sight!
Feeling a little smug, Storm bounded from the pool and started in the opposite direction from the stream. You won’t eat my liver this evening, Treace.
* * * *
“You see that?” said Roup. “Smart.”
Arcove quirked a smile. “I see him.”
The cliff trail was just high enough to give them a view of what had happened at the pool, but too far away for them to call to Ariand and Treace, who were fruitlessly combing the edges of the stream for Storm’s point of departure. Roup’s clutter paced nervously, anxious to be off on the hunt. Storm would soon be lost to sight on the dusky plain.
Roup glanced at Arcove. It’s been a long time since you matched wits with an opponent who could keep up with you. I think you’re enjoying this.
Arcove turned and started down the path at a flowing run. Roup bounded to keep up, and the clutter exploded around them. “He can muck about in the pools all he likes,” said Arcove. “But in the end, he goes north.”
* * * *
Storm assumed that, like all the cats before him, Arcove would try to force the hunt into creasia territory. But he’ll have a long ways to go to do that. The ferryshaft were currently at the farthest reach of their migration away from the Southern Forest. Storm angled north, putting even more distance between himself and cat country.
As the sun set, a plan began to form in his mind. If I can just keep ahead of them all night across the plain, I’ll reach Chelby Wood by morning. I’m sure I can lose them on the edge of the lake, and the trees will give me many options for hiding.
The plain itself allowed him to create a certain amount of confusion. He backtracked and ran through streams and over boggy ground. He stayed in the dips, so that cats could not chase him by sight. Occasionally, he went to the top of a ridge for long enough to spot some of his pursuers. He would allow them to see him, start in a given direction, then get out of sight and go the other way. These things would slow the creasia, but not stop them. There was nowhere to hide on the plain.
As the moon rose, Storm got a couple of good views from the ridge tops. He was surprised to see most of the creasia off to the south. There was a knot of cats behind him, but he saw many more, strung out in a long line to his right. He had expected them to try to flank him on the left. Storm felt suddenly cold. They’re pushing me north…into Groth.
High overhead, something screamed, and Storm hunkered down. He glanced up and saw, silhouetted against the moon, a bird. The cry had been like that of a hawk or eagle. Storm thought, based on the size of the silhouette, that the bird was low. However, he realized, after a moment, that it was actually quite high up. The bird was simply enormous.
* * * *
“What is that doing out here?” muttered Arcove.
“What is it?” asked Nevin. He was the newest member of Roup’s clutter, only seven years old and jumpy.
“An ely-ary,” answered Roup.
“Why is it here?” asked Nevin.
“Be quiet, Nev,” said Lyndi.
Roup and Arcove had picked up their pace and run a little ahead of the clutter. “You think Dora is taking an interest in this?” asked Roup. “Or is it just a coincidence?”
“Not sure.” Arcove was running faster now, watching the gliding shape far overhead as it banked and flew off north. “I think I’d like to finish this hunt, though. Call in Sharmel’s cats. Send a runner to have Halvery reinforce them. Make sure nothing slips between. Tighten the noose.”
“And where are you going?” asked Roup as Arcove disappeared into the night, making speed as only he could.
His voice drifted faintly back. “To say hello.”
* * * *
Storm was running hard now in the deep shadow of a trench. He could feel exhaustion creeping up on him. Perhaps I should start napping during the day. His body was betraying him, insisting that he ought to be asleep.
Storm could tell that he’d grown since he’d challenged the creasia at the beginning of winter. His legs were longer and more muscled. He had an easier time staying ahead of a group of cats, and he was capable of great bursts of speed. Nevertheless, he had to admit that staying awake all day and running all night pushed the limits of his endurance.
In addition, the sight he’d glimpsed from the ridge filled him with fear. The cats were spread out in a line all the way to Chelby Wood. They probably weren’t even running. Those farthest to the east looked as though they were simply lying in wait. They are going to come together and trap me against Groth.
Storm knew that he had to break through their ring. But where? What won’t they expect? Instead of heading due south as his nerves urged him, Storm gritted his teeth, dropped into a trench, and started north at a dead run. They won’t expect me to move directly towards Groth or to travel within sight of it. I’ll get as close as I dare, run along the edge, and reach Chelby Wood. That will give me the maximum amount of lead and the greatest possible time to hide once I reach the lake.
The moon had begun to drift in and out of thick clouds as it moved towards setting. In the trench, when the moon winked out, it was very dark. Storm feared he might break a leg. Time seemed to stretch. He had no clear idea of how close he might be to Groth or to Chelby Wood, and he was afraid to move to a higher point of ground, lest the creasia see him.
He wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or dismayed when the clouds thickened, and a patter of raindrops began, growing to a steady thrum. The water would hide his scent, but it would also slow him down, and the darkness was now absolute. Storm could barely see where he was going.
A streak of lightning lit the plain suddenly, and Storm jumped straight up in alarm. Not ten paces to his left, in the deepest shadow of the trench, he’d glimpsed a huge, black cat. Storm bolted from the trench and out across the plain, heedless of the consequences. Lightning split the sky again, and he saw the sinister outline of Groth, directly in front of him. Closer still ran the black cat. He was keeping pace with Storm easily. Storm realized that the cat had probably been keeping pace with him for a while.
He stopped, panting. There was no point in running farther. Storm tried to catch his breath. “Aren’t you…going…to introduce yourself?” he managed.
“I think you know who I am,” said Arcove, raising his voice a little over the drum of the rain. He was so close that Storm could see the water dripping off his whiskers during the flashes of lightning. His eyes were as green as the spring grass, and his paws were a
s large as Storm’s head. His voice was a rumble. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble.”
“You’ve caused more.”
Storm couldn’t be sure, but he thought Arcove looked surprised. Then he laughed. “Maybe I have. But I’m not the one who’s about to get caught by fifty wet and angry cats. You can still walk out of this alive. Do you want to?”
Storm’s thoughts tumbled. He was trying not to let Arcove’s size intimidate him, but it was difficult. He remembered what Charder had said: “They’ll do anything they want short of killing you—probably bite off your tail and your ears—certainly cripple you. They’ll make sure you never run from them again. Every ferryshaft who looks at you will see a reminder of what happens when we challenge cats.”
At that moment, a wave of creasia surged from the trench to his left. Storm whipped around and saw another group approaching from the right. Cats were suddenly everywhere, their eyes eerily reflective in the flashes of lightning. Storm felt very young and very small. Everything was happening too fast.
I am choosing how I will die, he realized, and something inside him screamed, No! I want to live! Please, please, please… But he clamped his mouth around the words. Not like that, he told himself. I don’t want to live like that.
But will I feel the same after he opens me with those claws?
Storm realized that a few of the creasia were edging between him and Groth. They were not attacking. They were clearly waiting for Arcove’s signal, but they were trying to surround him. “I—” began Storm, and then he darted towards the plain. A cat leapt towards him, but Storm’s movement had been a feint. Shoving his hooves in hard, and calling on every remaining bit of energy he possessed, Storm shot backwards, turned in the air, dodged between two startled creasia, and landed among the very roots of the carnivorous forest. Its sweet, heady scent overwhelmed him—at once both enticing and repellent.
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