Hunters Unlucky

by Abigail Hilton

  Storm taught Teek to swim and then to fish. Teek wasn’t very good at fishing yet. Storm wondered whether fish were a normal part of a creasia’s diet. He was beginning to realize exactly how much he did not know about cats. Teek had, at least, grown proficient at catching the rodents that whisked about under the leaves, and young birds were also in abundance. He tried, repeatedly, to eat grass like a ferryshaft, but it only made him vomit.

  Storm stayed out of sight of the herd on most days, but Tollee and Myla made frequent appearances. Myla was learning to talk, asking a thousand questions. Teek tried to teach her to hunt, which proved comical.

  “I won’t take a mate this fall,” said Tollee one day out of nowhere. “I don’t think it would be fair to Myla.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Storm. “My mother didn’t take a second mate until I was a year and a half old.”

  They were silent a moment. “I really am sorry about Mylo,” said Storm.

  Tollee looked out over the plain. “Well, we made our trade. I had his foal…and he saved your life.”

  Storm winced. After a moment, he said, “I’m only four years old. I’m not even sure I could father a foal.”

  Tollee smirked. “But you’d like to try.”

  “You’d like to let me.” Storm couldn’t believe he’d said it aloud, but now that the words were out of his mouth, there was nothing to do but try to look confident.

  Tollee snorted a laugh. “You think so?” Her hackles were up, but so were her ears and tail—mixed signals of aggression and play.

  She’s flirting with me, thought Storm with a jolt.

  Near the tree line, Teek was trying to get Myla to chase him, dancing around her and nipping at her ears and tail. Myla would play along briefly, and then become distracted by a blade of grass or a dragonfly.

  “I’d stay,” Storm said. “Even if you don’t want to risk getting pregnant this year. I’d be your mate and help take care of Myla next winter.” I’d never treat her the way Dover treated me.

  Tollee started to say something. Then her expression changed. “Storm…”

  He turned around. Three ferryshaft were coming towards them from the direction of the herd. Storm recognized all of them. He stood up. “Maybe you should go.”

  Tollee snorted. “So that a bunch of males can decide my fate?”

  “I don’t think it’s your fate we’ll be deciding.”

  “I’m staying right here.”

  Charder walked a little in front of the group, Kelsy almost abreast of him, and Pathar picking his way along behind. When they came within hailing distance, Kelsy trotted out in front, tail waving. “Storm!”

  Storm did not smile. “Kelsy.”

  “You’re looking well,” said Kelsy.

  “And you’re looking like trouble. What do you want?”

  Kelsy gave him a wounded expression. “If anyone’s got a right to be unfriendly, it’s me. You behaved very badly the last time I invited you to a conference.”

  “I never promised to behave well,” said Storm.

  “We’d like to speak to you alone,” said Charder more quietly. “Can your…uh…friend watch the…um…” He glanced towards Teek and Myla.

  “I think his mate deserves to know what you want,” said Tollee. “The foal and the cub are fine.”

  Mate? Storm had to exercise every bit of his self-control to avoid turning to see whether she looked serious. She sounded serious.

  Before he could think what to say, Charder said, “Very well. It has been suggested—strongly suggested—that you, Storm, should come to the fall conference with the creasia this year.”

  “Haven’t they learned better than to invite me to conferences?” asked Storm.

  “Furthermore,” continued Charder, “you are to bring the cub. They will take him back to Leeshwood and guarantee his safety if you come and talk to them.”

  Storm drew a deep breath. “What if I don’t want to send him—?”

  Pathar spoke for the first time. “Do you want him to grow up, Storm? Because this is probably his only chance.”

  Before Storm could answer, Charder said, “If you agree to this, I will tolerate the presence of a creasia cub around my herd this summer. If you do not agree, I will make your life here very difficult.” His voice had grown icy. “I know you think me impotent, but I assure you that I am capable of enforcing exile on a ferryshaft who has become a threat to my herd. You’ve walked that line for most of your life, and now you’ve crossed it.”

