Roup stopped talking abruptly. Arcove was leaning in the mouth of the passage to the upper level. He looked like he’d dragged himself there, mostly with the aid of the wall. Everyone was staring at him, but he was looking only at Roup. In the perfect silence, he said, “What are you talking about?”
“My cub-hood,” said Roup.
“It sounded like mine.”
“Hard to talk about one and not the other.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“If you will not explain yourself,” said Roup, “then I will.”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“I disagree.”
Arcove looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. He pushed himself off the wall and walked with only a slight weave across the floor to Roup, where he collapsed, as though he’d just swum the Igby in flood. “Don’t make excuses for me,” he said in a low voice. “Please.”
Roup looked down at him. “Since the day we met, you’ve stood between me and the whole world, Arcove. My turn.”
Arcove dropped his head on his paws with a defeated expression.
Trust me, thought Roup. I am not telling your secrets to hurt you.
“It may sound strange,” continued Roup, “but none of this stopped Coden and I from meeting once or twice a year—usually at Turis Rock. Sometimes we just spent a day talking and hunting, but occasionally we made long excursions. Arcove usually came with us. One summer, we went all the way to the Southern Mountains. Coden and Arcove would both say later that they never got along, but it wasn’t true. They had some friendly rivalry, but mostly they got along fine.”
Keesha drew a long breath. “That didn’t stop you from betraying Coden when it was time to choose sides.”
Roup considered. “I suppose I did not think that Coden would choose sides. He’d left Charder’s herd by then. He and his mate were rogues.
“When we started to engage the ferryshaft herds in earnest, I told Arcove everything I could think of. Their social and migratory patterns, their hiding places, the way they lived, the personalities of their leaders. These days, the ferryshaft have no secrets, but back then, there were many things about them that creasia didn’t know or understand.
“But Coden was…not like anyone else.” Roup struggled. He didn’t know how to say the next part. “Maybe there was something wrong with him. Or maybe it was something right. He wanted to roam from the Great Mountain to the seas beyond the Southern Mountains. He wanted to learn to speak to the ely-ary and swim to distant shores with telshees. He wanted to unravel the secrets of the humans and drink the poison waters of Groth and dream the future. To me, most of the other ferryshaft seemed like bullies and cowards, but Coden…”
Roup shook his head. “I saw Coden kill a shark once. It was trapped in a tide pool—probably chasing a seal—and Coden just waded in and went after it. I kept shouting at him to get out of the water, but he just laughed the whole time.”
“Did he kill it?” asked Halvery in wonder.
“Yes!” exclaimed Roup. “And he didn’t do it to show off. I’m sure he would have done it even if nobody had been around—just to prove to himself that he could. When he was in those moods, it was like nothing could touch him. He thought he could do anything, and often he did. I suppose that’s why the herds chose him as their war-time king, but I never saw it coming. I can’t tell you how sick I felt when I found out. I suppose Coden was feeling invincible that day.”
Arcove spoke at last, his voice a raspy rumble near Roup’s feet. “He paid for those highs on the other side.”
“Yes,” Roup admitted. “When he was down…it was like the whole world turned to chalk and ash.”
Arcove’s tail lashed. “You couldn’t reason with him very well on either end.”
Roup wanted to argue, to defend a dead friend. No, he thought, if you’re going to tell it, tell it straight. Tell it all. “You’re right, but he was usually somewhere in the middle.”
“Usually, he was on the way to one end or the other,” muttered Arcove. He raised his head and looked at Roup with a fierce, desperate focus. “Do you want me to say he was charming? Of course he was. Coden could convince you the sky was green as long as he was talking…when he was up.” Arcove’s eyes flicked to Storm. “He was also the sort of person who would decide, out of nowhere, that he must have a dip in the sea this very instant. Somehow, it would all turn into a grand adventure.”
Roup smiled.
