The Blood Jaguar

by Michael H. Payne

  The Blood Jaguar froze, her nose not quite touching the pampas grass, the wavering of the fire inside her suspended for just an instant. Then she looked back slowly, her molten eyes half-closed. "I must advise you to think carefully before you speak again."

  "What?" He blinked at her. "No, see, I was just saying that I don't have anything but me." He had to smile. "Like you said, not much of an offer, is it?"

  "On the contrary." She had padded back around to face him again, her fire somehow darker to Bobcat's eyes. "A willing death is worth many hundreds of thousands of unwilling deaths." Her lips curled, her teeth gleaming. "But again, I must urge you to think carefully before you speak. I won't even begin to consider an offer of a willing death until it's been made a third time."

  "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." Bobcat wasn't sure he was hearing correctly. "Death? Who said anything about death? I just--"

  She turned, shaking her head. "I knew you weren't making a serious offer."

  "No, no, wait!" Bobcat jumped a few steps forward. "Please! I just want to know what you meant! I mean, willing death? Unwilling death? What's the difference?"

  Her tail lashed, and she stopped, still facing the canebreak. "To me, there's an enormous difference. So, unless you're making an offer--"

  "But, wait." He tried to gather his thoughts. "All those other bobcats you were telling me about, my predecessors or whatever. Didn't they come out here willingly? I mean, they knew they were going to die, didn't they? That they didn't have a chance?"

  Her ears folded back, and she shot a look over her shoulder. "Actually, they were stupid. Every one of them thought he was quick enough or clever enough or strong enough to stop me. They tried every trick, every argument, every decoy, every deal they could think to pitch at me for the suspension of my Plague Year, and when none of those worked, it always came down to tearing throats: me tearing out theirs while their teeth were trying for mine. Unwilling deaths, each and every one, screaming and crying and fighting till the end." Her eyes flared. "Does that answer your question?"

  His heart crashing against his ribs almost knocked Bobcat over. "Yeah, I... I guess. But what... What exactly is a willing death, then?"

  Her voice crackled in the afternoon stillness. "A willing death is one freely given to me, a death that is mine to do with as I will, offered in place of the hundreds of thousands of unwilling deaths that my Plague Year will generate." Her eyes smoldered. "Death, after all, is the bottom line here, and I mean to have it--the juicier, the better. And a willing death is the juiciest of all." Those eyes fastened on him. "So, if that's the offer you're making..."

  The air had turned to thick liquid in Bobcat's lungs, a steaming syrup that choked and burned his insides.

  The Blood Jaguar shook her head. "I didn't think so," she mumbled, and she turned away, raised a paw to part the grasses.

  But there stood Garson in Bobcat's head, the cool evening shadows in the white swirls of her fur, the twitch of her nose, the chirp of her laughter. Then sores burst over her sides, her face growing thin, the spark fading from her eyes, her body collapsing into the fern beds. "Wait," he coughed out. "It is. It is what I'm offering."

  Huge and fiery, those eyes flared against him, her voice low and quiet. "What is?"

  "Me." He could barely hear himself. "My life for all those other lives."

  "Life?" Her eyes blazed up, and Bobcat couldn't help but shrink back. "I have no interest in life; I told you that! It's your death I would want!"

  Bobcat blinked at her. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's the same thing, right?"

  "Not in the slightest." She didn't turn away. "Now, for the last time, is that what you are offering?"

  He tried to shrug and nod, found he couldn't quite lift his shoulders or move his head. "Yes," he finally whispered. "That's...that's it."

  The Blood Jaguar sat back and rubbed her chin. "Interesting." She stood, padded across the clearing, stretched herself to settle before him, her paws very close to his. "Let me see if I understand your terms. I am to call off my Plague Year in return for your death, given freely to me and for my own use. Is that your offer?"

  Bobcat scooted back a bit, his throat convulsing, and felt the pebble beneath his paws. "Oh, and...and Skink's luck, too, I guess. I mean, since you wouldn't...wouldn't need it for anything anymore...."

  "Interesting," she said again, and Bobcat couldn't look up, left his eyes on the pebble, waited for her decision.

