North and slightly west through the woods he padded, Skink a slight weight gripped into the fur between his shoulder blades, until they came out into a clearing with a gnarled sycamore clumped down in the center. "This is the place," Bobcat said, waving a paw at the tree.
He felt Skink clamber up onto his neck. "I see. Then we'd best announce ourselves."
"No problem." Bobcat cleared his throat and shouted, "Hey, Fisher! You got visitors!"
Branches rustled about halfway up, and Bobcat saw Fisher's dark face peering through the leaves. "Bobcat?" he heard her mutter; then she shouted, "Whadda you want?"
"Oh, don't get me started!" Bobcat yelled back, but Skink gave a hiss into his ear.
"Bobcat, please!" The lizard then raised his voice and called out, "A good day to you, Fisher! I'd be more than happy to explain why we're here, but I think it might be easier on us all if we didn't have to shout at one another! Should we come up, or would you rather come down?"
Bobcat saw Fisher lean out of the foliage and her brow furrow. "Skink? What the...?" She was silent for a second. "Okay, sure. I'll be right down."
The branches rustled again, and her face disappeared from the leaves. Bobcat could hear the scritch-scratch of her making her way down the trunk; then she dropped to the ground and sauntered over to them. "This is unexpected."
"You're telling me," Bobcat muttered, but Skink had already started speaking.
"Unfortunately," the lizard began, scuttling down Bobcat's leg to stand in the grass in front of Fisher, "this is not entirely a social call. We have need of your professional advice and perhaps even your assistance."
Bobcat could see that Fisher was trying not to smile. "Do tell," she said. "In what way?"
"Well, you see, I've lost my luck."
All trace of Fisher's smile vanished. "Your luck? How?"
"That, I do not know. But," he opened his satchel and pulled out his pebble, "as you can see, it is certainly gone."
Fisher crouched down, stared close at the pebble for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That's weird. It's almost like it'd never even been there." She stood and shrugged. "I'm sorry to hear it, Skink, but I don't see how I can help."
"Oh, but it's not just that," the lizard went on. "Something has happened to Bobcat as well."
"Really?" Fisher's eyes moved to Bobcat's, and he saw her almost-smile came back. "I find that hard to believe. How could anything possibly happen to Bobcat?"
Her voice made Bobcat's sides itch, and that made his cuts hurt. "And whadda you mean by that?"
Fisher shrugged. "Nothing. Just curious is all."
"Yeah, right. Look, witch; I've had it up to here with weirdness today, okay? I didn't wanna come out here; I coulda lived my whole life without coming out here, but--"
"But here you are," Fisher cut in. "So whadda you want?"
Bobcat took one look at her and closed his mouth. She wouldn't believe him; he almost didn't believe it himself anymore. Maybe the whole thing had been some really vicious sort of flashback. Maybe he'd just plain panicked and thrown himself into the Brackens. That made a lot more sense than Skink and his grandma did. Maybe he had imagined it.
He was vaguely aware that Skink had stepped in and was telling Fisher his whole Grandma story, but Bobcat wasn't really paying attention. Those eyes had sparked up again, glowing like coals inside his head, and he knew there was no way he could have imagined them. That monster and its eyes, they were burned too deeply into him for that.
Bobcat shuddered and tried to listen to Skink, but those eyes, those eyes, those...eyes... Not in his most twisted catnip dream had he ever seen anything as awful as those eyes. He didn't want to think about them, but they wouldn't go away, flaring up like a summer brush fire slashing through the undergrowth. He could almost feel them, their heat whirling around him, their flames licking into his fur....
And then fire was shooting out of the ground and into the sky, roaring enormous up the sides of the trees, crackling through the grass, the smoke billowing in clouds of black blood, filling the air and making him choke and cough. He wanted to run, but there was no place to go; the smoke clawed at his eyes and the air was too hot to breathe and there was nothing anywhere but sheets of flame--
Except now tiny pinpricks, sharp and icy, were digging at the sides of his head, and the molten fire surging over him was pierced by two spots of dark coolness. Bobcat grabbed at the spots and pulled, the sharp points seeming to guide him toward them. Bigger and bigger they grew, quenching the flames and resolving themselves into another pair of eyes, but eyes as deep and calm as mountain pools. And he heard a voice now, growing with the eyes, a voice saying, "That's it; just slow down: slow breaths, in, out, in, out, that's right..."
