“I won’t argue with you about it,” continued Halvery. “I won’t challenge her, but things will go more smoothly if she’s got a high-ranking mate. Otherwise, I predict a lot of fights. Besides, do you really think she likes lying down for the most low-ranking males in your clutter?”
Roup considered. “I…hadn’t really thought about it,” he admitted.
“Well, think about it now,” said Halvery. “Because we’ve got some places on the council to fill. Sharmel is alive, and his clutter may allow him to leave command gracefully. They’re all about his age, and they’ve served with him for a long time. But I don’t think he’ll be back to the council. With Treace and Ariand gone, that leaves you and me. And we both know how well that will turn out…sir.”
Roup snickered. “Arcove will just sit around and watch us argue.”
Halvery’s expression changed. “Is Arcove well? I thought he was better after Keesha did…whatever it was that he did. But Arcove was looking unsteady when I saw him earlier this evening.”
Anxiety blossomed again in the back of Roup’s mind. “Where is he?”
“I think he went off to talk to Keesha,” said Halvery.
Roup settled back down. “That will probably be alright, then.”
Chapter 28. Paint You In
“So, the acriss is awake?” asked Arcove.
Keesha grunted. They were moving along the wilder, eastern edge of the island in the light of the hunter’s moon—full and golden as it rose over the trees. This was the spot where the lishties had come ashore. Arcove was scanning the mud for fresh prints. He was also trying to ignore the growing sense of nausea and dizziness. This is the last time, he told himself.
“Sauny told me that the lishties offered her what they apparently offered Moro,” said Arcove. “Except she declined.”
Keesha growled. “She should have told me.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a disinterested party,” said Arcove. “How long have they been colonizing your species? A hundred years? A thousand? Before—?”
“Long before cats learned to talk,” snapped Keesha.
“Before telshees learned to talk?” asked Arcove. He was enjoying this. The knowledge that he was about to die was strangely freeing.
Keesha stopped moving. He was silent a moment. At last, he said, “We do not know. I personally believe that telshees and acriss woke together—that we developed our songs as a defense against lishties from the beginning. You have no idea how terrible it is to be confronted with an alien intelligence that has the body of your friend and possesses all of her most intimate memories and yet is not your friend.”
“How do you know that?” asked Arcove. “How do you know that they don’t really bring animals back to life?”
“You would know if you ever spoke to one wearing the skin of your loved one,” said Keesha. “They read memories like writing on a wall, but it is not the same. They feel nothing. They do not always understand what they are remembering.”
“Sauny’s beta…” Arcove searched for her name. “Valla. She seemed to think that the earliest writing on your walls came from lishties, not telshees.”
“That may be,” said Keesha carefully. “They are obsessed with memories and the preservation of memories. Memories are all that they are.”
“So this skill that makes you feel so superior was learned from your parasites?”
Keesha turned towards him very slowly. Arcove decided that he might have pushed things too far. “How is Shaw?”
Keesha’s blue glare pinned him to the sand for a moment. Finally, he said. “She is weak, but alive.”
“She’s not going to turn into a lishty?” asked Arcove.
“No,” said Keesha. He cocked his head. “This beta of Treace’s…Moro. Was he insane?”
Arcove looked at the water. “I don’t know. I almost killed him two years ago when he started experimenting with traps. I wish I had.”
“He seems to have introduced acriss—lishty larva—into ghost plants. Then he drowned creasia cubs in the bowls and managed to produce four-legged lishties. If acriss is ever introduced into the larger ghost wood, lishties might gain control of all those plants. Or they might even wake the wood. This seems like an extremely reckless and foolish thing to do.”
“But clever,” said Arcove, “for a tiny predator brain.”
“Are you trying to speed your demise?”
Arcove ignored him. “I also heard a rumor that your eggs don’t hatch without acriss, so you can’t really get rid of the lishties without getting rid of yourselves.”
Keesha yawned—a gesture that showed all his teeth and was certainly meant to be more threatening than calming. “I don’t know what makes you think you can ask all the questions. I would like to hear about this trip to the Southern Mountains that you took with Coden and Roup.”
Arcove was surprised. “It was a long time ago.” He realized a moment later how silly that must sound to a telshee. “A long time ago to me.”
“So, yesterday as far as I’m concerned.”
Arcove hesitated. “It was early summer. I was eight.”
“You did this after you were ruling Leeshwood?”
“Well…yes. We were only gone for about fifteen days. Coden wanted to get all the way up into the mountains and find the secret valley where the highland curbs kept their queen. But, we…” Arcove realized that Keesha had been moving out into the water as he talked and Arcove had followed. They were still standing in the shallows, but it was about to get deep.
You and I have stood in this lake before. Arcove swallowed. He tried to take another step, but his paws were shaking.
“Continue,” said Keesha.
“I— We went along the cliffs until—” He could not find breath to speak. Are you going to hold me under the water again?
Keesha’s head was suddenly right beside his. “I am trying to distract you. It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“You don’t h-have to distract me,” said Arcove. He hated himself for trembling, but at least he had control of his voice. Mostly. “I’m not going to run. Just t-tell me what you want me to do.”
