Hunters Unlucky

by Abigail Hilton

  Storm shouted a challenge, and that was all it took to send the most aggressive of the ferryshaft hurdling at the creasia. Roup spent a moment, lost in the fighting, before he realized that their attackers were all young. He did not see a single herd elder, nor any of those old enough to have participated in the war. It filled him with a mixture of relief and sadness.

  The end result was predictable—a patch of blood-soaked earth, and twenty or more dead ferryshaft. Roup was more surprised that there were also two dead creasia and three seriously injured. The foals planned this. They just didn’t plan to be abandoned.

  Several of the creasia were starting into the herd in pursuit of fleeing youngsters, but Arcove bellowed a rally cry that brought them reluctantly back. Good call, thought Roup. The herd is on edge. How much more would it take to get the older ones to fight?

  Roup saw that, amid the tumult, someone had ripped the throat from the unfortunate creasia the foals had been tormenting. He growled. The wound looked too large for a ferryshaft mouth. Roup shot a glance at Treace and Moro, who were watching with a degree of serenity that Roup found perverse.

  Halvery had just come dashing up to Arcove, and Roup heard him say, “—headed towards the lake. That one who attacked you was his sister. They’re leaving a blood trail.”

  So we’re going to chase Storm again, thought Roup wearily, but as they started into the trees, Sharmel came running up. “We found where the raiding creasia were sleeping,” he said. “The second one seems to have come to the edge of the trees, probably saw what happened to his companion, and then started off south recently.”

  Roup looked at Arcove. Storm going north. Our quarry going south. Which will it be, my friend?

  Arcove shut his eyes and drew a long breath. “Halvery, are any of your cats already in pursuit of Storm?”

  “Two,” said Halvery. “I thought you’d want—”

  “That’ll have to be enough. Please verify what Sharmel found and then catch up with us. We deal with our own problems before dealing with ferryshaft.” As the sun set, Arcove turned south, along the trail of the fugitive cat.

  * * * *

  Storm focused on Sauny. If I think about the rest, I’ll start screaming and never stop. She was already struggling to keep her head above the water. Her breath came short and quick. Storm and Valla got on either side of her. Storm tried to decide how he would hold her up if she became exhausted. It would be impossible to get a good grip behind her head without pulling at her wounds.

  Storm thought of Keesha’s story about the Battle of Chelby Lake. Sauny’s would not be the first ferryshaft bones to rest on the bottom.

  No! That will not happen. I will not let it happen.

  “Up ahead.” Valla’s voice was surprisingly calm. “There’s a place to rest. I saw it before the light faded.”

  Storm was about to ask what she meant, when he made out a darker shadow on the water ahead. A clump of trees. I’m glad one of us was paying attention.

  It wasn’t a true island. There was no soil, just the twisted, scrubby trees that grew along the edges of the water. Pathar had told Storm once that these trees rooted in the lake during periods of drought and could survive prolonged submersion. “Don’t mistake them for land, though. Never swim out to them.”

  But Storm was glad of them now. Sauny was almost spent. She managed to keep her head up long enough to get her front legs hooked around a tree branch, and then drooped, nose barely above the water, breathing in chattering rasps. Valla and Storm could have clambered completely out of the water. Sauny, however, was too weak to follow them and too injured for them to lift her. Storm was certain that, without their assistance, Sauny would lose consciousness and drown. So they all stayed on lower branches, half-submerged in the chilly lake. This will be a very long night.

  “When dawn comes, we can swim back to shore,” he told them. “The creasia will have probably gone north, searching for our scent along the edge of the lake. They won’t expect us to still be out here.” Storm rambled on, speculating on their strategy and trying to drown the awful images in his head.

  Valla did not interrupt him. She inched over alongside Sauny and tried to curl around her. “She’s cold,” Valla said, when Storm paused for breath.

  Storm was glad that they could not see his expression in the dark. He paddled around Valla and got on the other side of Sauny. She was, indeed, cold, and her breathing had become shallower. Storm tried to share the warmth of his body. “Sauny?” He was afraid to speak her name, afraid she would not answer.