Bobcat could hear himself panting wildly. He tried to shake his head, to get some kind of grip on himself, but something had hold of him. He blinked once and realized he was staring straight into Fisher's face, their noses almost touching, her claws the sharp points beneath his ears. A second blink, and he saw that his front paws had just as tight a grip on the sides of her head.
A third blink went by before Bobcat could make himself let go, and by that time Fisher had loosed her claws and was taking a step back.
Bobcat could hear Skink rustling and squeaking somewhere: "See? See? I said it was something awful; didn't I say it was something awful? Just like Grandmother said; didn't I tell you? And then the worst thing in the world! What'll we do? What'll we do?"
"Do?" Fisher said, her eyes wide and staring at Bobcat. "First, you can hush up. And second, you can sit still."
Bobcat had to blink a few more times before he could cough out, "No more, please, no more. It's gotta stop; I don't know, but it's gotta, that's all." The fire was still burning all along his cuts, and he just wanted to collapse somewhere. He forced his head to stay up, though, his eyes to stay on Fisher. "You gotta do something; I don't care what, just...something...."
Fisher nodded. "Can you climb?"
"I don't know; gods, what a question." That bubbling laughter wanted to start up in the back of his throat, but he clamped down on it. "Whatever. Just point me the right way."
"All right. Skink, up on my back. Straight ahead, Bobcat; we'll be right behind you."
Bobcat stumbled forward, his legs prickling like they were asleep. Then he was at the sycamore and climbing up its trunk. Fisher's voice came from below: "The patio. To your right." He looked, saw some planking among the branches, and pushed himself over onto it.
It smelled nice, the patio did, sycamore leaves draping overhead, and Bobcat settled down to let the quiet seep into his fur. He heard Fisher's claws scrabbling against the bark, heard her and Skink say a few words to each other, but he wasn't really listening: the eyes had shrunk to the back of his head, and he was concentrating on the breeze that whispered through the sycamore's branches, on the shadows that stirred over his fur, on keeping those awful flames contained.
#
"Hey," came Fisher's voice from in front of him. Bobcat let his eyes roll open and saw Fisher taking a glass jar out of her satchel. "I'm gonna put some of this on your cuts. It might sting a little, but it'll keep 'em from going septic."
"Sure, whatever."
The stuff went on cool and smooth, and the pain in his sides sank slowly, the fire of those eyes lessening a bit more. He took some deep breaths and somehow managed to unclench everything.
Fisher came around in front of him again and stretched herself out along the planking, her elbow cushioned on her satchel. Bobcat avoided her gaze. After some silence, she asked, "So what happened?"
Bobcat almost laughed. "Uh-uh. I'm not gonna do that again. I leave it alone, maybe it'll leave me alone."
"You sure 'bout that? You talk it out, there'll be the three of us here instead of just you--"
"No way. Not again."
"I'm telling you, Bobcat--"
"Just drop it!" Bobcat snarled, leaping to his paws. "I don't need this! Any of it! Any of you or that lizar
d or his stories or his grandma or any of it! Nothing makes sense anymore! Nothing! And if I think about it, it'll all come back and maybe it'll get me this time, see? So no, I don't wanna talk about it, okay? Not now, not ever! So just drop it!"
Fisher blinked once. "Whatever." She turned to Bobcat's right, and as Bobcat lay back down, he saw Skink crouching on the patio next to him. "Skink, about this stuff your grandma told you, this 'worst thing in the world' and all, she said she had lived through it, right? So when do you figure it actually happened to her?"
Skink didn't move for a second or two; then his head snapped over to look at Fisher. "I've given this a great deal of thought over the years, and I've come to believe that the actual time at which it took place is of no real importance."
"Really? And why's that?"
"Well, you'll understand that this is just a theory of mine, but I believe that what Grandmother told us is some form of a previously unknown Cyclical Myth."
