Tailchaser's Song

by Tad Williams

  Before the Thane could say a word, Hearteater’s dark, swollen body began rocking and pitching atop the carrion mound. “Do you think I perch here to frighten the pitiful, scurrying things that serve me?” the Fat One demanded. “To put otherworldly fears into the minds of such as you? HA HA HA HA HA!” Hearteater’s voice rose to a deafening pitch. “Like Fela Skydancer who bore me, I am bringing warmth to this pile of squirming flesh. I am giving it POWER!”

  The rumbling noise from the pit became a tearing, sucking sound. The lights beaming up from the earth flickered crazily. The assembled creatures, Free Folk and Clawguard alike, began to yowl in fear and scramble away from the pit.

  A huge shape emerged from beneath Hearteater, as if hatched, or as if forming itself from the vapors of the pit. It made a sound like the crying of uncountable dying things—myriad voices in one soulless cry. Howling and screeching, all who surrounded the pit scattered to the walls of the cavern as the vast thing clambered ponderously forth.

  The sickly purple light touched on something monstrous and deformed, dark and unrecognizable. There was a vague, lunatic suggestion of some demon-hound in its slavering muzzle and red eyes. It was formed of the melting, twisted bodies of the pit—dying, piteously suffering beasts melded into the shape of a single great one.

  Some of the Folk, courageous to the point of madness, tried to stand and fight. It was on them in a moment, shambling and deadly.

  “I have brought it forth!! The Fikos! I have brought it forth!” The cavern was full of cries, dead and dying, shouting chaos. As the dog-thing flailed and slew, the voice of Hearteater rose above all: “Fikos! Your bane! The bane of all that walk on the surface of the world!!”

  Tailchaser turned from the awful sight and fled the Cavern of the Pit.

  29 CHAPTER

  The fox has a bag of tricks, the hedgehog one very good one.

  —Archilochos

  Vastnir was in pandemonium. As Fritti ran through the near-darkness he saw cat-shapes careening by, shrieking and bounding like so many maddened bats.

  Tailchaser could think only of his friends; the horror and death behind him were too great. It seemed to be the end of all things—all life, all reason, all hope. He wanted to face it with his companions.

  No one heeded him in his flight. Clawguard and Toothguard fought with one another, as well as with the advancing host of Free Folk. Prisoners lured up from their caves by the sounds of chaos swarmed in confusion, scuffling, crying, searching desperately for exits. The thundering, mindless voice of the Fikos rolled through the mound, singing devastation and madness.

  Fritti tried to remember the ill-attended directions given him by Skinwretch. Several times in the confusion of sounds and bodies he feared he had lost his way. Finally, he recognized the downward turn. Ears flat, he sprinted down the sloping tunnel.

  Roofshadow and Pouncequick were crouching, hackles raised, at the back wall of their cave. At their feet lay Eatbugs—but now his eyes were open. He stared with odd, quiet interest at Tailchaser as he appeared at the doorway. Roofshadow did not appear to recognize Fritti for a moment, then, with a headshake of amazement, she bounded forward, calling his name.

  “Tailchaser! You’re here! What is happening?” She drew near him, sniffing, but he moved past her to Pouncequick.

  “Pounce!” he cried. “It’s me, Pounce! Are you all right? Can you walk?”

  Pouncequick stared up at him for a moment as if he did not understand, then a soft smile spread over the kitten’s features. “Nre‘fa-o, Tailchaser,” he said. “I knew you would come back.”

  Fritti turned around to see Roofshadow staring apprehensively up the shaft. “Terrible things are happening, Roofshadow,” he said. “The Folk have come, but they have been met by great danger. We can do no good here. Our only chance is to get out—now, in the confusion. Help Pouncequick up. I’ll get Eatbugs.”

  Without questioning, the gray fela leaped forward to help the youngling, but Pouncequick raised himself on shaky legs. “I can manage.” he said. “I was just waiting for Tailchaser to arrive,” he added mysteriously, then stretched, his body a small, arching bow-shape.

  Eatbugs proved more difficult. Though awake, and not actively resisting, he appeared confused. He did not seem to understand the need for haste; he tottered about the cavern, sniffing corners and walls as if he had just recently arrived.

