by Tad Williams
Quiverclaw gave an affectionate look to his old friend, who was bobbing like a nestling. “Hangbelly speaks the truth,” said the Thane. “You’ll earn no enmity from us with Stretchslow’s name as a hunt-mark. Well, if you have the sponsorship of such a cat, I feel better on many accounts. Stretchslow would not make a hunt-brother of someone for a game.”
Fritti was again a little bemused. Everyone seemed to find more importance in him than he did himself! “Well, as I said, Stretchslow didn’t sing a very clear song for us about where to go beyond the forest,” he offered.
“Ah,” grated Quiverclaw with mock sorrow. “To be reminded of my duty by a mere nestling. I think our old comrade sent you from afar to chasten me. I did say I would give you directions, did I not? Very well. Listen closely, for I will give you more than just the path to the Queen’s Court.”
The Thane turned and faced out across the rolling landscape. “Now then: before you stretch the Gentlerun Downs. Follow your nose as it now points—keep the sunset on your left near flank and you won’t go wrong. When you cross the Tailwend River you’ll be onto the plains, and about halfway to journey’s end.
“Keep your nose pointed U‘ea-ward, and eventually you’ll find the plains rising a bit. When you reach the Purrwhisper, cross to the far bank and follow upstream into the outskirts of Rootwood. You’ll know when you’ve reached it. Can you remember all that?”
Fritti said that he could.
“I’ll help him, sir,” said Pouncequick. Everyone agreed that he assuredly would, and the First-walkers gathered around to bid farewell. Even Bobweave came forward and touched noses with Fritti and Pouncequick.
As his companion had a farewell wrestle with Scuffledig, Tailchaser found Eyeshimmer beside him.
“I would like to do a seeing for you,” said the white cat. “I feel possibilities blowing. Do not be afraid.”
Fritti was not sure that he wanted whatever it was that Eyeshimmer was offering, but it was too late to object. The Farsenser had already sniffed his nose, and was scenting down the length of his spine to his tail-tip. Then the white cat sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes.
When he opened them Tailchaser was startled to see that their milky, azure color had changed to a deep blue-black. Eyeshimmer’s mouth gaped, and a breathy voice whispered out.
“ ... The great ones cry out in the night... there is movement in the earth... the heart’s desire is found... in an unexpected place ...”
The Far-senser shook his head, as if bothered by a loud noise; then the whispering voice continued: “... everyone flees from the bear, but ... sometimes the bear himself... has bad dreams...” There was a brief pause, then: “ ... when caught in dark places, choose your friends well... or choose your enemies...”
After another moment’s silence, Eyeshimmer closed his eyes again, and when he lifted his lids his gaze was once more the cerulean shade of a summer sky.
He bobbed his head once to the shaken Tailchaser. “May you find luck, dancing, young hunter,” he said, and turned away. Fritti sat puzzling over the weird song that Eyeshimmer had sung for him as Quiverclaw approached, Hangbelly stumping along at his side.
“Before we bid you good-journey, friend Tailchaser, I will offer you a word or so of advice,” said the Thane. “The Court may not be all that you expect. I hope you understand.
“We First-walkers believe it is unnatural, and against the will of our Lord Tangaloor Firefoot, for the Folk to live always in such close proximity to one another. Also, in recent times the place has begun to stink of M‘an.”
“You mean that there are Big Ones living near?” asked Fritti, surprised.
“No, of course not, only that the taint of our once-servants has spread even to the Seat of Harar. But I suppose it is not fair to prejudice you. We First-walkers are a solitary lot, and many at the Queen’s Seat find us extreme. You will have to be a hunter, and make your own course.” The black chieftain looked down at the dirt.
Hangbelly spoke up. “The young Prince Fencewalker is not a bad sort, though. If you have need of a friend, he’s a good ‘un to have. A bit boisterous, but an honest enough cat.”
Quiverclaw looked up and grinned, sharp teeth atwinkle. “Come, we have burdened you with enough words to keep a scatter of gray-muzzles pondering for seasons. We must finish our leave-taking.”
