“Well, until there are more of them, then.”
“And what happens when your friends get killed by lishties? I won’t be responsible for that.”
“They think they’ve got a better chance down here,” Storm had said. “Please, Shaw.”
Storm hoped he’d done the right thing. The curbs certainly seemed grateful. Almost unwillingly, Storm said, “I should go see Sauny.”
Shaw hesitated. “It will be a while yet before we know—”
“Yes,” said Storm, trying to keep the snap out of his voice. “You’ve said that.” The brief joy of seeing the curbs settling into their new home evaporated, and he felt suddenly tired and cold. But it’s not Shaw’s fault. He thought of trying to apologize and decided it would be better to just remove himself.
“I know the way,” he said over his shoulder. He was relieved that she did not try to escort him. In spite of her concerns about lishties, this part of Syriot was telshee-dominated territory not far from the Cave of Histories. From what Storm could gather, lishty sightings here were rare.
He followed the tunnels deeper into the earth, sometimes wading through shallow water, occasionally swimming small rivers. Sometimes the acriss lit his way, and sometimes Storm walked in darkness. He’d gotten used to that—to finding his way by feel and smell and memory. He did not think he would ever get used to never feeling the sun on his face. But Sauny may have to. That thought chilled him.
Storm passed telshees occasionally in the caves. They’d grown accustomed to his presence and paid no attention to him. The distant strains of their humming mingled oddly and echoed from far off in the caverns. Storm heard the healing cave before he reached it—a low, throbbing, harmonized hum that made him feel simultaneously wide-eyed and sleepy.
The pool where they’d placed Sauny was not deep. It was barely large enough for her body, though it connected to a larger pool nearby. A pup’s pool, Storm found himself thinking. Well, she is a pup, isn’t she?
He was pleased to find her awake today. Valla was talking to her quietly. Sauny did not appear to be attending. She was staring vacantly at the floor, her head draped over the side of the basin. Storm sat down opposite Valla. “Hello, Sauny.”
Her eyes flicked at him briefly and then away.
“Do you remember what I told you about the curbs?” asked Storm. “Well, they finally found a cave they like. They’re going to have their babies down here. Would you like to play with curb pups?”
Sauny didn’t answer. Valla glanced at Storm over Sauny’s head. Her eyes looked tired.
“Have you tried to stand yet today?” asked Storm, refusing to be dismal.
For answer, Sauny heaved herself up in the water. She tottered there for a moment, balanced on three legs, trembling with effort and grimacing with pain. Her mangled left foreleg moved clumsily and did not support her weight. Half-healed wounds all along the left side of her body continued to gape and ooze. Sauny flopped back down in the water, facing away from Valla and Storm. “Leave me alone,” she muttered.
“I think that’s better than yesterday,” Valla tried.
“No,” interrupted Sauny, “it isn’t. I want to sleep. Please let me sleep.”
“You’ve slept for days,” said Storm. “You need to move around.”
“You should have let me die,” whispered Sauny.
Bleak helplessness descended on Storm as it had so often over the last few days. The telshees didn’t think that Sauny would ever walk normally again. When she’d first arrived in Syriot, they’d wanted to snip off her leg with their teeth—an idea that had horrified Valla. The telshees said that the leg would never work properly and that the wounds might poison the rest of Sauny’s body. Valla had insisted that Sauny would rather take the chance. Storm thought she was probably right, although a lame leg wasn’t much better than a stump in the end.
She will never again run on cliff trails, he thought. Never play tag on the ice, never hunt properly, never win another fight. The thought of his vivacious, beautiful sister limping her way painfully through life made him want to sit down and howl in desolation.
To make matters worse, Sauny was smart enough to understand the implications of her situation. Storm had not seen her smile once since he arrived. Last season, Sauny would have been thrilled to meet a telshee and fascinated by Syriot. She would have asked endless questions. Now, she said nothing and barely raised her head.
