by Dorian Hart
Thank you, said Aravia.
You do know what the Conclave is, don’t you? Contempt oozed in the voice of a hugely fluffy white cat, sitting straight up and staring.
No. I’ve never before heard it mentioned.
White Paws licked herself disdainfully. You see? There’s no way this human is a Spark. Aside from the fact that it’s fundamentally preposterous, how could a Spark not know she’s a Spark?
Aravia tried to keep the puzzlement from her mental voice. And what is a Spark?
Typical. A glossy calico jumped from her perch and stood before Aravia. Spark or not, she displays typical human ignorance. She should leave.
Please, my friends, remember your manners. The black cat’s voice left no doubt that he was in charge. I suggest that we make formal introductions before we continue.
To a human? said the fluffy white.
To a guest, said the black.
I’ll begin, said the snowshoe. I am Plumpypuss, born in Bederen City, named by the human child Aross.
I am Queen, said the fluffy white stiffly. I was born in Kai Kin, named by the human woman Inis-lep.
I am Pumpkin. That was a huge orange Manx with only the stub of a tail. I was born in Djaw, named by the human child Leaping Laughter.
I am White Paws, born in Trev-Lyndyn, named by the human man Proshov.
I am Belladonna, said the calico. I was born in the farmlands of Appleseed, named by the human woman Wethea.
I am Opal. Opal was a golden-brown tabby. I was born in Culud, named by the human woman Essik.
And I am Inkspot, eldest of the Conclave, said the black. He did not name his birthplace or namer. Please, my guests, introduce yourselves.
Uncertain of how to proceed, Aravia followed tradition. I am Aravia Telmir. I was born in the city of Sentinel, named by my mother, Lily.
I am Pewter. I was born in the city of Sentinel and named by Aravia Telmir.
Fine, said Belladonna. Now that’s over with, human, explain how you come to be here, and why. This day has seen tragedy enough.
There was no reason to be circumspect. I have been dreaming of this place for months. Something happened this morning, something terrible, and it sharpened a growing sense in my mind of being drawn here. I am a wizard and used magic to transport myself, though in truth I have no idea where I am. I beg your indulgence of my ignorance, but I hope you will tell me of yourselves and of what happened that sent every cat in Djaw into mourning.
I think we should kill you, said Queen, who then yawned. Inkspot may have invited you here, but the whole of the Conclave should decide your fate. On the rare occasions an outsider has stumbled upon us, the penalty has been death. I’ll want a better reason than “I dreamed about you” to decide otherwise. And the notion that you are a Spark is ludicrous.
Pewter bristled, figuratively and literally. He jumped up onto Aravia’s shoulder. You would be idiots to attack Aravia. And you’ll have to go through me if you want to try.
White Paws extended her claws. We would enjoy that.
Peace! Inkspot hopped smoothly down from his block of stone and walked up to Aravia. Do you not sense divinity in her? Quarrol would not have allowed her so near, I think, were she an enemy.
Not even you can presume to know what Quarrol would or would not do, said Queen.
That is true. But I think Aravia has been sent to us as a gift. We should cure her ignorance and see afterward what she has to say.
I demand a vote before we tell her anything, said White Paws.
Very well. Who among us wishes to tell our guest about Sparks, about Quarrol, about Sawgrass?
I do, said Plumpypuss immediately. Opal and Pumpkin said the same, while White Paws, Queen, and Belladonna objected.
Then I will cast the tie-breaking vote, said Inkspot. And so Aravia Telmir will learn.
I will tell her, said Plumpypuss. Aravia, do you know of Quarrol?
Yes. He is the Kivian god of nature.
Kivian god? White Paws asked with a confused sort of skepticism.
I come from a land that is very far away, so far that we worship different gods. The god of nature I know is named Pikon.
You see! said Queen. She speaks blasphemy openly in the Conclave. She disputes Quarrol!
No, said Aravia. But there are different gods in the heavens, existing side by side. I am sure that Quarrol is real; I would like to hear about him.