  “He has been in the dream-fields since we were captured,” offered Pouncequick. “This is the first time I’ve seen him afoot for I don’t know how long.”

  “I hope he remembers how to use his paws,” grunted Tailchaser, “because our time is getting short—if it isn’t already too late. Come. I’ll lead. Roofshadow, bring up the tail-end and help Eatbugs.”

  “But where are we going?” asked the fela. “If the Folk have come to the mound, won’t there be guards at all the ways in and out?”

  “I think I know a way that will be unguarded,” Fritti replied, “but it will be chancy. We must go now! I will tell you what I can as we run.”

  The procession moved to the exit, Tailchaser sticking a nose out first to make sure the way was clear. The tunnel outside was empty, but sounds of great tumult filtered down from above.

  As he reached the exit from the cave, Eatbugs balked for a moment, staring around the chamber in which he had lain imprisoned for such a long time. For the first time since passing the gates of Vastnir, he spoke.

  “A poxy, boxy place ...” he said softly, then suffered himself to be prodded forth by Roofshadow.

  As the foursome coursed through the haunted corridors, Fritti tried to explain all the things he had seen. All about them the dead and dying lay intermingled with the confusion of the living. The luminous soil that lined the chambers and tunnels glowed only fitfully now, and danger seemed everywhere in the darkening mound.

  Several times their path was blocked by mound-creatures and they were forced to struggle for passage. Fritti and Roofshadow fought for freedom as though maddened, throwing the Teeth and Claws into confusion: why wouldn’t these small Folk be cowed into quick surrender? Everywhere the world of the mound seemed to be fraying apart, and to the terrified mound-dwellers these desperate, ungovernable slaves were only more frightening evidence of normality’s eclipse. Time after time the startled Guard fled in dismay to seek more easily subdued creatures.

  Eatbugs did not help to resist attackers, but only cringed, mumbling painfully. Pouncequick stood strangely aloof, and would not raise his small paw to defend himself, even when directly menaced. Instead, he stared blandly at his attackers until they shied away, awed by what they could not understand. Tailchaser and Roofshadow, fighting constantly in defense of their small convoy, were wounded in many places. Pouncequick, unhurt and untouched, followed them like a youngling on a day’s romp.

  “I don’t know how we can go on like this much longer,” gasped Roofshadow as they fled the scene of another skirmish. “Someone will assume control of these creatures soon, and then we may as well commend our kas to Meerclar.”

  “I know,” Fritti panted. He had no hope to extend—indeed, the byways they traveled were becoming more dangerous by the moment. He saved his breath, putting it to the better use of haste.

  Finally, though, as they followed the outreaching tunnels, they entered the less frequently trafficked areas. The attack by the Folk of the Firsthome had drawn most of the sentries in from the fringes of the mound; as the foursome turned and tracked ever downward, the din of battle began to fade behind them. The light of the mound-earth was fading, too, but Fritti had covered these paths before—more important, he was now following the slowly increasing thunder of the Scalding Flume.

  The hissing, roaring noise of the underground river became louder and louder in their ears as they essayed a succession of narrow, low-roofed tunnels. The air was filling with moisture. They emerged from a tight passage into what Fritti remembered as the last high chamber before the cavern of the Flume. Escape seemed possible now, although Tailcha
ser was sure that behind him the Free Folk were fighting—and losing—a deadly important battle.

  He halted the group to explain the dangerous footing ahead, but his warnings remained unspoken. When he turned, Eatbugs was gone.

  “Roofshadow!” he called. “Where’s Eatbugs? I thought you were following him!”

  The gray fela, licking her wounds, looked back into the empty darkness. A look of shame crossed her green eyes. “I’m sorry, Tailchaser,” she said softly. “Pouncequick stepped on something sharp and was limping. I came forward to help him. Eatbugs was right behind us ...”

  Fritti shook his head briskly in frustration and sorrow. “It’s not your fault, Roofshadow. You couldn’t have expected it. Here, let me describe the cavern ahead, and the way around the river.”

  Roofshadow nodded her head in understanding as he finished. Pouncequick just sat looking quietly at Tailchaser in the growing gloom.