Fisher rubbed her whiskers. "Okay, I can see that. We've got--what?--the signs to be watched for and the things to be done? And I guess the final unifying action, but--"
"Wait a minute," Bobcat cut in. "Did we switch to another language here?"
Fisher sighed. "Is there a problem?"
"Problem? Yeah, I'd say that. What in the bright blue above you're talking about, for one thing."
"I'm sorry, Bobcat." Skink twitched his head over. "You see, I'm adapting some principles from the Philosophy of History. Perhaps you remember from your school days how--"
"My school days?" Bobcat coughed out a laugh. "Lizard, I was only in school till I could outrun my mom and pop, and I haven't been near a school or them since."
Skink's mouth stayed open, but no sound came out, his stare unblinking and focused on Bobcat.
Bobcat stared back, and the silence went on for a moment; then, "Okay, look," Fisher said. "The Cyclical Myths are old reptile stories about how and why things work. Basically they say that everything in nature is patterned in cycles, and these cycles are controlled by the Twelve Curials. You have heard of the Twelve Curials, haven't you?"
"Course I have," Bobcat snapped. The stories Shemka Harr had told him so many years ago drifted into his mind again. "You mean like how the Lord Leopard comes around at the beginning of autumn to put his spots on all the leaves? Or how the Lady Dolphin swims through the clouds to make it rain? Those stories?"
"Yeah, those're some of 'em. See, the Lord Eft explained how things worked to the first Elders of the first kiva just after the world was made, and they've handed the stories down since then. As time went on, the stories got outta the reptile communities, and folks really liked 'em. They told 'em over and over until they got to be just stories--y'know, bedtime and fireside tales to keep the cubs amused."
"Wait a minute." Bobcat narrowed his eyes. "They are just stories. You...you're saying you believe that stuff?"
"The stories?" Fisher shook her head. "Most of 'em are the bunk. The Curials, though, I've met a couple of 'em."
Bobcat stared at her. She wasn't smiling. But she couldn't be serious, could she? Bobcat hadn't believed in the gods even when he was a kitten; could Fisher be crazy enough to think she'd actually met them?
He still hadn't made up his mind when she spoke again: "Anyway, these stories all have a certain shape to 'em, certain ways you can tell you're dealing with a Cyclical Myth. Even the real complicated ones, like the Lord Tiger's pursuit of the Justice Beast, have the same basic structure as all those two-minute Lady Squirrel stories. What Skink's saying is that his grandma's story has some of the same elements as a classic Cyclical Myth." She shrugged again. "For all that's worth. I just don't see that it helps us any."
"Oh, but it does," Skink piped up. "If we are involved in a Cyclical Myth, it will prove the case for Curial intervention. Many in my own kiva argue against the Curial powers involving themselves in the affairs of earthly folk; they state that the Curial powers keep the world turning for their own benefit, that our devotions to the Lord Eft are pointless. But since all Cyclical Myths involve the Curial powers, if Grandmother's story continues to follow the pattern, then the powers will have to involve themselves, especially with the worst thing in the world coming. I would even say--"
"Yeah, okay," Fisher cut in, "but I don't care about proving anybody's theory. I just wanna know what this 'worst thing in the world' is and how we fit into it."
"Wait a minute." Bobcat could see he'd be saying that a lot with these two. "You don't know? I thought... Aren't you s'posed to... Isn't that why we came here? Isn't that what Skink's grandma said?"
Skink raised an arm. "Not exactly, Bobcat. Grandmother merely said we were to go to Fisher."
"But...but why else would we come out here?"
Fisher was tapping her claws on the planking. "If you'd just keep quiet for a couple minutes, I might be able to figure that out. That okay with you?"
Bobcat bristled, then pulled his mouth shut and nodded.
"Good," Fisher went on. "Okay, Skink, we're gonna need some background info on your grandma."
"Certainly."
"Now, she was an adventurer, right? The skink Ong Gedolkin talks about in his books about founding Ottersgate?"
Skink smiled. "Yes, Grandmother had quite a collection of stories to tell, and most of them concerned adventures she had participated in."
