“He didn’t kill Ariand.”
“Ariand is younger.”
And more likely to be seen as useful. “Point taken.”
Roup did not say, How difficult do you think it would be to turn a frightened cat? He knew it was an unworthy thought. Sharmel had been nothing but loyal since the day Arcove invited him to remain on his council. Still… If the officers start to suspect that Arcove can’t handle Treace…will that loyalty hold?
Roup thought of these things as he drifted in and out of uneasy dreams. We’re all watching each other. Waiting to see who blinks first.
“Arcove! Roup!” The words came in an urgent whisper. Roup’s head jerked up, and Arcove went instantly tense beside him.
One of Sharmel’s subordinates was leaning over the top of the riverbank, an excited expression on his face. “Two cats!” he whispered. “Crossing the river delta just now, going north.”
Arcove was up and over the riverbank in an instant, Roup close behind him. They followed the sentry at a swift trot through the trees beside the Igby, towards the broad mouth of the river. It was late afternoon. Roup felt a surge of excitement. What creasia would choose to travel at such a time of day…unless they were hoping to avoid other cats?
They found the tracks easily enough—evidence of the recent passage of two young males. Roup knew as soon as he caught the scent that they were Treace’s cats. However, identifying broad territory by the scent of tracks alone was tricky and easily mistaken. It was not the full proof they needed.
“You are relieved,” Arcove told the sentry. “Don’t wake everyone else or speak about this until I do.”
“Well, your patience has been rewarded,” Roup observed when the sentry had gone.
Arcove didn’t say anything. He followed the tracks far enough to confirm that they were going towards the ferryshaft herd. Then he sat down in the sun and considered. “If we intercept them before they do anything, this will all be a wasted effort.”
“Agreed,” said Roup. “They’ll say they were just going to the Ghost Wood.” He thought for a moment. “So give them a night to get their claws bloody, then go after them tomorrow evening. And don’t tell Treace.”
Arcove inclined his head. “My thoughts exactly. Tomorrow evening, we’ll hunt them down and get our answers.”
Chapter 19. Blood and Water
By evening, the ferryshaft herd was thrumming with excitement. Storm could feel it prickling along his skin—like the sensation before a nearby lightning strike. “They’re all here,” whispered Sauny gleefully. “Even the elders and the high-ranking cliques. They pretend that they don’t care, but the herd is closing up around that thicket. Around us! They all want to see what’s going to happen.”
Storm felt a deep sense of conflicted pleasure. One of my friends could easily die this evening, he kept reminding himself. Still, he thought they had a good chance, and he wanted to see a ferryshaft kill a creasia. If the whole herd believed we could do it…what would that be like? Could we stop the raids? Move to the southern plains? Kill enough creasia to make them hide in the forest and never bother us again?
Kelsy and Sauny managed to keep enough order to prevent the excited foals and young adults from warning their quarry. Most of the ferryshaft remained on the edge of the trees, while a few kept watch near the thicket. When the first cat emerged, a two-year-old foal showed herself and ran towards the plain. The cat took the bait, chasing after her.
“He must think himself lucky,” murmured Sauny as the animal lumbered past the spot where she, Valla, and Storm were crouching among ferns. The creasia was, as Kelsy had predicted, still shaking the sleep out of his eyes. Storm glanced back towards the thicket, and Sauny followed his gaze. The other cat had not made an appearance.
Moments later, there was a startled shout from the direction of the plain and the sound of snarling. Sauny took one more uncertain glance at the thicket and then ran through the trees towards the sounds of fighting. Storm and Valla trotted after her. One at a time might be easier, thought Storm, although he was already having second thoughts.
The trees thinned ahead of them, and the muddled roar grew louder. They burst onto the plain to the welcome sight of a creasia surrounded by young ferryshaft. The cat looked dazed and baffled as the youngsters took turns leaping in to snap at him. He couldn’t seem to decide whether he should attack or run away.
Well, no one’s gotten hurt yet.
The herd was certainly taking an interest. More ferryshaft than Storm could easily count were trotting around the group, straining to see. No raid has ever looked like this before!
