Treecat Wars (34 page)

* * *

Dirt Grubber was aware of Windswept’s excitement the next morning as she tossed a variety of bags and bundles into her flying thing and motioned for him to jump in. He knew part of the reason for her happy mood was that they were going to get Bleached Fur. Even when Death Fang’s Bane had still been close, Windswept had clearly found Bleached Fur an attractive male, but Dirt Grubber had gradually come to realize that she had held back expressing her feelings because she felt that Death Fang’s Bane had a claim on him.

That sort of confusion would not have arisen among the People, given their ability to taste one another’s mind-glows, but he admitted that there were still many things he did not truly understand about two-legs. For example, he was far from certain how they chose their mates. There were pairs he had met who behaved outwardly like bonded pairs. Inwardly, however, each was indifferent to the other. Sometimes parts of an apparent pair even despised each other. That was troubling enough, but this question of conflicting claims on one person—this uncertainty and pain when there was no indifference in any of them—would not happen among the People.

Not for the first time, Dirt Grubber wished he and Windswept could talk Person to Person. Since they could not, he settled for watching the landscape passing in a blur which was still mostly green beneath the flying thing. Even with the clear partitions closed, Dirt Grubber could tell that once again they were over one of the areas where the fires had been very bad, for the green shifted to blacks and browns. He thought it might even be near the area where they had found Keen Eyes. That reminded him of their last meeting.

When he had awakened after Darkness Foe’s treatment, Keen Eyes had shared very little with Dirt Grubber and Swift Striker. Part of that was clearly because the medicines Darkness Foe had used to make him comfortable muddled his thinking, as both Dirt Grubber and Swift Striker knew from first-hand experience. But part was certainly because he was deeply miserable and did not care to share his innermost thoughts.

Dirt Grubber had to depart when Windswept did, but Swift Striker had promised to stay with the stranger and offer him comfort. That Swift Striker would also try to learn what had so disturbed Keen Eyes, Dirt Grubber did not doubt. However, Swift Striker would not be able to share that information over the enormous distances that separated them, so revelation would need to wait until their two-legs brought them together again. Judging from the number of times the feelings Windswept associated with Darkness Foe flowed through her mind-glow after she had gathered up Bleached Fur and they were making their mouth noises at each other, Dirt Grubber did not think that meeting would be too long in coming.

Death Fang’s Bane was also much on the young two-legs’ minds. Dirt Grubber was interested to see that Bleached Fur’s mind-glow became a rich complex of conflicting emotions at these times. Dirt Grubber could not taste the young male as easily as he could Windswept, but he thought that the strong affection Bleached Fur had always felt for Windswept was growing into something more complex.

These poor two-legs! How hard it must be not to be able to easily taste emotions and thoughts. Mind blindness must lead to so many misunderstandings among them.

But, then again, he thought, remembering Keen Eyes and the three dead People, even mind-voices and mind-glows could not solve all conflicts.

* * *

“How about putting down over there?” Jessica said, indicating a pocket meadow at the edge of a picketwood grove.

“Good choice,” Anders said. “River and picketwood enough for shelter, but near enough to the fire zone that it’s likely the hunting isn’t great. Looks like a logical place to find a bunch of ’cats who’re eating a lot of fish.”

Jessica landed her air car, got out, and shrugged into her pack. Anders—he was doing the same thing—thought he’d need to be both blind and neuter not to admire how her torso moved when she did this.

He forced himself to look away and saw Valiant flowing up into the branches of one of the closer picketwood trees. Anders himself moved over by the river so he could splash some cold water over his suddenly hot face.

“I see some little fish,” he said, “so the river at least is ‘live.’”

Jessica hunkered down next to him. “Over there,” she pointed. “See that matted plant with little heart-shaped leaves floating in the shallows?”

“Anders nodded.

“I’ve seen Valiant sample it. Usually, the mats are larger, so I’m wondering if this one’s been foraged lately. There’s a lot of evidence that treecats—like human hunter-gatherers—have the sense not to take all of the plant. They cut it back but leave enough so the plant will regrow.”

