The Blood Jaguar

by Michael H. Payne

  And he heard her say, as she had after every tale, "But you want to know the truth?"

  That was when she would tell him how the sun was actually a star like those in the night sky only a lot closer, how the moon was really a giant chunk of rock, how all these stories about the Curials were just stories. She would get this sour look on her face and poke a huge paw at him. "There aren't any Curials to come bail you out," she would say, "so you have to learn to do it yourself, you hear me, Ghareen? In this whole world, there's nothing you can't do if you set your mind to it, take it step-by-step, and think it through."

  Think it through. Bobcat blew out a breath. That advice had saved his life more times than he could count, and holding close to Shemka Harr's memories, he swallowed and turned his mind to that cat thing again.

  First off, what could it have been? Some sort of creature, some wild animal he'd never heard of before? Creatures did attack folk sometimes, but usually only to eat them, something that monster could have done easily. No, there had been something behind those burning eyes, something that had known what it was doing, something that was neither creature nor folk.

  But what else was there? Whom could he go ask? Who would even believe what had happened to him? He had told a few wild stories in the past when some bad catnip had gotten hold of him, so who would believe him now?

  The answer came to him at once, and his hackles rose. "Skink!" he shouted. He clawed his way out from beneath the blackberry bushes, the thorns gouging his torn-up fur, scrambled to the top of the slope, pulled himself over the edge, and took off into the forest toward the River. Skink had said something terrible was going to happen, had known that monster was going to be there, and Bobcat was going to find out how.

  Through the trees Bobcat ran, the pain digging at his sides with every leap. Soon he could smell the River, hear its rapids, and the trees fell away as he clattered out onto the rocky riverbank. Racing along the stones to Skink's rock, he bounded up, stuffed a paw underneath, and wrenched the lizard out. "All right," he growled. "You tell me. Now."

  Skink's eyes bulged, his legs wheeling frantically. "Bobcat!" he squeaked. "What...what...?"

  "Now! You tell me what that thing was!"

  Skink stopped flailing. "You mean," he whispered, "you mean it happened?"

  Bobcat squeezed harder. "Do I start tearing off legs?"

  "No! Please! I don't know! You have to understand!"

  "You knew enough earlier!"

  "I tried to warn you! I did! Please! I...can't... breathe...."

  Bobcat considered, then relaxed his grip a bit. "All right, you did. So tell me the rest."

  "I will! I will! But please...set me down. I'll...I'll tell you what I know, what my grandmother said...."

  Bobcat looked at the lizard for a moment, then set him on top of his rock. Skink sat very still, only a slight fluttering of his sides showing that he was alive. Bobcat waited a minute, then said, "So start talking."

  Skink blinked once. "It was a long time ago," he began, "back when I was just a hatchling. You see, every month, my family gathers at the kiva by Donal's Lake for the Semurlyenn, the festival celebrating the Lord Eft's explanation of--"

  "Do I look like I care? I wanna know--!"

  "And you will, Bobcat. For it was on those festival days that Grandmother would tell us her stories. Before din-ner, my brothers and sisters and all my cousins, we would go into the kiva to the fire pit where Grandmother sat, and she would tell us about all the things she had seen and done. She was very old, you see, old even among my folk, and she would tell us about the early mouse clans, about the coming of the otters, about Ong Gedolkin and the founding of Ottersgate, about her adventures all up and down the River." Skink paused. "She was quite remarkable."

  "Uh-huh. But what about--"

  "I am coming to that, Bobcat. Late one winter night, Uncle came to our house and said that Grandmother was very ill. She wanted to see us all one last time, so my parents woke us, and we followed Uncle back to Grandmother's house. The rest of the family was already there, and we all stood in Grandmother's room as the adults sang the Final Welcome song.

  "When they were done, Grandmother asked the adults please to leave, for she had one more story for the children. My parents and aunts and uncles all bowed and went out into the front of the house, and my brothers and sisters and cousins and I all sat down around Grandmother's bed and waited. I can still remember I've never heard anything so quiet as the silence in that room that night.