The three of them had almost reached the edge of the circle. Sauny was jumping over other ferryshaft to get through. All at once, the cat leapt forward and barely missed mauling one of the foals who was dancing around him. We’ve got to do more than just torment him, thought Storm. In the same moment, Kelsy darted from the other side of the circle, and his jaws snapped down on the back of one of the creasia’s legs.
The cat gave a high-pitched snarl of pain. He whirled, but Kelsy had already leapt away. As the cat turned, it was clear that damage had been done. His left hind leg crumpled beneath him, and he almost lost his footing before finding it again on three legs.
“Hamstrung!” shouted Sauny. “He’s ours, friends! But don’t be too hasty! Show the herd what you can do!” With that, she leapt in, fox-fast, and snapped off the latter half of the creasia’s tail. He screamed again in pain, but the other foals were running around him in a blur, slashing and darting and leaping. The cat was soon bleeding from a dozen wounds, turning in circles, nearly falling over, slapping at the air and snapping his teeth where a ferryshaft had been moments before.
The circle opened up. The youngsters were euphoric. They could have killed their quarry ten times over, but no one moved to do so. The cat staggered, half blinded by blood, hissing with every breath, and they began to nip at him, chasing him. Now he was in full retreat, but the foals directed him easily—running him, limping and stumbling, through the herd.
“This is what you were afraid of, elders!” someone shouted. “Does it look so scary now? Have a mouthful of blood and see what it tastes like!”
Storm raced behind them, riding the tide of excitement. Around him, he saw some of the adults running, too. They were shouting to each other, the herd rippling, moving. They’ll tear him apart, thought Storm. The anger of fifteen years will come scalding to the surface, and the entire herd—elders and all—will rip him to pieces.
“What—is—this?” The voice had thunder in it. It carried, somehow, over the riot of the herd. Storm knew that voice.
The group of ferryshaft, who’d been chasing the cat stopped and looked around. The hunted creasia crouched, belly to the earth, panting, and tried to blink the blood out of his eyes. Storm craned his neck to see through the crowd. His heart sank. On a little rise of the plain, a number of creasia were standing. The foremost was huge, silhouetted against the sky, and black as midnight. His eyes swept the scene before him. “What is this?” repeated Arcove, his voice sharp and carrying. He was speaking very clearly, with hardly a trace of creasia accent. He started down the slope toward the ferryshaft.
Storm saw even more creasia coming into view over the rise—first five, then seven, then twelve, then he lost count. He saw the flash of Roup’s golden fur and the brief silhouette of Halvery’s shortened tail. They’re here, he thought numbly. They’re all here. For me? He felt paralyzed with fear.
“This is vengeance,” snarled a voice. “This is your doom!” To Storm’s absolute horror, Sauny shot out of the crowd and plowed into Arcove. It happened so fast that even Arcove seemed surprised. There was a brief scuffle, and then Storm saw his sister’s body flip like a broken blade of grass into the air.
“No!” someone shrieked, and then Valla shot past him in a blur.
Storm felt his legs unlock. The mind-numbing fear melted away, and there was only Sauny’s still form on the grass and Arcove turnin
g towards it. Storm never knew how he reached the front of the herd so quickly, but an instant later, he landed, snarling, between his sister and Arcove.
Time seemed to slow down as he stared into those summer-green eyes. He saw a flicker of surprise, and it gave him courage. You didn’t know I was alive. None of this was about me.
“Keesha sends his love!” shot Storm. He had not known what he was going to say before he said it, but he saw the surprise melt into something else—an instant’s hesitation. Could it be there’s something you fear, Arcove?
Storm leapt back as Arcove’s deadly claws cleaved the air where he’d just stood. He darted in the other direction and managed to get a glimpse of Sauny. His heart gave a leap. She’s not dead. Valla had pulled her to her feet, and they were in the act of melting into the crowd. The other creasia were running forward, tails twitching, ready for a fight, but not sure who to attack first.
Storm found his voice again. “Are you going to fight the entire herd, Arcove? Did you bring enough cats for that? I doubt it.”
