The female cried, “No! Stop him!”
Lynx ran to the tree, sprang onto it, and scuttled upward. The male bellowed and leapt after him, and Lynx heard the swoosh of the broadsword, then the thunk of metal on wood. The whole tree shuddered as the sword struck just below his feet.
He climbed out of reach. The female dogman shrieked in despair, and the male let loose a frustrated howl.
Lynx fled the canyon, as the dogmen’s terrible barking rose up from below him and echoed in his ears.
It wasn’t until much later, when he was far from that place, that he noticed any pain. Then he found that he was missing a few inches off the end of his tail. Blood pooled there, and fell in thick droplets to the sand.
Night had fallen by the time Lynx got back to the village. He headed straight to the temple, raced through the main doors, and burst into the antechamber.
A scribe sat at a small wooden desk and scribbled in a ledger with a quill pen. When he saw Lynx’s agitation, the scribe stood. “Can I help you?”
Lynx gasped for breath. “I have to see Father Cougar.”
The scribe stared disapprovingly. “Father Cougar is delivering the evening service.”
Lynx said, “There are dogmen! Living in the wasteland. Hiding in the caves.”
“Dogmen? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! They chased me, with swords.” Lynx held up the tip of his tail, which was clotted with blood.
The scribe grew alarmed. “All right. Wait here.” He hurried over to a pair of heavy wooden doors, then slipped through, closing the doors behind him.
Lynx stepped forward and pressed his ear to the wood. Father Cougar’s booming voice filled the other room. Lynx could only make out some of the words, but he grasped the essence of the sermon. Father Cougar was preaching, as ever, about how these were the end times, and about the coming Victory, when Cat would return to Earth, the dogmen would be destroyed forever, and the catmen would regain their pure feline forms.
Father Cougar’s voice died away. He must be conferring with the scribe.
Finally the scribe reappeared and said, “Follow me.”
He led Lynx down a hallway to a cozy chamber whose walls were hung with tapestries. Father Cougar, wearing his vestments, sat on a sofa in the corner. He said warmly, “Lynx! Come in, come in.”
Lynx picked a chair and sat down.
Father Cougar settled back and stroked his scruffy gray whiskers. “Now, tell me what happened.”
Lynx explained about coming across the dogmen in the wasteland. Father Cougar listened intently, then said, “And they saw you?”
Lynx hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”
Father Cougar narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Lynx stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, Father. . . . . was curious.”
Father Cougar sighed deeply. “As I thought.” He leaned forward, his gaze steady. “How many times must I tell you? Curiosity is the gravest of sins. And now you see what your curiosity has cost us. If you had avoided detection, we could have easily located these dogmen and captured them. But now they’ll be expecting us, and will move on. The danger to those who track them is greatly increased. And what if the dogmen should slip away? You may very well have cost us the great Victory we have awaited so long.”
Lynx felt ashamed, despondent. Everything Father Cougar was saying was absolutely true.
Father Cougar shook his head. “Well, there’s no helping it now.” He turned to the scribe and instructed, “Go to the inn. Fetch the templars.” The scribe nodded once, and hurried off.
Lynx felt awe. “Templars?”
“Yes,” Father Cougar said. “They arrived this morning. Two of them. Pursuing these dogmen you saw. They’ll want to question you.”
“Of course,” Lynx agreed at once, his shame quickly giving way to excitement.
Templars! Holy ones, invincible warriors of Cat. In ages past, their order had eradicated the frogmen, the birdmen, and the monkeymen, and now only the dogmen remained.
The scribe returned a short time later, leading the templars. They were the tallest, most muscular catmen that Lynx had ever seen. Both wore long white tabards, and upon their surcoats were embroidered the holy form of Cat.
Father Cougar gestured to them. “Lynx, these are our templar friends, Lion and Tiger.”
The templars nodded politely. Tiger was brawnier, stern and dignified, with gray in his fur and black stripes around his eyes. Lion had a great tawny mane and seemed almost to vibrate with barely restrained energy. And he was younger, perhaps only five or ten years older than Lynx himself.
Lion said quickly, “Tell us about the dogmen.”
