Hunters Unlucky

by Abigail Hilton

  “Well?” drawled Moro, when the herd had quieted. “Which ferryshaft are you going to give me…or shall I choose?”

  “They choose me.”

  Tollee had promised herself that she would not look, but the words brought her head up anyway. She was far back in the crowd, and the light had grown weak. She did not, at first, recognize the ferryshaft who stepped away from the others and walked calmly towards Moro and the ominous, glowing plants.

  Then she blinked. His grizzled fur was familiar, even at a distance. Pathar. Storm’s old teacher.

  “I have always valued knowledge,” Pathar said, his voice soft, but clear. “What is it you’re hoping to learn from killing me, Moro?”

  Moro’s body language registered displeasure. “A volunteer,” he said icily. “Oh, no. We can’t have that.”

  He turned away from Pathar, but Pathar continued placidly. “I think what you are doing here is unwise. Lishties have goals that you could not possibly understand. Are you trying to wake Groth? I think that is exceedingly foolish.”

  Moro spun around. “Silence!” he snarled. “You will speak only when spoken to.”

  “Why?” asked Pathar. “Will you kill me twice?”

  Moro’s teeth flashed in the dim light, and Tollee shivered. “Maybe.”

  He turned back to the crowd. “It seems I’ve got some choosing to do. Where are those two who were seen talking by the water?”

  Tollee wasn’t sure whom he was addressing, but then a cat on the edge of the crowd behind her called, “They’re over here.”

  To Tollee’s horror, Moro started in her direction. She saw Remy trying to back away, but the ferryshaft weren’t letting her through. They closed up tightly behind her. Everyone looked at the ground. They were pushing each other without meeting anyone’s eyes. Cowards, cowards, cowards! thought Tollee, but she was trying to back away as much as anyone else.

  She looked up and saw Moro right in front of her, his pale eyes gleaming in the light of the rising moon. He’s going to choose me. He’s going to do something horrible to me.

  His eyes fell to Myla, cowering at Tollee’s feet. No, no, no, no…

  “Which shall I take,” he asked. “This foal…or that one?” His head whipped around, and Tollee saw Teedo, trying to crawl between Remy’s front legs. She met her friend’s horrified eyes beneath Moro’s gaze. “Well, be quick,” he said. “I’m giving you a choice. Your foal or hers? Or shall I take both? Come, I haven’t got all night.”

  This is meant to divide us, thought Tollee hopelessly. And it will work.

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came. She tried again. “I—”

  At that moment, there was a commotion on the far side of the crowd. Animals were stirring and muttering. From the trees beyond the clearing, Tollee heard creasia yowls and rally cries. Moro looked around. “What’s going on?” A subordinate came up suddenly and started whispering in his ear.

  Tollee took advantage of his distraction to slip quietly into the animals behind her, who’d begun to mill about. Moro moved back towards the center of the clearing, muttering to his officer. There was more commotion among the herd. Tollee wished she could see what was causing it. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs, and she felt certain that her ordeal was not over. How to get away, how to get away, how to get away…?

  And then she saw them—three ferryshaft slipping quickly through the press, speaking here and there. Tollee caught her breath. Kelsy… Valla? And Sauny!

  Most ferryshaft believed Sauny was dead. Many of the younger ones regarded her as the tragic hero of their attempted rebellion. Rumors that she was alive among the telshees had persisted, but few really believed them. Now, not only was she among them, but she was walking—not limping, not hobbling, but running and walking as smoothly as anyone else.

  “This is very interesting.” Tollee looked back towards the center of the clearing to see Pathar peering into one of the plants’ bowls. They were glowing more strongly now in the dim light. “They’re more active after dark,” he continued. “They don’t like the light, do they?” Pathar caught at a tendril suddenly with his teeth and jerked, tearing part of the plant.

  “Get away from that!” snarled Moro.

  In the same instant, the plant shuddered and the tendril coiled in a clumsy, reflexive fashion. Pathar danced away. “They’re quicker than the ones I’m used to, but not exactly implacable.”

  “Get away from that!” roared Moro again. He was trying to reach Pathar, but the agitated herd was getting in his way. Everyone wanted to see what was happening, and the ripple of excitement that followed Sauny and her companions created even more chaos.