Somewhere behind him, someone shouted. “So says Vearil, doom of cats! Listen to him, ferryshaft! They could not kill Storm, and they will not stop us!”
The herd behind Storm erupted. Ferryshaft all around him leapt forward at the creasia. The startled cats fell back under a wave of outraged ferryshaft. Blood and fur flew in all directions. It should have been a glorious moment, but all Storm could think about was Sauny. How badly is she hurt?
A scream pulled him back into the present. A gutted ferryshaft was stumbling towards him, tripping on his own intestines. Storm blinked. It was Tracer.
No. Oh, no, no, no. A cat caught Tracer before he quite reached Storm and broke his neck with one crunch. Storm shot forward, landed on the cat’s back, and buried his teeth just above its shoulder blades. The animal leapt and twisted beneath him, but Storm set his jaws and hung on.
The numbness settled again, this time devoid of either hope or fear. Storm felt his teeth scrape bone and bit harder. The cat rolled over, scratching and shrieking, and Storm was finally wrenched away with a bloody mouthful of fur. He was up again in a moment and flying at another feline form. The same cat? A different cat? He had no idea. His teeth ripped through an ear, and claws grazed his face.
A paw caught him, and sent him sailing through the air. Storm rolled with the blow. Distantly, he felt the sting of the claws over his ribcage. He hit the ground so hard that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He tasted blood and thought it might be his own.
Storm forced his eyes open, expecting to see a creasia coming to finish him off, but he was lying alone in a patch of long grass. He struggled to his feet and turned towards the fighting. What he saw made him sick. The herd had put a great deal of space between itself and the small battle.
And the battle was small. The only ferryshaft who’d come forward were the youngsters—the core group that Sauny and Kelsy had trained. The rest, even those who’d come to their practice sessions, had not moved.
Storm caught sight of Kelsy a little distance away. He was just standing there. Then Storm saw the body at his feet—Faralee. Kelsy was looking at her as though he could not quite understand what had happened. He looked up at the battle again, glassy-eyed. The last of their supporters were either running or dying.
Sauny. Storm made himself get up. He could see that he was bleeding, but he couldn’t feel the wounds. He forced speed into his movements and reached Kelsy. “Where are Sauny and Valla?” he demanded.
Kelsy looked at him vacantly, as though he did not recognize him. Storm felt cruel, but he gave Kelsy a shove with his nose and practically bellowed in his ear. “Sauny and Valla! Where did they go?”
Kelsy blinked. “The lake,” he managed.
Storm shot away. He reached the edge of the herd and darted over and around ferryshaft towards the trees. He paid no attention to the looks they gave him. They were just obstacles now—things between him and his sister.
As he entered the deepening shadows beneath the trees, he realized that two other ferryshaft were trying to follow. He glanced back and was shocked to see Tollee and Mylo. “She’s over here,” said Tollee, before Storm could speak.
“Sauny?”
“Yes, follow us.”
He did—north through Chelby Wood and along the edge of the lake as the last of the sunset faded from the sky and the air cooled. All the while, he expected to hear the sounds of pursuing creasia. They’ll want me, of course. And I’m sure Arcove hasn’t forgotten who attacked him.
They soon found a blood trail, but it was a ways farther on before they finally caught up to Valla and Sauny. Storm’s stomach gave a flop when he saw them. Valla was streaked with blood—bright crimson on her creamy fur—and it was not her own. Arcove’s claws had left a track of destruction from Sauny’s shoulders to her hips and deep into her left foreleg. Her skin gaped open along multiple fissures with every step she took.
To Storm’s surprise, Sauny’s spirits appeared unchecked. “I’m alright,” she kept saying. “It doesn’t hurt. I just need to hide somewhere so that I can clean the wounds and let the bleeding stop. Don’t look at me like that, Storm. I’m alright.”
She paused at one point to ask, “How is the battle? Are we winning?”
Storm didn’t think he could bear to explain. “I don’t know, Sauny. I needed to make sure you were safe.”
