Hunters Unlucky

by Abigail Hilton

  Storm took a step back. “Tollee, I—I’m sor—”

  “He died near dawn,” she said. “I ran away, but they caught him. When I came back, they’d gone, and he was— I stayed with him, talked to him. He—” Tollee’s voice broke. She gave a long, low moan—almost a howl—a sound of unutterable sadness.

  Storm didn’t know what to do. He tried to lick her face in comfort, but Tollee jerked away. “This was my fault.”

  “No,” said Storm. “No, it wasn’t.” If anything, it was mine.

  “You don’t understand,” wailed Tollee. “I didn’t love him! I stayed with him because I thought it was my duty, but he would have let me go. He could have found someone who cared. He shouldn’t have been here helping me…because…because of you.” She rocked back and forth, whimpering. “He didn’t deserve this.”

  Guilt rushed over Storm like a wave. He remembered that time on the ice, when he’d hoped Kelsy would kill Mylo. He remembered thinking that, if only Mylo died, he and Tollee could be together. Looking at her now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I did the wrong thing,” she moaned. “Wrong, wrong, wrong. And now it’s too late.”

  “Tollee…”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him miserably. “I might be carrying his foal. What do you think of that, Storm?”

  Storm wanted to say, “You’re too young to have a foal.” But my mother was carrying me at that age…and she was a ru, too.

  “Come with me,” he heard himself say. “Across the plain to Syriot. We’ll leave the herd forever. That’s where Sauny and Valla have gone. I’ll help you raise Mylo’s foal. I don’t care…”

  But she only shook her ears. “No, Storm. No.” Tollee turned and walked away from him—a bit unsteady, her tail low.

  Storm wanted to call after her. You’re only punishing yourself! Punishing me! But he didn’t. He looked at Mylo’s body and held his tongue. Maybe if I’d ever actually asked her to be my mate, she would have left…and Mylo wouldn’t be dead. Too late, Storm. Always too late.

  He thought that he should go into the herd to ask who had survived the battle. Instead, Storm fell asleep in a sunbeam. He made no attempt to hide, but the creasia did not come. When he woke, his fur was dry, and it was evening. Storm headed out onto the plain, going north and then west. He avoided the few ferryshaft he came upon. Farther and farther he ran, through the long grass, browning now in the fall chill. He found a ridge with a few scrub trees, sat down, and began to yip. He imitated the warbling rally cry of the mountain curbs as best he could. He yipped until the moon rose and the stars came out. Finally, someone answered him.

  A little while later, Eyal and his pack came trotting through the grass up the ridge. “Have you gone mad?” panted Eyal. “A few calls will do! We came as fast as we could, but we were far to the south. You’re lucky you didn’t attract other attention!”

  Storm waited impatiently for him to stop talking. “I need to get to Syriot. Will you go with me back across the plain?”

  Eyal thought for a moment. He spoke briefly with his beta. “Yes, we will go with you.” He looked closely at Storm. “Is something wrong? You smell of blood and lake water…and grief.”

  Storm looked at him dully. “How can I smell of grief, friend?”

  Cohal spoke up. “You have a deep scratch across your nose, Storm. It will probably leave a scar.”

  “I’m lucky I don’t have worse.”

  “I think you do,” said Eyal.

  “Can we go?” Storm demanded.

  Eyal said nothing for a moment. Then he turned and called to his pack. “Kiera, Maeoli, come and meet Storm Ela-ferry.”

  Storm was confused. “Did your queen finally send you fresh pack members?”

  Eyal did not answer as the two new curbs came forward to lick Storm’s muzzle in greeting. Storm realized, with a jolt, that they were female. “Eyal! You’re going to have your den?” He would have expected to see more joy over the prospect.

  “Kiera, tell Storm the message you brought.”

  The female looked up at Storm with sad, golden eyes. She was very thin. “My queen told me to find Eyal’s pack on the northern plains, if it yet lived. She sent this message: ‘We are overrun. The dens of your birth are full of dead pups, and our valley is lost to us. I send you these three of my daughters. I can do no more for you. Good hunting, friend. I doubt that we will ever meet again.’”