“We saw some evidence of that when we were trapped by the swamp,” Anders agreed. “Valiant’s people—you know, I never thought about it until now, but it was probably Valiant himself—had left some near-lettuce that we harvested ourselves.”

He turned to grin up at the ’cat. “Thanks, fellow!”

Valiant replied with a polite “bleek,” but his attention was firmly fixed upstream, in the general direction of the mountains.

“I have a feeling we should go that way,” Jessica said. “And we shouldn’t rush.”

“Did Valiant tell you that?”

“Not so much told, but, yeah. Ready?”

They fell into step side by side. The picketwood canopy was shading toward the deep red foliage of autumn. It contrasted nicely with the dark gray and black of the trees’ rough bark.

Really a nice place to go for a stroll with a pretty girl
, Anders thought.
I just wish I didn’t feel so
—

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, commanding bleek from Valiant. The treecat had been guiding them, scampering from branch to branch or leaping gracefully when he needed to alter direction. Now he’d halted and was holding up one true hand to indicate “stop.”

The humans did. Anders tried not to move even his head, but his gaze scanned both the branches and the surrounding area. He let his hand drift to the butt of his holstered handgun.

“He’s spotted someone,” Jessica said very softly. “A treecat someone, I mean. More than one treecat someones.”

Anders felt the thrill of discovery. He knew his dad would give anything to be where he was at that moment.

Valiant bleeked and motioned for them to follow him. Jessica stepped forth without hesitation, Anders a pace behind. He caught up with her quickly, and—shoulders almost touching—they walked to where the treecats waited.

* * *

When he sensed the People ahead of them in the netwood trees, Valiant made no effort to dim his mind-glow or slow his advance.

<
I am Dirt Grubber of the Damp Ground Clan
,> he said, sharing images of his home clan. <
Although these days I live with the two-leg called Windswept, who is my bond mate. That is her, along with the two-leg called Bleached Fur. Perhaps you have heard the songs?
>

But these People did not seem to know about him and Windswept—evidence that they were of Keen Eyes’ clan.

<
I am Firm Biter, hunter of the Landless Clan
,> said the larger of the two males who confronted him.

<
I am Long Voice, scout for that same clan. Once we called ourselves Swaying Fronds, for our range high in the mountains was filled with them. We lined our nests with them and used them to pad shelters against the snow. They smelled sweet even when dry.>

This came to Dirt Grubber as a rush of shared images from Long Voice. Scent, color, shape, the beauty of the forests high in the mountains. Memories of climbing high into the trees to feel the caress of the wind fingers and admire the sharp whiteness of distant mountain peaks. Truly, Long Voice had a scout’s heart, for he delighted in the smallest detail and yet had room for beauty, as well.

Firm Biter was made of sterner stuff. He was the one who explained how these mountain People had come to live in the relative lowlands.

<
Fire season was our doom. The burning began to moss-growing, but the winds drove the flames to rush across valleys and rises alike. We thought we would be safe, for there are many deep gorges cradling rivers. We had reckoned without the dryness of the land. Tall golden-leaf trees that should have shrugged off the flames instead fell prey to licking fires that ran like bark-chewers up their sides. Gray-bark and green-needles burst into torches. Even the netwood betrayed us, providing bridges although we had faithfully kept the proper gaps
.>

Dirt Grubber knew shared pain made bridges as firm as any netwood branch, and so he opened his own memories in return.
.>

He shared the incredible wash of emotion that was still as fresh to him now as on that day. Then he waited patiently, for though memories could be shared in a moment, the thoughtful tasting that led to deeper understanding took time. It was Firm Biter who shook himself from nose tip to tail tip and made a gusty sound that combined astonishment and distinct pleasure.

<
And is the light-furred creature next to Windswept her mate?
>

Dirt Grubber sighed. <
He should be, if either of them had the sense of rocks, but two-legs are mind-blind and must learn such things in their own way and time. Still, mate or not of my Windswept, Bleached Fur is brave and very determined.
>

He shared images of when the Damp Ground Clan had joined in rescuing the stranded two-legs from a whistling sucker. Bleached Fur stood defiantly between the monster and the weaker members of his group—this though he was a youngling still only on the threshold of being adult and many of those he protected were adults themselves.