  He concentrated on breathing, and after a stretch of time, he heard her say, "Yes. Yes, I think I'll accept your offer." He saw one of her huge, guttering paws rise into the air; then it crashed to the ground, thunder cracking the sky and her voice shaking Bobcat from ears to tail. "Elements, scatter, relinquish your claim and witness your mistress here swear and aver that by the conditions agreed to herein, my pursuit of this Plague Year has come to its end."

  The thunder faded into her breathy laughter. "Well, I never thought I'd hear myself use those words. But there you are, my own. No more Plague Year. And I won't be able to summon another for, oh, I'd say at least the next four earthly generations. Well done."

  Bobcat let his head drop, found his paws, pressed his face into them. He would never see Garson again, and she would never know why, never know what had happened to him, never know how much he loved her.

  And he did love her, he realized then, though it wasn't really much of a shock; he'd suspected it for a long time now. He'd just thought that, well, that he could always be there with her, that they could grow old together, enjoying each other's company without having to put a name to it, without weighting it down with words.

  But now... He felt his paws getting wet where his eyes were rubbing against them. At least she'd still be alive back home, and maybe she would think about him every once in a while. Or maybe Fisher and Skink and the Ramon and those guys would be able to figure out what had happened, and they could go and tell Garson a little of how much she had meant to him. Yeah, maybe....

  He felt a tap on his back, looked up through blurry eyes to see the fire of the Blood Jaguar's face, her brow wrinkled. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  Bobcat sniffed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I guess." He pushed himself up. "So. What now?"

  She blinked at him. "Now? Well, my own, we're done here. You might as well be on your way."

  "On...my way?" He couldn't help staring.

  "Well, yes." She took the pebble from the ground, held it out, pinched between two black claws. "I'm sure Skink is anxious to get this back."

  Bobcat looked from her to the pebble, reached out, and plucked it from her claws. "But...but...," he managed after a moment. "Didn't we just make a deal here?"

  "We did, yes." She cocked her head. "You look a little uncertain, my own. It's too late to back out now, you know."

  "No, no, I didn't mean... I just...just..." He felt the fur prickle on his neck. "Aren't you going to kill me?"

  "What?" The Blood Jaguar stared at him, then laughed and rolled her eyes. "I've already told you: I'm not taking your life from you. I have nothing to do with life. It's your death you've given me."

  "Uhh, yeah, that's...what I..." He stopped and shook his head. "I guess I don't get the distinction again."

  She put a paw to her eyes and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?" She lowered her paw then and said, "After you've lived your earthly life, however long or short that might be, I'll appear to you the same way I appear to everyone. I'll slash you free from your body the same way I slash everyone, and you will dangle from my claws the same way everyone dangles.

  "But--and this is the deal we've just made--you will not then drift away from me the way everyone else does. For you will be mine, mine to do with as I will." A smile touched her lips. "Someone to talk to while I'm bouncing, maybe."

  Bobcat felt his shoulders loosen with such a snap, he almost staggered sideways. "Then... Then I can go?"

  "For now," she replied. "Oh, one more thing." She reached out, took his head gently betwe
en her cold, dry paws, and pressed her muzzle against his forehead, set it to tingling like an itch being scratched. "There. Now anyone with eyes to see will know that you're mine." Her claws stroked the fur below his ears, and Bobcat stared into her half-closed eyes, not quite sure what he was seeing there--sparks, flares, shooting stars. "I look forward to our next meeting."

  The fire of those eyes wrapped close around him, and Bobcat swallowed. "Yeah. I'll, uhh, see you around."

  Her laughter swirled the fire, gouts of flame washing over him, not horrible this time, though, not trying to devour him as they had before, but dancing, almost warm, a distant bonfire on a winter night. Into the air the fire whirled, spinning the afternoon light, and then it was gone.

  #

  Bobcat stared at the empty clearing, watched the little flowers on each stalk of pampas grass sway until they stopped, and the whole place settled back into silence. He looked down then, smiled at the pebble, pushed it up between his claws, turned around, and walked through the curtain of grass he had come through earlier.