The three walked over to join the others. Pouncequick squirmed out from beneath Scuffledig and trotted over to Fritti’s side. Quiverclaw waved his paw in benediction.
“Tailchaser and Pouncequick, brave young hunters and friends of our old comrade Stretchslow, we wish you good journeying. Know that you are among the very few outsiders ever permitted to walk with the First-walkers.” Fritti and Pouncequick lowered their heads.
“I will tell you a prayer we speak. If you are in danger, and speak it, any of the First-walkers who may hear will aid you. If there are none about, well, it is no bad idea to call on the name of our Lord the Adventurer—whatever the situation. These are the words:
Tangaloor, fire-bright
Flame foot, farthest walker
Your hunter speaks
In need he walks
In need, but never in fear.
“Can you remember that? Good!” There was a moment’s uncomfortable pause. “Good dancing to you both,” Quiverclaw added.
Fritti bowed his head. “Farewell, Thane, and First-walkers. Your kindness is all the more valuable, being unlooked-for. May you also have good journeying and good dancing.”
Tailchaser turned, and without looking back started away toward the downs. After a moment Pouncequick followed.
Long after the First-walkers were out of sight, they still traveled in silence.
The first few days on the downs passed calmly enough. The passage of every Hour or so brought them to the top of a rounded hill, with visibility in all directions. Marking their position from the sun, they had no trouble keeping to their route.
The matted grasses cushioned the tired pads of the two cats, and the green, hilly slopes of Gentlerun were populated in abundance by all manner of edible things and creatures. The downs pulsed to a quieter, more reflective measure than the forest, and even the hunted seemed to accept their status with quiet fatalism. It was not unpleasant, passing across that gently curving country.
Days were becoming colder, though. Autumn was rounding the bend—with winter waiting patiently ahead—and Fritti and Pouncequick could feel the change in the weather as a quiet urging. When they caught themselves lagging, or felt lured by a new sight or smell, the chill down deep in their bones would reach out and give a small, icy squeeze, and send them hurrying back to their path.
Fritti was sad to see Pouncequick’s good spirits dampened by the hard traveling. Tailchaser, too, was melancholy, but his responsibility to the brave little cat gave some purpose to the bleaker Hours of the journey.
One gray afternoon the cats were hunting for their midday meal across the broad, green side of a hill. A small scrub growth of forest crowned the hummock, and from below it had seemed a likely place to search for game.
Nosing around the fringes of the copse, the two cats flushed a young rabbit from the undergrowth. As it bolted across the curving sward they leaped in pursuit, splitting off to either side of the fleeing Praere to box its escape.
The rabbit froze in place so suddenly that the surprised hunters also halted, and at that moment a shadow passed over their heads. The Praere, immobile but for twitching nose, panic in its staring eyes, disappeared in a rush of brown feathers that dropped from above.
The hawk barely touched ground as it stooped to the rabbit, grasping it with horny talons, breaking its back. Beating its wings heavily for a moment, the Meskra rose, dangling the limp body. Then, catching the wind, it vaulted upward, leaving the two cats gaping after. Neither bird nor prey had made a sound. The hill was suddenly bare and empty in the weak sunlight.
After a moment Pouncequick turned to Fritti. His teeth were bared in fright.
“Oh, Tailchaser,” he whimpered, “I want to go home.”
Fritti could think of no response, and led Pouncequick down the hill in silence.
Later that afternoon, when Pouncequick finally fell asleep, Fritti sat and watched the clouds creeping across the low sky.
Eight days had passed on the downs since the pair had left the eaves of the Old Woods; Meerclar’s Eye had waxed full and begun its closing. From the tops of the higher hills they could now see a dull shine in the distance, snaking a tarnished course through the hummocks of the far country.
Fritti was pleased to see it. He was fairly sure that it was the Tailwend River, and Quiverclaw had said that it would mark the halfway point of their journey to the Court.
