Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar (4 page)

The cat, as was typical of all members of the species, gazed back expressionless as a statue. Having recovered from his surprise, Reulan examined the cat closely. Large was a understatement: this was possibly the biggest cat he had ever seen, and the village of Sweetwater was no stranger to champion mousers. But here sat an interloper. The cats of Sweetwater were, by and large, brown or gray tabbies, while his “guest” sported a coat of light cream. A thick mane surrounded the cat's face and, even without seeing it, Reulan knew the creature's tail most likely would be a plume.

“You
are
a big one,” he observed. The cat yawned and resumed its staring. “Begging for dinner, are you? I don't think I have any mice and I doubt you can while away the evening with a tale or two. However, the God has been generous this summer and I'm more than willing to share.”

He cut off a hunk of his sausage and extended it. With a delicacy belying its size, the cat took the offered meat gently, jumped to the floor, and settled down to its dinner. Reulan chewed his own meal thoughtfully. The low rumble of a purr filled the room and, for an instant, Reulan was transported back to his father's barn, where he had sometimes sat surrounded by the resident cats, all of whom seemed content to lie purring in the sun until night and the hunt were upon them.

Darkness hovered not far away, the long summertime dusk deepening outside. Reulan cleaned his dish, put it away, and blew out the candle on the cupboard. He expected his visitor to be gone when he turned back, but, no, the cat was now busy cleaning his face and whiskers.

“Time to go,” Reulan said, and reached down to push his guest toward the open door. “Dawn comes early, and I must be in bed.”

The cat protested with a deep meow, standing stiff-legged, but finally allowed Reulan to escort him out the door. He stood facing Reulan for a moment, a half-accusing expression on his face and then sat down, wrapping his thickly-furred tail around his front paws. The young priest felt a slight twinge of guilt as he closed the door and turned toward his bed. Tomorrow he would ask around the village to see if anyone knew who might own the cat. Tonight, however, with all of Sweetwater's barns available, the feline could easily find any number of places to hunt and sleep.

 

The first light of dawn woke Reulan from a deep sleep. Something heavy lay next to his feet and, when he looked down to the end of his bed, he was amazed to find the cream-colored tabby curled up in a comfortable ball, still sleeping deeply.
The window,
he thought absently,
the cat must have come in through the window last night. We'll see how long he stays.

But all that day, through the numerous chores Reulan completed, the day after and the next, the cat never stayed far away. No matter what he did—whether weeding his garden, repairing a few shingles on the chapel (and it took some doing to scale the tree nearby to jump across to the roof), or taking meditative walks through the fields or forest—the cat kept close to his side. No one Reulan spoke with could remember seeing such a magnificent beast or one of that particular color. He finally admitted the cat had adopted him and felt oddly grateful for the company.

One evening as he and the cat sat down to supper together, Reulan heard the distant rumble of thunder. He had been expecting a storm, for the air had been close and heavy all day, and its coming promised some relief from the heat. Finished with both dinner and toilet, the cat disappeared into the night. He never stayed away long . . . no chasing down sausages in the night for this fellow. Far better to wait politely and let the human provide the meal.

Reulan closed the shutters to his room as the wind rose and the temperature started to drop. Distant lighting became more vivid now and foretold a good soaking overnight rain. Reulan still didn't see the cat and called out to his companion, but saw nothing. A faint pang of anxiety tightened his heart—he didn't want the poor fellow to be caught in a downpour. Another rumble of thunder and one last call.
Cat's been out in the rain before,
he thought,
and likely will be again. Trust to the Goddess to keep him safe.

Shutting the door, Reulan slipped into bed, blessed himself with thoughts of the god he served, and blew out the candle. One last prayer for the safety of the cat crossed his mind, and then he fell asleep, the thunder now overhead and the rain beating down on his roof.