“Come here,” said Keesha and settled back into the water.
Arcove had to paddle the last little distance. He was afraid that Keesha would catch him in his coils as he had in the tide pool, but Keesha only brought a coil up under his forepaws. Arcove’s teeth started to chatter in the cold water. “You can t-t-tell them I was hurt in the avalanche, and Storm asked you to help me, but then my injuries became too g-g-great—”
“Will you stop trying to control everything?” snapped Keesha. “Even after you’re dead, you think you can control what’s said? What’s believed? Trust that I am not a fool.”
Arcove bowed his head in Keesha’s pale fur. He felt acutely vulnerable without solid ground under his back legs.
Keesha sighed. “I am trying to make this easier.”
“For who?” asked Arcove.
“I have more control in the water.”
“You could just break my neck,” said Arcove and his voice sounded small in his ears.
And then the humming started. Arcove had heard the song enough by now to have a sense of its shape. He knew that he had heard the beginning and middle, but never the end. Some detached part of his mind also understood that the song was beautiful and that it had been made specifically for him. It would never speak to anyone in the way that it spoke to him.
He understood this, even though the pain was blinding. It had an exquisite edge this time—like a mouthful of honey with something sharp in the center. The sharpness became a claw that sliced all the way through him. The rat chewed and chewed, and every time he thought he’d gotten used to the pain, it changed in pitch or character and became fresh agony again. He realized that he was whimpering and then screaming. He thought, distantly, that Keesha should drown him to keep the others from hearing.
And then it was over.
Arcove opened his eyes. He blinked. “I thought,�
�� he said and had to clear his raw throat. “I thought you said it would kill me.”
He raised his head and saw that Keesha was looking at him with an expression of resigned irritation. “I made a different ending.”
“Oh,” was all Arcove could think to say.
Keesha huffed. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to compose a song that ends that badly? Sixteen years! And now I don’t even get to sing it!”
Arcove thought for a moment. “I am sorry for your loss of time.”
“You could show it by taking your claws out of me.”
Arcove realized that, once again, he’d latched onto Keesha’s coil. He retracted his claws and felt embarrassed. “You could have stopped me from doing that.”
Keesha said nothing.
Arcove pushed away from the telshee. He felt immediately disoriented and slipped under the water. Keesha scooped him out before he could start to panic and set him in the shallows. Arcove tried to walk again and collapsed. “You may be a bit sore,” said Keesha. He paused. “I wasn’t actually sure that would work.”
“Are you sure that it did work?” complained Arcove.
“Oh, yes,” said Keesha, who seemed to be enjoying watching his attempts to stand. “If it hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
Arcove reached the bank and tried to lie down in a more dignified fashion. “I won’t get sick again?”
“No.”
Arcove knew that he should feel elated, but instead, he felt deep apprehension. “What do you want?”
“You suspect me of ulterior motives?” asked Keesha with a shark’s grin. “If I’d wanted you on a short leash, I would not have sung you the rest of the song.”
“I will not live on any kind of a leash,” whispered Arcove.
“You say that, but you can barely stand.”
Arcove shut his eyes. “Are we under telshee law?”
“That depends.” Keesha made a circle around Arcove with his body. He brought his head down so that he could look Arcove in the face. “These are my conditions. You will let me or one of my representatives attend your council. You will teach the creasia to read and write, so that they may record and remember their past and not repeat their mistakes. You will appoint your successor instead of being killed by him…or her. Most cats capable of killing their king are not wise enough to rule. The creasia got very lucky with you. Historically, they have not been so fortunate, and there is no reason to think they will be again.”
Arcove stared at him. Emotions collided with each other in his head. He had no idea how to respond.
“You will stop trying to control the ferryshaft,” continued Keesha. “You will allow them to return to their natural numbers, which far exceed the natural numbers of creasia.”
Arcove did find his voice at that, but Keesha talked over him. “However, I will stand as mutual ally between your two species. I will send telshees to your aid if they attack you. I will not let them kill your cubs.”
Arcove was rendered speechless again.
Keesha’s voice softened. “Will you allow that? Will you accept counsel from someone older and wiser than yourself?”
Arcove swallowed. “I—” Careful. This may be a trap. But, if so, he couldn’t see it. At last, he said, in a voice that was almost steady, “Storm’s cub, Teek, was trying to…to draw us into the pictures…”
Keesha cocked his head.
Arcove tried again. “The pictures in the human caves…with the talking animals all together…and the creasia off in a corner by themselves... Teek was going around with a rock, trying to scratch in an image of a creasia.” Arcove stopped. He did not look at Keesha.
“I will paint you into the picture,” said Keesha softly, “if you will let me.”
Arcove did not have words to say what he wanted to say. At last, he dropped his head, rested his chin on the ground, and tucked his nose under the edge of Keesha’s coil. It was a submissive gesture—a very creasia thing to do. However, Keesha seemed to understand. Arcove felt Keesha’s great tongue brush the top of his head. “Peace, Arcove Ela-creasia. Peace between you and me and, I hope, between the creatures of Lidian.”
