Tailchaser's Song (13 page)

The fifth cat, crouching along outside the perimeter of Pouncequick’s audience, was very different. Seeing him, Fritti went cold all over.

The fifth cat was white as ice—thin, too; as slender as a birchtree branch—but this was not what disturbed Tailchaser.

He had strange, frightening eyes: milky-blue, and larger than any cat’s eyes that Fritti had ever seen. Tailchaser remembered Pouncequick’s story. For a moment he wondered if they were in some sort of cruel, slow trap.

But no ... Pouncequick had told him of terrifying eyes, but Pounce must have seen this white cat.

Look at him, thought Fritti.
If those were the eyes that frightened him, would Pounce be cutting capers for them? And not a red claw among them....

As Fritti looked from paw to paw, Pouncequick finally noticed him and called cheerily: “Tailchaser! Are you all right? Hangbelly said you would be. I’m just telling the First-walkers about our adventures!”

“So I see.” Fritti walked forward to join the group. No one stirred to make room for him except Pouncequick, so he squeezed in beside his small friend. Quiverclaw looked over to him with snake-slit eyes, but bobbed his head in affable greeting.

“Well met, Tailchaser. Did you have good dreaming?” he asked.

“I did not dream,” Fritti replied. He gave Pouncequick an affectionate nudge.

“Well now, well now ...” said large Hangbelly, shifting his huge paunch to look Fritti over. “Here’s the young warrior. You fought right well, nestling. How old do you be? Seen six Eyes, have you?”

“I shall have my ninth Eye in a few more sun-turns.” He looked at the ground, embarrassed. “I am small for my age.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, broken by the soft rasp of Quiverclaw’s voice.

“No matter. Courage counts no Eyes. There is precious little enough, without we fail to acknowledge it. You answered the challenge, and fought as the Old Laws command.”

Tailchaser felt he did not quite understand. “I didn’t believe I had much of a choice.” Hangbelly laughed at this, and Quiverclaw’s lips curled in amusement.

“You
always
have a choice, laddie-kit,” said Hangbelly, and the others bobbed assent. “Every day you have a choice, and if you want to, you can lie down in your fur and die anytime. But a First-walker never does y‘see? And we respect your choice, too.”

“I was protecting my friend.”

“Very fair, very fair ...” said Quiverclaw. “By the way, I would be doing a disservice to everyone if I did not offer face names. You and I have met through challenge, but my hunt-brothers are strange to you. Hangbelly you have spoken with.” Hangbelly bared his teeth teasingly.

“This is Bobweave.” A nod from the gray as he and Fritti sniffed at one another. “The fine, amusingly spotted cat—whom the Squeakers do not find at all laughable—” the black-and-white tom inclined his mottled head—“is Scuffledig. And the proud fellow who sits by himself is Eyeshimmer.” The white cat turned and made the tiniest inclination of the ears toward Fritti, who took it as a greeting and returned a nod.

Scuffledig piped up, “When he isn’t being mystical, he’s been known to catch a vole or two himself.”

“He is our Oel-var‘iz. Eyeshimmer is Far-senser to the First-walkers.” Pride was in Quiverclaw’s voice, and respect. Fritti was impressed. What an unusual cat Eyeshimmer must be, to earn such regard from a natural leader like Quiverclaw!

“I am afraid that I am only Tailchaser,” he said quietly. “I am not particularly special—and, I am afraid, rather on the small side ... as I mentioned.”

Hangbelly leaned over and nudged him with his broad head. “Here, then, nothing wrong with being small. Our Lord Firefoot was the smallest of the First!”

“Speaking of the First—with all respect—” said Tailchaser, “may I ask why you are called the First-walkers?”

“Ah, yes, there are many things that you young cats do not know,” said Quiverclaw.

“And do you always hunt in a ...
pack, like this?”
Fritti asked.

“Well ...” began the black cat.

Pouncequick eagerly chimed in, “And what can Eyeshimmer do?”

Bobweave yawned enormously, then said in a disgusted tone: “They certainly are good with questions. I’m going to go kill some breakfast.” He bounded lithely away.

Quiverclaw watched him go, then turned back to Tailchaser.

“Bobweave is not patient—but he has other qualities that more than compensate. I will try to answer
some
of your questions.”

Hangbelly snorted behind him.