  “I hope that I will be able to catch up to you before you leave the Flume,” said Fritti, “but if not, stay to your right shoulder and bear toward the surface.”

  “What do you mean, catch up with us?” asked Roofshadow in confusion.

  Seeing the distress on her features, Tailchaser was saddened and could not speak. Pouncequick, unexpectedly, spoke for him.

  “He is going back to find Eatbugs,” said the youngling.

  Roofshadow was astonished. “Going back? Tailchaser, you can’t. Time is growing shorter and shorter. Don’t sacrifice yourself for nothing!”

  “It’s not for nothing,” Fritti said. “I must do it. I want you to go. If you can get Pounce and yourself out I will feel better about everything. Now go, please.” He made as if to turn back, but Roofshadow ran and placed herself between Fritti and the tunnel. In her grief she looked more wild than Tailchaser had ever seen her—wilder by far than when she had fought for her own life. She looked as though she had fallen out of step in the earth-dance, and could not find her part.

  “Pouncequick!” she cried. “Tell him not to go. Don’t let him just go off chasing death’s tail this way!”

  But Pouncequick only looked at her with his old affection, and said: “He has to go. Don’t make it harder for us, please, ‘Shadow.” He turned back to Fritti. “May you find luck dancing, Tailchaser. Come back to us if you can.”

  Tailchaser had only a moment to marvel at the change in his young friend. The noises of hatred and conflict winding down the tunnels brought him to his purpose once more.

  “Mri‘fa-o, good, good friends,” he said, and would have paused to sniff them both, but he could not meet Roofshadow’s eye. He leaped past her and ran up the tunnel, back the way they had come.

  The outer passages through which they had just passed in relative safety were again filling with the dark shapes of Claw and Tooth. The milling beasts seemed to be regaining cohesion, and in Fritti’s mind, this boded badly for Quiverclaw, Fencewalker and the rest. From above his head—how far above he could not tell—came the scraping, dragging sound of some huge thing moving in the upper Catacombs. This boded far worse. He could easily guess what malign presence had escaped from the Cavern of the Pit, and was even now shambling through the upper tunnels. Tailchaser did not suppose that Eatbugs could have disappeared very far back along the route, but if he had ... well, even Fritti’s newly found resolve was not strong enough to take him willingly within reach or sight of the thing above.

  Creeping down a cramped passageway—treading softly because of a group of Clawguard he had spotted, who stood at the forking of the tunnel not a score of jumps ahead—he was suddenly brought up short by an unexpected sound: a soft laugh from somewhere close by. Looking down, he saw a crevice between stone floor and wall. It was from this that the noise came.

  He squatted, keeping an eye on the Clawguard up by the corridor’s splitting point. They were engaged—from what he could discern at this distance, and in the dim light—in an argument of some sort. Putting his keen ear down to the crack, Fritti listened closely.

  It was not laughter that he had heard, but a strange whimpering. He pushed his head through into the fissure—his whiskers just fit—and peered around. A dark shape was huddled down in a small cave formed in the tunnel wall.

  “Eatbugs?” Fritti whispered quietly. If the creature heard him, it gave no sign. Tailchaser carefully levered himself down into the cavelet. The darkness inside was nearly complete, and the cave was so small that Fritti could find no room to stand; he was forced to crush himself up against the matted, bristly shape.

  It must be Eatbugs, thought Fritti. No one else has fur so dirty.

  He gave the sobbing shape a sharp nudge. “Eatbugs. It’s me, Tailchaser. Come on now, I’ll get you out of here.”

  Fritti prodded the mad cat again, and the whimpering sounds became a disjointed stream of words.

  “Trapped, trapped and twitted ... twitted like the twinkling ... twinkling ... oh, there is badness, os and f-f-further ...”

  Fritti was disgusted. He might have expected that Eatbugs would have lapsed into this gibbering state. “Come now,” he said. “There’s no time for this.” His eyes had become better adjusted to the near-absolute blackness; he could just barely make out the tufted, wild-haired form beside him.

  “ ... Don’t you see, don’t you see,” moaned the voice, “they have suited us with a pelt of stone ... they have taken the skulls of stones and made us altogether a cage out of it ... the fitting is too tight. Nether depths, how it burns!” On this last, the voice rose until it was nearly a howl. Tailchaser flinched. If this continued they would surely be heard.