“So, yes,” continued Arcove, “Coden was charming and likeable.” He looked at Keesha, and his voice hardened. “He was also completely intractable when it came to everything I cared about. Coden would have had us agree to stop fighting, simply on the guarantee of his goodwill. Even if he had been able to enforce his decisions on all the herds—which I doubt—anyone who knew him knew that he would not lead the ferryshaft for the rest of his life. Coden would have won their war for them, secured that victory, then gotten bored and gone off to ghosts-know-where with you! But not before he put the creasia at an immense disadvantage.”
Don’t fight, thought Roup. Just tell it. “This is my story,” he began, but Arcove interrupted, his eyes locked on Keesha.
“Coden would not agree to any terms that limited ferryshaft breeding or numbers, nor would he agree to anything that limited their range. If I had capitulated to his terms, I would have been right back where I started in ten years or less—outnumbered and surrounded.” Arcove’s voice rose in a snarl. “I was not going to be outnumbered and surrounded again. Ever. Also, I doubted what worked for me the first time would work again. The ferryshaft would have been more wary and certainly under a less friendly leader, as Coden would have gone off to chase butterflies by then!
“So I did what I do best: I fought. And after I killed a few of his friends, Coden wasn’t interested in talking anymore. I would have offered him the same terms right up until the end, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Arcove stopped talking. The silence in the cave felt oppressive. “Are you finished?” asked Roup.
Arcove sank back down and put his head on his paws. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
Keesha spoke. His voice had an uncertainty that Roup had never heard there before. “When you said…that I got Coden killed…”
“Once you entered the war, Coden didn’t think he could lose,” whispered Arcove. “On Kuwee…he would have surrendered. I know he would have. He wasn’t that crazy. If you had stayed out of it, we could have come to some agreement. But he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t compromise, because he thought—”
“I heard you,” said Keesha. “Why didn’t I hear any of this at the time?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” said Roup. “You thought you came to the parlay where we tried to come to terms on Kuwee. But you didn’t. The real parlay happened the night before. Coden met with Arcove and me. We hadn’t spoken in two years, but we’d never been anything but friendly face-to-face. Coden and I had never spoken about the war or the antagonism between the ferryshaft and the creasia. I know that seems strange, but we just didn’t talk about it. When we were together, we talked of other things. I was certain that, if we just sat down and addressed the issues, we could sort everything out. Arcove didn’t think so, but he was willing to let me try.
“So we talked, and I learned something that night. I learned that Coden didn’t see other creasia in the same way that he saw me. In his mind, I was an honorary ferryshaft. He wasn’t willing to extend to other creasia the same trust or kindness that he extended to me. Arcove was right. Coden would not compromise, and his terms would have put us at the mercy of ferryshaft and telshees for the foreseeable future. He believed that, with Syra-lay on his side, he did not need to make compromises.
“For the first time in our lives, Coden and I quarreled. We almost fought. Arcove didn’t say a word, just got between us when we almost leapt at each other. I left that meeting knowing that we had to win or die. There would be no mercy and no compromises. I told my
self that my friend had changed, that the other ferryshaft had poisoned his mind. I reminded myself of every terrible thing they had done to me as a cub, and I did not want my cubs to grow up with creatures like that hunting them. When we met to parlay the next day, it was merely a formality. Coden and Arcove snarled threats at each other, and I kept my mouth shut.”
Roup hesitated. Tell it straight. Tell it all. “Coden and I used to meet sometimes at the first full moon of fall. I didn’t go to the meeting. I didn’t think he would. The ferryshaft were all-but trapped in caves on the southern plains, fighting for their lives. A few days later, I did go to the meeting place…and his scent was there.” Roup swallowed. “I will wonder until the day I die what he wanted to say to me…whether it would have changed things. We never spoke again, though.”
Roup looked at Keesha. “If you need to blame someone for what happened on Kuwee, for the death of your friend, for the way the war turned out, blame me.” Roup tried to put all of the pain and frustration he felt into his voice. “Coden was our friend, too, Keesha.”