“The First-walkers,” Quiverclaw began, after darting a glance at the hulking tom, “are the last pure line of those Folk who ran with our own Lord Firefoot in the days of the First. My blood ancestor, Lungeclaw, served him during the time of Prince Blueback.

“We are sworn to a paw-and-heart oath to guard that heritage. The days of valorous combat and oath-bonds and truth will never completely die, as long as the First-walkers survive.” Quiverclaw looked solemnly at Tailchaser and Pouncequick. “If the Rules and Commands are not obeyed, life becomes scrabble and scrape; without dignity. We First-walkers keep the laws of the First, and give them life. It is not always easy ... many whose blood runs true cannot live with our discipline.”

The black head turned slowly past the assembly, then faced away into the forest. “Our numbers have dwindled,” Quiverclaw said.

“And smaller still will those numbers shrink,” said a delicate, high-pitched voice. Quiverclaw and the rest turned to look at Eyeshimmer, who still crouched some distance away.

“So you have said. So you have said,” rasped the Thane wearily.

“And maybe that’s not such a bad thing, now,” rumbled Hangbelly, a touch of anger in his voice. “There are some ‘walkers about now as I, for one, could do without!”

Fritti was still curious. “Do you always travel in such great packs? Strange, indeed!”

Scuffledig and Hangbelly laughed at this. Quiverclaw hastened to explain.

“No, of course not. Strange it would be for the followers of Tangaloor Firefoot—who most often walked alone—to go a-roving like a great clump of Growlers. No, there are too few of us to walk all together. All told, there are only a pawful of other thanes, besides myself. Each one of us has his territory, and though we meet on the night of the Eye with one or two of our closest neighbors, we usually move alone.”

“But there are five of you here!” commented Pouncequick.

“Ah, but this is an exceptional time. We have been called to the territory of my Thane-brother Sourweed. All the First-walkers who have heard will gather there. There have not been so many of us together since my father’s day.”

“We shall dance, and sing, and tell lies,” chuckled Scuffledig. “Quiverclaw will wrestle with Sourweed, and Hangbelly will sniff too much catmint and embarrass us all!” He dodged a blow from the old tom.

“Yes,” grated Quiverclaw gently, “but unhappy purposes demand this meeting, and there is more to think of than merriment.”

“Aye, that’s true,” growled Hangbelly, “like what dung-dog it was that did for poor Brushstalker.”

Quiverclaw nudged him. “You are a fearsome hunter, old friend, but your mouth sometimes out-runs your eyes. The fate of Brushstalker is not a pretty song for young innocents like these.” He indicated Fritti and Pouncequick with a gesture. “Let us leave this talk now.”

It was obvious to Fritti that sparing their feelings was not Quiverclaw’s only reason for throttling the conversation. The wily black Thane was no more willing to abandon all caution and discretion at first meeting than Tailchaser himself had been. Fritti found himself once more admiring Quiverclaw’s control.

“Well, I think that it’s high time we followed Bobweave’s example and knocked down some breakfast.” The Thane got to his feet. Pouncequick bounced up also.

“Will you tell us more later?” the kitten asked. “About your meeting—and Eyeshimmer?”

“All things in earth’s season, young Pouncequick,” said Quiverclaw affectionately. The expression, which Fritti had heard before from the mouth of Bristlejaw, echoed in Tailchaser’s thoughts as the cats separated to hunt.

Breakfast finished, the group scattered around the edges of the clearing to attend to grooming and napping. A light rain had begun to patter down, and Tailchaser watched the drops raise little puffs of dust from the powdery ground. The tapping sound of the broad leaves over his head lulled him. He could feel his eyes becoming heavy.

A presence tickled his whisker-tips, and he looked up. Eyeshimmer was sitting beside him, rain-sparkle on his snowy fur.

“The first rains of the year bring out many strong impressions, do they not?” Eyeshimmer’s high voice was deceptively careless.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What impressions?”

“Impressions. Dream-stuff. Recognition and guide-tailing. I find that the early rains ... well, as I said.”

Eyeshimmer’s presence, and his strange conversation, made Tailchaser nervous. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about those sorts of things, Eyeshimmer.”

The Oel-var‘iz looked at Fritti with amusement. “As you wish,” he said, “as you wish.” He walked off as if bearing a secret joke balanced on the tip of his long tail.