They marched onward with a little more enthusiasm, but at first the gap did not seem to lessen very rapidly; the Tailwend remained just a shimmer on the horizon. The downs had begun to slope toward the river basin, though, and the patches of trees that dotted the surrounding countryside were more widely separated.
On their thirteenth night out of the forest they could finally hear the muted sound of the river across the meadowlands. It was a soothing noise—from this distance very much like that of the creek that ran past Meeting Wall after the spring thaws. Before sleep that night the pair played a game of Stalk-and-Spring, and Fritti laughed for the first time since they had parted company with the First-walkers.
They came down the shallow basin to the river’s edge on the morning of the fifteenth day on Gentlerun Downs. The mist hung on the grass, and the sky smelled of rain to come. Approaching Tailwend, which was high on its banks, was like coming down off the plateau into a world of water and cool air.
The rushing, gurgling river had a vitality and energy completely unlike the shy, hidebound forest streams of their home. The Tailwend splashed and laughed, carrying river willows and grass stems along in a rush, only to send them spinning off into quiet eddies along the bank where they would float lazily. Then the river would cat-and-mouse them back into the current and carry them out of sight.
Fritti and Pouncequick played on the banks until the sun rose into the sky above their heads and shone through the mist to chip glimmers off the hurrying water. They took turns swiping at sticks that floated in close to the river’s edge—darting their paws out, daring each other after twigs farther from shore. It was only when Pouncequick, in a moment of riotous abandon, came close to falling in—caught at the last moment by the nape of the neck—that Fritti began to turn his mind to the problem of crossing the wide, energetic Tailwend.
They walked farther upstream, tracing the coves and inlets, and the water sounds became harsher and more percussive. Around a bend in the river’s course they discovered the reason. Here the Tailwend narrowed slightly and lunged past a group of rocks that stood upright in the foaming water like broken teeth. As they drew closer, the top of one of the rocks moved slightly, then turned to look at them with wide eyes.
It was Eatbugs, perched like an owl in midstream.
The Tailwend rushed arid hissed past the mad cat. He stared at the two companions for a moment, then rose to his feet, fur starting out spiky-stiff all over his body. Without a word he teetered in place for a moment, then bounded out to another stone farther into the river. He was looking for the next safe spot to jump to when Fritti called out to him above the roaring of the rapids.
“Eatbugs! Is that really you? It’s Tailchaser and Pouncequick! Do you remember us?”
Eatbugs turned to gaze imperturbably back at them.
“Please come back! Eatbugs!” Fritti raised his voice. “Please cross back over!”
Eatbugs hesitated for a moment, then leaped back to the stone he had left. As the two friends watched, he laboriously made his way back across the river, finally hopping off the last stone onto the grassy bank. Regarding them warily for a moment, Eatbugs crouched at river’s edge.
Finally, recognition seemed to dawn. He appeared to speak, but Fritti could not hear him above the din of the Tailwend, and signaled that the old cat should follow them up the bank.
Some distance from the river, they stopped.
“It’s good to see you again, Eatbugs!” Pouncequick said cheerily. He seemed to have forgotten any fear he had once felt in the presence of the odd, muddy cat.
With a pleased but worried look on his face, Eatbugs walked around the pair, scenting their presence.
“Wurra-wurra-wurra,” he said finally, “it’s the tail waggers, the shinky-shanky ones themselves!” He cocked his head inquisitively. “What brings you little lubbers tip-tipping down to the riverside? Dost come to moisten thy noses? Ah... the real wonder is, how did you escape the burning questions of the demon-cats ? Did you grow wings and fly away? It wouldna be the first time,” he added cryptically.
“What demon-cats?” asked Pouncequick. “We met only the First-walkers, and they were very kind to us.”
“Ach! Ratspatter!” Eatbugs growled and spat. “They start out nice, true enough, but soon they want things, want things—always pressuring a body.”
Fritti did not take Eatbugs’ rambling too seriously. “Well now,” he said, “now that we’re all here, should we walk together for a while? Once across the river, we’re going to be traveling the Sunsnest Plains. We’d admire your company.”