  Several wet and panting creasia were racing around the edges of the herd or trying to push through it. “We’re in pursuit of three rogue ferryshaft!” one shouted. “They just swam over. We think one of them was at Arcove’s council.”

  “Well, they’re here now,” snapped Moro as he shoved past the last of the ferryshaft into the center of the clearing. Pathar had ducked into the stand of plants, but he backed out suddenly as Kos emerged.

  Tollee stared in horrified fascination at the lishty’s nearly transparent skin, green in the light from the surrounding plants. It cocked its head at Pathar. “This one is old and ailing,” it said. “A poor host. Unsuitable.”

  “I know that,” growled Moro. “But we still can’t have him tearing up the ghost plants.” With casual brutality, he lunged forward and crunched through one of Pathar’s front legs. A collective moan went up from the watching ferryshaft, but Pathar didn’t make a sound. He staggered sideways, looking more surprised than hurt, and sat down heavily. Crimson blossomed down his mangled leg and began to pool on the ground in front of him.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” growled Moro.

  He turned back to the ferryshaft herd, his tone brusque again. “Well, you are fortunate this evening! It seems your choice is obvious. Give me the newcomers.”

  The noise in the herd died away. Tollee held her breath. She could no longer see Sauny, Valla, and Kelsy, but she had an idea of where they had vanished into the crowd. She didn’t dare look in that direction. Treace’s creasia were shoving in among the ferryshaft, who parted for them, but remained silent.

  There was a sudden shriek at the far edge of the crowd, and Tollee was jostled by a ripple of shoving animals. She thought, at first, that they’d parted to reveal Sauny, Valla, and Kelsy, but, instead, three of the muddy creasia from the island’s bank lurched into the faint glow from the plants.

  “Ah, here’s some incentive!” said Moro. “Shall I just let them start biting? I think they’d like that.”

  The cub that Tollee had seen earlier opened its mouth like a snake and hissed. Then, horribly, it spoke. “I have been Serka,” it said thickly, as though it was not quite accustomed to its tongue. “This body…is…strange…to us.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” said Moro. “Or perhaps you can try a ferryshaft.”

  The herd was talking. Their voices rose in a frightened babble around Tollee. A few had simply curled up on the ground and buried their faces in their tails.

  “They’re just jellyfish!” shouted a voice. A ferryshaft was bounding over the others, trying to get to the front of the group. Tollee thought, for one moment, that it was Storm—fluid as a deer—and then she hit the ground, and it was Sauny Ela-ferry in the center of the clearing, glaring at Kos. The fur bristled along her spine. “Poisonous jellyfish!” she spat. “You can get inside dead animals and control them, but you’re just jellyfish!”

  Kos hissed at her. “You…” it murmured. “We trusted you.”

  “You lied to me,” said Sauny. “But that’s not important now.”

  Moro was advancing on her, tail twitching. “Is this a good specimen?” he asked Kos. “Young? Strong?”

  “Yesss,” hissed the lishty.

  Tollee looked at the ferryshaft around her. They were transfixed, hardly breathing. Do something!

&n
bsp; “You’re not going to hurt me,” said Sauny, although she was backing away. “My herd won’t let you.”

  “Your herd is a cowardly prey species,” said Moro. “They will stand and watch.”

  Another ferryshaft struggled through the press to stand beside Sauny. Tollee wasn’t surprised to see Valla. Kelsy came out on the other side of the clearing. He was shouting something, although it took Tollee a moment to understand what he was saying at that distance. “Are you going to let this happen?” Tollee heard him say. “It’s now or never, ferryshaft!”

  He was interrupted by a long, lonely sound that rose quavering in the air. Tollee took a moment to recognize that it was a ferryshaft howl—deeper and longer than the sound the curbs made. It took her another moment to realize that Pathar was the one howling. He sat where Moro had left him, although he looked like he was having trouble holding himself up. He’d tilted his head back, and the haunting sound carried over the clearing.

  Far back, on the edge of the crowd, someone answered. Their song created strange harmonies. It didn’t sound like two ferryshaft. It sounded like three or four.