  "Finally, Grandmother raised her head and spoke, and her voice was so gray, it made me shiver. And she said, 'There's one last story, my little ones, one last story, the story I wish I never had to tell. It's an old story about three folk and a failure that leads to death. It's a story I once had to live and a story one of you may someday have to live, though I pray the Lord Eft that it might pass you all by....'

  "For a long while she was silent, and I remember wondering if she had already died, but she spoke up again. 'I will tell you how it begins,' she said, 'in hopes that you might somehow change the ending. If you should lose your luck--and I pray it may never happen, for it is too terrible to contemplate, too terrible for everyone--but should you ever lose your luck, watch for Bobcat. An awful thing will happen to him, and after that will come the worst thing in the world. You will have to go to Fisher to try to stop it from happening, and I pray you do better than we did. Remember this well, my little ones. I love you all....'

  "Her voice faded away and dropped to nothing. My eldest sister called out for our parents, but by the time the adults arrived, Grandmother was dead.

  "And then this morning, I woke to find my luck was gone. I was so distraught, I could not think, but when you came along, I remembered the rest of Grandmother's words and tried to warn you. But now, we'll have to go see Fisher."

  Bobcat closed his eyes. "Fisher. I shoulda known that witch'd have something to do with this." His anger and fear had dribbled away during Skink's story, and all he had left were his aches.

  "Bobcat?" he heard Skink say. He let his eyes roll open and saw the lizard standing at the edge of his rock. "You should wash those cuts, or they may become infected. When we get there, Fisher can put something on them for you."

  "Yeah...." Bobcat pushed himself up, his sides throbbing with every breath, and padded down the riverbank into the chest-high water. It did feel good, and he bent back to lick at the cuts. The water rushed past, dirty hair and blood swirling away downstream, and the pain in his sides slowly lost its biting edge, still a sharp pain, sure, but now at least it was a clean one.

  When he was finished, Bobcat pulled himself back onto the bank and gave one quick shake, his head too light for more than that. Settling down on the warm stones next to Skink's rock, he let the morning sun work into his fur and tried not to wince at those burning eyes flashing with each blink.

  But a moment later, he heard Skink's voice saying, "Well, are you ready to go?"

  Bobcat looked over. The lizard stood perched on the edge of the rock, a satchel slung over his back, his head cocking from one side to the other, the motion making Bobcat's stomach roll. "Stop that," he said, looking away.

  "Stop what?"

  "Never mind. What're you talking about? Go where?"

  Skink made a clicking noise. "Weren't you listening? Grandmother said we have to go see Fisher."

  This struck Bobcat as funny, so he let a little laugh start up in the back of his throat. "Can you gimme a minute here? It's not every day I find out I'm a key player in--what?--some kinda ancient reptile prophesy." The laugh got bigger, so he let more of it out. "I mean, other than go see Fisher, what're we s'posed to do?"

  "Grandmother was less than clear on that, I admit, but--"

  Bobcat laughed louder and hauled himself up. "Okay! Long as we know what we're doing! And...and we have to see Fisher to do this?"

  Skink nodded again.

  "Great! That's great! Oh, and...and don't tell me: she'll be expecting us, right?" />
  "I don't think so." Skink cocked his head. "But I'm sure that once we explain--"

  "Explain? Right! That's it! Explain! Maybe someone can explain it to me sometime!"

  "Bobcat, I already told you what Grandmother--"

  "Yeah! Okay! I'm ready!" The laughter shook him so hard he could scarcely keep on his paws. "I mean, my day's shot, giant flaming monsters trying to eat me and ev'rything! So, yeah! Let's...let's do something stupid instead! Let's go see Fisher and tell her...tell her all about it, okay? What a trip!" He gasped around the laughter. "Whadda I need catnip for?" And Bobcat laughed and laughed and laughed till his eyes dripped and his cuts clanged like sharp steel bells.

  Skink was staring. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  Bobcat tried to answer, tried to take a breath, but the laughter just stripped it away. His eyes wouldn't work and his nose had gone dead and his sides were on fire and that monster was waiting for him somewhere, and all he could do was laugh louder and louder. Those horrible eyes burned in his head, set his brain sparking and fluttering, twisting him around as only his worst catnip flashbacks ever had.