Eatbugs smiled and nodded. “I shall be passing that way,” he assented. “I am following a particularly loud and vociferous star”—he lowered his ears and voice—“but ... I know where it goes to ground for winter!” Pleased at having shared his secret, Eatbugs did a small cross-step and bit lightly upon the ear of Pouncequick, who took it in good spirit.
“Can you lead us across the stream?” Fritti asked. “You seem to know the best rocks.”
“Do chipmunks have fur on their stripey behinds? Of course I can!” said Eatbugs.
The terrain changed on the farther shore of the Tailwend. The green-carpeted hills of Gentlerun dwindled and disappeared within the Hour—succeeded only by occasional kitten-hummocks that swelled cautiously up from the waving grass.
Pouncequick and Tailchaser had never seen anything to compare with the plain of Sunsnest. It stretched out and away from them, seemingly endless : a broad, flat ocean of grass and ground-hugging vegetation. It was as flat as nature could fashion, and although the downs rose up behind them, the impression was of walking on a high place. The sky, now flush with the winds and waters of a colder season, hung close above their heads, adding to the sensation. It felt as though they had been raised up onto a vast surface, to be examined by some impersonal force.
Fritti and the kitten were grateful for Eatbugs’ company. After their third and fourth sunrises, the monotonous grandeur of the plains began to make them feel very small and purposeless. Eatbugs, though, was a veritable fountain of distraction, brimming with fragments of strange poems, and favored sayings that applied to nothing.
Crouching for rest in the waving grass one afternoon, Pouncequick shyly began to recite a fragment of a poem he was making up about their journey to the Court of Harar. It was awkward and unfinished, but Fritti found it appealing. He was surprised to see that it seemed to make Eatbugs very uncomfortable.
Wishing to spare Pouncequick embarrassment he praised the kitten’s poem, and then turned to Eatbugs to change the subject.
“I’ve been wondering,” Tailchaser began, “why exactly this great flatland is called Sunsnest Plains. I see nothing of a nest about it at all, Eatbugs. Do you know?”
Eatbugs turned his mournful eyes on Tailchaser, and absentmindedly pawed a soiled twist of fur out of his face. “As it happens, little nibbler of Squeaker-toes, I do. I truly do.”
“Well, tell us, please! Is it a song?”
“No, no, not a song, though I suppose it could be.” Eatbugs shook his head sadly. “It is just a thing I remember hearing when I was a kitling, fewer Eyes behind me than little inkum-dinkum here.”
Fritti realized that they knew nothing of Eatbugs’ past. He promised himself to
try later to draw the mad, melancholy wanderer out on the subject.
“It is said, it is, by them as should know,” Eatbugs intoned, “that when Meerclar Allmother first opened her bright eyes there was darkness everywhere. The Allmother had the sharpest eyes of all, naturally, but even though she could see, she was chattering, chafing cold. So she thought and thought, for no cat, even the greatest, likes to be cold.
“After a while, an idea came to her. She rubbed her paws together—her great, black paws—and she rubbed them so fast that they struck a spark of sky-fire. She took the spark and lay down on the earth.
“There she lay nurturing it, protecting it with the fur of her body—and it grew. The spark tried to run away as it became larger, but always the Allmother would reach out and catch it, roll-rolling it back across the earth to where it was born.
“It grew, and waxed large and grand, and when she would capture it and roll it back the land would flatten beneath them where they passed. Bigger and rounder and brighter it became, until its presence in the world warmed all the first animals.
“All creatures came and gathered around the young sun, crowding and pushing to get closer ... and no beast would do anything else but lie there in that warmth and bask, until all the world became empty and lifeless except that one spot on the great, flattened plain.
“At this, Meerclar Allmother became angry as bitter weather, and threw the sun up into the sky where it would shine equally over all the world, and the dwellers in the earth dispersed again. There in the sky the sun still shines.
“But still, when the sun has burned and warmed as best it can and begins to tire, Meerclar takes it to her furry breast, where it strengthens again. While she has it, the world is cold for a season.