So Lynx repeated his story. When he gave a description of the dogmen, the templars glanced at each other. When he got to the part about his escape from the canyon, the scribe interrupted, “Show them your tail!”
Lynx held up his injured tail.
Lion clapped his hands together and said to Tiger, “Well, look at that! Bloodied by dogmen, and he escaped to tell of it.” He turned to Lynx. “That’s more than many templars can boast.”
Lynx felt an almost unbearable rush of pride.
Lion said, “I’ve heard enough.” He turned to Tiger. “Let’s find this cave.”
Father Cougar said, “You mean to leave at once?”
“Yes,” Lion replied. “I see no reason to dally. The dogmen certainly will not.”
“Take me with you!” Lynx exclaimed. “I’ll lead you there.”
Father Cougar looked worried. “That might be dangerous. Your parents—”
Lynx said, “It’s my fault for letting the dogmen see me. You have to let me make up for it. No one knows the wasteland like I do.”
Father Cougar turned to the templars. “I suppose it’s up to you.”
Tiger opened his mouth for the first time. “I don’t think—”
Lion spoke over him. “Yes, let him come. The dogmen cut him with their swords. He deserves a chance to pay them back in kind.” He grinned at Lynx and said, “But we’ll cut more than just their tails, won’t we?”
Tiger said nothing.
“Come on,” Lion said, and gestured for Lynx to follow.
Lynx went with the templars back to the inn, where they gathered supplies. Lion pulled a shortsword out from among his belongings and tossed it to Lynx, who caught it and put it on. Then Lynx led the templars into the wasteland. The sun was rising by the time they reached the cave.
Tiger scouted about, kneeling in places to sniff the earth, then said, “This way.”
The trail led westward, deeper into the wastes. That night the templars made camp beneath the open sky, and in the morning they continued on again. As far as Lynx knew, no catman had ever come this far before. His boldness waned, and he started to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
On the third day, the templars stopped to rest beside a circular black pit a hundred yards across. Thick yellow grass grew all around the pit, and vines hung over its edge and into the darkness. There was something eerie and intriguing about the formation.
Lynx wondered aloud, “Could the dogmen be hiding in there?”
Tiger said, “The tracks lead on.”
Lion shrugged. “It can’t hurt to check. Call us if you see anything.”
Lynx wandered over to the pit. Its sides were rough and angular, and he scrambled easily down the many shelves of rock until he reached the cavern floor. Stray beams of sunlight lanced down through the opening overhead and caught the dust that floated in the air. Lynx turned in a slow circle, then stopped as he saw something utterly unexpected.
He drew his sword and cried out, “Lion! Lion!”
Half-buried in the side of the cave lay a strange object that was bigger than a cottage and made of a silver metal. From the object’s side protruded a structure that seemed to be a wing. The object was extraordinarily weathered, and its side was ripped open. That dark gash beckoned to Lynx. He took a step forward, then another.
> From the cliff wall above, Lion called out, “Wait.”
Lynx glanced back. Lion was climbing down into the cavern. Tiger stood above, at the pit’s edge.
Lion said, “What are you doing?”
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Lynx said. “I’m going to look inside.” He crept nearer.
“Why?” Lion called sharply.
“I . . . ” Lynx was very close now. “I just . . . ”
“This is curiosity,” Lion warned. “This is wrong.”
“It isn’t,” Lynx insisted, half to himself. Though why it wasn’t, he could not really say. He slipped through the gash.
For a moment everything was dark. Then a hundred spots of light—red, blue, yellow, green—flickered to life all around him. He crouched in alarm. He’d never seen anything like these lights, but his attention was quickly drawn away from them and toward a metal coffin that was built into the far wall. Its lid was made of glass, and inside he could make out the rough outline of a body.
Suddenly a loud voice spoke, seeming to come from all around. The language was unfamiliar. Lynx whirled, but saw no one.
The coffin slowly opened. Lynx backed away, cursing himself. Once again his curiosity had betrayed him, had led him to intrude upon this strange tomb, and now he had awoken something ancient and powerful. His fearful imagination conjured up images of a living corpse with blazing red eyes. But what actually emerged was no less surprising.
