Tailchaser's Song

by Tad Williams

  “I dug into one of the tunnels,” she said. Though she spoke with composure, her sides heaved.

  It must have been terrible for her he thought—lost in this place; searching for one cat in the midst of countless others.

  “How in the name of Meerclar did you find me?” he asked, still grooming.

  “How did I what? Find you? I don’t really know, Tailchaser, I just knew that I had to. I can’t explain right now ... I can’t even think ... Would you stop that?” She bristled, and he ceased cleaning her coat. “We don’t have time!” she continued. “We have to get out of here—I think they’re looking for me.” She stood, and her legs trembled a little. Tailchaser did not comment, but rose also.

  “We can’t leave without Pouncequick,” he said.

  Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he thought of Hushpad—the object of his quest, for whom he had left the Meeting Wall so long ago. Could she be here somewhere, also? Was she still alive? He thought of Hearteater’s grisly throne, and felt suddenly small and helpless.

  “Do you know where he’s being kept?” asked Roofshadow. He turned to look at her. She was exhausted, and he was no better off.

  “Pounce?” he said. “No, I haven’t seen him since they separated us.” He looked apprehensively up the shaft.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have the time to look for him, then,” the gray fela said calmly. “We’ll be lucky to get out ourselves.” She started toward the shaft.

  Tailchaser was shocked. “But we can’t just desert him! I brought him here! He’s just a kitten!”

  Roofshadow looked back over her shoulder and snarled: “Tailchaser! Don’t be stupid! It might take us days to find him. We have to get out and warn the Folk at Firsthome—otherwise it will be too late for all of us! We’ll do him more good if we bring back help than if we’re caught and killed ourselves. We have to tell Fencewalker and the others. Come on now!”

  Fritti tried to object, but he knew he could never explain the truth to her: about Hearteater, or the Toothguard, or the leagues and leagues of tunnels crawling with hideous earthspawn.

  Roofshadow was not waiting to hear, anyway. She was slinking up the inclined tunnel, toward the flickering, sickly light and the sound of harsh voices. Fritti followed her.

  The mound was alive with activity. Clawguard bunched in groups, conferring in dull snarls, then broke apart to range down tunnels and storm into prison caves. As Tailchaser and Roofshadow reached the main corridor outside the shaft, the Claws had moved in force into the holding cavern adjoining the one they had so recently quit. Growls of rage and weak cries of pain could be heard echoing up into the tunnel in which they stood. They broke into a run, staying in the deeper shadows close to the corridor wall. Passing several other prison caves, they found an apparently disused tunnel, dark and musty-smelling, and darted in. The din behind them faded a little, and they stopped for a few moments while Roofshadow tried to orient herself. Eyes closed, she let herself be commanded by instinct, reaching into her sense-memory for the way to her entrance hole. After a moment’s deliberation, she led them down the tunnel.

  They stayed away from the main thoroughfares, taking advantage of spur tunnels and niches and unfinished shafts. Out and up they went, spiraling toward the surface, toward the place of escape.

  Several times they were almost caught. Once, on hearing the pad of approaching footsteps, they had to force themselves into a shallow, unfinished tunnel, and then stand frozen in terror, holding their breath, while two Clawguard debated whether their hiding place was worth searching. When the beasts finally decided against it and loped off Fritti found he had trouble catching his breath again.

  Finally, they began a last, steep ascent toward Roofshadow’s entrance. Peering around a corner, they found the last tunnel completely dark. As they moved quietly forward they caught a glimpse of starlight—the way out, at the far end of the corridor. Fritti had not seen the sky in so long that he felt silly with excitement. Despite the oppressive wet heat of the mound, a chill arched down his backbone and curled his tail. He bounced forward joyfully; for a moment he felt there was grass beneath his feet again, and cool wind in his fur. He heard Roofshadow call his name, softly but urgently. He paid no heed.

  Then, the starlight disappeared.

  At once something struck him, catching him completely unaware. Roofshadow’s admonitory call became a yowl of fear. Something was on top of him—some snapping, biting thing.