Quarrol is the god of nature, said Plumpypuss, created son of Posada, god of the oceans. All animals of Spira are his to watch over. One of his first acts was to gift the five ascendant races of animals—cats, dogs, horses, ravens, and rats—with Sparks. Divine Sparks are born into cats who are in the care of humans. We keep the names our humans give us, for it is our purpose to make sure that the balance between humans and cats stays in an acceptable place, for the good of our kind.
We nine cats who are blessed by Quarrol, who are Sparks, live many spans beyond what is normal, but we do age and eventually die. Each time one of us passes into Quarrol’s realm, a new Spark is immediately born into a kitten, somewhere out in the world. Those kittens spend their youth among humans, but when they are grown, they find their way here, to the Endless Wood, where resides the Feline Conclave. Here we meet, and dream, and collect from all corners of the land an understanding of the lives of cats. And from time to time we send one of the Conclave out into the world, to gain insight more directly, and to spread the word of our wishes.
What you sensed this morning, what all cats sensed, was the death of one of the Sparks. The eighth of our number, Sawgrass, was traveling in the north, near the border between Anlakis and Appleseed.
I don’t understand, said Aravia. I assume the same is true of dog Sparks, and one of those also died recently. But none of the humans understood what was happening. If Sparks die and are reborn, and the animals always react the same way, surely the outcry would have been recognized if not understood. There would be stories of the days the animals went crazy.
You are correct, said Inkspot. Usually the death and rebirth of a Spark go unremarked by humans and animals alike. But this time was different. When Sawgrass died, his Spark was not reborn. Whatever killed him extinguished his divinity. Such a thing has never happened before. The Feline Conclave has become eight. The significance of this is hard to overstate.
Yet for something so terrible, you seem awfully calm about it, said Pewter.
We are the Feline Conclave, said Inkspot. It is our nature to be dispassionate. Our charge, our purpose, is to be objective arbiters of what is good for cat kind. We mourn, but of greater concern now is how the Sparks have been killed.
Boss! If you’re a Spark, that would explain why you don’t feel—
Pewter, hush.
With a quickness unexpected for a cat of his bulk, Pumpkin swatted a moth out of the air. There’s no doubt, he said, that whatever killed Sawgrass also destroyed the dog Spark. I believe that some creature has come into being that can extinguish Quarrol’s Sparks.
I agree, said White Paws, and we have been foolish not to wonder if we have invited that creature into our midst. Aravia might have killed Sawgrass and absorbed his Spark, giving her knowledge of our location. For all we know she did the same to the dogs and has already eliminated the Great Pack.
Pewter came to her defense. That’s ridiculous! And if Aravia wanted to wipe out the lot of you, she could already have done it easily.
A nervous silence followed this assertion; the more skeptical of the cats narrowed their eyes.
Not that she would! I’ve known Aravia her whole life, and there is no human being alive more kind to cats than she is.
Inkspot still stood only a few feet from her. His eyes were black wells with only the tiniest slits of gold. Aravia, how many years have passed since your birth?
Twenty, she answered.
There was a stirring among the Conclave.
As I thought and hoped. I am sure you have noticed that we are only seven. With Sawgrass we
had been eight. But Quarrol set our number at nine. Twenty years ago, our ninth, Tickle Whiskers, passed into Quarrol’s realm. We sensed that the Spark had passed on, but for the first time in our history, we could not specifically pinpoint its existence.
That changed three months ago; we felt the presence of the ninth Spark, far off to the west. But it was a distance measured by more than miles; a kind of intangible barrier lay between us. Only in the last month has our sense of the missing Spark grown strong, but we still could not say for certain where it was. We in the Conclave have an innate knowledge of one another, but though we felt that the ninth Spark was close, we could not place it. We still cannot.
Aravia looked down at Pewter. Inkspot had given her the pieces to a puzzle, but she felt as though she tried to fit them together improperly.