  His patience now beginning to smolder into fear, Tailchaser seized a mouthful of dirty fur in his teeth and pulled, hard. A paw, with a force like a great stone, pushed him over and pinned him down. His heart leaped. Had he been mistaken? Was this not Eatbugs after all?

  That would be the final irony, he thought. To go following my tail name on a mission of selflessness and then crawl stupidly into a hole with a ravening beast.

  Tailchaser tried to struggle out from beneath the firm grip, but he found he was clutched as securely as a newborn. His efforts caused the thing that held him to turn, and for a moment its face was spotted with faint light from the crevice’s opening.

  It was Eatbugs. The dim light showed his eyes, crazed as cracked ice.

  “My blood has called the whirlwind!” Eatbugs shrieked. “The sucking, spinning thing ... 0, pity me. I am its center, it will never leave me ... 0, even the void would be sweet... !”

  As the last echoes of the cry rolled out into the corridor beyond, Fritti heard the sound of running paws and sharp, questioning voices. They were discovered. He gave, one last heave, but Eatbugs—with deranged strength—had caught him fast. He might as well have been pinioned beneath a fallen oak. Helpless. He closed his eyes, and waited for death.

  Time seemed to slow, as it had before when the Clawguard came out of the night ... such a long time ago. Drifting, he found something at the edge of his memory, and drew it in to examine. It was the prayer that Quiverclaw had taught him—or, rather, the start of it. As his mind lazily examined the fragment of song, part of him still heard the scuffling sounds outside the fissure, and the muffled lamentations of Eatbugs.

  The bit of lore floated before his mind’s eye.... Tangaloor, fire-bright ... yes, that was how it began. How curious, that he should remember it now.

  “Tangaloor, fire-bright ...” He said it aloud now, and listened to the sweet contrast it made: to the harsh breathing of the beast beside him, and the harsh cries of the beasts without. More of the prayer came unbidden to his voice, more song. “Flame-foot, farthest walker ... your hunter calls ...” What was the last? Oh yes: “ ... In need, but never in fear.” That was it.

  He sang it again, straight through, oblivious to the gasping of Eatbugs beside him. The Clawguard in the tunnel above were curiously still.

  Tangaloor, fire-bright

  Flame-foot, farthest walker,

  Your hu
nter speaks

  In need he walks

  In need, but never in fear.

  Even with his eyes closed, Fritti was aware of a change. Light was streaming in, shining crimson on the inside of his eyelids. The luminous earth must be aglow again. He opened his eyes ... but the crevice-glow was as dim as before. Instead, a red brilliance was springing up within the cave itself.

  In the darkness, Eatbugs’ legs and paws had begun to glow as if they were afire.

  Eatbugs began to roll and pitch strangely. The light spread, and the red-lit air itself began to shimmer as if from great heat, but the temperature did not change.

  There was a great flash, and a voice like the singing of all the Folk beneath Meerclar’s Eye cried out, triumphantly:

  “I AM...!”

  The sheer force of it flung Fritti back; he struck his head against the crevice wall. As he rolled groggily back over he saw that the great light had faded. Eatbugs crouched before him, his body black, nearly invisible—his legs red as fire, red as sunset. The marks of madness and disarray were gone, the fur thick and fine; Eatbugs’ eyes stared back at Taikhaser with a wisdom and love and pride such as he had never seen before. There was a sadness, too, that hovered as close as a second pelt. Fritti knew that he was in the presence of all that was great in his race.

  “Nre‘fa-o, little brother,” Eatbugs said to him—but Fritti knew now that it was Eatbugs no longer: the true ka had come back. The voice was the melody of night, of things that know the old, delicate pattern that earth and her things know. Fritti dropped to his stomach, hiding his eyes behind his paws. He curled himself into a ball.

  “No, little brother,” said the wonderful voice, “you must not do that. You have no need for shame before me—quite the opposite. You have helped me find my way back after a long, dark journey, and in a time of great need. It is I who should bow to you and your efforts.” So saying, Lord Firefoot—for it was he—took up Fritti’s paw and touched it to his brow. The white star on Fritti’s own forehead flared up in the gloom of the small cavern.