Storm lost sight of them, then. The entire assembly of creasia had flung themselves at each other, and the dusky clearing was full of their struggling bodies. Cries of “treachery!” and “cheating!” filled the air, hurled from both sides. A cat rose up suddenly out of the dusk, wild-eyed, head covered in blood, and made a slap at Storm with splayed claws.
Storm leapt out of the way, but Teek was not so quick. The creasia’s claws went over Teek’s head, but then it lurched down to snap at him with its jaws. Teek screamed, and then Roup’s beta slammed into the strange cat. She landed on its back and crunched down behind its skull.
She raised her head, bloody and bristling. “Go!” she snarled. “Arcove’s den! Go!”
Teek ran and Storm followed. I don’t know how to find Arcove’s den. “Sauny!” he shouted. “Valla!”
“Here!” Storm spotted them running through the twilit trees ahead of him. Kelsy and Charder were with them. They slowed for long enough to let Storm and Teek catch up. “Follow me,” said Charder.
Chapter 12. Exhaustion
Tollee thought, when the stampede began, that some of the youngsters from last fall must have attacked the creasia. There’d been no violence for more than a year, and her first impulse was anger at whoever had started it now. However, as the panicked animals around her became thicker, and Myla started to mew in terror, Tollee realized that something else was happening.
The crowd was suddenly too packed to ignore, and she was forced to run with them. She shouted at those around her, demanding an explanation, but their fragmented responses were confused and made no sense. To her astonishment, Tollee tripped on the fallen body of a creasia. She got a brief glimpse of another, obviously wounded, struggling to rise, and then disappearing under frantic ferryshaft hooves.
She heard a hair-raising wail, followed by snarling—cat sounds, but she didn’t know what they meant. The thunder and shouting of the ferryshaft herd made it difficult to pay attention to other noises, but she caught one noise that she knew—a noise from her childhood that still woke her from sound sleep sometimes at night—the tremolo of yipping curbs. Not one or two, but many curbs.
Tollee felt cold. “Myla!”
“Mother!” Myla was right there at her side, but Tollee dared not take her eyes off the animal in front of her.
“No matter what happens, you stay on your feet. If we get separated, you keep running. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mother,” whimpered Myla.
As though to mock her words, there was a splash ahead of them, someone pushed Tollee so hard from behind that she stumbled and went head-over-heels into the river. She opened her eyes underwater, trying to find the surface, while hooves crashed down all around her. Someone kicked her in the belly, punching the last of the air from her lungs. The current caught her, and then…then someone had her by the back of the neck, and her head broke the surface. Tollee gagged in air, her legs kicking instinctively, swimming with tightly packed animals.
“Mother!” Myla’s frantic voice trilled in her ear. “Are you alright?”
Tollee laughed in spite of herself. “And if you can’t run, you should swim,” she choked. “Did…did Storm teach you that?”
“No, Teek taught me,” panted Myla. “When we were swimming alone one day, and I got scared and went under. He pulled me up like that.”
Of course. Cats have a scruff.
“Do you think he’s alright?” asked Myla.
“I think he’s probably safer than we are right now,” said Tollee, and she almost believed it. What is happening? Are the creasia fighting with each other? With the curbs? With us?
Whatever was happening, it seemed to involve the whole herd. On the far side of the river, they started east into the forest. Tollee finally got a glimpse of what was driving them—creasia, certainly, but also curbs, racing around the edges of the herd. She heard the screams of animals who fell behind—unmistakably ferryshaft sounds. Some of the elders tried to talk to the cats, but this only resulted in savage attacks. Tollee looked for an opportunity to disengage from the stampede, but there was none.
Soon, exhaustion overpowered curiosity. The herd slowed, but the cats and curbs kept nipping at their heels. The ferryshaft had completed their annual migration only the day before, and the whole herd was already tired. Now, they seemed to be headed roughly back towards the lake. Their tormentors allowed them to slow to a pace barely sustainable for the foals. They ran all day without stopping for water or food. Tollee was tremendously proud of Myla. The foal stayed on her feet, though many others fell.