A monkeyman. He seemed dazed, and was dressed in some gray uniform, its chest and shoulders decorated with insignia. He glanced at Lynx, then staggered past him. Lynx stared in wonder and horror. The monkeymen were supposed to have been wiped out centuries ago.
A second shape, much smaller, leapt from the coffin, and Lynx gasped as he observed its perfect grace. For all his life he had seen this holy form depicted a thousand times, and now there was no mistaking it. This was the creator of the universe, the giver of all life. Cat, the nine-lived, had returned to Earth at last. Lynx kneeled and whispered, “My lord.”
Cat did not acknowledge him, and Lynx was unsure what to do. Through the gash came the voices of the templars, who now stood just outside. Tiger was saying, with a mix of fear and awe, “It fell from the sky. See? It broke through into this cavern.”
Lion replied angrily, “The dogmen flee, and we stand here engaged in idle—”
He stopped abruptly as the monkeyman lurched through the gash and out into the cave. Lynx followed after.
The templars stood awestruck. The monkeyman ignored them. He stumbled about, studying the damage to his winged tomb. With one hand he grasped his forehead. He still seemed disoriented.
Lynx felt disoriented himself. He wandered over to the templars, tugged Lion’s sleeve, and made him look toward the tomb, where Cat was just emerging. Lion fell instantly to his knees, and Tiger did the same.
Cat ignored them and strode along after the monkeyman. Then Cat lay down, reached into a gap between the tomb and the cave floor, and batted his paw at something within. The monkeyman grunted at Cat and used the edge of one boot to lightly brush Cat away from the hole.
Lion leapt to his feet and cried, “You dare!” He ran up to the monkeyman and seized him by the shoulder.
The monkeyman shoved him back and yelled at him in a strange language. An amulet on the monkeyman’s belt buzzed, “Get your hands off me, catman scum!” Puzzled, the monkeyman glanced at the amulet. Then he shouted at Lion, and again his magic amulet translated. “Report! What unit are you with? And what the hell are you wearing?”
Lion backed away. He moved to stand beside Tiger and said in a low voice, “A surviving monkeyman. He struck me, you saw. I should have the honor of slaying him.”
The monkeyman’s amulet spoke in a strange tongue, presumably translating Lion’s words.
Tiger said, “I don’t know. He comes to us from the sky, as a companion of Cat. Dare we slay him?”
Lion said, “Cat’s holy word commands it.”
Tiger said, “Cat himself stands before us now. Everything is changed.”
Lion glanced at Cat, who sat licking himself. Lion approached him, knelt, and said, “My lord, I am Lion, your most faithful servant. I am yours to command. What is your wish for this monkeyman? Say the word, and I will spill his blood in your name.”
Cat lifted his head, gave Lion an inscrutable stare, and went back to licking himself.
Lion, still kneeling, glanced at Tiger and hissed, “Why does he not answer?”
Tiger growled softly, “It is not our place to question his motives. He will speak when he wills it.”
Lion turned back to Cat. “Answer me, lord, I beg you. Or if you will not, give us some sign, that we may do your will.”
The monkeyman seemed to finally shake off his confusion and comprehend the danger. He glanced back and forth between Lion and Cat, then crouched and whistled to Cat and spoke. The amulet translated, “Hey, come here. Here, kitty kitty kitty. Come on.”
Lion said darkly, “He presumes to command Cat.”
The monkeyman ignored this and kept calling. Cat gazed at the monkeyman, but did not stir.
Lion said, “Cat rejects him.”
“Wait!” The monkeyman held up a hand. “Just . . . Leo, come here, dammit!” He whistled again. “Here, kitty kitty.”
Lion reached for his sword and said, “He dies.”
But at that moment, Cat languidly uncurled himself and strolled across the dirt to the monkeyman, who scratched Cat’s whiskers, then his ears, his neck, and his back. Cat purred and rubbed against the monkeyman’s shins. Lion froze.
“Cat shows him favor,” Tiger observed. “Cat has a special plan for him.”
The monkeyman picked up Cat and held him like a shield. Cat continued to purr.