  “Nuzzledark! Don’t allow the other one to essscape!” slashed a voice in the dark, and he heard Roofshadow cry out again. The thing atop him drove for his throat with spiny teeth, and as he twisted desperately he felt furless skin squirm beneath his claws. Toothguard! He struggled to pull loose from the grasping creature, and managed to sink his own teeth into flesh for a heartbeat. He was rewarded with a hissing squeal of pain from his attacker. He drove his back legs up and heard the gasp of lost air. In the moment’s respite he pulled free, and then dashed back toward where he had last heard Roofshadow’s voice. His eyes were finally adjusting to the profound darkness, and he saw another form rear up just in time to avoid the worst of the blow, which still sent him spinning. He came to rest against the cringing mass of Roofshadow.

  “Ssssslitbelly! Help Nuzzledark with the prisssoners.” Fritti could now make out the owner of the voice, its elongated, hairless body crouched beneath what was to have been their escape hole. Its eyeless head nodded approvingly.

  “Sssso,” it said. “Asss expected, you return to your point of entrance. How niccce. Ssssince you are ssso interested in traveling, now we shall take you to sssee our domain, yesss?”

  The other two dark shapes now flanked Roofshadow and Tailchaser, and one of them said: “Why do we not end their livesss here, Massster Hisssblood?”

  The Toothguard lord let a long second of silence hang in the dark, damp air.

  “You should know better than to quesssstion me, Sssslitbelly—esspecially since you yoursself have proved ssso inefficient. These creaturesss have causssed uss all great problemsss, and we shall have to work hard with them to repay the bargain. They will live awhile longer becaussse I wisssh to learn certain thingsss. However, I can learn nothing from you. Do you sssee my meaning?”

  Slitbelly was gagging on his answer when a dark shape hurtled out of the tunnel from behind Tailchaser and Roofshadow, knocking the two Toothguard sprawling like sticks. Not waiting to discover the identity of their mysterious benefactor, Fritti and the fela sprang to their paws and raced back up the corridor. Behind them they could hear snarls and cries, and the sounds of vicious combat. Above it all, the mad voice of Hissblood was screeching: “Sssstop them! Sssstop them!!”

  Time expanded into one dark and everlasting moment as Fritti and Roofshadow fled through the lightless outer halls. Away from the Toothguard, away from Roofshadow’s tunnel, away, away—they could think of nothing else. Tailchaser was bleeding from new wounds, and his shoulder throbbed and flamed with each stride.

  They raced through nearly complete darkness, relying on their whiskers and keen hearing: these shafts were almost devoid of the luminous earth that lit most of Vastnir. They stumbled against stones and over roots in the floor; several times in their panicked flight they ran into earthen walls, rose, and ran on.

  Eventually they had to slow down. They were completely lost, and had passed an uncountable number of branch tunnels in the darkness.

  “I think we will be trapped here forever!” gasped Roofshadow as they loped along.

  “If we keep our left sides to the wall, and keep turning outward, eventually we must come to one of the exit tunnels—at least I hope so,” wheezed Tailchaser. “Anyway, it’s the only thing I can think of.”

  Faint sounds whispered up from holes and cross tunnels. Some were the distant noises of Vastnir rising from the main chambers. Some, though, were unidentifiable—moans and whispers, and once the sound of something large splashing in a deep pit. They walked carefully around the pit, and by unvoiced agreement did
not speak of the noise that had wafted up from its depths. They kept turning outward, and the noises of the mound became fainter and fainter with each bend.

  The air seemed to be getting chill; when Fritti commented on it, Roofshadow pointed out that they were approaching the surface, leaving the unnatural heat of Vastnir. It did not feel like the cold of winter to Fritti, though. It was a deep cold, but damp and moist. It felt as though they were running through a thick fog. The air near the opening of Roofshadow’s tunnel had not felt this way. He saw no sense in arguing, however, and restrained his objections.

  Moving down what seemed to their ears and whiskers to be a broad, high-ceilinged corridor, Tailchaser heard a different sound: something that—though faint—sounded like the padding of soft footfalls. He mentioned it quietly to Roofshadow, and they slowed to an almost silent walk, straining their ears. If they were footfalls, they must be quite far back to be so nearly inaudible. The twosome increased their pace slightly.