The herd was allowed to rest at evening, and Myla was so limp with exhaustion that Tollee didn’t even consider trying to sneak away. By this time, the elders had given up asking questions. The cats did not speak, not even to each other, within earshot of the ferryshaft.
Tollee and Myla tried to grab a few mouthfuls of grass, but their immediate vicinity was soon picked clean. Tollee tried to catch sight of animals she knew, but those nearby were strangers, and the creasia growled every time anyone stood up or tried to move around.
In the middle of the night, they were roused again and hurried on through the forest. The journey in the dark felt surreal, running on stiff and painful legs, dizzy with thirst. Myla tripped repeatedly, and Tollee had to drag her to her feet. Tollee knew, from her time with Teek, that cats could see better in the dark than could ferryshaft. They were also more alert at night. She did not think escape under these conditions was possible.
By dawn, they’d reached the shores of the lake and were allowed to splash down to the edge to gulp water and tear at the fibrous reeds. It was poor forage, but it filled their bellies. Soon they were hurrying on again, along the edge of the lake, going south, away from ferryshaft territory.
Are they taking us to the southern plains? It seemed like a senseless thing to do, but nothing the creasia had done since the conference made any sense to Tollee. It was clear to her now that the ferryshaft were being herded by a relatively small number of cats—perhaps a dozen, aided by an indeterminate number of curbs.
We could get away, she thought. If we made an organized effort. But the cats wouldn’t let them talk to each other, and exhaustion was a powerful deterrent.
We’re too tired and too cowardly. Tollee considered the very real possibility that she would never see Storm or her home plains again. I don’t want my daughter to lose her mother the way I did—seeing her eaten alive by curbs.
Chelby Lake contained a variety of small islands—many undoubtedly without actual soil. At evening, the creasia broke their silence for the first time and began ordering the ferryshaft into the lake, insisting that they swim to one of these small islands. Tollee was relieved to see the animals at the front of the group struggling out of the water. The foliage came down right to the edge of the island and she had thought, for a few horrified moments, that they were to be stranded, clinging to tree limbs in the middle of the lake.
Tollee could see that Myla was at the end of her strength. She had to drag her foal out of the water and through the weeds into the trees, where the herd was shaking itself off and getting its collective breath. Looking back, Tollee saw that the curbs and creasia lined the shore, but they had not swum across. In spite of everything, she felt a moment of immense relief. Ferryshaft were calling to each other, daring to raise their voices to locate their families and friends.
Tollee lay down beside Myla. The foal dropped her head on her hooves and lay insensible while the herd milled around them. Amid the chaos, Tollee saw other mothers and foals. She saw lone foals, too—some calling, some huddled still and silent. The herd was too exhausted to sort itself out properly, and most animals lay down as soon as they’d had enough water to take the edge off their thirst. Tollee was asleep before her head quite touched the ground.
* * * *
Arcove’s den was a warren of packed-earth caves among the roots of enormous, ancient trees that twisted among boulders. Storm was surprised and impressed b
y the hot springs that warmed and humidified the air. They sent up tendrils of pearly steam that created hazy curtains wherever the warmer water met colder air or other streams. Storm smelled pine and the peculiar odor of the springs. If not for the sounds of fighting in the distance and the nearer moans of wounded animals, it would have been a delightful place.
Sauny was impressed, too. “This is where they live?” she whispered.
Charder huffed over his shoulder. “Did you think creasia kings would live somewhere unpleasant?” After a moment, he added, “There are hot springs like this in the boulder mazes south of Leeshwood, in territory where ferryshaft used to roam.”
They were challenged on their way in, but Charder came boldly to the front of the group and told the sentries who they were and why they were here. Arcove’s creasia seemed suspicious, but ultimately more concerned about other cats than about ferryshaft. When they reached the main cave, a large, nut-brown female with dark points on her paws and nose came out to meet them. She seemed to know Charder, and she directed them all to the back of the main cave.