  “Storm,” she said thickly. A long pause. “We lost, didn’t we?”

  Storm shut his eyes. “We’re not dead yet. That’s all that matters.”

  “I will be soon.”

  “No.” Storm could not keep the pleading note from his voice. “Sauny, please don’t give up.”

  She tried to raise her head to look at him, but she only succeeded in dropping her chin heavily on his shoulder. “I really thought we could do it.”

  We could have…if the others had fought.

  “You’ll kill them one day, brother.” Her voice sounded so small.

  “Sauny—”

  Valla interrupted. “Storm, why don’t you tell us about telshees.”

  Storm peered at her over Sauny’s slumped shoulders.

  “Tell us a story,” said Valla softly, and, for the first time, he heard her voice falter.

  Storm started talking again. He was sure that Sauny and Valla had heard him recount the tale of his adventures in Syriot at least a dozen times, but they listened now as though they’d never heard it before. Storm found himself dwelling less on the violent moments of his adventure and more on Syriot itself—the caves of many-colored crystal, the rooms that hummed with telshee song, the strange pools with stranger creatures.

  At one point, he felt Sauny relax, and his throat clenched, but Valla only reached out to balance Sauny between them and make sure her head was above water. “Asleep,” she whispered. “Just asleep.”

  Storm was about to start talking again, when he heard a soft splash that made him jump. Could the creasia have swum out here?

  Then, to his astonishment, someone quite close said, “Storm?”

  Storm and Valla both craned their necks to see through the branches. Storm answered hesitatingly. “Yes?”

  A pale head rose from the water directly in front of them. Valla gasped.

  “Ulya?” whispered Storm.

  The small telshee blinked at them, her eyes like dark pools amid the shadows. “I heard your voice,” she said. “But I didn’t think— Why are you out here?”

  “Why are you?” blurted Storm.

  “Shaw sent me to watch and try to find out how you were getting on. I’ve been around the edges of the lake for several days. There was some commotion this evening, but I couldn’t tell what it was about.”

  “There was a battle,” said Storm bitterly. “We lost. This is my sister, Sauny, and my friend, Valla. Sauny fought with Arcove and was badly hurt.”

  Ulya’s eyes widened. “This tiny thing…fought with Arcove? Truly, you ferryshaft are great warriors.”

  Storm was sure, then, that Sauny was more than just asleep. He was certain that, under normal circumstances, she would have woken to dispute the word “tiny.” And she’s not tiny…not for a yearling. His throat clenched again. Only a yearling.

  “I think she’s dying, Ulya. She lost consciousness a little while ago, and she’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Ulya came forward and rested her head against the side of Sauny’s chest. She looped a coil of her own body under Sauny’s chin as well, shut her eyes, and appeared to listen intently. When she opened them, her expression was grim. “You’re right, Storm. We might be able to save her in Syriot, but I would have to take her there at once and swim as fast as I can.” She thought for a moment. “I might need one of you to help me. I can’t carry all three of you, though. I wouldn’t be able to swim fast enough.”

  “Let
me go,” Valla spoke before Storm could. She glanced at him. “Please.” She drew a quick breath and spoke again before Storm could think what to say. “Besides, you need to find out what happened on shore.”

  No. I don’t ever need to find that out. “Alright,” he heard himself say. “I’ll meet you there as quickly as I can cross the plain.”

  So Ulya made a curve of her body, and Valla helped hold Sauny in place. “I could carry her in my mouth,” said Ulya, “and I’ll probably have to at some point, but I don’t want to make her wounds worse.”

  Ulya was surprisingly quick, in spite of the awkward loop of her body and the extra burden. Storm watched them glide away. Then he was alone with his thoughts and the darkness.

  Chapter 21. Good-bye

  Arcove’s party caught up to the raiding creasia a little after full dark. Roup felt almost sorry for him. The cat had clearly run after seeing the ferryshaft attack his friend, and he had no idea that Arcove and the entire council were on his trail.