  Storm felt himself bristle all over.

  Kelsy stepped between Charder and Storm. “Stop it,” he snarled at Charder. “I told you to let me talk.” Before Charder could answer, he turned back to Storm. “There were no raids this winter because the creasia are having overpopulation problems. Now, a number of cats have migrated south—something that Arcove has never allowed before. Things are changing, Storm. This is our chance to renegotiate the treaty. You started this. Please come and be a part of it now that we’re finally getting somewhere.”

  Storm’s eyes flicked around the group. “Why me?” he said at last. “I haven’t really accomplished anything. Is it just because of Teek?”

  Kelsy barked a laugh. “‘Haven’t really accomplished anything’? Storm, you beat Arcove.”

  Storm smiled. “I did not beat Arcove. I barely survived.”

  “How many animals on Lidian can say that they survived when Arcove tried to kill them?”

  “You’re trying to flatter me.”

  “Is it working?” Kelsy grinned. “Or should Charder try threatening you again?”

  Charder rolled his eyes. “That was not a threat. It was a promise. A creasia cub in the ferryshaft herd is a bad idea.”

  Storm peered at him. “Because it’s been tried before?”

  Kelsy looked confused. Behind him, Charder and Pathar glanced at each other.

  “Oh, so you haven’t told Kelsy about Roup?” asked Storm.

  Kelsy looked at his elders. “Told me what about Roup?”

  “That he was raised in the ferryshaft herd,” said Storm.

  “That’s enough,” hissed Charder.

  “Is that why you’re worried about Teek?” asked Storm. “Because Roup grew up to be—”

  “Come with me,” interrupted Pathar in the tone he’d used when Storm was a spring foal and behaving badly. He started away towards the lake.

  Storm glanced at the others. “Go,” said Charder, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Before you make me regret asking him to train you.”

  Storm blinked. “You asked Pathar to—?”

  “Now, Storm!” thundered Pathar from the edge of the trees.

  Myla and Teek had stopped playing and were staring uncertainly at the adults. Storm started after Pathar. “It’s alright,” he told Teek as he passed. “I’m not going far. Just stay with Myla.”

  Pathar turned at the edge of the lake, completely out of sight of the others. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked haunted.

  Something clicked in Storm’s head. “You were the one who took him,” he whispered. Keesha didn’t mention that detail…but it makes sense.

  When Pathar said nothing, Storm continued. “You took Roup to…experiment…because you’ve always been the curious sort…haven’t you, Pathar?” The sort who’d drink from the poisoned waters of Groth just to see what would happen.

  “Who told you?” asked Pathar.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, because there are several sides to that story.”

  “Well, tell me the side that doesn’t involve you torturing a baby to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Pathar shut his eyes. “I did not bring him back to the herd to torture him. I just wanted to watch him develop.” He took a deep breath. “There were so many things we didn’t know about creasia. Some still claimed that cats could only learn to talk if they were weaned on the blood of a talking animal. Some claimed that they couldn’t learn to read because they lacked the necessary intel
ligence. I didn’t think that was true. I wanted to know what was true.”

  Pathar’s eyes looked dark and sad in the pale-frosted fur of his face. Frosted with age? Storm had always assumed so, and Pathar was certainly very gray around the muzzle. Still... “Are we related, Pathar?”

  “Coden’s father was my brother.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I brought Roup back from a hunt, and Akea offered to nurse him with her own foal. That was mercy, wasn’t it? All the rest of the cubs we found that day were killed and eaten.”

  “The version I heard didn’t sound very merciful.”

  “Many of the herd elders took an interest in my little project. It affected the safety of the herd, so I couldn’t very well refuse them.”

  “So every idiot who had an idea got to try it?” asked Storm. He couldn’t help thinking of Teek—wide-eyed and trusting, trying so hard to do whatever Storm told him.

