This is what’s stopping you, thought Valla with a jolt. Not fear. Hope.
“Ulya told Storm to get Teek out of the caves before Shaw wakes up,” said Valla. “She said Teek was only supposed to be here until spring, and now it’s spring, and she’s afraid Shaw might do something to him.”
Sauny tossed her head. “She wouldn’t dare!”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Valla. “I think Storm is considering rejoining the herd.”
“He can’t,” muttered Sauny. “Not with Teek.” More softly, she added, “Not without me.”
“You’re walking better,” said Valla.
Sauny snorted. “No, I’m not.”
“I think you are.”
“Nonsense.” She thought for a moment. “You just want me to leave Syriot to get me away from lishties.”
Valla grinned. “You’ve caught me.” Her expression turned more serious. “If you want to see Teek, you should take the opportunity over the summer. I know Storm thinks he can keep him forever, but I don’t think so. Eventually Teek will have to go back to Leeshwood.”
To her surprise, Sauny bowed her head. “I know,” she said softly. “I know, and it makes me sad.”
* * * *
Storm felt as though he might be sick as he approached the spring feeding grounds. Teek seemed to sense his anxiety and padded along without saying anything. They passed pleasant streams and grassy expanses dotted with flowers between the boulders.
Storm remembered. Tracer and Leep and I played tag here when I was only a yearling. Sauny chased minnows over there a year later. Tollee and I lay for hours in the mud on a hot day and talked until the sun set. And over there, just beyond that rise, is the pool where I hid from Arcove’s cats.
Sunlight dazzled on the little streams, and it made Teek blink and yawn, but Storm felt as though he were wide awake for the first time in ages. He knew where he had to go. He’d visited last night and sniffed around. But he wanted to come in daylight. Like a ferryshaft. Not like a curb or a telshee or a creasia.
Storm rounded a boulder, and there they were—half a dozen female ferryshaft and a confusion of tottering foals. The adults were talking between mouthfuls of spring grass, and the foals were exploring cautiously.
Storm forced himself to keep walking until they saw him. He didn’t know what he expected after that. He thought they might scream and run at the sight of Teek…or even at the sight of him. In fact, they did neither, although everyone stopped talking. Several stopped chewing with grass still dangling from their lips.
Then one dark, brindled female separated herself from the group and came towards him. Storm was relieved to see that she had a twinkle in her eyes. “That’s quite a scar,” said Tollee.
Of all the things she could have said, this was not what Storm had expected. No one had mentioned the scar across his nose from the creasia battle in so long that he’d almost forgotten it. He fumbled for words, “It…doesn’t hurt.”
A little sand-colored foal struggled after Tollee. It stopped and peered uncertainly around its mother’s legs.
“And who is this?” asked Storm.
“I’ve called her Myla,” said Tollee. “After her father.”
Storm bent to sniff the foal’s nose. She smelled of Tollee and spring grass and, faintly, of blood. She smelled like life.
Tollee’s expression changed when she spotted Teek. Storm realized that the others probably hadn’t seen him in the long grass. “Remy owes me a rabbit,” said Tollee smugly.
Storm stared at her.
“I knew you wouldn’t kill it,” she said. “The cub who followed you from the cave, I mean.”
“Am I that predictable?” asked Storm.
“Maybe not to everyone.” She hesitated and glanced at her clique, who had moved a little distance away, shooting covert glances over their shoulders. “Obviously not to everyone.”
Teek stared up at Tollee, his posture uncertain. “She’s a friend,” said Storm. “And,” he added, “a very good hunter.”
Teek’s ears came up. He was always impressed with superior hunting.
“I don’t know whether you should say that after this winter,” said Tollee. “The oldest of our clique starved to death. We thought she was getting enough, but…we woke one morning and she was dead. When we examined her, we realized that she was a lot thinner than we thought…under her winter coat. Her foal died in her belly, poor thing.”
Tollee herself looked fit enough. Like all the ferryshaft, she was in the process of shedding her winter coat, and she had patches of sleek brindled fur between heavy, dense wads of winter fluff.
“But Remy’s alright?” asked Storm.
“Oh, yes. She’s actually spending time with Kelsy and Itsa again. There were no raids this winter, you know. Remy thinks maybe she was wrong about Kelsy rolling over for Arcove. Maybe it did more good than fighting, in the end.”
Storm was impressed. “No raids? Really?” He felt suddenly that he should have known this, should have been paying more attention to what was happening to his herd. Before Tollee could answer, he said, “I should have been here.”
“Why? I wouldn’t have let you help me.”
Storm smiled. “You never needed my help.”
“But I did miss you.”
Storm thought that this might be the nicest thing he’d ever heard in his life.
Tollee’s voice grew wary. “How are Sauny…and Valla?”
Is that jealousy? “They’re fine. They’re practically telshees now. They—”
Storm broke off as Teek leaned forward to sniff noses with Myla, who seemed equally curious. Tollee stood perfectly still, legs braced as though she might need to strike. Storm held his breath.
Then Myla sneezed. Teek jerked back, but he only shook his head. He glanced up at Storm and said, with absolute seriousness, “She’s just a baby.”