  The curb dropped her gaze as her rehearsed speech ended. “We were three when we fled, but we were only two by the time we found Eyal’s pack. If any of our kin live, they are scattered in the mountains.”

  Her voice fell silent, and Storm watched the other curbs. They can never go home, he realized.

  Eyal turned and started away. “The cliffs will offer better hunting at the turn of the season,” he said, “and safer hiding places.” His voice had a desolate note that Storm found oddly comforting.

  You will not try to cheer me. Good. I do not want to be cheered.

  So, Storm ran west across the plain with the highland curbs. Unlike all the previous times when he had wandered, he did not feel the pull of the herd at his back. He thought of Faralee, laughing as she teased Kelsy. He thought of Tracer—how he’d befriended Storm that first day on the ice, all the games they’d played, all the hopes and dreams they’d shared. He thought of Mylo, accepting him when no other clique leader would have him. Mylo didn’t trust Kelsy. He thought Kelsy would get a lot of young ferryshaft killed. And wasn’t Mylo right about that in the end?

  Ah, but who encouraged them, made them dream of killing creasia, set them an example of defying cats? Me. If I hadn’t been in that crowd, if I hadn’t shouted a challenge at Arcove, would the foals have attacked? Storm wasn’t sure, but he was certain that he was at least as much to blame as Kelsy.

  Good-bye, Storm told them all quietly. Good-bye friends, living and dead. Good-bye, mother. Good-bye, Tollee. Good-bye, home. We are better off without each other.

  Part IV. Teek

  Chapter 1. The Next Generation

  Charder woke at first light to the unpleasant, prickly sensation of being watched. He raised his head from his nest of grass and looked around. Several old friends were curled up nearby, but none of them were awake. Instead, Arcove was watching from the shadow of a tree a few paces away. Well, it’s about time. It had been more than twenty days since the disastrous incident with the raiding creasia.

  Charder got to his feet. Arcove had already turned and started towards the lake. Charder followed him, yawning. “I expected you days ago.” Indeed, he’d expected a visit—likely an unpleasant one—immediately after the pitiful battle. However, there’d been no signs of creasia since then. The herd had slowly regained its collective footing.

  Arcove grunted. “I thought you told me that Storm hadn’t turned up.”

  “He hadn’t!” said Charder. “Not before I left. After I came back, yes, but I didn’t know how to find you then.” Not that I would have considered that something worth finding you over.

  Arcove stopped beside the lake. “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charder. “Truly, I haven’t seen him.”

  He expected more probing, but Arcove moved on. “How has the herd responded to the fighting?”

  Charder thought for a moment. “Well, they’re calling it the Foal’s Folly, if that tells you anything.”

  “How are the surviving foals? Have they been ostracized?”

  “Not…exactly,” said Charder. “I don’t think they’re anxious to fight with you again, though.” Please don’t ask me to identify them. We’ve had enough killing. Summer is supposed to be a peaceful time.

  “Do they have a leader?” asked Arcove.

  Charder considered. “Sauny—Storm’s sister. I believe you killed her.”

  Arcove looked surprised. “She was rather young. Anyone else?”

  Charder sighed. “Kelsy. A popular five-year-old.”

&nb
sp; Arcove watched him closely. “How popular?”

  Charder gave a non-committal wave of his tail. “A lot of the adults like him,” he admitted. “Or did. Now they’re a little afraid to associate with him.” But that will change if nothing terrible happens in the next season or so. “He lost a mate in the fighting,” added Charder. “He had three.”

  “Three?” Arcove was surprised. “Isn’t that a lot for a five-year-old ferryshaft?”

  It’s a lot for any ferryshaft. “Yes, well, he’s a popular five-year-old.”

  Arcove quirked a smile. “Is this who the herd would choose to lead them…if they chose such things?”

  Charder looked out across the water. “Possibly. Are you looking to replace me?”

  “No, but I think perhaps I have been remiss in not meeting the next generation. I’d like a word with him.”

  “Now?”

  Arcove answered with an impatient flick of his tail.