  He didn't even try to retrace his steps. He was alive, and he was going to see Garson again; nothing else he could think of even remotely mattered. So he wandered under that eternal early-evening sky without a thought in his head except Garson Rix, until he came out into another clearing and saw the Lady Lioness waiting alone in the slight shadows.

  She looked over and smiled, so Bobcat padded across the clearing to her side. He couldn't think of anything to say, but the quiet didn't seem to be the sort that needed filling. He just sat there with her, glad to be sitting anywhere.

  Finally he heard her take a breath. "How are you feeling, Ghareen?"

  Bobcat let a little laugh out. "I don't know, Shemka Harr, I mean, my Lady. I just can't really believe the whole thing's finally over."

  She raised a paw. "You don't need to keep correcting yourself, Ghareen. I know I'm not really Shemka Harr anymore, but I do so love the sound of the name."

  He smiled up at her golden eyes, then had to look away, something still gnawing at him. "It's just...all that stuff the Blood Jaguar was saying about herself and you and the other Curials, about how you're, well, not really gods or anything, how the world would keep going without you. It's the same sort of stuff you told me in the cave, kind of, but, well, everyone else has been telling me how you're all in charge and like that."

  Her well-remembered laughter rolled over him, and Bobcat raised his head again. "Well, now, Ghareen, you tell me: if you hadn't come along that winter, and I'd gone through with my plans and died in that cave, what do you think would've happened?"

  Bobcat blinked. "Uhh, well, I s'pose...I s'pose winter would've just kept on going. Spring wouldn't've come."

  "Ah." She held up a paw. "But what did I tell you about the way the tilt of our earth's axis causes the seasons to come and go?"

  Something about it glittered in his mind. "Oh, yeah. Since we're not directly up and down, when we're tilted toward the sun, we have the warmer seasons, and when we're tilted away, things get colder. But how does that fit in with--"

  "Just remember this." And it was Shemka Harr's voice he heard, exactly as if he'd never left their cave. "The only lie I told you was when I said there were no Curials."

  "But...but how does that fit with--"

  "We exist," she went on. "We have influence. Anything else, however..." She shrugged her massive shoulders.

  Bobcat considered. "But, wait. I mean, Fisher and Skink and the Ramon and everybody, the way they were talking, it's like...like they all think you are gods." He stopped. "Are you saying that they're all, I mean, that they don't know what they're talking about?"

  Her smile was radiant. "All I'm saying, Ghareen, is that you were exactly right a bit earlier."

  "Me? Right?" He had to grin. "When?"

  "When you said you couldn't believe the whole thing was over. Because it's not, not by a long shot."

  Bobcat blinked. The sky was growing dark, the afternoon light fading, and she seemed to be fading with it. "What? Shemka Harr, I don't know what you--"

  "Go on," she said. She raised a dimming paw, pointed through the canebreaks, and Bobcat say the glimmer of a cook fire. "Your friends are waiting for you. Have a wonderful life, Ghareen. You've made your old teacher proud..." Her voice trailed off, and when Bobcat looked back, she was gone, the shadows so thick he could barely see the pampas grass anymore, night finally falling around him.

  A breeze rustled the grass. Bobcat took a breath, then turned and started toward the fire light.

  Chapter Eleven: Returns

  The light flickered through the pampas grass, drew Bobcat on through the sudden darkness, until he came out into yet another little clearing, and around a burning heap of reeds sat Fisher and Skink, one on each side, eating silently and staring into the flames.

  Bobcat had never thought anything could look so good; he rustled the grass with a paw and grinned when Fisher snapped her head over. He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw Skink scuttle around on the rim of his bowl. "Hey," Bobcat said, padding forward. "Any stew left?"

  Fisher just blinked for a moment. "Uhh, no, actually. You went off with the stove and the pots in your backpack; we've been eating trail mix." She stared some more, her eyes focused on his forehead, Bobcat realized. "You... What... What happened out there?"

  Bobcat rubbed the still-tingling spot above his eyes and shrugged. "We made a deal. Do you have a mirror or something anywhere?"

  It took another second or two of staring before she shook herself. "Uhh, yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute."

