The Blood Jaguar

by Michael H. Payne

  Skink blinked at her. "The Kesshurmeshk? But that's a leave-taking ceremony, only to be convened--"

  "I know what it is. How soon can you get 'em together?"

  "Tomorrow morning, I should think. But where--?"

  "I'm not sure yet. I got some ideas, but I need to check 'em out. You just get down to the kiva and get the ceremony set for dawn. Send word if it's not gonna come off; otherwise, Bobcat and I'll meet you there tomorrow morning. We've gotta get moving on this, and I'd really like the Lord Eft's blessing before we get in any deeper."

  "I agree. I fear the situation is much graver than I had foreseen. If you will take me to ground level, I shall start for the kiva at once."

  "Wait," Bobcat said. "What're you--"

  "In a minute," Fisher answered, and with Skink clinging to her back, she was over the edge of the patio and gone, leaving Bobcat alone with his spinning head.

  #

  It didn't take Bobcat long to decide that things still weren't making a lot of sense. Sure, this Plague Year thing sounded awful, but it had happened in 1623, over a hundred years ago; why get so excited about it now? They way they were talking, you'd almost think that they...that they...

  He heard the scritch-scratch of Fisher's claws on the tree trunk; then she was on the patio and gathering up her books. "C'mon inside," she said.

  "Wait a minute." Bobcat crooked a claw at her. "You and Skink think this Plague Year's coming back, don't you? You think that's what his grandma was talking about, and we're s'posed to do something about it, right?"

  "Yep." Fisher turned and walked into the tree trunk. "C'mon in."

  "That's crazy, you know that?!" But Fisher had vanished into the darkness inside the tree. Bobcat waited, but she didn't come back out. So he rose and padded after her. "I mean, we're talking a disease, right? I'm no doctor; what'm I s'posed to do?"

  The darkness closed dry and musty around him, but before his eyes could adjust, he heard some low mutterings ahead, then the scrape and fizz of a match, a little flame appearing in the darkness. It rose up, grew larger with a crackling hiss, and the room glowed out in the light of the red candle Fisher was turning away from.

  Bobcat gave a low whistle at the room brightening into view. It wasn't a big room, but on every inch of the curving walls, over every spare bit of floor space, even hanging from the ceiling in a few places, were bookshelves and bookcases, all nearly bursting. "Have you really read all these?" he asked, staring around. Even the table the candleholder was standing on was thick with books.

  "Never mind that." Fisher had unslung her satchel and was pulling a padded lounge chair out from under the table. "We're in deep serious here, and I'm betting you've got the one last nasty puzzle piece I really don't wanna see."

  "Me? I don't even know what's going on! What've I gotta do with any of this?"

  "I wish I knew." She lay back on the chair. "Now, I'm gonna ask you, and you gotta answer me true, 'cause if I'm right on this..." She stopped, and for the briefest of seconds in the candlelight, her eyes held the look of a rabbit whose last exit had just been cut off. The look was gone almost instantly, but Bobcat knew it when he saw it, and he suddenly felt very cold.

  "This morning," Fisher went on in the silence of the room, "this thing that happened to you, was it... Was there a fire, a fire in the shape of a giant cat?"

  The candle crackled in Bobcat's ears, and the scene flooded over him again: the growling, the eyes, the claws, the whole huge flaming thing as it roared and leaped. Then it was gone and he was back in Fisher's room, his throat dry. "How?" he finally got out. "How did you know?"

  Fisher closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Sometimes I wish I'd gone into forestry...," she muttered.

  "You know what it was," Bobcat whispered. "Don't you?"

  Fisher nodded.

  "You gotta tell me. I... It's been driving me crazy all day. I don't know if it was real or a dream or what, but you gotta tell me, Fisher; I hafta know. Fisher? Fisher!"

  When Fisher finally opened her eyes, they shone like black stones in the candlelight. "She has many names," she began, her voice slow and quiet. "She is the Shadow in the Grass, the Stalker After Midnight, the Raging Fire That Burns Cold. She is the Strangler of Laughter, the Darkness on the Sun, the Claw That Stops the Throat's Last Rattle. She is Mayhem, Slaughter, Destruction, and in all things, she is Death." Fisher blinked, and her eyes focused back on Bobcat. "She is the Blood Jaguar."