Quiverclaw watched the Far-senser’s departure from across the clearing. He rose and stretched, then ambled around the perimeter, stepping over a drowsing Hangbelly. Watching him walk, Tailchaser was again struck by the harnessed power of the black cat.

“You look disconcerted, young Tailchaser. Did Eyeshimmer cast a disturbing fortune for you?” The Thane relaxed to the ground beside Fritti.

“No. No, he was just being sociable, I think, but I didn’t quite get what he was saying. I hope I didn’t offend him.”

“I would not worry overmuch. The Far-sensers are a strange breed, you see. Brilliant, quick as a wet skink, but a little moody and odd. It’s the way they’re raised, you know. While the rest of us are learning to catch Squeakers, the Oel-var‘izë are taught to read the weather in snail tracks, and sing salamanders out of the mud, and suchlike. Or so it’s said. Anyway, they’re all a bit daft—and Eyeshimmer not the worst by a long stretch.”

Fritti sensed that the Thane was playing the fool a bit for his benefit, but couldn’t help enjoying the First-walker’s droll manner.

“By the by,” Quiverclaw continued, “I did want to find out exactly where you and your little friend are bound. We would be happy to escort you, if your path lies with ours.”

“Actually, I was just thinking about that earlier,” said Fritti, stretching languorously. He stopped in midextension, suddenly self-conscious about showing such indulgence in the presence of the Thane. “I suppose I will have to decide rather soon,” he finished quietly.

Quiverclaw showed no sign of noticing Fritti’s embarrassment. “Sadly, we cannot take you with us to the Thane-meet. There are strong feelings about outsiders, you understand....”

Tailchaser sat silent. The task of finding Hushpad loomed once more. How difficult it was being responsible ! He missed the simple pleasures of kittenhood. How could he discover her? Every idea that ran through his mind turned out, under examination, to be useless.

“I suppose,” he asked the Thane finally, “that Pouncequick told you why we are abroad in these woods?”

“He did, young hunter. And a right brave and proper thing it is to do. I wish I could give you some wise words about where to find your fela, but alas, it is a large world. She is not the first to suffer from mysterious happenings, though, but more I cannot say. I am bound to hold silence until the Thane-meet.” The black cat lifted his leg and scratched reflectively behind his ear.

“I, too, have heard many odd stories,” agreed Tailchaser. “As a matter of fact, my clan sent a delegation to the Court of Harar to seek help in this situation. I suppose I should go and meet them there, and see what they have learned. I’m afraid I had not given the whole subject much more than a sniff and a lick when I decided to set out. Yes, I suppose I must try to reach the Court.”

A strange look flickered across Quiverclaw’s slitted eyes.

“The Court, eh?” he grunted. “Well, each hunter must set his own paws to the path. Unfortunately, when we get to Woodsedge in a day or two’s time, we must part ways. Sourweed’s territory lies Vez‘an-ward—to the east—and your path must take you toward Va’an. We will give you good directions, though ... and good wishes.” Quiverclaw rose. “Take some sleep, now. I wish to set off again after Smaller Shadows.” The black hunter paced sinuously off.

The rain had steadied into a drizzle that matted the fur and muddied the paws of the travelers. Through the gray afternoon and evening they marched on across the failing fringes of the old forest. Pouncequick—being the smallest and least fastidious—fell into several puddles, not always by accident.

They reached the final line of trees at the threshold of the downs as the sun was disappearing over the horizon. Quiverclaw decided that they should stop and spend one last night beneath the shelter of the trees.

Bobweave and Scuffledig scouted up a relatively dry spot on a rise beneath a stand of pine trees, and after an unimpressive hunt the party repaired to their sleeping place.

For a long time they lay quietly watching the growing rivulets of water snake past them, each trickle seeking its own path to low ground. Pouncequick and Scuffledig played Hide-and-Swipe across Quiverclaw’s back for a while—until an errant paw took the Thane on the side of the head. Ears back, he snarled the restless pair into uneasy stillness. Then, realizing that it was a losing battle, the chief of the First-walkers turned to Hangbelly.

“Old friend,” said Quiverclaw, “it looks to be a long night. How about a little entertainment—if only to save my aching head from any more Hide-and-Swipe?”

“A grand idea!” shoutted Scuffledig. “Tell the story of Bobweave and the hedgehog!”

Bobweave looked at Scuffledig with a grimace of distaste. “Certainly,” he said sourly. “Then we must have the story of Scuffledig’s first gopher hunt.”