Storm did his best not to laugh. “She’s one year more of a baby than you.”
Teek came forward again and proceeded to wash Myla’s face.
Tollee gave a surprised snort. “Well…” she said in a wondering voice. “It’s a new year, I guess.”
“I guess it is,” said Storm.
Chapter 15. Solution
On the evening Arcove went to visit Treace, he took Halvery and a dozen of his cats, but he did not tell them what he intended to do. He told Roup, although he wouldn’t let him come along. “I should be there,” complained Roup. “If this works, it may be the most important thing you do as king.”
“You don’t get along with Treace,” said Arcove patiently, “and he’s just enough of a cub to resent your presence. Let me do this.”
When they reached Treace’s territory—now restricted to his immediate den-site, Arcove was not entirely surprised to find a mock-fight in progress. Treace was sparring with one of his clutter members. They were going at it just aggressively enough to be mistaken for a real fight at first glance. However, the relaxed attitudes of half a dozen females and adolescent cubs in the vicinity prevented any experienced cat from making that mistake.
The other den members scattered when they saw Arcove and Halvery. Arcove wondered how many of them thought that he’d come to do as Nadine had suggested. The two combatants were so focused that it took them a moment to realize what was happening. When they finally broke apart, Halvery’s clutter had circled them.
Treace’s officer gave a nervous hiss, bristling all over, but Treace didn’t make a sound. He tried to catch his breath, eyes darting around the group.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Halvery. “Your leg seems much improved.”
“Oh, he’s practicing,” said Arcove. “He’s not good enough yet, though.”
“Won’t be for a long time,” said Halvery. “If ever.”
Treace said nothing, just watched them.
Arcove turned away. “Come on, Treace. I’m going to treat you like an adult for a moment. Try to act like one.”
He didn’t look back, bu
t he heard Halvery say, “Well, go on. You want to take a swipe at him? Now’s your chance. We’ll stay here. So will your clutter, of course.”
A moment later, he heard a soft footfall and knew that Treace was following. His footfalls were slightly uneven. He’s still limping, but not much. His eye also seemed to be functioning, although he had a scar across his face.
Arcove slowed down and let Treace catch up. They were approaching the southern edge of the forest and the plains beyond. “Did you know that Roup and I used to live near here?” asked Arcove.
Treace gave him an odd look. The limp and the scar had taken the edge off his characteristic poise, but Arcove could tell he was adjusting.
“A little to the west,” continued Arcove, “beside a stream that was too small to have a name and has probably changed course since then.”
“Why—?” began Treace.
“Because we were rogue cubs, and this is the most game-poor section of the forest,” said Arcove. “I wouldn’t bend my neck to anyone, and not even other cubs wanted to call a two-year-old their alpha. So here we stayed for more than a year, barely surviving.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Treace said, grudgingly, “They say you killed one of the king’s officers when you were two.”
“I did,” said Arcove. “That’s why I was a rogue.” But you’ll wait a long time before I’ll tell that story.
They’d reached the edge of the southern plains, and the open sky stretched in a vast, star-dappled dome above their heads—fading to pink along the horizon where the sun had set. “There weren’t many cats in Leeshwood back then,” said Arcove. “About a hundred males, I suspect, although no one was counting.”
Treace turned to him with a look of astonishment. Now I’ve got your attention. “There were many small ferryshaft herds on both plains. They killed us at every opportunity, and we killed each other almost as often. When males fought, they fought to the death. When a male took another male’s mate, he killed her young cubs. The female would come into season faster that way, and he didn’t have to raise his rival’s offspring.”
Treace seemed to consider. You thought you were returning to something more natural when you stopped them from eating bitterleaf, didn’t you? But the old way wasn’t quite what you envisioned.
Arcove drew himself up to his full height and turned to glare at Treace. He dropped all the velvet from his tone and gave it claws. “You grew up in my Leeshwood, Treace. You would not even recognize what was here before. You are making trouble in my wood.”
Treace licked his lips. “I didn’t—” he began. “I haven’t—”
“You think you want to rule?” demanded Arcove. “You think you can do it better than I can?”
Treace stood perfectly still and did not meet Arcove’s eyes.
“Answer me.”
“If I say anything, you’ll kill me,” whispered Treace.
“Not tonight,” said Arcove. “Perhaps tomorrow, but not tonight.” Tell me I can’t treat him like Charder, Nadine.
Treace’s eyes flicked up and back down. “You won the war when no one else could,” he admitted. “But you’re right; it’s a different world now. You won when such things were decided by strength. Now, they are decided by cunning.”
Arcove had to force himself not to laugh. “Well, so far, your cunning has gotten you a limp and a scar…although I may have done you a favor with the scar. You look considerably fiercer than you actually are.”
Treace bristled a little. He forgot to keep his eyes down. “If the creasia do not move forward, they will move back! The ferryshaft are a relic of—”
“Ah, yes, the ferryshaft. Your main point of contention. Do you know why I don’t kill them all?”
“Because Roup doesn’t want you to,” snapped Treace.
“No. Try again.”
Treace seemed taken aback. After a moment, he ventured, “Because you’re afraid something worse will replace them?”