  And then it was three.

  And then it was four.

  And then it was hundreds of hundreds.

  Tollee had never howled with a group before, but it seemed instinctive. It stirred something in her blood—a beast that woke and feared nothing. A beast that sang for blood.

  Moro seemed to sense the change in the herd. Several more ferryshaft had come forward to stand by Sauny, but Moro veered away from them. In two bounds, he reached Pathar, caught him by the throat, and ended his song forever.

  Kos was hissing, and the dead cats were showing their fangs. Tollee heard snarls around the edges of the herd as creasia attacked howling ferryshaft. But it did not matter. The ferryshaft herd had had enough.

  Chapter 19. The Telshee’s Eye

  Storm stood in the cave at the top of the hill on Kuwee Island, panting. In the near-distance, he could hear the rally cries of Treace’s cats. The waxing moon had risen a quarter of the way up the sky, casting sharp-edged shadows. Arcove and Halvery stood beside him in the cave. Below them, creasia were filing up the hill, putting one weary foot in front of the other. Roup had stayed by the edge of the water to count the cats who were still swimming over.

  It was unclear how many they’d lost in the run. Those who couldn’t keep up had simply dropped back and hidden. If they were lucky, Treace’s cats might pass them by in favor of more meaningful conquests. However, Storm had heard the snarls and screams of those who were not lucky. Treace’s cats were closing in, killing the stragglers whenever they found them.

  Storm stopped in the center of the cave and shrugged off the Shable stone. It looked at home here, with the rougher blue crystals jutting from the walls. Arcove and Halvery watched him. Storm could hear a faint rattle in Arcove’s breathing. He didn’t dare ask how he was feeling.

  “Well?” demanded Halvery. “How does it work?”

  “Just a moment,” muttered Storm. He scanned the ceiling of the cave for the strange shape—the painting. As before, it took his mind an instant to sort out the lines. There was the telshee, its enormous white outline sprawling across the ceiling of the cave, its pink tongue, and its one blue eye staring down at him.

  Halvery seemed to make sense of the painting in the same moment. “Ghosts,” he muttered and hunkered down a little. “I don’t remember seeing that before.”

  Arcove looked down the slope at the cats staggering through the trees. “It was there.”

  Storm caught the metal string of the Shable in his teeth and swung the blue stone into the air. He didn’t understand how it was supposed to wedge into the empty socket of the telshee’s eye. The indentation didn’t look deep enough. The Shable struck the ceiling and fell with a clatter. Arcove whipped around. “Don’t break it.”

  Storm felt embarrassed. “I—I’m not exactly sure…”

  Arcove came over and picked up the blue stone in his mouth. He reared up on his hind legs, craning his neck, and he was as tall as Shaw like that. He pressed the Shable stone into the empty socket of the Telshee’s eye and sank back to the floor.

  To Storm’s fascination, the Shable stuck there, suspended, the chain dangling. “It’s lightning stone,” said Arcove. “It’s made from the same rock as this cave. Lightning stone sticks to itself.”

  Before anyone could ask questions, there was a deep creak from the ceiling and also from somewhere underground. The entire section of the ceiling containing the telshee painting dropped gently towards the floor of the cave. Storm, Arcove, and Halvery scrambled out of the way. In the front of the cave, creasia were gathering. They did not speak. They watched.

  A rectangle had opened in the ceiling, and the piece that had fallen formed a ramp up to it. Storm tried to understand. It’s like a jaw, he decided. The piece that opened is the bottom jaw, and the roof of the cave is like the top. The weight of the stone sticking to the bottom was enough to make it open.

  Of course, that means we’ve got to go down its throat.

  Nothing moved in the dark void at the top of the ramp, but Storm thought he could feel a faint, warm breeze. He took this as a positive sign. If air is moving, we won’t suffocate.

  Arcove padded up the ramp. He stopped in the dark opening, sniffing, and then disappeared. A murmur went up from the watching creasia. Storm was certain that many of them did not like the idea of taking refuge in a cave that had been a fortress for ferryshaft and telshees and humans, but never for creasia. However, their king had gone in, and where he went, they would follow. They began to file up the ramp.