  The cat gaped as Roup’s clutter swept around him. They were running a little ahead of the others, trying to keep pace with Arcove. “Stop!” Arcove snarled, and the creasia came to a quivering halt, glancing about and blinking.

  He might have been surprised, but Roup did not think he was innocent. An innocent cat would have begun sputtering questions. This cat didn’t say a word. He waited with an uncertain expression, watching Arcove.

  Arcove didn’t say anything else until all of the other clutters arrived. Treace’s came last. Roup was sure that Treace hoped Arcove had killed the fugitive creasia in a fit of rage. Unfortunately for you, your king knows better how to direct his anger.

  About fifty creasia from all over Leeshwood were soon gathered around Arcove and the raiding cat, who had hunkered down, tucked his tail, and lowered his gaze. “What is your name, and who is your commanding officer?” demanded Arcove.

  “Rasit,” mumbled the offending creasia. “Treace.”

  “And what were you doing out here, Rasit?”

  “Going to the Ghost Wood,” said Rasit, without taking his eyes off the ground.

  “Halvery, what did you and your clutter find in this creasia’s sleeping spot?”

  “The remains of a half-eaten ferryshaft,” said Halvery briskly. A dozen creasia murmured their agreement.

  “We were hungry…” said Rasit.

  “Do not lie to me!” thundered Arcove. “You and your friend came here to kill ferryshaft, not to visit the Ghost Wood. Will you admit this, or do I need to bring further evidence?”

  Rasit swallowed. For the first time, he glanced at Treace. “You told us… You said that we could…”

  Treace looked furious. Moro was keeping his eyes carefully downcast.

  Arcove’s voice grew cold and level. “Your commanding officer told you that you could hunt ferryshaft out of season?”

  Rasit looked relieved. “Yes.”

  “And are you aware of my rules about this? Rules that have been in place since before your birth?”

  Rasit said nothing.

  “We made a promise. You broke it.”

  Rasit dared to lift his eyes, and Roup saw that sullen flash of insolence that he’d come to expect from cats in Treace’s clutter. “I didn’t make any promises. I can’t break what I didn’t—”

  Arcove interrupted him. “No, you didn’t break your word. You did something much more serious. You broke mine.” He glanced at the cats behind Rasit. “Kill him.”

  If Rasit had not been expecting it, the other creasia certainly were. The sentence was carried out with brutal speed and efficiency.

  Arcove turned to glare at Treace before his subordinate had even stopped twitching. “Treace Ela-creasia, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Treace had not moved, but the creasia standing between him and Arcove had melted away. A larger circle re-formed around the two of them.

  Treace lifted his chin and seemed to come to some decision. He met Arcove’s gaze levelly. “They’re edible,” he snarled. “Ferryshaft meat is unpleasant when the animals are eating flesh, but they are as edible as deer when they’re on grass or milk. You’ve made us raid in winter to keep us from knowing it.”

  Roup was surprised. He had expected Treace to deny everything. He’d not expected a real argument. He had particularly not expected Treace to puzzle out this little fact. Roup felt suddenly uncertain.

  Arcove, however, looked unimpressed. “So, you admit that you willfully broke treaty law, without consulting me or the rest of the council, putting our reputations with all other species at risk?”

  “I admit that I took liberties with an archaic agreement that has remained unrevised for fifteen years and which has no parallel in all known history of sentient species relationships!” Treace was shouting now, talking too fast, as though he were afraid Arcove would silence him at any moment. Arcove was, indeed, advancing on him, tail lashing.

  “I sent animals to test my theory, and I was right,” continued Treace. “Ferryshaft are an appropriate food source. You say they’re dangerous. Very well. I’ll grant you that.” He was backing away now, head low and defensive. Arcove’s hackles had risen, making him look even bigger. “They’re dangerous in their current condition. Look at what happened today! They attacked us. They killed creasia. Ferryshaft should be either used or destroyed. Right now, they’re just a burdensome winter task, waiting to become a serious problem. Look at Storm! One foal! And not even you can kill him.”