Keesha drew back and nosed Arcove up onto his forepaws. “Now, let’s see if you can walk. You were making some alarming noises earlier. We should go back up to the cave and make sure they’re not panicking.”
“You should have kept me quiet,” muttered Arcove.
“Nonsense,” said Keesha. “If I’d clamped down on you, you would have died of pure fright.”
Arcove tried getting to his feet again and found that he could manage it. “Do you still want to hear about the trip that Roup and Coden and I made to the Southern Mountains?”
“Yes,” said Keesha. He hesitated. “If you want to tell me.”
“I do,” said Arcove and meant it.
Epilogue: Two Years Later
“That’s my name?” Arcove sniffed at the scratch marks on the wall of the shallow cave. They were so scuffed that many were illegible, especially in the weak morning sunlight, but Charder could make out a word here and there.
“Yes. I believe it says that a council has been called to elect a ferryshaft king, who will unite the herds in order to repel a vicious new enemy, Arcove Ela-creasia.” Charder couldn’t actually read all of the scuffed words. He didn’t have to. He remembered when they’d been written. “The war scattered the ferryshaft who used to keep these records. They did it for generations, but they’re all dead now. You filled in the caves before we could write anything else.”
“Roup said the words talked about killing creasia cubs,” said Arcove.
“They do,” said Charder. “But you can’t change the past, only the future.”
Arcove was silent a moment. Finally, he said, “What are you going to write now that the caves are open again?”
Charder took a deep breath. “I’m not. You are.”
Arcove looked at him in surprise.
“You closed these caves, and you reopened them. The next words on this wall should be yours.”
“We all reopened them,” objected Arcove. A large group of ferryshaft and creasia had been at work on the project for a season, clearing away rocks and digging through dried mud and shale.
“Only because you permitted it,” said Charder.
Arcove snorted. “Keesha would have insisted.”
“You didn’t have to help,” said Charder.
“I can’t write on your wall. I can’t—”
Charder smiled. “Can’t” was not an easy word for Arcove to say, and he stumbled over the rest of the sentence. Can’t read.
“I could teach you in a day,” said Charder softly. He remembered the elders of his old herd arguing over whether creasia were sufficiently intelligent to learn to read. What idiots we were.
Arcove still looked uncertain. It was not an expression that Charder was accustomed to seeing on that face.
“When you are ready,” continued Charder, “I think you should write that you gave the island fifteen years of peace, that you oppressed the ferryshaft as they had once oppressed creasia, that ferryshaft came to your aid during an uprising of your officers, and that you reopened the caves in gratitude.”
Arcove chuffed. “Is that what you think happened?”
“I can write my own version of events in my own time,” said Charder serenely.
Arcove was looking more relaxed. Our writing is not your enemy, thought Charder. The past isn’t even your enemy. You’ll see that, once these caves become less mysterious, once they contain your words, and not just ours.
“In addition,” continued Charder with a hint of mischief, “I think you should say that you appointed a ferryshaft to your council.”
Arcove frowned. “I have not appointed you to my council.”
“And that he was your friend,” said Charder, “and respected you a great deal.”
Arcove clearly had no idea what to say to that. Just when the silence was about to become awkward, Charder caug
ht sight of So-fet, picking her way through the freshly turned earth of the cave floor. The ferryshaft who’d been working on the project were just waking up, while the creasia had mostly either gone to sleep or were out hunting. They’d worked almost non-stop over the last few days to finish it before the fall weather set in.
“Has he taught you to read yet?” So-fet asked Arcove.
Arcove said nothing. So-fet continued cheerfully. “Well, I hope not, because he hasn’t taught me, and I think I deserve first go, since I am carrying his foal.”
Arcove smiled at last. “Is that so?”
It was Charder’s turn to look uncomfortable. They hadn’t announced it yet.
So-fet had sought him out after the war. She was curious about her childhood, about her mother. Charder had been living in self-imposed seclusion then. He told himself that he was done with leadership. The fractured ferryshaft herd seemed to be getting along well enough without him. Charder fully expected to live out his days as a rogue, perhaps actively hunted by some of the ferryshaft who felt he’d contributed to their suffering.
He had spent the winter mostly alone. His hip pained him from an injury sustained in the avalanche. He missed Pathar acutely—the only ferryshaft whom Charder had allowed into his full confidence after the war. Charder felt every one of his forty years and wondered whether he could tolerate ten or twenty more years of loneliness before age or predators or disease claimed him.
Arcove showed up twice during the winter. The first time, Charder figured he was just checking on things, trying to keep track of the various elements of the ferryshaft herd who had scattered after the events by the lake. The second time, the snows were very deep, and Charder wondered at the considerable difficulty Arcove had taken to reach him. He came with Roup. They stayed in his cave for three days and brought down two sheep, which they left uneaten. On the morning of the third day, after Arcove had gone to sleep, Roup followed Charder outside. He said, “You should come back to Leeshwood with us.”
Charder was startled. “Why?”
“We could use a ferryshaft on the council.”
Charder could not tell whether Roup was joking.
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