  Flashback? With his last thought, Bobcat threw himself forward and slammed his head against Skink's rock once, twice, a third time. The pain made him gasp, and before his laughter could snatch the breath away, he let fly the loudest scream he could, clenching his body and shrieking till the forest echoed with it, till the birds stopped singing in the trees. The scream emptied his lungs, cleared his eyes, and Bobcat lay where he'd sprawled, waiting for the laughter to come back; the last time he'd had a fit like this, it had taken another couple of good bashes to settle him down.

  But a quiet minute went by, so Bobcat got to his paws. "No," he said to Skink, staring frozen from atop his rock. "No, I'm not all right. Let's go, huh?"

  Skink stayed still, a few birds starting to call again in the trees before he blinked. "It will be faster if I ride on your back," he said.

  "Yeah, whatever." Bobcat crouched down beside the rock. "We'll stick to the River till we get to Ottersgate, then cut inland. And don't tell me it'll be faster going past the Brackens 'cause I don't wanna hear it." Bobcat glared until he felt Skink clamber up and settle in the fur between his shoulder blades. "You ready?"

  A small "yes" from behind him, and Bobcat grimaced, stood up, and started north along the River.

  #

  It was usually one of his favorite walks, and he tried to let his mind wander into the blue of the morning, to enjoy the warmth of the sun and the tumbling of the River, but those eyes burned their way into everything. The green of the trees only reminded him of the redness that had seeped into them; every time the birds took a break or the leaves overhead stopped rustling, Bobcat would tense up, thinking that awful silence was falling over him again, and of course he couldn't ignore the throbbing of the cuts all up and down his sides.

  "I hate this!" Bobcat snapped when he couldn't keep quiet another second. "You know that? I mean, this was gonna be a nice morning! I had stuff to do, plans to make, folks to see, everything! This whole thing just makes me twitch!"

  He felt the lizard stir between his shoulder blades. "I do not understand. We are only doing what we must."

  Bobcat growled. He should just dump the lizard off right here and go home; there was probably a quarter-roll of catnip in a cupboard somewhere, enough to smother the fire of those eyes for a couple hours at least. But then they flared into his thoughts again, made him stumble like a sudden blast of wind, he knew he couldn't go home. That cat monster had put its eyes in his head to watch him, to let him know it was still out there waiting for him, that he couldn't ignore it.

  He growled again. But he kept on walking.

  Soon the River began to widen, and Ottersgate rose up in the middle, the Bailey Oak towering from the center of the island and covering the houses and shops along the whole west side of town with its shadow. The blankets and umbrellas of folks claiming their spots for the water polo to come already dotted the grass and sand of the park at South Point, laughter floating across the water to Bobcat's ears from young otters and mice and birds scampering away from their parents and splashing into the River.

  Bobcat followed the curve of the riverbank, and the rocks became the sandy shore of the West Channel. Along the beach sat the warehouses of the Ottersgate Transport Service, all but one closed and locked today, their barges up in dry dock beside them. The only open warehouse had a group of otters lolling around in front of it; one of them looked up, gave a shrill whistle, and bounded over the sand toward Bobcat.

  "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby!" The otter slid up beside him. "I was afraid we'd have to start without you!"

  "Sorry, Lorn. I...well, I guess I got caught up in some other stuff." Bobcat saw Lorn's brow wrinkle, saw his gaze tracing the cuts along Bobcat's sides, and Bobcat tried not to wince. "Trust me--you don't wanna know."

  Lorn Gedolkin flashed his famous smile, but his eyes were still worried. "Trust you? Bobby, at all times. Now that you're here, though..." The otter let off another shattering whistle. "Let the games begin!"

  The group of otters tumbled down the sand and splashed whooping into the West Channel. A ball popped out of the water, and the otters began passing it around, batting at it with paws and snouts and tails. Trec Sinpatclin, still in his orange straw boss vest, came out of the warehouse with a goal box made of wood and old nets, and Bobcat could see Desh Rennif across the Channel on the Ottersgate side fastening a similar box to the sand.

  "Oh, Bobby...." Bobcat swung his head back to Lorn; the otter nodded toward Bobcat's back. "Who's your friend?"

  "Oh, yeah. Lorn, this is Skink. Skink, Lorn Gedolkin."