  Bobcat could only stare, the name triggering more memories of Shemka Harr's stories.

  "There are the Twelve Curials," Fisher went on, "and she is the Thirteenth. They're on opposite sides of things, the Twelve in charge of the aspects of life, and the Thirteenth in charge of the aspects of death. That's a little simplistic, but I don't wanna get into all the jargon. But if she's involved, I'll bet we've got another Plague year coming. And, well, like you said, we're supposed to do something about it."

  Bobcat still couldn't say anything. It wasn't that he doubted Fisher; in fact, and this was even scarier, he believed every word she had said. That monstrous cat thing couldn't have been anything but the Death Queen of Shemka Harr's stories, the fiery Soul Slasher who rules the Shroud Islands far to the south of the world, the glades where the Just find eternal rest and the pits where she torments the Guilty.

  Of course, Shemka Harr had also told him it was just a way of personalizing the wearing out of the body, that there was no Blood Jaguar, that she was just a story, something Bobcat had never had any reason to doubt. Now that he'd seen her, though... "But why me?" he blurted out at last. "I don't know any of that stuff you and Skink were talking about! Why'd she wanna jump out and kick me into the Brackens?"

  Fisher shrugged. "Like I said, I wish I knew."

  Bobcat rubbed at the throbbing between his eyes. "It doesn't make any sense..., he whispered.

  "You're telling me." For a minute, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the candle; then Fisher cleared her throat. "Well, I got some reading to do, and you might wanna get yourself some sleep."

  "Sleep?" Bobcat barked a laugh. "Yeah, right! And besides, it's not even noon yet."

  "True, but you've just had a bit of a shock, and--"

  "A bit?"

  "And we're gonna be leaving before sunup tomorrow, so--"

  "Uh-uh. No, thank you." Bobcat ran his tongue over his teeth; he needed a little catnip, just a roll to calm him down. "Look; I'm...I'm just gonna take a walk, maybe run over to Donal's Lake, okay? I'll be back by sundown, and you can get your reading done without me underpaw. Okay?"

  Fisher narrowed her eyes, then glanced over at the table where the candle sparked and snapped. "Well, I'd rather you stayed in this room, if it's all the same."

  "What? Why? What's so special about this room?"

  "The candle. It's the best ward spell I've got, but you hafta stay in its radius. It won't stop her if she really wants to get in, but it might make her think twice."

  Bobcat's fur prickled. "Her? You...you mean...you...you think...she might come back? Might come here?"

  "Nah. Not her style. But then kicking folks into the Brackens isn't her style either, so I figure better safe than shredded." Fisher shrugged. "But it's your life." She took up the second of the two books she'd been holding and began leafing through it.

  Bobcat stared at her, then started inching along the floor till he was next to the table. He lay down on the polished wood and tried to close his eyes, but it didn't work; the Blood Jaguar, all huge and fiery, kept flashing in behind his eyelids, and he would start up with a cry, leap backward, and slam into the bookcases.

  After he'd done this four or five times, Fisher folded her book closed. "This is not going to work," she said.

  The air felt hot and solid around Bobcat. "Sure," he snarled. "You're used to this! You prob'ly have big flaming monsters in for lunch ev'ry weekend! 'More tea, anyone?' 'Oh, no, thank you; we've got to go find some idiot to kick into the Brackens.' 'Ah, well, have a good time.' Why are
you doing this to me? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

  Fisher rubbed her whiskers. "Y'know, tea sounds like a good idea. You want some?"

  "What?!"

  "I've got some mint tea in the kitchen. You wanna cup?"

  Bobcat's ears had clamped themselves tight against his head, his whole body shaking, his heart crashing at his ribs. "Tea? What are you talking about? Don't you understand? The Blood Jaguar is trying to kill me! And I haven't done anything! Why are you doing this to me? Nothing makes sense anymore! Don't you understand? Nothing--"

  Fisher rolled off her lounge chair and grabbed Bobcat by his scruff. "The world doesn't make sense!" she hissed into his face, her eyes cold and black, her claws digging into his neck. "It never has made sense! It's a strange and twisted place that works on rules you have to work to read, let alone understand, and if you ever came down outta that catnip cloud, you'd maybe have a better handle on it! Folks like you are worthless in the real world, Bobcat, absolutely worthless, and I'll be damned to the Strangler's claw if I'll put up with your whining in my house!" Her dark eyes burned into him, and Bobcat felt every hair on his body bristle up.