Roup stopped talking, and the room was utterly silent. Somewhere below them, in the maze of little rooms, Roup heard cubs calling to each other in play. Stones rattled softly as some part of the ruin settled.
Finally, Keesha said, “The Shable…”
Roup glanced down at Arcove. “No one knows this part. No one.”
“I can guess,” said Arcove quietly.
Then you haven’t held it against me. “After I watched two friends fight to the death in the place where we used to meet and play,” said Roup, “I found the Shable in an old food cache behind a waterfall. It was another place where Coden and I had sometimes met. He’d left it there for me.”
Keesha looked puzzled. “Why?”
Roup licked his lips. “Perhaps he just considered me the least dangerous option, since he couldn’t get it to either the telshees or the ferryshaft. However, he could have thrown it into a river. He could have taken it to Turis and tossed it into the sea. He didn’t.
“I think it was his way of…of saying that he still trusted me…of making peace…of saying good-bye. But it felt like the last devastating evidence of my failure—proof that he would have listened if I had just found the right words.”
Roup paused, but no one spoke. “I wanted a piece of him to take to the Ghost Wood,” he continued. “I searched the beach for days, looking for any scrap of bone or fur, but there was nothing. Finally…I took the Shable.”
“Ahhh,” murmured Keesha. “Of course.”
“It was the closest thing to a piece of him that I had,” said Roup. “I took it to the Ghost Wood and flung it as far as I could. I screamed his name into the wind, and then…I went home. I lived as peacefully as I knew how. I did not go on raids or kill ferryshaft, but I understand why Arcove thinks he has to. It is hard for us to trust ferryshaft, and their populations outstrip ours very rapidly.”
Charder spoke. His voice sounded tired. “Our females do not quicken if they do not get enough to eat in the fall. That is how our populations are normally limited, but I cannot produce this effect artificially. Bitterleaf just makes us sick. Also, the herd I inherited was not my herd. Most of my herd was dead. Arcove put me in charge of the shattered remnants of a dozen herds. They did not choose me. They resented me a great deal at first. I tried, with the sullen assistance of the elders, to regulate our own numbers for two years, but it didn’t work. Attempts to enforce breeding rights were tearing the herd apart. We settled on the creasia cull after the elders would not agree to anything else.”
Arcove opened his eyes. He tried to say something, but it came out slurred. Roup noticed that a quivering had started in his hindquarters. “It’s not you, Charder,” Arcove managed. “It’s not…can’t…”
“What he’s trying to say,” said Roup to Charder, “is that he’s done his best not to make a friend of you, because he always thought he would have to kill you. But somehow, he went and made a friend of you anyway. He was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
Arcove glared at him. “That…is not…what I—”
“No, but it’s what you meant.” Roup’s chest felt tight; the blood pounded in his ears. “Arcove?”
Arcove looked like he was having trouble breathing. The quivering had increased to a full-body shudder. Roup looked at Keesha. He wanted to scream. “What’s wrong with him? I know it has something to do with you!”
Arcove’s back legs kicked in a convulsive, involuntary manner, and he flopped onto his side, breathing in agonized gasps. His eyes were dilated, fixed and staring. Roup crouched beside him, looking back and forth frantically. He couldn’t see any wound, nothing to explain Arcove’s obvious distress. He felt, more than saw, Keesha’s presence, hovering over and behind him.
Roup laid his head down against Arcove’s, desperate to offer comfort. Arcove gasped against his ear. “You…were…right,” he managed. “This is…better. Better end to the story. Sorry for… Sorry.” He let out a long breath and did not take another.
Chapter 23. Something New
“Listen to us, ferryshaft!” shouted Sauny. “We have something to say to you!”
The herd—what was left of it—had gathered around Sauny, Kelsy, and Valla. Valla had counted over eight hundred animals, approximately six hundred of which were adults or older foals. She did not know how many they’d started with, but nearly everyone she spoke to reported a friend or family member missing. Did we lose a hundred? Two hundred? More?