  Roup didn’t think he’d ever heard Treace speak so many words at once. He’s actually got a point. It’s a point I’ve been making for years…except our solutions are different.

  “Enough!” snarled Arcove. “You do not respect my decisions or my leadership. I consider that a challenge.”

  He closed in a flash, and the two of them flipped over in a blur of black and tan. Roup felt a sense of relief. Finally. Shut him up.

  Arcove had never been one to needlessly prolong a fight. His first blows were usually devastating, and if they did not kill, they at least ensured that his opponent could not win.

  The two cats separated, both panting. Arcove’s claws had caught Treace across the face. Treace’s left eye might be ruined, and he was probably having trouble seeing out of either through the mask of blood.

  To Roup’s surprise, Treace continued to waste precious breath on words. “We all know you can fight, Arcove! Everyone knows that! You say we raid to keep the ferryshaft afraid of us, but they’re not afraid of us! They’re afraid of you! Even Charder. Do you think he will bend his neck to the next creasia king? Not likely. You’ve created an unnatural situation, which will last exactly as long as you live. Then it will break, and someone will have to clean up the mess!”

  His words were cut short as Arcove managed to catch his right foreleg and snap him around. Treace came to his feet with a grimace. Roup wasn’t sure whether the leg was broken or dislocated, but either way, Treace was now wholly at Arcove’s mercy.

  Treace stood there, swaying, half blinded by blood and said, “I have not challenged you, Arcove Ela-creasia. You’ll kill me in cold blood for disagreeing with you. I doubt I’ll be the last.”

  The gamble was breathtaking. Roup shot a glance around the circle of faces. They were far more conflicted than Roup would have liked. He wished, suddenly, that Arcove had not brought so many witnesses.

  As Arcove advanced, Treace hunkered down, put his chin on the ground, and waited. Treace is really going to make Arcove kill him in cold blood, thought Roup. Will he?

  In a voice so quiet that the listeners had to strain to hear, Arcove said, “I was once a young cat on the council. I was frustrated with the way things were done. But when I disagreed with my king, I challenged him. I did not break his word behind his back.”

  “Only because you knew you’d win that fight,” said Treace, his voice small and flat. “Does strength guarantee wise decisions?”

  There was a moment of perfect stillness.

  T
hen Arcove let out a long breath. “You are no longer one of my officers, Treace. You will answer to Halvery. He and Ariand will split your territory. They will examine it to see what other of my policies you may have…disagreed with. I will tell you when, if ever, you may return to my council.”

  The entire circle of creasia let out its collective breath. Roup watched their faces. He wasn’t sure Arcove had made the right decision. He wasn’t sure Arcove had made the wrong decision. At that moment, Roup wasn’t sure of anything.

  * * * *

  Storm swam to shore with the first light of dawn. He’d slept for a brief period during the darkest part of the night, wedged into the crotch of a branch just above the water. Still, he felt immensely tired, stiff, and unrested. The water seemed to suck the last traces of warmth from his bones, and the scratches across his ribs and face stung fiercely.

  Ashore, he inspected the ground where the creasia had attacked. He found a great deal of blood, but no bodies. Storm found no fresh creasia scent or tracks, either. It was hard to be certain, but he did not think they’d come back this way during the night. He hoped they’d continued on around the edge of the lake. Perhaps they’d even decided to investigate one or more of the small islands just off shore. That would take a long time.

  Storm started into the trees, not sure what he intended to do. He knew what he wanted to do—get across the plain as fast as possible and down to Syriot. But what’s the rush? Sauny will either live or she won’t. It’s out of my control now.

  He’d almost reached the far side of the wood when he came upon a mound of fur, lying on a patch of earth dark with blood. At first, Storm thought he was looking at two ferryshaft bodies, side-by-side, and then one raised its head.

  Relief hit Storm like a hoof-blow to the gut. “Tollee.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and wild. Finally, she staggered to her feet, and Mylo’s head flopped from where it had been lying across her front legs. Storm’s mouth went dry. He saw, then, that Mylo had been slashed nearly in two—blood and entrails smeared across the leaves where he’d dragged himself.