  She began rummaging through her pack, and Bobcat turned to see Skink squatted on the ground, his head bowed and his mouth moving. Bobcat felt his fur prickle, his ears going down, and he poked Skink in the back. "Will you cut that out? It's really getting on my nerves."

  Skink froze, his claws splayed. "Forgive me, Bobcat," he said after a moment. "It was my surprise at seeing Death's Mark upon you. I could not help myself."

  The scuffling from Fisher's side of the fire stopped, and he heard her say, "Here. I suppose you'll be able to see it; I mean, it's on your head."

  She was holding out a circle of metal and glass. Bobcat took it in his paws, held it up, and saw himself looking back, tufted ears, bushy cheeks, drooping whiskers, everything as usual except...except for a large, dark-ashy circle in the fur halfway between his eyes and ears, right in the center of his forehead. He scooted around, used the mirror to reflect the firelight, and the mark showed clearly: over his regular brown spots lay one of the Blood Jaguar's black rings, square with rounded corners, unmistakably the same sort of spot that floated over her fiery sides.

  He reached up, rubbed at it some more, but it and the tingling behind it didn't go away. "So," he heard Fisher say. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

  "A good thing, I guess." Bobcat blew out a breath and gave her the mirror back. "I mean, the Blood Jaguar's canceled the Plague Year, but I...I don't think I'm quite ready to talk about it yet, if that's okay."

  She took the mirror, and Bobcat almost expected her to launch a barrage of questions anyway. But she just shrugged, tucked the glass back into her pack, and said, "Well, I know I'd like a hot meal. Get your pack off, and I'll put the stove together."

  He nodded and shrugged out of the pack, but the movement made a strange pressure poke at the inside of his paw. "Oh, yeah." He plucked the pebble out from between his pads. "She gave me this for you, Skink."

  The lizard's eyes went wide; he reached up, took it, stared at it, his mouth open. "Oh," he said. "Oh, Bobcat. My luck. I can't... It's really... Oh, Bobcat, thank you."

  "Yeah, well..." Bobcat looked away, started pulling the stove parts out of his pack. "Next time, you might wanna hold onto it a little tighter."

  There wasn't much left in Fisher's little bags, and she had to tap her oil flask to get even a few drops into the pan, but the stir-fry she mixed up smelled and tasted better than Bobcat knew he could've managed. Whenever he mad
e anything from odds and ends, it ended up weird, lumpy and greasy and cooked only partway through. He was really going to have to learn how to cook, he decided, when he got home.

  Home made him think of Garson, and he had to close his eyes at the wonderful warm rush that shimmered up his spine. He was going to see her again; that, he swore to the stars starting to flicker in overhead.

  Then he and Skink cleaned up the dishes, and they all settled down for the night. Any dreams Bobcat might have had were so gentle they didn't make any impression on him at all, and he came blinking awake the next morning feeling nothing but rested. His forehead still tingled slightly, though; he touched it with a paw and guessed he'd have to get used to it.

  #

  The sky above the pampas grass had a smoky-blue cast to it that Bobcat knew meant more heat. Dawn had only just broken, though, the air still cool, and he rolled over to see Fisher yawning, Skink perched atop her pack.

  "I woke early," the lizard said, "to dedicate a thanksgiving ritual to the Curial powers. I found granola for you each as well." He waved to two waxed bags beside the ashes of last night's fire.

  Fisher raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast in bed. We should save the world more often."

  So they ate, the crunch-crunch-crunch the only sound till Bobcat couldn't stand it anymore. "So now what? I mean, do we just go home?"

  Fisher looked at him, swallowed her mouthful. "Unless you'd like to hang around here a little longer."

  Bobcat looked at the clumps of pampas grass standing motionless everywhere, and even the rising warmth couldn't stop him from shivering. "No, I, uhh, I think I've seen enough of this place for a while."

  "Suit yourself." Fisher looked sideways at him, then went on. "The best I can figure, we should head east till we find the Coati Road, then take it north back to Kazirazif. I'd rather not have to, but we are running low on just about everything but water, and there really aren't any towns in this whole part of the Savannah."