“This is a great day for the herd,” Kelsy began. “We are free, ferryshaft! For the first time in my life, we are free.”
A cheer went up, and several of the younger ferryshaft howled. However, someone called a question immediately, “Where is Storm? He should be here! Where is Vearil? Where is the Doom of Cats?”
“Storm is on Kuwee Island,” said Sauny, raising her voice to carry over the babble, “with Arcove’s creasia.”
Shocked silence followed.
Kelsy spoke quickly. “Friends, I have a confession to make. As some of you know, I have attended creasia conferences this past season. I have listened to Arcove’s plans, and I have made compromises. I made compromises to prevent war, to prevent what happened when we attacked the creasia by the lake last year. I lost a beloved mate that day, and I did not ever want to do that again. My friends, I was afraid—afraid of war, of loss, of death. So I made compromises.”
“We all did!” shouted someone. “But that’s over! No more compromises!”
“No more compromises!” screamed another voice. “Death to cats! Death to curbs!”
“Highland curbs saved your lives last night!” shot Sauny. “Some of them died to set you free.”
A confused murmuring broke out in the herd.
“I made compromises to prevent war,” continued Kelsy, “but war came anyway. Hiding did not keep me safe, and it will not keep you safe. It will only make you the victor’s trophy. You need to take back control of your lives, ferryshaft. You are not a prey species. You are not deer or sheep. You are valuable allies to the other intelligent species of Lidian. You need to show them that.”
Silence. Some of them see where he’s going and don’t like it, thought Valla. The rest are just confused.
“One of Arcove’s officers, a cat named Treace, has started a war among the creasia,” continued Kelsy.
“Good!” shouted someone. “The more they fight, the more they’ll kill each other!”
“It was Treace’s cats who drove you to that island!” called Kelsy, struggling to be heard over the muttering of the crowd. “They want you as food animals or experiments. They do not view you as an intelligent species at all.”
A big male pushed his way to the front of the group. Valla saw, with a start, that it was Kelsy’s father, Sedaron—a formidable elder, who was at least as old as Charder. “I hope you are not suggesting, Kelsy,” he said icily, “that we take sides in a creasia conflict. We have suffered under Arcove’s paws for sixteen years.
If the death that he so richly deserves is about to overtake him, then we should celebrate, for it is long overdue.”
* * * *
Shaw expected, right up to the last, that Arcove would ask for help. Obviously, Keesha thought so, too. When Arcove stopped moving, Keesha sat staring for a full breath, before he snarled, “Well, of all the…!” And in the same moment, his hum filled the cavern. He pushed Roup out of the way, and his song swelled in all its terrifying intensity. Keesha made a circle around Arcove’s body, all the while muttering. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn...!”
It’s too late, thought Shaw. You’ve waited too long. Not even you can bring someone back twice.
And then Arcove twitched.
* * * *
The ferryshaft herd was buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps. “We will not fight for creasia!” someone shouted. “Killers! Hunters! Enemies! Predators! They do not deserve our help! They do not deserve our mercy!”
“Listen to me!” bellowed Kelsy. “Three generations ago, we hunted them—”
“As it should be,” cut in an elder.
Kelsy glared at her. “We hunted them, and they hunted us, and so it has gone back and back. The only way this stops is if someone gives mercy to someone who does not deserve it.”
“Well, let them make the first move,” snapped Sedaron. “You are young, Kelsy. You are trying all the things that have been tried before. None of them work. We have our freedom, and the cats are distracted and off balance.”
“Really?” growled Kelsy. Valla could see that he was smarting from the dismissive tone. “Has mercy been tried, father? I’ve never heard about it.”
Sedaron did not answer. He trotted up beside Kelsy and Sauny and interposed his larger body between the two youngsters and the rest of the herd. “Charder is dead or lost, friends. He was Arcove’s plaything in any case. Follow me over the cliffs to the southern plains, and we will make a new life for ourselves.” His voice sank to an ominous growl. “In time, we will hunt creasia again.”
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