  Bobcat felt Skink shift around. "It is an honor to meet you," the lizard said, "not only a descendant of the famed founder of Ottersgate, but also its current mayor. May the peace and prosperity of the Twelve visit you and your city."

  "It is an honor to meet you," Lorn answered, "a follower in the ancient and noble line of the Curial Lord Eft. May his luck and longevity come to you and your family." Lorn smiled again. "So much for the formalities. You come to watch the games, Skink?"

  "I'm afraid we cannot," Skink said. "Bobcat and I have some business elsewhere we must attend to."

  The otter turned back to Bobcat. "Bobby! You're skipping out on us?"

  Bobcat's sides were itching. "Yeah, well, something weird's come up. Just believe me, I'd rather be here."

  Lorn shook his head. "You're really going to miss it, Bobby. Coll Belverdeen's up from Beaverpool, and Ewell swears she's gonna keep him to under three goals."

  "Belverdeen?" Bobcat winced. "Well, wish her luck. Or better yet, put fifteen on her for me, will you?"

  "Fifteen?"

  "Hey, I'm good for it."

  "You? Since when?"

  Bobcat flicked a paw at him. "Lorn, when have I ever--"

  "I know, I know. I just don't want you throwing my money away: the bookies have her at--"

  "Stuff the bookies. If anyone can hold Belverdeen, you know it's Ewell." Bobcat smiled. "Trust me on this one."

  Lorn laughed. "Well, that settles it. Fifteen on Ewell for you, and fifteen on Ewell for me." He turned to face Skink. "I'm sorry you couldn't stay, Skink. Perhaps some other time?"

  "I would like that, Mayor Gedolkin. May the Twelve watch over you and your city."

  "And may the Lord Eft keep and follow you. You take care, too, Bobby." He poked Bobcat's shoulder, and with another whistle, the otter was over the sand and into the water.

  Bobcat watched him go. "Belverdeen," he said, shaking his head.

  "Hmmm?" he heard Skink ask from behind him. "Did you say something, Bobcat?"

  Bobcat watched the otters warming up, then turned away. "No, I didn't say a thing."

  He'd padded up the beach and was passing between the warehouses when Skink spoke again: "The mayor seems like a nice fellow. I just hope he wasn't too embarrassed."

  "Embarrassed? Whadda you mean? By what?"

&
nbsp; "Well, it's just that, according to proper etiquette, you should have introduced me to him before you introduced him to me."

  Bobcat had to stop. "What?"

  "I'm sure he saw that you were distraught, and--"

  "Etiquette? Did you just say etiquette?" He twisted around to glare at Skink. "I'm missing the greatest water polo match since Willa Maferty went head-to-head with Sif Apperton, and you're talking to me about etiquette? This is all your fault! If you hadn't started in with your lost luck and your weird story and your 'worst thing in the world,' I could be at that game right now! I hate this! Have I told you that? You and your grandma and your stories, none of it makes any sense! None of it! Any! At all!"

  Out of the warehouses Bobcat stalked, still grumbling, and weaved through the crowds coming down the Meerkat Road into Ottersgate. He crossed the road and was halfway across Ree's Meadow before Skink asked, "But if you don't believe Grandmother's story, why are you coming with me?"

  Bobcat stopped in the middle of the meadow. The flowers shimmered in the midmorning sun, their perfume softening the breeze that ruffled his fur. He could hear cheers from the polo match, vendors shouting, laughter and singing from the folks crossing the West Bridge into Ottersgate.

  But Bobcat shivered, those eyes smoldering inside him. "I don't know," he said at last. "Whatever happened to me today, it...it just keeps on happening, like it got stuck in my head or something; I don't know. But I've gotta get rid of it, get some kinda handle on it anyway, or it'll drive me crazy. It was...was...I don't know what it was, but I've gotta do something about it. When you told me it was gonna happen, I didn't listen. Now you say go see Fisher." He shrugged. "So here I go."

  Skink didn't respond. Bobcat turned away from the sounds and scents of Ottersgate and set off for the woods above town.

  Chapter Two: Plague Year

  Bobcat knew where Fisher lived, but he'd never thought he'd actually be going there. The way she looked at him always made him feel itchy, like she wasn't looking at him so much as through him, straight down to his innards.