Valla admitted that, when Sauny woke, she’d insisted on hearing the truth about the battle. Valla had told her what little she knew, including several deaths of foals in Sauny’s clique. Storm did not know these ferryshaft, but Sauny took the news hard. Storm did not want to tell either Sauny or Valla about Faralee or Mylo, but they eventually pried the truth out of him.
Since his arrival, Storm had spent at least as much time trying to arrange a denning site for the highland curbs as he’d spent with Sauny. He did not think he could bear sitting in that drowsy cave, thinking about everything he’d lost. Valla did—somehow. She’d gotten one of the humming telshees to teach her to read and sometimes practiced making their signs with little lines of pebbles on the stone floor.
When Storm stopped to puzzle out what she was writing, he found she’d written the names of dead friends…over and over. We all mourn in our own way.
Storm tried to get Valla to come with him to see the curbs. “We’ll leave the cave for a while,” he told her, “hunt outside.”
“No,” said Valla without looking at him. “Sauny can’t leave. I’ll stay with her.”
“But she wants to be alone right now,” said Storm. “She’s safe here with the telshees.”
Valla’s eyes snapped up to Storm’s. For the first time, he heard her growl. “I said no, Storm.”
That was when Storm realized that he’d not only lost Tollee. He’d lost Valla, too.
Chapter 3. Bargain
“Well, you wanted a chance to see him fight. I hope you got a good look.” Treace opened his left eye with an effort to stare balefully at Moro. He’d dragged himself above ground for the first time in many days and was lying beneath a fir tree near the stream beside his den. He was still shivering a little in spite of the warm sun, but not so badly as he’d been a few days ago.
“You’re improving,” commented Moro. “Do you even remember the last time I was here?”
“No,” muttered Treace. “Did I walk all the way back? I don’t remember a lot of that, either.”
“You did,” said Moro, “without stopping to rest…much to the admiration of the entire clutter. Iska says you may not lose the eye.”
Treace grunted. “I can see light and shadow out of it. Maybe that’ll improve with time. The leg is a little better, too.”
“I told you it wasn’t broken,” said Moro. “You’ll be walking straight again by midwinter. The fever was what worried me, but it sounds like that’s better.”
“Yes. Dare I ask what’s been happening while I was lying in the dark, delirious and shivering? Are Halvery’s cats pissing themselves over the breeding infractions?”
Moro flipped his tail. “They’re making some noise about it, but they’ve got no stomach for killing cubs, so there’s not a lot they can do…except try to seed our territory with bitterleaf. Whether Arcove calls you an officer or not, you have more cats than any other clutter in Leeshwood. If you told them to attack, I think they would. We might even win.”
Treace made a face. “And kill half the males in every clutter. I want their loyalty, not their corpses.”
“Well, you made an impression with that speech on the plain. It was quite a risk.”
“Not really. If I’d kept fighting, he would have killed me.”
“I thought he was going to kill you anyway.”
“So did I.”
Moro smirked. “You should have seen the look on Roup’s face when he didn’t. Oh, that was not the way he planned it.”
Treace gave a laugh that hurt his ribs and made him wince. “Pity I misse
d that.”
“It won’t be the last time.”
Treace said nothing.
“I started a rumor that Roup’s cubs are really Arcove’s,” said Moro.
“Oh?”
“Yes, they never look like Roup. He’s sterile and requires his friend to do his breeding for him.”
Treace chuffed. “Roup’s cubs don’t look like him because his color doesn’t breed true.”
“Yes, I know, but it makes a good rumor.”
Not really. Treace thought for a moment. For a cat of such great inquisitiveness, Moro could be remarkably uncreative when it came to divining the possible motives of others. The most damaging rumors have a little bit of truth. “I’ve heard it whispered that Roup would rather lie down for Arcove than mount any female in Leeshwood.” Such friendships were not uncommon between males who’d spent their bachelor years together. However, failure to sire one’s own cubs certainly was uncommon. Such a thing would garner the immediate disdain of every alpha male in Leeshwood.
Moro snickered. “He’s forgotten how to be on top?”