She frowned at him. “But they need to see you! The foal that Arcove couldn’t kill. They need to see you, Storm.”
He almost lost his temper, then. “Sauny, I just saw my oldest friend disemboweled and killed in front of me. Please, stop asking questions.”
She was quiet after that.
“Do you think the creasia are following?” whispered Valla.
“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” muttered Storm.
“Do you think we have time to stop and let the blood clot?”
It was an excellent question. Sauny’s wounds pulled and bled with every step. If she’s to have any chance at all, she needs to lie still for a day or more, thought Storm in despair.
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “Yes, let’s stop and clean the wounds.”
They did—with the last traces of twilight to guide their efforts. They cleaned Sauny’s wounds carefully, trying not to disrupt any of the clots. Sauny had begun to shiver. She flinched when Valla probed a gash for sand. “Is it starting to hurt?” asked Valla gently.
Sauny gritted her teeth. “A little.”
A lot, thought Storm. His own wounds were beginning to pain him, although the bleeding had mostly stopped. He had one deep scratch over his nose that kept obstinately dripping. Every time he shook his head, he speckled his friends with blood.
Tollee and Mylo were silent shadows. Storm snuck glances at them. He hadn’t seen Tollee in daylight since his return, and he hadn’t seen Mylo at all. Tollee had grown and lost her baby curves. Her coat had darkened to loam with flecks of ash. She would never be a beautiful ferryshaft, but she had a hunter’s grace. Mylo had grown into a massive, barrel-chested beast. His ragged ears and scarred muzzle still spoke of too much fighting for too few meals, but he seemed quietly confident.
“Thank you,” Storm told them humbly.
“Don’t thank us yet,” said Mylo. “We’re leaving too much of a trail. You need to swim.”
Storm knew he was right. Water would be the only way to disguise their blood trail, and the lake was convenient. But how far can Sauny possibly swim? Night had fallen, and the water looked dark and cold.
“I think—” began Storm, and then Tollee spun with a snarl. It was all the warning they got as two creasia leapt from the shadows. Mylo met one and threw him back with surprising ease. Tollee danced in to strike at the other. Storm had not seen either of them at any of the organized practice sessions, but they had clearly considered how to do this.
“Go!” shouted Mylo over his shoulder.
“Now, Storm!” snapped Tollee.
Storm wanted t
o say, I can’t leave you. But he wasn’t sure that Valla could protect Sauny alone. What is the right thing to do? He glanced back and saw that Valla and Sauny had made it into the water and were paddling away. A moment more, and they would be lost to sight in the darkness.
“Storm, please!” There was a note of desperation in Tollee’s voice as she backed away from the circling cat.
Storm swallowed a whimper, turned, and plunged into the lake. As he paddled away, he heard a ferryshaft scream from the shore. It seemed to go on for a long time, and, when it ceased, Storm felt as though his world had ceased with it.
Chapter 20. Parting Ways
Roup knew from the moment he smelled the ferryshaft herd that something was wrong. There was a scent of blood in the air, along with freshly trampled grass and turned earth. Even so, he was unprepared for the sight that met them from the top of the ridge—a large group of ferryshaft harrying a cat that they had crippled and obviously intended to kill. The crowd had worked itself into a frenzy, and Roup was a little worried when Arcove elected to walk right down into them before the bulk of the other clutters caught up.
He was fairly certain that Arcove intended to speak, not to the herd, but to the creasia they’d cornered, when a foal bolted out of the crowd and attacked him. The attack was sudden, as was Arcove’s reflexive defense. None of this surprised Roup, but he was thunderstruck to see a pale gray ferryshaft bound into the space between Arcove and the foal.
By all the ghosts. Storm Ela-ferry.
Arcove kept his composure, but to Roup’s eyes, he looked rattled. He seemed caught for a moment between the urge to speak to Storm and the urge to strike at him. Then Storm said something that Roup didn’t catch. It made Arcove hesitate and then lash out—too late. Another ferryshaft had already dragged the wounded foal from the field, and now all the clutters had arrived. They were twitching with the smell of blood and the palpable battle tension in the air.
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