 

Long years of training and practice woke Reulan the next morning before dawn, though with his windows shuttered the interior of his room was dark as night. He reached for the candle on his bedside table and froze in place. A light purr sounded from the end of his bed and the by now familiar weight of the cat shifted ever so slightly beside Reulan's feet. A chill ran up Reulan's spine as he lit the candle and discovered the cat busily engrossed in his morning bath. A quick glance to both windows revealed that the wind had not blown them open during the night, and that the door remained securely shut. How, in the name of Vkandis Sunlord, had the cat managed to get inside?

“You're the oddest fellow I've ever had the occasion to meet,” Reulan said, reaching down to scratch his bedmate behind the ears, the sound of his own voice helping dispel the strangeness of the situation. “You must have run in between my feet last night without my knowing it, no?” The cat merely yawned, showing sharp white teeth and pink tongue.

Reulan stretched, rose from bed, and opened his windows and door. The storm had indeed cleared the air and, this high in the hills, even in summer the morning was bracingly cool. The cat rubbed up against his ankles, meowed pitifully as if he had not eaten in days, and planted himself in the chair he had claimed for his own. Reulan washed his face from the bucket on the cupboard, dried off, and donned his vestments. The rising sun celebration was close at hand; he left his room, crossed the small chapel, and threw open the doors at its west end. Then, standing before the altar, he closed his eyes, opened his mind to the glory of the god, and waited for first light to strike the windows above his head.

He felt a bump against his leg and quickly opened his eyes. The cat sat beside him, facing the altar, proper as any worshiping villager. At first, this had somehow bothered Reulan, but he believed that Vkandis cared for all creatures, that any who wished to worship the God should be welcome at his altar. Reulan heard the village farmers arriving and sensed them standing in silent meditation as the first rays of sun struck the windows above. Lifting his hands, Reulan spoke the words of Morning Greeting.

“Vkandis Sunlord, Giver of Life and Light, be with us today. We praise you, we honor you, we keep you in our hearts and minds. What is good and true, help us to do and become. What is hateful and cruel, aid us in denying. We offer this day to you, Sunlord, and seek your blessings on all that we do.”

“May it be so,” responded the voices behind him.

Reulan extinguished the candle that had lit the chapel during the night and turned to face his congregation. “Go forth to daylight, knowing the god is by your side.”

The farmers bowed their heads briefly, smiled at Reulan, and silently filed out of the chapel to their various fields and gardens. Once again, the cat rubbed up against his legs, meowing pitifully.

“Breakfast, eh? What would you like this morning, sir cat? I have only what I've given you in the past—sausage. I'd think you'd grow tired of it.”

The cat looked up and, for a brief moment, Reulan could have sworn he heard a voice saying, “Well, if you
must
ask, I'd really rather have fish.”

He laughed quietly, amused that he had assigned spoken words to an animal, and returned to his room and his morning meal, the cat following close behind.

 

Being a Sun-priest in a small village required not only knowledge of the ways of Vkandis Sunlord but also of teaching, mending (both physical and metaphysical), gardening and, to a certain extent, more than a passing proficiency in healing. But one of the most pleasant duties of a priest to Reulan's mind was the time he spent in silent meditation, fixing his mind on the glory of love of the god he served. It had become his habit, not long after arriving in Sweetwater and becoming old Beckor's assistant priest, to spend this time outdoors, preferably at high noon when Vkandis' power was the greatest. The place he set aside for communion with the god was a small clearing in the forest east of the village. It was there that Reulan turned his footsteps this day, his morning chores done and the villagers about their daily tasks. He strode along the pathway, his mind stilled, already slipping into light meditation. The cat, as usual, came along, periodically darting off into the bushes, then back again.

The day was especially fine, blue sky above the sunlight slanting through the trees. Reulan rejoiced and marveled at the power of the god that protected the land and its people. Though apprenticed at an early age to Beckor, which made his parents proud and additionally relieved them of a mouth to feed, he had always felt close to the god. Somehow he sensed he had been born to this . . . that he had been chosen from an early age. Now with Beckor gone to the god and Reulan no longer apprenticed, his life seemed to have become all it was meant to be.