<
You choose your friends well
,> Long Voice said. <
What brings you in search of us? I can see that this is no accidental meeting
.>

<
I bring you news of Keen Eyes, scout of your clan
,> Dirt Grubber said. <
I see you believed him dead, victim in the recent fighting, but he lives
.>

He shared with them the finding of Keen Eyes and how he had been tended by Darkness Foe and his mate. In doing this, he also showed images of Swift Striker.

<
Our memory singers had shared with us Swift Striker’s song before the fires
,> Long Voice said. <
So where is Keen Eyes now?
>

<
He remains with Swift Striker and Darkness Foe
,> Dirt Grubber replied. <
Darkness Foe is a marvelous healer, but even with the medicines of the two-legs, such wounds will not heal in a day
.>

Firm Biter’s mind-voice was gruff with relief, flickering memories of his association with Keen Eyes—whom he had obviously liked—shading all he said. <
It is a wonder beyond belief that such wounds would heal in even six hands of days. We owe you welcome. Will you come to us so that our clan may hear your tale from your own mind, not through our memories?
>

<
Gladly
,> Dirt Grubber said. <
My two-legs as well?
>

Firm Biter’s mind-glow flickered with hesitation, as if he might protest, but Long Voice rebuked him.

The hesitation vanished from Firm Biter’s mind-glow, replaced with shame. <
I apologize. These days, trust is hard to remember. There has been so much death and unkindness. That should not make me forget how People should believe. My mother, had the flames not eaten her, would rebuke me for my behavior. Follow us. We will call ahead your coming
.>

* * *

Although both Firm Biter and Long Voice had been friendly enough, they had not chosen to share histories with Dirt Grubber when they met. For this reason, many surprises awaited him when they came to where the Landless Clan had set up a central nesting place of sorts.

One was the size and composition of the clan. While it still had members enough to manage, this was a tree with many limbs lopped off. Worse, many of the remaining limbs were very old, very young, or suffering from injuries—old and new. Dirt Grubber sensed that the most severely injured had already died. These were the ones hanging on because of their clan mates’ careful nursing.

Based on his contact with Keen Eyes, Dirt Grubber had been prepared to find a clan both underfed and emotionally overwhelmed, but the sheer poverty of their situation touched him at once. They lacked all but the most basic necessities…and he saw no evidence of stored food.

Do they realize that if something does not change they cannot survive the winter?
he thought, hoping this horrible revelation would blend into the other shocks swirling through his mind-glow. No wonder the Landless Clan had reached the point of fighting another clan! They must find a better place than this.

Horrible as that discovery was, the second shock was worse. Keen Eyes had told him that his clan had no memory singers. Still, when the elders came forth to meet him, he found himself looking for the clear brilliance of the memory singers among them. Not finding it was like not finding his own teeth within his mouth. In a very real sense, a clan
was
its memory singers, for they held all its shared history. The loss of Wide Ears and her assistants had robbed the Landless Clan not only of an important part of its leadership, but of its sense of self.

In the second rank, Dirt Grubber tasted a bright spark of a mind that watched him very carefully. This youngling had potential, great potential, but who would teach her what she needed to know? Some of her clan’s history would have been shared with neighboring clans, but still….

The understanding of just how much the fires had taken from this Landless Clan struck Dirt Grubber like a blow.

He was still reeling when a wizened elder called Sour Belly offered his version of events since the fires had made Swaying Fronds into the Landless Clan. Whatever flaws Sour Belly had—and Dirt Grubber tasted both pettishness and ill-temper among them—his account caused none in his clan to protest as to its fullness of detail. It all came forth: flight, struggle, constant moves, death after death, eventual settlement, hope changing to despair as scout after scout (Keen Eyes prominent among them) reported that all ways from this place seemed blocked.