  Then she was stepping back, undoing her claws from his fur, and blowing out a breath. "Sorry. But you're not doing anyone any good sitting here complaining. So something weird happened to you. Live with it. Sure, normally, I'd be happy to help you through this--I mean, your first Curial experience and it had to be with the Strangler herself. But there's nothing normal here, and we just haven't got the time." She gave him a thin smile. "Now, I'm gonna get that tea. You want some or not?"

  Bobcat's fur was drifting back into place, but he was still frozen to the spot. He found his tongue somewhere, "Uhh, yeah. Sure. Thanks."

  "Be right back." And she went out through a small doorway among the bookshelves. Bobcat could only stare after her, his mind defrosting as his senses opened back up.

  The candle popped on the table next to him, and he jumped halfway across the room. He realized he was panting like he'd run the Circuit race around Donal's Lake, and his legs felt just as shaky. But he managed to sit down and get a tentative grip on himself. Fisher was right about one thing: he had pretty much been acting like a whiskerless kitten here. He just needed a little relaxing, that was all, a good catnip roll or something to calm him down and let him start thinking. Mint tea would be better than nothing, though.

  In another minute, Fisher was back with two steaming cups. "This'll do you," she said, handing one to him. The stuff smelled softly of mint, and it went down smooth and warm, Bobcat draining his cup dry in three swallows.

  His shoulders unclenched then with a sudden snap, and a lazy wave rolled down his back. His eyelids started to droop, the aftertaste spread over his tongue, and he realized the tea had had more in it than just mint. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, Fisher's voice ringing in his head: "See you in the morning, Bobcat."

  #

  Then he was being shaken awake, the same voice saying, "What? You're not up yet?"

  He rose slowly, shook his head to clear the muck from between his ears, saw Fisher with two backpacks on the floor next to her and a plate of toast balanced in one paw. "You'd better eat something," she was saying. "We've gotta get going pretty quick." She held out a mug. "Coffee?"

  Bobcat's tongue felt thick and sticky. He wrapped a paw around the mug and was about to swig it down when his first thought struck him. "Wait a minute. What's in this one?"

  "Just coffee." Fisher took a swig of hers, then held the mug out. "We can trade, if you like."

  Bobcat took her mug and sipped it. It was good coffee, better than his ever was, not that that was too difficult a feat. He fumbled for the toast, and after he'd stuffed three slices down his throat, he grumbled, "You didn't hafta put me out, y'know."

  "Yeah, I did. You'd never've gotten to sleep on your own, and we've got traveling to do today." She took another slice of toast. "I didn't have time to argue with you yesterday, and we don't have any more time for it this morning. Now finish up; we've gotta get moving."

  Bobcat took the last piece of toast. "I hope I snored."

  "You didn't."

  The bottom of the mug had some grounds in it; Bobcat rolled them around on his tongue and thought dark thoughts. The worst part of it all was that she was right. He'd needed a long and dreamless sleep, and whatever Fisher had slipped him hadn't even left a hangover. He spat the grounds back into the cup. "So where are we going?"

  "To the kiva out by Donal's Lake." Fisher took his mug and the toast plate and tossed them through the little doorway among the bookshelves. "I haven't heard anything from Skink, so I guess everything's set." She slung one of the packs over her shoulders. "You get the heavy one."

  "What?" Bobcat hefted the bag she'd left on the floor. "What's all this stuff?"

  Fisher was standing in the doorway, looking out over the patio. "Trail mix, pots and pans, canteens, first-aid kits, the usual." She turned back to him. "You ready to go?"

  "Go? Go where?"

  "I already..." She sighed. "Just put that on and let's get moving. I'll meet you down on the ground." And she was gone from the doorway.

  "But what--" Bobcat started to say.

  "And blow out the candle, will you? We won't need it anymore. Not where we're going."

  Bobcat looked from the candle to the doorway and back again. He gave a little snort, struggled into the pack, aimed a breath at the table, and made his way from the darkness inside the tree to the grayness outside. Fisher wasn't there, but her voice came up to him through the leaves: "Bobcat! We got places to be!"