  The hallway, such as it was, narrowed suddenly. They found themselves in a low tunnel so suddenly that Tailchaser cracked his forehead against the roof. This tunnel wound and dipped, then rose again, as if it had been dug among large rocks or other massive obstacles. Fritti and Roofshadow crouched low to the ground and reduced their pace to a near-crawl. Finally, the burrow opened out into another wide, well-planed chamber.

  They had progressed several steps when Tailchaser noticed a difference.

  “Roofshadow!” he hissed excitedly. “There’s light!”

  There was, although it was noticeable only in contrast to the dense blackness through which they had passed. The glow came from around a corner at the far end of the massive hallway, faint and indirect. It did not seem to have the same quality as the luminous earth.

  “I think we’re near the way out!” said Roofshadow, and for a moment Fritti thought he could see the gleam in her eye. They broke into a fast walk, then a run—able now to see the obstacles, massive tree roots and stones, which loomed black against the faint gleam at the end of the great hall. The air was still chilly, but drier; dust was everywhere, so much dust.

  He had bounded ahead of Roofshadow, who reared suddenly, crying: “Tailchaser! Something is foul here!” Then one of the black shapes between them rose up, and with the movement the air was suddenly full of a sickly, spicy odor. Roofshadow squeaked—a strange, throttled noise—and Fritti stumbled to a halt.

  Both cats stood as though paralyzed. A dry voice, like the sound of branches rubbing together, issued from the dark shape.

  “You shall not pass,” it said. The words were faint, as if spoken from a great distance away. “You are the Boneguard’s now.”

  “No!” boomed a new voice. Unbelieving, frozen with an odd, exalted terror, Tailchaser saw the sunken eyes and malformed face of Scratchnail suddenly appear out of the darkness behind Roofshadow. The gray fela, overwhelmed, sagged in place and lowered her head.

  “I took them from Hissblood and his Toothguard. These two are mine!” Scratchnail growled, but moved no closer.

  “You have no claim,” whispered the odd, sighing voice. “No one may interfere with Bast-Imret. I do the bidding of the Lord of All.” The Boneguard moved, swaying slightly with a leathery, folding noise, and the Clawguard chieftain quailed, reeling as if he had been struck.

  “Take the fela, if you wish,” continued Bast-Imret. “Our business is with the other. Go now. You tread in deep places.”

  Scratchnail, whimpering with some unseen injury, leaped forward and grabbed the unresisting Roofshadow by the nape of the neck, then turned and disappeared down the dark, cluttered tunnel. Fritti tried to call out after Roofshadow, but could not. His joints tingled with the effort as he tried to pull away and run.

  The dark form of Bast-Imret turned—cat-shaped, but sunken in clinging darkness, even while facing the glow at Tailchaser’s back. Fritti could not look at its face, at the dark spots that should have been eyes. Head averted, he struggled—and for a moment succeeded. His legs felt like water, but he managed to turn around and crawl agonizingly away from the Boneguard.

  “There is no escape,” whispered the wind.

  No, thought Fritti, it isn’t the wind. Run, you fool!

  “No escape,” breathed the wind, and he could feel himself weakening.

  Not the wind, must escape, must escape ...

  “Come with me now”—it was not the wind, he knew that. He continued crawling. “I will take you to the House of the Boneguard,” droned the unfeeling tones of Bast-Imret in the darkness behind him. “The pipes play always, in the darkness, and the faceless, nameless ones sing in the deep places. There is no escape. My brothers await us. Come.”

  Fritti could hardly breathe. The smell of dust, spices, and earth dizzied him ... permeated him ...

  “We dance in darkness,” chanted Bast-Imret, and Fritti felt his muscles stiffening. “We dance in darkness, and we listen to the music of silence. Our house is deep and quiet. The earth is our bed ...”

