The Mountain Cage (9 page)

He readied himself, then lunged, trapping the bird under his paws. She stared back at him, eyes wide with terror. He bared his teeth.

“Cruel creature,” the bird said.

“Not cruel. I have to eat, you know.” He had injured her; she fluttered helplessly. He swatted her gently with a paw.

“At least be quick about it. My poor heart will burst with despair. Why must you toy with me?”

“I’m giving you a chance to prepare yourself for death.”

“Alas,” the bird sang mournfully. “My mate will see me no more, and the winds will not sing to me again or lift me to the clouds.”

“You will dwell in the realm of spirits,” Hrurr replied, “where there are no predators or prey. Prepare yourself.” He bit down; as the bird died, he thought he heard the flutter of ghostly wings. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have no choice in these matters. As I prey upon you, another will prey upon me. The world maintains its balance.” He could not hear her soul’s reply.

When he had eaten, he continued up the slope until he came to a clearing. Above him, a path wound up the mountainside, leading from a round, stone tower with a pointed roof to a distant chalet. The chalet sprawled; he imagined that the two-legs inside it was either a large creature or one who needed a lot of space. Creeping up to the nearer stone structure, he turned and looked down the slope.

In the valley, the homes of the two-legged ones were now no bigger than his paw; the river running down the mountainside was a ribbon. This, he thought, was how birds saw the world. To them, a two-legs was only a tiny creature rooted to the ground; a town was an anthill, and even the gray, misty mountains before him were only mounds. He suddenly felt as if he were gazing into an abyss, about to be separated from the world that surrounded him.

He crouched, resting his head on his paws. Two-legged ones had built the edifices on this mountain; such creatures were already apart from the world, unable even to hear what animals said to one another, incapable of a last, regretful communion with their prey, eating only what was stone dead. He had always believed that the two-legged ones were simply soulless beings whose instincts drove them into strange, incomprehensible behavior; they built, tore down, and built again, moving through the world as if in a dream. But now, as he gazed at the valley below, he began to wonder if the two-legged ones had deliberately separated themselves from the world by an act of will. Those so apart from others might come to think that they ruled the world, and their constructions, instead of being instinctive, might be a deliberate attempt to mold what was around them. They might view all the world as he viewed the tiny town below.

This thought was so disturbing that he bounded up, racing along the path and glorying in his speed until he drew closer to the chalet. His tail twitched nervously as he stared at the wide, glassy expanse on this side of the house. Above the wide window was a veranda; from there, he would look no bigger than a mouse—if he could be seen at all. Farther up the slope, still other buildings were nestled among the trees.

His fur prickled; he longed for Mewleen. Her sharp hearing often provoked her to fancies, causing her to read omens in the simplest and most commonplace of sounds, but it also made her aware of approaching danger. He wanted her counsel; she might have been able to perceive something here to which he was deaf and blind.

Something moved in the grass. Hrurr stiffened. A small, gray cat was watching him. For an instant, he thought that his musings about Mewleen had caused the creature to appear. In the next instant, he leaped at the cat, snarling as he raised his hair.

“Ha!” the smaller cat cried, nipping his ear. Hrurr swatted him, narrowly missing his eyes. They rolled on the ground, claws digging into each other’s fur. Hrurr meowed, longing for a fight.

The other cat suddenly released him, rolling out of reach, then hissing as he nursed his scratches. Hrurr licked his paw, hissing back. “You’re no match for me, Kitten.” He waited for a gesture of submission.

“You think not? I may be smaller, but you’re older.”

“True enough. You’re only a kitten.”

“Don’t call me a kitten. My name is Ylawl. Kindly address me properly.”

“You’re a kitten.”

The other cat raised his head haughtily. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same question of you.”

“I go where I please.”

“So do I.”

The younger cat sidled toward him, but kept his distance. “Did a two-legs bring you here?” he asked at last.

“No,” Hrurr replied. “I came alone.”