  “They fed him all kinds of things,” muttered Pathar, “poisonous plants, dirt, rotten meat—it’s amazing that he grew up at all. He was often sick. He hardly ever complained, though.” Pathar looked as though he’d swallowed something bitter. “Coden figured out what we were doing when he was still quite young. He was always a bright one. There were others who didn’t like to see Roup hurt, but in the end, Coden was the only one willing to risk anything for him.”

  Pathar drew a deep breath. “We thought we were studying Roup during those three years, but sometimes I think it was the other way around. Arcove certainly seemed to understand ferryshaft to a degree that his predecessors had not. I’m sure Roup told him things.”

  Storm listened in silence.

  “Do you think I don’t regret what happened?” whispered Pathar. “We paid for it. Paid and paid. All the herd elders who hurt Roup died in the war.”

  “Did Roup hunt them down?” asked Storm.

  “No, but Arcove did.” Pathar shuddered. “I’m sure I’m only alive because I’m good at predicting the Volontaro. I am telling you this, Storm, so that you will not make my mistake.”

  “Your mistake wasn’t saving him, Pathar. It was what you did afterward.”

  Pathar shook his ears. “I had good intentions. So do you. But it won’t end well. Our two species don’t mix.”

  “Coden and Roup were friends.”

  “And Coden died when he was fifteen years old,” said Pathar, “while Roup watched. Remember that, Storm, when you look at this cub.”

  Part V. Treace

  Chapter 1. Winter Conference

  Storm walked along the Igby beneath the tall riverside trees, through mounds of fall leaves, and thought. It was a perfectly clear day with a fathomless blue sky and a crisp breeze that parted his winter coat in ripples. Teek bounded along ahead of him, scattering leaves and pouncing on anything that scampered or fluttered out of them. He was as large as a lamb now—robust and healthy with a dense winter coat of his own.

  “Is this where you dumped Halvery in the river?” he asked gleefully.

  Storm gave a crooked smile. “Not quite. It’s a little farther on.”

  “You’ll tell me when we get there?”

  “I suppose.”

  Storm was regretting his decision, earlier that summer, to tell Teek and Myla about some of his more exciting chases. They had both sat enraptured while he recounted his struggles to survive. After that, he was not permitted to sleep in the evenings until he recounted a chase. When he ran out of stories, they made him repeat them. Teek now had what Storm could only describe as an unhealthy familiarity with Arcove and his officers—more as legends than as real animals.

  Storm could never decide, when he told these stories, whether Teek identified more with him or with the cats. Teek certainly liked to hear about Storm foiling his pursuers, but he also seemed intensely interested in these larger-than-life hunters. Storm had avoided vilifying his old enemies in Teek’s hearing. He did not want the cub to feel more conflicted than necessary.

  Storm watched Teek dash through a ray of sunlight, whirling dust moats and dried leaves into the air, and he braced himself for what was coming. In two days, the ferryshaft herd would journey to the cliffs, and the winter conference would commence.

  Kelsy was right. This is an opportunity that might never come again—for me, for the ferryshaft, for Teek.

  He remembered what life had been like this time last year—the bitter despair of the foals’ failed attack on the creasia, his grief at Sauny’s horrific injuries, the helplessness and desperation. He would never have considered attending a creasia conference then. Would I have been able to see another way without Teek?

  Storm didn’t think so. He watched Teek race halfway up a tree for the sheer joy of it and then drop to the ground in a shower of leaves. You gave me my life back. Now I have to give you yours.

  He was distracted by a flash of movement off to his left. He craned his neck, trying to see through the trees. Throughout the summer, he’d noticed the unsettling presence of lowland curbs skulking in the distance wherever he went. They had not approached him since the attack on the way to the summer feeding grounds. They never came close enough to force a confrontation or even a conversation. They were just there—on the skyline, in the distance, beyond the next ridge. Storm hardly ever saw an entire pack. Usually, it was just one or two individuals, watching.

  Is this meant as a threat? Are they trying to play on my nerves? Are they afraid of me, or are they trying to make me afraid of them?

  He had not pointed out the curbs to Teek, although the cub had noticed them on several occasions. Storm didn’t think Teek was aware of their near-constant stalking, and he couldn’t see a reason to mention it.