The clearing lay just over a rocky rise in the ground. Reulan could see the sunlight pooling ahead and quickened his pace, eager to arrive at his goal.

For a moment, Reulan thought his heart had stopped. He certainly did, for anyone who had been born and raised in this area of Karse knew the peril of snakes. Frozen into immobility, he looked down to see a large rock snake stretched out on the path in a patch of sunlight, only two steps away. A cold sweat broke out on Reulan's forehead: the bite of a rock snake was often fatal. Very carefully and ever so slowly, he backed away, never taking his eyes from the reptile.

Halfway down the path now and far enough away that the snake posed no immediate danger, he started shaking, aware just how close to death he had come. But who had called out his name? Who had warned him?

The cat rubbed up against his leg and sat down.

:Well,:
a voice said inside his head.
:The least you could do is thank me.:

Reulan stared at the cat, feeling his mouth drop open.

:And close your mouth before you catch flies,:
the cat advised, cocking his head and twitching his tail around his front paws.

A
talking
cat! Knees suddenly weak, Reulan glanced around, very carefully this time, for a place to sit that was not already occupied by a snake. Sinking down on a small boulder, he stared at the cat, his pulse racing. He had heard old grandmother's tales about talking beasts—birds, horses, cats—creatures larger than normal that could speak mind-to-mind, but he had always considered these tales a fine way to while away the long hours of a winter night, not truth. But now . . .

Reulan swallowed heavily. “You talk!” he finally got out when he had gained control of his voice.

:It's fortunate for you that I do,:
the cat retorted, but Reulan sensed a smile.
:And since we're now on speaking terms, you may call me Khar.:

Khar? Certainly no name of any cat he had ever known—certainly not Boots, Patches, Puss, or any of the other descriptive appellations people gave their cats.

“But . . . how . . . I mean, you're speaking to me like . . . like . . .”

:A person?:
And this time Reulan was certain he heard a laugh.
:We all have our burdens to bear. And yours, Sun-priest, is rudeness. You
still
haven't thanked me.:

Reulan licked his lips and swallowed again. “Thank you, Khar. I could be dead if you hadn't been with me! But why—”

:If you'd be so kind,:
Khar interrupted, busy now smoothing down his abundant whiskers,
:I'd appreciate a small reward. I would suggest a fish . . . a large, fat fish.:

How catlike. Despite his confusion and awe, Reulan smiled. Trust a feline to always be looking out for itself. “I'm sorry, Khar,” he said, feeling slightly foolish to be talking to a cat. “Sweetwater has no fish. And if we wanted fish, which most of us don't, we'd have to depend on traders or go to Sunhame itself.”

:Well, now,
that's
an idea. Let's go to Sunhame, you and I, and you can get me a fish.:

Reulan stared at the cat, unsure if he was being mocked or not. Sunhame was more than four days' walk away, not an arduous journey, but one he had not particularly contemplated. A sudden thought passed through his mind. Sunhame. He hadn't been in the capital city since the final six-month period of his training as Sun-priest and that had been over three years ago. The Holy Writ required that every person, once in his or her lifetime, should visit Sunhame. The most propitious of times to make that journey was at midsummer, to be present at the high holy day of Summer Solstice, when the sun stood longest in the sky. Naturally, the journey was even more important for Sun-priests, who were expected to serve as examples to the populace. He mentally figured out the calendar : Summer Solstice was only six days away. He could easily make Sunhame by then.

He snorted. What was he thinking? Why should he suddenly leave his village to make a journey to Sunhame? Certainly not for a fish, though he knew he owed Khar more than a simple meal for saving his life. On the other hand, the village was as prosperous as a village its size could be, its people were healthy, and no babies were due. Besides, the village midwife could handle
that
far better than he.

A strange, fey mood swept over him. Sunhame. Why not?

“Do you think,” he asked, reaching down to scratch Khar under the chin, “that you could wait a bit to collect your reward? Long enough for me to set things right in the village and to pack my supplies? Or do you suggest we leave this very day?”