Lion glared at the monkeyman for a long time, then strode over to him, stood very close, and said softly, “I do not know why Cat chooses to prolong your miserable existence, abomination. But let no one say that I was curious.” He brushed by him and walked away.
The monkeyman lowered his head to Cat and whispered, “Good Cat.”
The catmen set out again, now joined by Cat and his strange monkeyman companion. The monkeyman brought along a sort of satchel in which he carried Cat, who seemed pleased enough with the arrangement. Lion remained hostile to the monkeyman, no matter how often Tiger insisted that the Victory was now at hand and that Lion should be rejoicing. The templars often knelt before Cat and asked him for guidance, but Cat never deigned to reply.
Sometimes the monkeyman would stare into the amulet, but whatever it told him must have displeased him, for he would shake it, strike it, and yell at it. Lynx was desperate to question the monkeyman, but that would be showing curiosity, so instead he tried to mimic the stony indifference of the templars. Still, Lynx couldn’t keep his eyes off of Cat.
The monkeyman noticed this. Finally he said, “Do you want to hold him?”
Lynx was stunned. He glanced at the templars, who were now well ahead. “I couldn’t.”
“Sure.” The monkeyman reached into the satchel, lifted Cat free, and handed him over to Lynx, who scratched Cat’s ears the way the monkeyman had. Cat purred.
“See?” the monkeyman said. After a moment, he added, “What’s your name?”
Lynx hesitated, then told him.
“I’m Charles,” the monkeyman said. Lynx didn’t respond. After a moment, the monkeyman lowered his voice and said, “Tell me, Lynx. What year is this?”
Lynx was perplexed, but the monkeyman seemed earnest. Lynx passed Cat back to him and said slowly, “1293.”
“Using what calendar?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Dating from when?”
“Why . . . ” This was the strangest question Lynx had ever heard. “From the creation of the world.”
The monkeyman said nothing for a long time. He and Lynx resumed walking. Finally the monkeyman asked in a low tone, “And what is this ‘Victory’?”
“You really don’t know? Cat hasn’t told you?”
The monkeyman said, “Cat isn’t overly fond of explaining himself. As you may have noticed.”
So Lynx spoke of the Victory. When he saw that the monkeyman was utterly confused, he found himself explaining more and more. Soon he had gone all the way back to the beginning, back to when Cat had created the world and all its inhabitants, including his most favored creation, cats, whom Cat had made in his own image. To them alone Cat had granted the gift of speech. But the cats had grown curious about what other animals might say, and so the cats disobeyed and shared the gift of speech with birds, frogs, dogs, and monkeys. But those other animals were wicked and spoke only lies. When Cat returned and saw what had happened, he was very angry, and punished those animals, twisting them into catmen, birdmen, frogmen, dogmen, and monkeymen. The catmen wailed and beseeched Cat to restore them to their perfect forms, but Cat decreed that he would not until the catmen had wiped the Earth clean of the abominations—any animal who spoke and was not feline. But Cat, in his ultimate mercy, also decreed that this redemption was inevitable, and promised that in the last days he would return to Earth to lead the catmen to ultimate glory. Lynx finished, “So that is the Victory. That is why Cat has come again. But his ways are strange. We did not know that he would be accompanied by a monkeyman.”
The monkeyman said, “And these dogmen we’re pursuing . . . are the last on Earth?”
“Perhaps,” Lynx said. “They are among the last, certainly.”
“And the . . . other monkeymen. Like me. Are all . . . ?”
“Dead,” Lynx confirmed. “Long ago.”
That night Lynx was awoken by the sound of the monkeyman sobbing softly. Lynx thought: He weeps for his vanquished race. It had not occurred to Lynx that abominations might be capable of such grief. This monkeyman was the last of his kind, probably. And in the end, when the Victory came, he too would be cleansed from the Earth. That made Lynx feel almost sad.
He did not get back to sleep for a long time.
The templars tracked the dogmen ever deeper into the wasteland. Supplies were running low, and nothing edible grew here. But Lion said, “Good. The dogmen will have the same problem. They’ll have to turn and face us.”
Lightspeed: Year One Page 4