Treace shut his eyes. “If he ever knew. Anyway, that’s a better rumor.” It might even be true, although I doubt it. “Roup should share Arcove’s den and not his council. His clutter is Arcove’s, and everyone knows it. I suppose his cubs might as well be.”
“And he hates you,” put in Moro.
“And he hates me,” agreed Treace.
“Do you know why they don’t share a den?” asked Moro.
Treace snorted. “Because Nadine doesn’t like competing with Roup for Arcove’s attention?”
Moro cocked his head. “That’s what I thought, too, but I got some of Halvery’s older cats talking when they were over here. Apparently, Nadine and Roup are cozy as cubs in a litter. But she told Arcove from the beginning that Roup shouldn’t share his den because Arcove would need him on the council, and officers always have their own clutters.”
Treace scowled. “Females have no business meddling in clutter affairs. If Roup weren’t on the council, Arcove might listen to my ideas.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder whether Nadine was so free with advice to the last king.”
“I doubt it,” said Moro. “Or maybe he was just wise enough not to listen.”
Treace shook himself. “I look forward to pinning her down and reminding her of her place.”
“And killing every black cub in that den,” said Moro with a flash of teeth.
Treace stretched. “I’ll leave that to you. I’m sure you can find something interesting to do with them. And while we’re on happy topics—has anyone caught Storm?”
“No. I’m not sure Arcove has even tried.”
That made Treace chuckle. “There’s one ferryshaft for whom I have nothing but good will. Long may he run free…and make Arcove look a fool.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that,” came a voice from across the stream.
Treace’s head jerked up, and Moro spun around. So far, Halvery’s inspecting cats had not been so rude as to invade Treace’s personal den during his recovery. Treace tried to struggle to his feet, outrage mixing with fear in his belly. How much had they overheard?
But the animal who stepped from the bushes was not a creasia. It was a curb. She came boldly to the edge of the water—easy pouncing distance. “Rumor has it,” she said. “That you have been asking to parlay with us.”
Moro started to say something, but Treace talked over him. He still felt weak, and his head was spinning from standing too rapidly, but he was the alpha, and he was determined to act like it. “We’ve been trying to parlay with you for two seasons. We haven’t made much progress.”
The curb smirked. She sat down. “Rumor has it, you ask for secrets. Secret things come at a price.”
“What is your name, curb, and what is your price?”
“My name is Quinyl.”
Moro’s ears perked. “I’ve heard of you.”
She looked pleased. “I am the leader of the lowland curbs north of the forest.”
“And your price?” asked Treace.
Quinyl’s ears settled back. “Storm Ela-ferry. He has convinced the telshees to harbor my enemies. They are creating a den on the northern plains. I will not suffer it.”
Treace licked his lips. “You want us to kill Storm for you?”
“Yes. He is the only reason telshees would do such a thing. I am certain that we will be able to destroy the last of the highland curbs without his interference.”
“And in exchange—” began Moro.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” said Quinyl. “I’ll help you kill Arcove.”
Chapter 4. The Conference Again
Storm ran with the highland curbs. He hunted with them and fought alongside them when they encountered other curb packs. On the beach one day, they cornered an adult seal that had been injured, probably from an encounter with a shark. The seal was fiercer than any of the prey the curbs normally hunted, and they circled it, leaping and snapping without making much progress. Finally, Storm managed to catch the creature in the side of the head with a hoof blow. He whipped in before the animal could regain its balance and caught a mouthful of the rubbery flesh of its throat.
Storm set his teeth and jerked back. His mouth filled with blood, and he heard the seal bellow. Its thrashing shook him this way and that, but he held on. As soon as he got an opportunity, he ripped loose a chunk of flesh and then another. The wound widened, and the spurting blood slowed.
Distantly, he heard the curbs calling to him. Finally, Eyal’s voice broke through the fog of the hunt. “It’s dead, Storm! Dead! You can stop now.”
Storm raised his head and blinked blood out of his eyes. He saw that the seal’s head was half off. The curbs were staring at him. “We’ll have plenty to eat for a few days,” Eyal said.