Are you suggesting that Pewter is your ninth Spark? That he’s some sort of feline demigod that I have served to bring back to your Conclave?
Inkspot twitched his tail. No, Aravia. Pewter is remarkable, but I do not think he is the Spark. No, I think the ninth Spark was born into you.
That stirred up a loud buzz of thoughts among the cats, and she couldn’t tell who spoke.
That’s impossible!
A Spark in the body of a human?
You can’t be serious.
Have you lost your wits, Inkspot?
Hear him out!
Preposterous!
I think it’s true.
Peace! Again Inkspot brought the cats to silence. Yes, I believe that Quarrol has caused one of our Sparks to manifest inside a human being.
Unprecedented! complained White Paws. And blasphemous besides. Quarrol would never let that happen.
You are incorrect. It has happened before. Not among the Conclave, it is true, but many generations ago one of the Noble Herd was born into the body of a human woman.
What? Queen walked to Inkspot until their whiskers nearly touched. How could you possibly know that?
You forget, Queen, how much older I am than the rest of you. I remember the time when there were fewer human civilizations than there are now, and one of the largest decided to make a practice of sacrificing horses to their barbaric god of chaos. So Quarrol caused one of the horses’ Sparks to be born into a human. She spent her life wandering the land, roaming from town to town, city to city, exhorting her people to reject the sacrifices their priests demanded. And though it took many years, she was the stone that tilted the scale, and the killings subsided.
And now, look before you and think. Two Sparks have been annihilated since the last turning of the moon, ended and not reborn, including one of our own. Who is to say there will not be more? I think Aravia is Quarrol’s attempt to end this threat before it becomes more deadly. A human sorcerer can succeed where cats cannot.
Aravia sat down on a patch of moss, putting her eye to eye with Inkspot. If everything you say is true, then I believe you are correct. You sensed the ninth Spark when a magical pathway opened, connecting Kivia to a kingdom beyond the Uncrossable Sea. When your sense grew strong, I believe I had just crossed that divide. And when Pewter was first able to speak to me, he told me that he sensed I was “like a cat,” in a way he couldn’t articulate.
We all sense it, said Inkspot.
But we are divided over what it means, said White Paws.
Aravia scratched Pewter behind the ear, wondering once she had started if it was an undignified thing to do in the presence of the Conclave. Do you have an explanation for Pewter? He gained his…greater awareness and intelligence when the way was opened, but I was not with him at the time.
Yeah, boss, but you were my human owner for my whole life up to then. Six years! Maybe your, uh, Sparkyness was rubbing off on me that whole time.
We don’t know, said Inkspot. That is possible. Or perhaps a human Spark can imbue enlightenment through naming. It is even possible that you and Aravia together contain the feline Spark—that a human on its own cannot. But the two of you, apart and together, are out of my experience.
Aravia could quickly assimilate new information, but this entire encounter overwhelmed her. The misty forest glade added something unreal, dreamlike, to the scene; indeed, she would not be at all surprised to wake up and find herself back in Djaw.
I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t have time right now to hunt down whatever is killing Sparks. I travel with a group of humans, and if we fail in our quest, the entire world is doomed, Sparks and all.
Belladonna turned deliberately away from her and Pewter. Typical. And I think that proves she is not a Spark. If she were, she would make protecting the rest of us her highest goal.
I would like to help you, truly, Aravia said. But do you know how I might track your enemy? Do you even know for certain that it is a creature and not a natural phenomenon?
We know nothing, said Inkspot, save that Sawgrass’s death was violent. For that reason I believe there is a malign will at work. Beyond that? No, we do not know what has destroyed the Sparks, let alone how it was done or how you might find it.
Aravia looked one by one at the cats of the Conclave. Belladonna still showed her tail, but all the rest, even White Paws and Queen, looked at her with the pale, unblinking stares that only cats can maintain.
I will promise you this, she told them. When I have finished my immediate errand, I will turn my attention to the threat to the Sparks. Perhaps you could help me with my own task, so that it might be over more quickly.