Ylawl tilted his head; Hrurr thought he saw a gleam of respect in his eyes. “Then you are one like me.”

Ylawl was still. Hrurr, eyes unmoving for a moment, was trapped in timelessness; the world became a gray field, as it always did when he did not pay attention to it directly. Mewleen had said such visions came to all cats. He flicked his eyes from side to side, and the world returned.

“There is something of importance here,” he said to Ylawl. “A friend of mine has told me that this might be a place where one can cross from one world into another.” He was about to tell the other cat of the vision that had come to him while he was gazing at the valley, but checked himself.

“It is a cage,” Ylawl responded, glancing up at the chalet. “Every day, the metal beasts crawl up there and disgorge the two-legged ones from their bellies, allowing them to gather around those inside, and then they crawl away, only to return. These two-legged ones are so prized that most of this mountain is their enclosure.”

Hrurr stretched. “I would not want to be so prized that I was imprisoned.”

“It’s different for a two-legs. They live as the ants do, or the bees. Only those not prized are free to roam.”

Hrurr thought of his two-legged creatures who had been taken from him; they might be roaming even now. He was suddenly irritated with Ylawl, who in spite of his youth was speaking as though he had acquired great wisdom. Hrurr raised his fur, trying to look fierce. “You are a foolish cat,” he said, crouching, ready to pounce. Ylawl’s tail thrust angrily from side to side.

A short, sharp sound broke the silence. Hrurr flattened his ears; Ylawl’s tail curled against his body. The bark rang out once more.

Ylawl scrambled up and darted toward a group of trees, concealing himself in the shadows; Hrurr followed him, crouching low when he reached the other cat’s side. “So there are dogs here,” he muttered. “And you must hide, along with me.”

“These dogs don’t scare me,” Ylawl said, but his fur was stiff and his ears were flat against his head.

A female two-legs was walking down the path, trailed by two others of her kind. A black terrier was connected to her by a leash; a second terrier was leashed to one of her companions. Hrurr’s whiskers twitched with contempt at those badges of slavery.

As the group came nearer, one of the dogs yipped, “I smell a cat, I smell a cat.” He tugged at his leash as the female two-legs held on, crooning softly.

“So do I,” the second dog said as his female struggled to restrain him.

“Negus!” the two-legs in the lead cried out as she knelt, drawing the dog to her. She began to murmur to him, moving her lips in the manner such creatures used for speaking. “Is that dog loose again?”

“I am sure she isn’t,” one female replied.

“How she hates my darlings. I wish Bormann had never given her to Adolf.” The two-legged one’s mouth twisted.

“There’s a cat nearby,” the dog said. The two-legs, unable to hear his words, stood up again; she was taller than her companions, with fair head fur and a smiling face.

“He must listen to the generals today, Eva,” one of the other females said. Hrurr narrowed his eyes. He had never been able to grasp their talk entirely, mastering only the sounds his two-legged ones had used to address him or to call him inside for food.

“Why talk of that here?” the fair-furred one replied. “I have nothing to say about it. I have no influence, as you well know.”

Her terrier had wandered to the limit of his leash, farther down the path toward the hidden cats. Lifting a leg, he urinated on one of the wooden fence posts lining the walkway. “I know you’re there,” the dog said, sniffing.

“Ah, Negus,” Ylawl answered. “I see you and Stasi are still imprisoned. Don’t you ever want to be free?”

“Free to starve? Free to wander without a master’s gentle hand? I think not.” He sniffed again. “There is another with you, Ylawl.”

“Another free soul.”

Negus barked, straining at his leash, but his two-legs was already urging him back toward the chalet. Ylawl stretched out on his side. “Slavish beast.” The gray cat closed his eyes. “He has even forgotten his true name, and knows only the one that the two-legs calls him.” He yawned. “And the other one is even worse.”

“His companion there?”

“No, a much larger dog who also lives in that enclosure.” Ylawl rolled onto his stomach, looking up at the chalet. “That one is so besotted by her two-legs that she has begun to lose her ability to hear our speech.”