“Getting closer,” said Arcove.
Treace stared out at the plain. He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“I think,” said Arcove, “that we will eventually have war with the telshees again. If I had managed to kill their king on Kuwee Island, this might not be true. But I didn’t. And I don’t think he’s forgotten. I think he’s biding his time while their numbers improve.”
Treace looked skeptical. “Then why don’t we strike first?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever fought with telshees in their own tunnels,” said Arcove. “Because we wouldn’t win, that’s why.”
“What does that have to do with the ferryshaft?”
“Telshees were ferryshaft allies. If I eradicate the ferryshaft, Keesha will feel that, to have his revenge, he must eradicate the creasia.” Instead of just me. “Telshees have long memories. I don’t want that sort of blood-debt between us.”
Treace thought for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?”
Arcove looked out across the plain. “Tell me about Moro.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that he’d caught Treace off-guard. “About…”
“Moro, yes, your beta, tell me about him.”
Treace licked his lips. “He’s my brother. Half-brother. I raised him. There’s not much else to tell.”
Arcove peered at him. “You raised him? That’s interesting. Why?”
Treace had recovered his composure. “Our mother asked me to. He got into a fight with another cub when he was three, and the den rejected him.” Treace looked at Arcove levelly. “I’m sure you can understand that, sir.”
Arcove let the silence stretch, but Treace was good at waiting games. He said nothing. “That’s unusual,” said Arcove at last, “for a den to reject a cub for fighting. Exceedingly unusual. It’s what cubs do.”
“I agree,” said Treace.
“However, cubs who kill other cubs in unprovoked attacks... Cubs who kill much younger cubs… That certainly draws the ire of a den mother.”
Treace said nothing.
“Does he still like to kill cubs, Treace?”
Treace took a deep breath. “As you have pointed out, sir, I allowed them to overpopulate. There were an excess number of cubs and more rogues than in other clutters. Sometimes, they stole from—”
Arcove interrupted. “I would get rid of him, if I were you.”
“Moro is a loyal officer and very clever, sir.”
“Funny, that’s what I used to say about you.”
Treace gave a startled snort of laughter.
“Good officers are like claws,” said Arcove. “A claw stays sharp because you can retract it. When a cat cannot retract his claws, they grow dull. They can catch on things, tear, and bleed. They can get you into trouble. Make sure you can retract all your claws, Treace.”
Treace actually smiled—a genuine smile, Arcove thought. “Why are you trying to give me helpful advice, Arcove?”
“Because I think you’ll need it.”
“In order to rule my little ‘game-poor’ patch of forest?”
Arcove hesitated. “There aren’t many creasia who can lead. There aren’t many creasia who want to lead. Creasia kings don’t get old, Treace.”
Arcove let that sink in. “You have to want it. You have to want it more than you want a long life. You have to be that certain that you could do a better job. I think you do want it, and I think you are certain. And that’s rare. That kind of ambition doesn’t come along very often. It’s why I haven’t killed you. I think your ideas for Leeshwood are completely misguided, and that you’ll destroy my wood if you have your way. But I do think you’re something special.”
Treace flicked his tail. Arcove thought he was flattered and trying not to show it.
“In addition,” continued Arcove, “you’ve generated a certain amount of loyalty. Your cats are not happy that you’ve been removed from command. They’re picking fights and causing trouble. In a way, that speaks well of their devotion, if not their judgment. Yo
ur cats are young, Treace. They’re like you. They’ve never seen a war, and they don’t know what they’re asking for.”
“I don’t want a war,” said Treace. The words tumbled out. “I want to fight you and win.”
There was a moment of perfect silence. Treace drew a quick breath. “But as you keep pointing out, I can’t.”
“That is correct,” said Arcove. “You can’t have my Leeshwood, but perhaps you can have your own. I have discouraged cats from leaving the wood in the past, but perhaps now it’s time.”
Treace stared at him. “You mean exile…”
“No, I mean a new…” Arcove realized that he didn’t have a word for what he meant. “A new Leeshwood. A new kingdom. I am proposing that you take any cats who want to call you chief, and make a new home for yourselves out across the plain. There are forests at the foot of the southern mountains. I know. I was there once. It’s about three days’ journey, more if you’re traveling with cubs, but you can get there.
“The lowland curbs will fight you. They think of that region as their home territory, but with courage and diplomacy, you can make a place for yourselves. I believe there are deer in those woods, although I am not certain. I know there are sheep in the mountains and perhaps other animals. I do not think there is enough game on the plains to support a creasia den year-round, but I could be wrong about that. The plain might be another option. I think it’s time we find out.”
Treace’s eyes darted back and forth. This was not what he had expected. “So…would that make me one of your officers again?”
“No,” said Arcove. “It would make you my equal as far as I’m concerned. A king in your own territory. You would be my subordinate if you came here, but I’d be yours if I went there. I propose we make an agreement to offer each other assistance if we are in dire need. Otherwise, we need not trouble each other.”
Treace peered at Arcove’s face as though trying to decide whether he was serious. “I— I have to think about this.”
“Of course you do.”
“What about…what about the ghost wood? Some cats won’t like being separated from it.”
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