  The light seemed brighter. Tailchaser had nearly managed to reach the bend in the tunnel. He blinked his eyes, dazed. Without warning, the dark figure of Bast-Imret was before him, blocking the end of the hallway. A dry, poisonous air seemed to blow out from the Boneguard. Choking, Tailchaser sagged to the floor, unable even to crawl. The creature stood over him, faraway voice crooning unfamiliar speech.

  Terror surged through him, hot panic, and somewhere he found the strength to lunge forward. As he struck, he felt the dusty fur give against his momentum. Bast-Imret crumpled with a sound like snapping twigs, clutching at Fritti as he tried, with what seemed his last dying strength, to push past. Beyond the tunnel’s edge lay a pool of light. He strained toward it, and the freedom it represented.

  But the Boneguard clung, and in the darkness the choking dust and sweet smell enwrapped the two of them like another shadow. Fritti felt the paws of the Boneguard—brittle, but strong as tree roots splitting rock—curl about his neck. The flaking, dry snout quested for his throat. With a final squeal of revulsion, Tailchaser lashed out.

  There was a hideous tearing sound as he pulled away from the creature. Great, flayed rags of crumbling fur and skin came off in his claws and teeth—and as he tumbled toward the light he could see the dull wink of old, brown bones, and the grinning skull of Bast-Imret.

  As he scrambled up the short shaft he felt a searing pain. The space between his eyes throbbed and burned. When he reached the hovering, gray-blue. disk of sky, he turned for a moment—and saw the terrible thing behind him. It was standing in the shadows of the tunnel’s base, its skeletal mouth slowly opening and shutting.

  “I will remember you until the stars die ...” cursed the distant, toneless voice. The fire in Fritti’s head flared again, then was gone.

  Tailchaser forced himself over the edge of the hole. The light was so bright that spots floated before his eyes. Hobbling, almost falling forward, he struggled away from the hole—away from Vastnir.

  The world was white. Everything was white.

  Then, everything was black.

  3 PART

  24 CHAPTER

  O magic sleep! O comfortable bird

  That broodest over the troubled sea of the mind

  Till it is hushed and smooth!

  -John Keats

  Pain and weariness battled beneath Tailchaser’s fur. High in the sky hung the cold, burning stone of the sun. The world was shrouded in snow; trees, stones and earth mantled in an even, white sheath. Little needles of chill pain pricked Fritti’s feet as he stumbled through Ratleaf Forest.

  Since recovering consciousness, he had staggered near-blindly, putting distance between himself and the mound. He knew he had to find shelter before Unfolding Dark, when the gruesome shapes would come up from the tunnels below, hunting him....

  The snow behind him was dotted with red.

  Late afternoon found Fritti still in helpless, unthinking flight. He was weakening rapidly. He had not had anything to eat since what
must have been the morning of the previous day; that had been—as was usual for the tunnel slaves—barely sustaining.

  Tailchaser had now penetrated into deep forest. Columns of trees pillared the forest roof; the ground everywhere was shrouded in ice. Fatigue and glare made his eyes burn and tear, and from time to time he imagined he saw movement. He would stop, hun ker down on the cold snow blanket with pounding heart ... but there would be nothing, nothing: a static world.

  The life of the old forest now driven out by the foulness growing near it—or so it seemed—Ratleaf made no sound, but silently heard the crisping of his pads; made no movement, but motionlessly observed his struggle.

  As the day wound forward and the biting soreness in his nose, ears and paws disappeared, to be replaced by a puzzling blankness of sensation, the illusion of subtle movement would not be laid to rest. From the corner of an eye Fritti glimpsed scuttling, shadowy presences; when he turned his head, though, only snow-laden trees met his gaze.

  He was beginning to wonder if he was not indeed mad, as shadow-haunted as old Eatbugs, when one of his sudden glances caught the gleam of an eye. It was gone immediately behind the tree branches that had framed it, but it had been an eye: he was sure of it.

  When another minute, peripheral movement caught his attention he did not turn but staggered on, watching with a sort of half-deranged slyness. In the extremity of his weariness he did not even consider the possibility that it might be a stalking enemy. Like a kitten playing with a dangling vine—first coy and uninterested, the next moment leaping for the kill—he could only think of the moving object; catching it, putting an end to the game.