“Stay here,” she said. “I cannot guarantee your safety anywhere else.”
“Nadine!” someone bellowed. Not far away in the night, cats were screaming. Storm couldn’t tell whether it was a threat or a sound of agony.
Nadine whirled away.
“That’s Arcove’s mate,” said Charder quietly, “the highest ranking, the den mother. We can probably trust her.”
“Storm…” whispered Teek, and Storm looked around to see several dozen anxious faces peering at them out of the shadows. He almost laughed.
She’s put us with the cubs. That’s a strange turn-around. Storm was fairly certain that Arcove’s mate was old enough to have seen cubs killed by ferryshaft.
A couple of them looked to be about Teek’s age. Most were a little older, and there was a small, fluffy pile of those who were a year younger.
A big cub with night-black fur approached, stiff-legged, watching Teek. Teek backed up against Storm, bristling. Most of the cubs seemed cowed by the awful noises coming from the forest and the agitation of their mothers. Wounded were beginning to trickle in, and some had truly horrific injuries. Storm didn’t see any cats that he recognized, although it was difficult to tell in the shifting shadows. He wanted to ask someone about Arcove, but all the creasia seemed busy.
Sauny and Valla had lain down side-by-side, watchful, but willing to rest. Charder had lain down and put his head on his hooves as well. Kelsy seemed more restless. He paced. Storm fell asleep, listening to the back and forth clip-clop of Kelsy’s hooves.
Chapter 13. The Next Morning
Storm woke, disoriented and thirsty. Someone nearby was keening. The chilly air was rank with the smell of blood and offal. Storm raised his head, blinking in the pre-dawn light. He could see the confused shapes of dozens of creasia curled or sprawled on the floor of the cave. Sauny and Valla were still sleeping. Charder and Kelsy had gone. Teek was curled up against Storm. Storm managed, gingerly, to extract himself without waking the cub.
Most of the other cubs had left the back wall of the cave. Storm caught sight of some of them as he picked his way around the sleeping creasia. The keening was coming from the far side of the cave, where a cub nuzzled desperately at the unmoving form of a female.
As Storm made his way towards the entrance, he spotted others who would never rise again. Some were clearly sleeping, exhausted, but here and there Storm saw the unnatural stillness of death. Cats lay with their innards oozing out of gaping belly wounds, their blood thick and sticky on the cave floor, open eyes glazing. Some had all-but-lost legs. Some had died convulsing in their own vomit, and they lay in twisted shapes among their sleeping companions.
The bodies continued outside. Storm estimated that over two hundred creasia were sleeping in and around the caves. He tried to count them, but kept losing track. I can’t tell how many are alive, anyway.
The first creasia Storm recognized was Halvery. He was lying beside the entrance, his fur stiff with blood, but clearly alive. He looked at Storm balefully in the wan light.
Storm hesitated. “How many did you lose?” he asked softly.
“What’s it to you?” snapped Halvery, his voice rough with weariness.
Storm did not speak or move for a moment.
Finally, Halvery muttered. “This is why kings and challengers fight. One fight. Two cats. In order to avoid…all of this.” The last words came out in a whisper, and he laid his head back down on his paws.
Storm inched around him and kept going. He took a drink at one of the streams, though it seemed strange to be drinking warm water. It had an odd taste, but he’d seen creasia drinking from it the night before, so he felt safe. Storm’s stomach rumbled, and he realized that it had been two days since he’d eaten.
On the edge of the hot spring, in a little bend of the stream, Storm finally found Arcove. He thought that it was an odd place to sleep, although the caves were certainly crowded. The female from the night before, Nadine, was lying between Arcove and the other animals, fast asleep. Roup lay half curled around Arcove with his head draped over Arcove’s back. He opened his eyes as Storm approached. Storm saw that Arcove was shivering. He was lying so close to the hot water that steam was condensing on his whiskers, and yet he was shivering as though he’d been lying in snow.