Of course, said Plumpypuss. What is it you need to do?
We are seeking a magical device called the Crosser’s Maze. We know that it waits in a jungle city, on the far side of the Stoneguard Mountains to the southeast. The city might be called Calabash or perhaps the City Vitreous. Do any of these names mean something to you?
She was met with a few seconds of silence, but then the golden tabby Opal spoke. I do not know those things, but I was born in the town of Culud, perched on the western slopes of those mountains. And there were rumors of a vast jungle on the far side, though no humans I knew of had ever been there.
Yes, said Aravia. The little we know about them suggests that they are impassable.
Not necessarily, said Opal. There are networks of tunnels that wind through the mountains, or so think the humans of Culud. Their entrances were collapsed long ago, since the mountains are said to be the home of goblins.
How can I reach Culud?
The Eternal River and the Softwater meet in Levenmud, southernmost of the Jewels of the Plains. From Levenmud a good road crosses the kingdom of Gurund, then rises into the Stoneguards and connects a string of mountainside villages. Culud is the northernmost of those.
Excellent, said Aravia. With luck, that knowledge will hasten our errand, and I will be able to turn my attention to the Spark-killer that much sooner.
Inkspot padded back to his pedestal. Then we wish you luck, Aravia, daughter of Lily.
I don’t, said White Paws.
Peace. Inkspot’s mental voice grew more serious. Aravia, consider one more thing. Sawgrass was killed as he traveled from human lands back to the Conclave. It is possible that whatever killed the Sparks still cannot find or penetrate our sanctums. If the other animals have reached the same conclusion, they will have withdrawn their members to safety, in which case you may soon be the only Spark without the protection of refuge. You may not need to seek out our enemy; it may find you first.
Aravia gave a final bow, then teleported herself and Pewter into the little bedroom. She found it empty—not only of people, but of the bed and the tiny nightstand next to it. Her teleport must have gone awry and sent her to a similar room in a different inn entirely. It made sense; it had been unusually difficult to concentrate, having just learned that she was some kind of Kivian cat-demigod. But no—Tor sat outside in the hall, visible through the open door, his head drooped onto his chest, eyes closed.
“Tor?”
The boy’s head snapped up, and his face lit up when he met her eyes.
“Aravia! You’re back! What happened? No, wait, let me get the others. Don’t go anywhere!”
He lurched to his feet and pelted off down the hall. Aravia sat down in the middle of the floor, and Pewter climbed into her lap.
Pewter, what do you think the others will say?
How should I know? But if you ask me, now that you’re a god, you should demand a tithe.
Hush.
After a minute there came the noise of many feet growing loud in the hall, and then the rest of Horn’s Company piled into the room.
“You’ve been gone for hours,” said Grey Wolf.
She told them everything. When she had finished her tale, the others stared at her.
Grey Wolf recovered first. “Do you think this is Lapis’s doing? That she’s killing these animal demigods as part of her plan?”
“I don’t,” said Aravia. “Pewter and I can’t see any obvious connection between the attacks on the Sparks and the Crosser’s Maze. Inkspot did say it was possible that whatever was killing the Sparks might actively come after me, so there’s a small possibility that Lapis somehow knows I am a Spark, and this is an elaborate ploy to slow us down.”
“I guess now we know why Abernathy picked you.” Dranko grinned at her. “We have a cat-god-wizard on our side; how can we fail?”
“To the best of my knowledge, I have no additional powers,” she told him.
“That you know of,” said Dranko. “Maybe if we worship you, you’ll be able to grant us cat powers, like always landing on our feet or fantastic jumping ability. I could be the world’s greatest cat burglar!”
Grey Wolf groaned. “Dranko, be quiet.”
“Now we know why Pewter is so smart,” said Tor. “You must have blessed him somehow. Could you do that to other cats?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you need more intelligent cats?
Pewter, do I detect a note of jealousy?
I’m simply pointing out that cats don’t always get along, and making them smarter won’t necessarily change that.