“Is such a thing possible?”

“The two-legged ones have lost it, or never had it to begin with,” Ylawl said. “They cannot even hear our true names, much as we shout them, and in their ignorance must call us by other sounds. Those who draw too close to such beings may lose such a skill as well.”

Hrurr dug his claws into the ground. He had never cared for dogs, clumsy creatures who would suffer almost any indignity, but the thought that a dog might lose powers of speech and hearing drew his pity. Mewleen was right, he thought. He had crossed into a world where such evil things could happen. A growl rose in his throat as he curled his tail.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ylawl asked.

“I cannot believe it. A dog who cannot speak.”

“You can’t have seen much of the world, then. You’re lucky you didn’t run into a guard dog. Try to talk to one of them, and he’ll go for your throat without so much as a how-de-do. All you’ll hear are barks and grunts.”

The worldly young cat was beginning to annoy him. Hrurr swatted him with a paw, Ylawl struck back, and they were soon tussling under the trees, meowing fiercely. He tried to sink his teeth into Ylawl’s fur, only to be repulsed by a claw.

Hrurr withdrew. Ylawl glared at him with gleaming eyes. “Now I understand,” Hrurr said sofdy. “I know why I was drawn here.”

“And why is that?” the young cat said, flicking his tail.

“I must speak to this dog you mentioned. If she realizes what is happening to her, she’ll want to escape. Not that I care for dogs, you understand, but there is more at stake here. The two-legged ones may draw more creatures into their ways, separating us one from another, and then the world will be for us as it is for them. Where there were voices, there will be only silence. The world will end for us.”

“It is already ending,” Ylawl said pensively. “I have heard the birds speak of burning cities and the broken bodies of two-legged ones amidst the stones. But it is ending for the two-legged ones, not for us. They’ll sweep themselves away and the world will be ours again, as it was long ago.”

“They will sweep us away with them,” Hrurr cried, recalling the blackbird’s words.

“Look around. Do you see anything to worry about here? There are the dogs, of course, but one can hardly avoid such animals no matter where one travels. Clearly the creatures who dwell here are valued and carefully caged. If we stay here, we ought to be safe enough.”

“I won’t live in a cage,” Hrurr responded. “Even a dog deserves better. I must speak to her. If she heeds me, she will escape and may be better able to rouse her fellows to freedom than I would be.”

Ylawl arched his back. “I see that you must do this thing before you discover how futile it is.” He lay down in the shadows again, shielding himself from the bright summer sun.

Hrurr kept his eyes still, and the world vanished once more. Where did it go, he asked himself, and why did it fade away? When he moved his eyes, he found that Ylawl was still with him; the chalet remained on the hill. How many times had he crossed from one world to another without realizing he had done so? Was each world so like every other that no movement could lead him to a truly different place, or was he forever trapped in this one, able only to glimpse the others through windows of shiny glass?

“When will I see this dog?” he asked.

“Soon enough,” Ylawl said. “You must wait for her two-legs to lead her outside.”

More metal beasts had come to the chalet, leaving their gray-clothed two-legged ones near the door, where the house had swallowed them. The last to arrive had been a man in black; he entered the chalet while two companions, also in black, lingered near his beast, ignoring the group of two-legged ones in gray who were pacing restlessly.

Hrurr, settling on the grass nearby, waited, grooming himself with his tongue while Ylawl scampered about and inspected the beasts. Occasionally, he could discern the shapes of men behind the wide window above.

At last the other two-legged ones came back out of the house, shaking their heads as they walked toward their metal beasts. The waiting men stiffened and flapped their right arms before opening the beasts’ bellies. One of the black-clothed creatures stared directly at Hrurr; the man reminded him of something, but the memory was just out of reach. He waited to hear a gentle croon or to receive a pat on the head, but the two-legs turned away, watching as the other beasts roared toward the road.