Roup got up, awkwardly, and Storm saw that he’d been raked from nose to tail by claws. The bloody tracks were stark against his pale fur. Storm couldn’t tell how badly Arcove might be wounded from the fight. His black fur showed nothing. Storm suspected that the worst wounds were invisible.
“Arcove?” whispered Storm.
Arcove’s eyes opened to slits. Storm didn’t think he’d been asleep. He did not look at Storm, but stared blankly into the river. “What do you want?” His voice was so low that Storm had to strain to hear.
Storm sat down on the riverbank. He glanced at Roup, but Roup said nothing.
“You should go find your herd,” said Arcove, his voice still whisper-soft. “The advice Shaw gave you was…accurate.”
Storm didn’t know what to say. He was saved from this dilemma by the sound of a not-so-distant ululating yip. Roup jerked up and looked around, but Arcove didn’t even raise his head. Storm suspected that Roup was thinking of hundreds of lowland curbs charging into their sleeping company. Before Roup could sound an alarm, Storm said, “Wait.” He listened hard. “That’s not lowland curbs.” He couldn’t help but smile. “That’s highland curbs. They’re calling me.”
Storm backed away from Arcove, Roup, and Nadine. He trotted west along the river until he found a spot narrow enough to leap across. The sky had brightened into dawn, but the sun had not risen yet over the cliffs when Storm found Eyal and his pack. He was not surprised to find Sauny and Valla already talking to them. He was delighted to see that they’d killed a pair of sheep, and everyone had obviously eaten their fill. Storm sniffed noses with Eyal and then tore into the food. He wished he’d brought Teek and made a mental note to take some back to him.
“Rumors are flying about you, my friend,” said Eyal while Storm ate.
“Aren’t they always,” mumbled Storm around a mouthful of liver. “How are your puppies?”
Eyal grinned. “See for yourself.”
Storm raised his head. Looking more closely, he saw that the pack included animals he did not recognize—a little lankier than their elders, but just as tall. “They grew fast!” exclaimed Storm.
Eyal beamed. “We have five new pack members. We lost two, but such is the way of things. We have you to thank for our safety over the winter, and we have not forgotten. We heard that you might be in some trouble.”
Storm sighed. “The creasia are in trouble.”
Eyal peered at him. “So I gathered. Why do you not leave them to their fate? Last we spoke, you seemed anxious to see Arcove feeding the vultures.”
Storm looked at the ground. He felt tired of repeating the events of t
he last few days. Every time he thought about them, he came to a different conclusion. He glanced at Sauny. She was wearing the Shable this morning. The smooth, blue stone with its black pupil gleamed amid the red-gold fur of her chest like a third eye. “They’re very brave,” she offered.
“Creasia are brave,” agreed Eyal. “It is a trait that curbs admire. However, they are not good at making friends among other talking animals. If you help them, they may not reciprocate later.”
“Arcove keeps his promises,” said Sauny.
Storm was surprised. Little sister, you have been growing up this summer. Maybe I have, too.
“And has Arcove made you any promises?” asked Eyal.
Good point.
“No,” said Sauny.
“The lowland curbs helped to drive my herd somewhere into the forest for Treace,” said Storm aloud. “We need to go after them soon. Can you help us with that?”
“That I will do gladly,” said Eyal.
A curb began to growl suddenly, and Eyal’s ears flattened. In the same instant, Storm caught the scent of brine and a smell he associated with darkness and deep caves. A moment later, he saw Keesha’s enormous form gliding through the forest like water pouring down a hill. Seeing Keesha outside of Syriot was even more alarming than seeing him in it. He carried his head at half the height of the average tree, and yet he moved with the speed of a summer snake. Shaw was with him, as well as half a dozen other telshees that Storm didn’t recognize. The curbs stopped growling, but they looked uneasy, in spite of all the time they’d spent on the borders of Syriot.
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