  So Bobcat clambered down the trunk of the sycamore, his pack trying its best to pull him to the ground more quickly, and padded across the clearing to where Fisher was waiting, tapping her claws against a tree root. "I still don't know what's going on," he said. "But don't let that stop you."

  "I won't. Let's go."

  She started off at a quick pace through the trees; Bobcat followed along till the coffee buzz behind his ears got his tongue working. "It's not that I'm the type to complain," he said to the back of Fisher's head, "but would it really be too much for you to tell me what in the bright blue above is going on here?"

  He heard her laugh. "You? Complain? Now I've heard everything." She slacked her pace and fell in beside him. "You wanna know? Okay. See, I did some reading last night about your friend--you know, the big fiery one?"

  Bobcat's sides started itching, but he didn't say anything. Those eyes had sunk to a mere shimmer, and he didn't want to chance waking them up.

  Fisher gave him a sidelong look. "Not interested?"

  "Just get on with it," he said through gritted teeth.

  "Bobcat, you can't keep on being so uptight about this. She'll eat you alive that way without her having to lift a claw. Believe me, I know it's hard, but you've gotta keep a sense of humor about all this stuff."

  Bobcat stared at her. She was crazy; that was the only explanation. "A sense of humor? About the Blood Jaguar herself trying to kill me?"

  "She wasn't trying. You'd be dead if she'd been trying."

  "That's not the point!"

  "Actually, it is. Well, maybe not the point, but a point certainly."

  "Stop interrupting me! Every time I start something, you cut me off! Don't you think I've got anything to say?!"

  "I know you don't have anything to say. You don't have the vaguest idea of what's going on, so how can you? Watch your step, now; we're here."

  Bobcat looked forward and saw that they'd come to the bank of the River. The water rushed by quick and cold in the predawn grayness, the River especially turbulent here where Mackinaw Creek brought down the meltwaters from Donal's Lake. A little way up the creek across the River, Bobcat saw smoke drifting out from a low earthen dome settled among the trees.

  He turned to ask Fisher if that was the place, but Fisher wasn't next to him anymore. Bobcat looked around and saw her jumping from rock to rock across the River's roiling face. She
turned around halfway there and shouted, "Come on! We haven't got all day, y'know!" Then she was on the other bank and scurrying up toward the dome.

  Bobcat stared after her, then started to pick his way across. He kept the extra weight on his back in mind and reached the riverbank without getting more than a paw wet--no thanks to that witch, of course. If the Blood Jaguar didn't get him, Bobcat was sure Fisher would. He shook his paw to dry it and started up the bank.

  The wisp of smoke showed above the trees to mark his destination, and Bobcat kept his eye on it as he climbed. At the top of the rise, he could see the dome itself, and he stepped out into the clearing that surrounded it. Fisher and Skink were both standing there, and Bobcat was about to call out to them when Skink turned, put a claw to his lips, and pointed back toward the dome.

  Lizards were coming out through the hole in the top. One after another, newts and geckos, salamanders and chameleons, reptiles and amphibians, all swaying down in some sort of procession. The first dozen or so wore red fringed collars with black spines that arched up over their heads and rattled counterpoint to their steps. They moved with a rhythmic slowness, first one front leg held suspended, then a few rustling steps scuttled them farther into the clearing, and the whole train stopped, each with its front leg cocked in front of it.

  Bobcat noticed that Skink was swaying in place to the rhythm, and when they all held their claws raised, his came up as well. Fisher gestured with her head for Bobcat to come over next to them, so he padded across the clearing, a question forming on his lips. But Fisher shook her head and nodded toward the lizards; Bobcat looked and suddenly realized that the lizards were moving to surround them. He could make out a sound now, too: a low, thrumming chant that shivered with the same uneven rhythm set up by the rattling of the lizards' collars.

  The sound made Bobcat's throat go dry; he swallowed and wondered what was going on. Skink and Fisher, he noticed, had closed their eyes and seemed to be caught up in the disjointed skittering and humming in the air around them. Bobcat didn't see how they could shut their eyes with all this happening; he couldn't stop swallowing, the rustling voices of the lizards seeming to settle at the base of his throat.