"So what was her earliest adventure?"
"Earliest? Well, I recall a story she told us concerning her being washed down River in the floods when she was six; that was the first time she crossed paths with Red Chilliri, the River pirate. She always said that from that day on, she knew she was supposed to be an adventurer."
"And her last adventure?"
Skink rubbed his chin. "That would be the avalanche story; she was exploring some caves up north for a mining interest, and they collapsed. She said she made a deal with the Lord Eft that if he would let her live through it, she would settle down for good. He did, and she did."
"So, how many years are we talking from first to last?"
"Well, the floods were in 1577, and the avalanche was just before my clutch's hatchday in 1707. That makes 130 years, all told."
Bobcat gave a low whistle. "When you said she was old, I didn't know you meant old."
"Oh, yes," Skink said with a nod. "She died just after her 140th hatchday."
There was a short silence; then Fisher started in again. "But the real question is: was there a time in there when she didn't go adventuring for a while?"
Skink blinked a few times. "Didn't go adventuring?"
"Yeah. I mean, think about what she said. She'd had a chance to stop the worst thing in the world from happening. But she said she'd failed, so whatever this worst thing was, it must've happened. Now, that'd make me slow down, at least for a couple months."
"That's very true..." Skink looked into the distance. "Well, the only time I can think of was after she married Grandfather and hatched their first clutch. She always said that she wasn't really sure how to do things that first time, so she stayed home and performed all the proper matronly duties. But after that, she'd just swing by, drop the eggs, and pop out again; she said she was lucky Grandfather was so good with children. That's the only break I can remember."
Fisher smiled. "I'm sorry I never got to meet your grandma. So what years are we talking here?"
"Let's see. Grandmother married Grandfather in 1624, and their first clutch hatched out in 1630."
Fisher's brow furrowed. "Sixteen twenty-four..." she muttered.
Bobcat stared at her. "What?"
She held up a paw and shook her head. "Something I read once was written that year, something.... Be right back," and she was past Bobcat and into a large hole in the trunk of the sycamore. Bobcat could hear scufflings and scrapings and Fisher murmuring; then there was a crash from inside. Bobcat leaped up, a wall of dust cascading from the hole, and a small metal tube clattered out across the patio and lodged against his left front paw. Then everything
was still.
After a few seconds, Bobcat called out, "Fisher? You all right in there?"
A little more dust drifted from the hole, and Fisher emerged onto the patio, two books clutched to her chest, the look in her eyes making Bobcat's fur prickle. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Sixteen twenty-three." She set the books, red-bound and cracked with age, down on the planking. "My great-great-grandfather...his books...they were the last books my mother had me read before she took me on my spirit walk...."
Bobcat couldn't make out titles on the worn covers of the books. "But what are they? What do they say?"
"Sixteen twenty-three," Fisher said again. "Sixteen twenty-three was the Plague Year."
"The what?" Bobcat was about to say, but he stopped himself when he heard Skink gasp.
"Of course," the lizard whispered, his eyes wide and staring at nothing. "I am a fool. I never connected it...."
Bobcat held up both paws. "C'mon; let's not start that again. Remember me? What's all this 'Plague Year' stuff?"
Her face still tight, Fisher picked up one of the books, flipped to near the end. "Here," she said, and read: "'By my reckoning, at least 50 percent of the population died in the first ten months. After that, the plague seems to have run its course, but the following months saw thousands more, weakened by the disease, die of pneumonia, influenza, and other normally treatable maladies. Over half the population dead in one year, and not merely in the Ottersgate area; from Lai Tuan in the east to Kazirazif in the west, the figures are similar. Every second being, both creature and folk, has died on this continent, possibly on this whole planet, in this past year.'"
She looked up from the book. "The worst thing in the world, I'd say."
Bobcat could only stare. Questions whizzed through his head, but they went by too fast for him to ask any of them.
He heard Skink clear his throat. "I blame myself for not having seen it earlier. What must we do?"
Fisher closed the book. "First thing, we get us some serious help. How soon can you get the Elders together for the Kesshurmeshk?"
The Blood Jaguar Page 3