  Teek burst into his thoughts. “Is this it?” He was looking at a great tree that overhung the river.

  “Yes, I believe it is,” said Storm.

  Teek clamored up the tree, as agile as a squirrel. “I bet I can get out on the end of a branch.”

  “I bet you can,” agreed Storm. “And if you fall, I bet you can swim to shore.”

  Teek appraised the view from a limb that might very well have been the spot where Storm had taken a nap two years ago. “The river had ice in it when you and Halvery were here,” said Teek.

  “Yes,” said Storm. “It was extremely cold.”

  “Was Halvery mad?”

  Storm snorted. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Teek looked down at Storm through the branches. “Do you think he’s still mad?”

  I’m certain of it. “If you see him, you probably shouldn’t ask him about it.”

  Teek giggled. “Oh, I’ll never see him.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” muttered Storm.

  * * * *

  Three days later, they sat in the trees near the headwaters of the Igby, where it rushed in a half dozen waterfalls from the cliff. Storm felt ill with anxiety and angry with himself for feeling this way. Tollee had insisted on waiting with him. She would not be deterred, and he eventually stopped trying to convince her to go away.

  Myla provided a good distraction for Teek in any case. Storm had told him nothing, but Teek seemed to sense Storm’s anxiety. He kept asking why he couldn’t go into the boulder mazes and begin exploring.

  The weather was clear. According to Pathar, there were no signs of a Volontaro. Under these conditions, Arcove and Roup usually came to the conference with a single clutter and sometimes one or two other officers. Charder warned Storm that all the officers might come this year, due to the unusual nature of the conference. “However, there is an explicit agreement of no hostilities for three days before or after the conference,” he told Storm. “You do not need to be worried for your safety.”

  And yet you keep telling me how all of this is unprecedented, thought Storm. What exactly can I do if they attack me? He wished, belatedly, that he’d tried to contact the telshees the day after he had reached the cliffs. It would have been comforting to know that Shaw was lurking in the headwaters of the Igby
.

  But would she have come? Storm had had no news from Syriot all summer. It seemed likely that Sauny, Valla, Eyal, and the rest were still thriving, but he would have liked to know it. He would also have liked to know that Shaw still felt well-disposed towards him in spite of Teek. As soon as this is over, I’ll visit, he promised himself. I’ll go down to the Dreaming Sea, too, and check on Keesha. Maybe I’ll even take Tollee and Myla. As soon as this is over.

  Storm finally finished the thought that he’d been avoiding all summer. When Teek is gone.

  He knew, objectively, that it was for the best. The herd was not friendly to Teek. Storm had no doubt that, if anyone else had adopted a cub, it would have been harassed and tormented to death. Only his reputation, and his caution, kept Teek safe.

  As Teek grew older, he would become harder to kill, but he would also become harder to hide and feed. Pathar assured Storm that, when Teek reached breeding age, he would become more aggressive and a new set of problems would present themselves.

  “He will probably go back to Leeshwood eventually no matter what you do,” Pathar had said, “but if he goes back as an adult, he’ll be a rogue—a cat with no clutter or den. He’ll have to fight his way into a clutter if he wants to avoid a life of loneliness. He’ll have poor social skills by creasia standards, and he may not be able to manage the transition. Creasia are social animals like ferryshaft. You don’t want to doom him to a life of isolation and misery, Storm. He won’t thank you for it in the end.”

  There’s something else he won’t thank me for, either, thought Storm. If he ever finds out.

  The herd remained close together along the edge of the Igby River, as was traditional during the conference. Storm could see a few of them from where he sat among the rocks. He was pretty sure that the council ledge gave a good view of the whole area. So that Arcove can count us? Surely not. Charder and the other elders must count them during the migration…unless Arcove’s cats do it before the conference starts.

  That idea made Storm glance around nervously. He’d grown so accustomed to Teek’s scent that he might easily miss the subtle distinction of a different cat.