  “Alright,” said Charder. “But give me a few moments to find him.” He hesitated. “Did you… Did you learn why the raids…?”

  “Treace is no longer one of my officers,” said Arcove. “There will be no more out-of-season raids. I will send someone to check on you from time to time and make sure this is true. Now, go find Kelsy.”

  * * * *

  Arcove watched the lake as he waited for Charder to return. Kuwee Island lay off to the right in the mist. Young cats fighting young ferryshaft. Just when you think you’ve put a stop to it, it starts all over again. Treace had, indeed, been overpopulating. Halvery had admitted, grudgingly, that Roup’s estimates were correct, perhaps even a bit conservative.

  “The problem is complicated,” he told Arcove. “As we’ve gone around to the various dens, we’ve found that bitterleaf is scarce in Treace’s territory—completely absent from some den sites. We’re not sure why. I think that Treace has been encouraging the males to destroy the plants, but nobody will admit this. If that’s the case, though, it started more than five years ago, before he even became an officer. One or two years of persistent destruction would make the plants hard to find, even if the practice is no longer ongoing.

  “We’ve also learned that many females are incorrectly identifying a different plant as bitterleaf. Since they often come to Treace’s territory young, they may never have tasted it before, and they easily confuse it with a similar-looking weed. Again, I think someone coached them incorrectly, but the lie has been passed from mother to daughter. Some of them have stopped even trying to prevent overpopulation, because they don’t think bitterleaf works. They’re nursing one litter while pregnant with the next. It makes them old before their time and too tired to care.”

  Arcove thought Roup had made an admirable show of looking interested without saying, “I told you so.”

  Ariand had looked happier than Arcove had seen him in several years. “We’ll get this sorted,” he had said cheerfully. “We’ll carry bitterleaf over there and seed it ourselves if we have to.” Arcove also heard that Ariand had picked a fight with his own beta and killed him—the cat from Treace’s clutter who’d killed Dustet.

  Arcove had expected complaint from Roup over his own decision not to kill Treace, but Roup had been quiet about the fight. His only comment had been, “Why did you tell him that he might ever come back to the council?”

  “Because a cat like that needs a goal,” said Arcove. “Hope gives him a reason to behave.”

  Roup had sighed. “He’ll have to behave for a very long time before I’ll be interested in giving him anything beyond hope.”

  Arcove turned away from the lake at the crunch of a leaf. A tall, red-gold ferryshaft on the cusp of adulthood was making his way cautiously towards him. Arcove could tell, just by watching Kelsy move, that the ferryshaft knew how to fight. Charder came behind, picking his way around wet spots. When they reached him, Arcove said, “Kelsy Ela-ferry?”

  Kelsy was bristling with anxiety, but he carried himself well. “Yes.”

  Arcove glanced at Charder. “Leave us.”

  Charder looked a little disappointed, but Arcove turned and ignored him. Kelsy’s eyes were dilated to near-blackness. He had not quite tucked his tail, but he looked like he wanted to.

  Arcove decided that causing panic would be counter-productive. “I won’t kill you,” he said. “Yet.”

  Upon reflection, it was not the most reassuring thing he could have said. Kelsy’s expression did not change, but he raised his ears a little. “Charder says you are his likely successor,” continued Arcove. “We’d best get to know one another.”

  “I won’t help you kill ferryshaft,” blurted Kelsy, in what must have been an act of considerable bravery.

  Arcove sniffed. “Charder says you are popular. Are you popular enough to control them? If you tell them not to breed, will they listen?”

  Kelsy looked surprised. He said nothing.

  “If you can keep their numbers within my parameters, there’ll be no need for culls,” said Arcove. “But I doubt you can. Charder never could.”

  “Ferryshaft do not take direction in that way,” said Kelsy carefully.

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Kelsy was silent. His ears flicked nervously.

  “You were among the group who attacked my cats some days ago,” said Arcove. “That happened because one of my officers was raiding without my knowledge. That cat has been punished, and the remaining raider killed. It should not have happened, and so I will overlook your behavior. If you ever attack me again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” said Kelsy softly.