  Beside him, Storm heard Halvery give a sigh of relief. “Even if we can’t close it, a few cats could hold off hundreds in that small opening.”

  “I think we can close it,” said Storm. “Didn’t they close it when you laid siege to Kuwee?”

  Halvery hesitated. Everyone had avoided mentioning the siege.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “But they had telshees.”

  Creasia were filing past them—some with cubs in their mouths, exhausted three-year-olds, limping wounded, grim-faced fighters. One of the females stopped beside Halvery. She laid the cub she’d been carrying carefully down between them. It was one of the young ones—less than a year old. Storm saw that it was not moving.

  Halvery nosed at the cub. He licked it, but it did not respond.

  The female licked the top of Halvery’s head. “She’s been cold since the river, Halvery. But I thought you’d want—”

  “Yes,” he said quickly. “I’ll— Yes.”

  He picked up the small body and stalked out of the cave.

  “What will he do with it…with her?” asked Storm.

  The female glanced at him. Storm did not think she would deign to answer, but then she said, “Hide the body. Take her to the ghost wood when this is over…if we live.”

  There’ll be a lot of trips to the Ghost Wood, thought Storm, if we live.

  Off to the south, Storm heard the unnerving wail of hunting creasia. He looked back at the line of cats. Hurry.

  Storm trotted out into the moonlit night and then beneath the boughs of the shadowy trees. Bones loomed up out of the soil ahead of him, gleaming white where the moonlight touched them. Storm felt an uneasy prickling along his spine. The last animals to take refuge here ended badly.

  He’d left Teek with Roup on the edge of the water. Storm had been hurrying ahead to open the cave, but now he felt he should get the cub out of harm’s way. He did not want Teek involved in the fighting if the foremost of Treace’s cats met the rearmost of Arcove’s.

  The rush of incoming creasia had slowed to a trickle by the time Storm found Roup. Only a few heads bobbled on the moonlit ripples. “Are they almost all here?” asked Storm.

  “Almost,” said Roup. He hesitated. “Almost all of those who are coming, anyway.” He was watching the swimming cats and the far shore. Teek lay at his feet, asleep.

  “How ma
ny?” asked Storm.

  “Two hundred and thirty-four adults have swum over.”

  Storm winced. “You lost a lot of the wounded.”

  “Not as many as we would have lost if we’d stayed at the den,” said Roup. He stopped to call to a struggling swimmer who was getting off course. “Here! Come ashore here!” Roup glanced back at Storm. “Do your telshee friends know where we are?”

  Storm licked his lips. He thought about lying, but he didn’t think that would be helpful. “No.”

  “Will they figure it out?”

  “Maybe.”

  Roup considered. Storm expected a reprimand. Instead, Roup said, “If Keesha turns up, I want to talk to him. No matter how angry he is, I want to speak to him.”

  Storm said nothing.

  “What is wrong with Arcove? He’s more than tired; I can tell.”

  When Storm still said nothing, Roup growled. “Charder wouldn’t tell me, either. Do you think everything will resolve in your favor if Arcove dies?”

  “I’m not trying to get him killed,” said Storm.

  “You’re not trying not to get him killed, either.”

  Teek stirred at Roup’s feet. “I want to get Teek back to the cave,” said Storm. He hesitated. “Where’s Charder?” It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen the older ferryshaft in a while.

  Roup turned back towards the far shore. “He’s one of the ones I’m waiting for.”

  “Oh.”

  They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. A few wet and limping cats dragged themselves out of the water and started into the trees, following the scent trail left by their companions. Finally, Roup said, “Did you ask your curb friends about that trap Treace used during the fight? I’ve never seen a curb trap latch onto a creasia like that.”

  Storm shook himself. He had actually asked Eyal before he left. “Highland curbs don’t make traps,” he said slowly, “but they know how traps are constructed. They said…” He hesitated, remembering something Teek had mentioned last summer. “Curbs bite off long tendrils from the…the ghost plants. They put the cut ends in the blood of the species of animal they wish to hunt. Usually, they place them in the belly of a recently killed sheep or deer. The plants soak up the blood and…remember.”