Storm didn’t share their meal. He wasn’t hungry.
Sauny still didn’t want to talk to anyone. She’d left the healing pool and begun to move around the caves. As Storm had feared, her walk was a hopping limp—dragging the injured leg. Shaw had allowed her to visit the Dreaming Sea. Storm didn’t know whether Syra-lay had woken enough to talk to her, but Sauny certainly liked spending time snuggled up in his coils. Storm feared that she would fall under the trance of the sleeping telshees’ song and drown. Sometimes he thought that was what she wanted.
Valla divided her time between Sauny and the Cave of Histories. She had become fascinated by telshee script. If all Sauny wanted to do was sleep, then all Valla wanted to do was read. She would spend hours staring at the ancient, half eroded symbols, or quizzing Ulya about them. Neither Sauny nor Valla had much use for Storm.
“You should go back to the herd,” Valla told him. “I’m sure everyone is wondering whether you’re dead…again.”
“I doubt they care,” muttered Storm. “Besides, they didn’t fight. They left Sauny and the rest of us to die. I don’t want to be a ferryshaft anymore.” He wished he could dispel the hollow sensation that filled his belly when he said those words.
Valla looked past him at the lines of text on the wall above his head. “Then go be a curb, Storm.”
He gave a bleak snort. “And will you and Sauny be telshees?”
Valla did not smile. “Maybe.”
So Storm ran with the curbs. He tried not to notice when the last of the leaves fell. The wind grew sharp, and his fur thickened. He tried not to notice, but Eyal would not let him forget. One evening, he invited Storm to hunt with the pack in the boulder mazes. They headed south. They passed several likely places to look for sheep, but Eyal didn’t pause. Around midnight, they were trotting along a lower cliff trail, when Storm glimpsed the silver gleam of the Igby River ahead in the moonlight. Along its banks and among the nearby boulders, he saw irregular shapes darkening the grass and mazes.
Storm stopped walking. He turned to Eyal with a glare.
The curb looked up at him innocently. “The ferryshaft appear to have completed their winter
migration.”
Storm scowled. “What a coincidence.”
“They just arrived,” continued Eyal, “so I doubt they have the energy to attack anyone they might have reason to dislike.”
Storm said nothing.
“Perhaps we should go down and look for this…uh…Tollee person.”
Storm’s scowl deepened. “You’ve been talking to Valla.”
“Or someone named Kelsy?”
“They don’t want to see me!” snapped Storm. “I don’t want to see them.” He took a deep breath. “I just want to be a curb, Eyal. Can’t I just be a curb?”
“Of course,” said Eyal. He thought for a moment. “In that case, we should go down and look for stragglers. Weak foals, old adults—probably exhausted and sleeping. Excellent hunting down there.”
Storm was horrified. “You’re not serious.”
Eyal looked at him without a trace of guile. “I am. It’s what curbs do…unless, of course, our friend is a ferryshaft.”
Storm sighed. He looked back down at the herd. “It’s the conference,” he muttered. “Every year after the migration, Charder meets with Arcove, and I guess…I guess they decide how many of us the creasia will kill that winter. I didn’t completely understand before.”
“Maybe you still don’t,” said Eyal.
Storm gave him a withering look.
Eyal refused to be drawn. “My pack will not help you attack a creasia clutter, Storm. Certainly not one with Arcove in it. We’d die. We will help you find out what’s become of your friends and make sure your herd doesn’t try to kill you…if that’s what you want.”
“I just told you it isn’t what I want,” muttered Storm, but his voice carried little conviction.
Eyal turned and started towards the ground. Storm trailed behind. The moon was setting by the time they found their way to the foot of the cliffs, and dawn had erased the stars by the time they reached the outskirts of the herd among the boulders. Most of the ferryshaft were still sleeping, huddled in small groups on the frosty earth and stone. The area around the river was foggy at this time of morning. Storm remembered that. He remembered the excitement of sliding on the ice for the first time. He remembered how Sauny had squealed with delight when he’d shown her how to do it two years later. She’ll never be able to do that again.
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