  “Now, as for Storm Ela-ferry—”

  “Storm is my friend.” Kelsy met Arcove’s eyes. “Nothing you say will change that.”

  Arcove smiled. “Well, you’re not a coward. If you’re also not a fool, we’ll get along fine.”

  This seemed to confuse Kelsy.

  “I was going to say that I would like to speak to him.”

  “Speak?” repeated Kelsy with obvious disbelief.

  “Yes,” said Arcove, “I won’t hunt him—not for at least a day and a night afterward. Longer, if he feels the truce is insufficient.” He hesitated. “If he won’t talk to me, he could talk to Roup. He might find that less intimidating. I know you don’t understand, but Storm will. Tell him.”

  Arcove thought that Kelsy might question the validity of his truce, but Kelsy only sighed. “I don’t know where Storm is. I haven’t seen him since the battle. No one has.”

  Chapter 2. Injuries

  Deep in the caverns beneath the cliffs, amid the soft green light of the tiny acriss jellyfish, Storm sat and watched curbs stalking small, pale fish and crustaceans in the shallows. Shaw watched with him. She wore a resigned expression.

  “Well,” she asked with a degree of sarcasm, “is it satisfactory?”

  “I think so,” said Storm. “They seem happy this time.”

  Eyal came splashing through the water towards them. “It is extremely satisfactory, and we owe you a great debt, Shaw Ela-telshee.”

  She inclined her head. “Yes, you do.”

  Storm frowned at her. “They are my friends, Shaw, and they’ve helped me.”

  Shaw sighed. “In my youth, I was not in favor of telshee involvement with land animals. I said it would lead to wars and death, and I was right. I argued with Keesha for days over his decision to get involved with ferryshaft matters. It will amuse him no end to learn that I am now providing denning arrangements for a pack of curbs.”

  Storm smiled. “You must have been desperate when you sent that ely-ary after me.”

  “I was,” agreed Shaw.

  Eyal observed this exchange in respectful silence. He did not seem offended by Shaw’s rude behavior. “We are grateful for your folly,” he said, when Shaw paused.

  That made her laugh. “As long as you understand that’s what it is.”

  “How soon will you have pups?” asked Storm. “Do you have them only in spring like ferr
yshaft do, or…”

  “We will have our first litters as soon as the females have gained enough weight to come into season,” said Eyal. “Right now, they are too thin. It won’t be long, though, on this kind of diet.”

  “Will they both…be your mates?” Storm had been curious about this from the start, but uncertain of how to ask. He’d seen no fighting among the curbs as they crossed the plain, even though there were only two females and eight males. He’d wondered whether Eyal received mating rights by default because he was the leader.

  Eyal cocked his head. “We are a pack. The pups will be pups of the pack.”

  Shaw snorted above Storm’s head. “Curbs believe a pup can have eight fathers,” she said. “Perhaps their pups can…but I doubt it.”

  A look of annoyance crossed Eyal’s face. Storm thought he would have liked to say something rude to Shaw, but held it back out of gratitude for her gifts.

  “Curbs are very odd animals,” continued Shaw airily.

  Storm turned to stare at her. “You…who lay eggs and are both male and female…you are calling someone else an ‘odd animal’?”

  Eyal gave a bark of laughter.

  Shaw looked irritated at both of them. “Wait until you see their pups,” she told Storm. “You will understand what I mean.”

  “Our pups will be charming and delightful,” Eyal assured Storm, still grinning. “Now I will help the others gather bedding material. Thank you again, Shaw.”

  Storm watched as several curbs trotted away up the long, steep passage that lead, eventually, to the boulder mazes. The curbs had refused to stay in Syriot without some sort of path to the surface, and they’d been shown four caves before approving this one. Storm had used every appeal to Shaw’s good will to get her to allow it. “We can barely protect ourselves!” she had argued. “How are we supposed to protect a pack of curbs?”

  “They don’t need protection,” Storm had said. “They just need a place to hide from the lowland curbs while they have their babies.”

  “They will be having babies indefinitely!” exclaimed Shaw.