Breed to Come

Copyright © 1972 by Andre Norton

An Ace Book, by arrangement withViking Press, Inc.All Rights Reserved This Ace printing: February 1980

Printed in U.S.A.

There was a light breeze, just enough to whisperthrough the leaves.. Furtig lay belly down on the broad limb of the tree, hunter-fashion, but his clawswere still in his belt loop, not strapped on. No sniff of that breeze brought any useful scent to his expandednostrils. He had climbed the tree not for a base from which to make a good capture-leap, but to see whatlay beyond. However, now he knew that he must climb higher still. The leaves were too thick a screenhere.

He moved with sinuous grace. Though his ancestorshad hunted on four legs, Furtig now went on two,save when time pressed and he had to take to a fastrun. And he was very much at home in the treetops.For those ancestors had also been climbers, just astheir active curiosity had led them into exploration.Now he drew up from his perch into smaller branches,on which he balanced with inborn skill.

At last he gained a crotch, and there he facedthrough an opening what he had come to see. He hadchosen a tree on a small hill, and the expanse beforehim was clear.

The first nips of frost had struck the country,though by day a gentle warmth returned. Tall grass rippled between him and those distant, monstrousshadows. The grass was brown, and it would not be long before the cold season. But first came the Trialsof Skill.

Furtig's black lips pulled tight, and he opened hismouth on a soundless battle snarl. The white curve oftearing fangs showed their pointed tips. His ears flattened in folds against' his rounded skull, the furredridge along his back lifted, and the hair on his tailpuffed.

To those who had known his ancestors, he would bea grotesque sight; for a body once well fitted to theneeds of its owner had altered in ways strange to nature. Rounded forepaws had split into stubby fingers,awkward enough but able to accomplish much morein the way of handling. His body was still largelyfurred, but there were places where the fur hadthinned to a light down. There was more dome to hisskull, just as the brain beneath was different, dealingwith thoughts and conceptions earlier unknown.

Infact it was that brain which had altered most of all.Feline, Furtig's ancestors had been. But Furtig was something which those who had known those felinescould not have accurately named.

His people did not measure time more than by certain rites of their own, such as the bi-yearly Trials ofSkill when a warrior gave the best evidence of his prowess so that the females could pick a mate.

One notedthe coming of winter cold, and the return of spring,summer's heat when one drowsed through the daysand hunted by night. But the People did not try tocount one year apart from the rest.

Though it was said that Gammage did things noneother of the People thought of doing.

Gammage—

Furtig studied the bulk of buildings on the otherside of the fields, lairs of the Demons. Yet Gammagefeared no Demon. If all the stories were true, Gammage lived yonder in the heart of the lost Demonworld. It was the custom for first-rite warriors tospeak of "going to Gammage." And once in a longwhile one would. Not that any returned—which argued that the Demons still had their traps at work, even though no Demon had been seen for generations.

Furtig had seen pictures of them. It was part of theregular scout training to be taught to recognize theenemy. And, while a youngling could be shown one ofthe Barkers, a Tusked One, or even a vile Ratton inthe flesh, he had to depend solely upon such representations of Demons for identification.

Long ago the Demons had gone from their lairs,though they had left foul traces of their existence behind them. The stinking sickness, the coughing death,the eaten-skin ills—these had fallen on the People tooin the past, for once they had been imprisoned in theDemons' lairs. Only a small handful of them had escaped.

The memory of such deaths had kept them awayfrom the lairs for many lifetimes. Gammage had beenthe first to dare to return to live in the Demons' forsaken shells. And that was because his thirst for knowledge had taken him there. Gammage came of astrange line differing yet again from many of the People.

Absently Furtig brought his hand to his mouth,licked the fur on it clean of an itch-causing leaf smear.He was of Gammage's own clan line, and they werenoted for their boldness of curiosity and their differences in body. In fact they were not too well regarded. Once more his lips wrinkled, his tail twitcheda little. Warriors of his family did not find it easy totake a mate, not even when they won in the Trials.Their restlessness of spirit, their habit of questioningold ways, of exploring, was not favored by any prudent cave mother who wished security for futureyounglings.

Such would look in the opposite direction whenGammage's kin padded by. And Gammage himself,awesome as he was, had little repute nowadays.Though the clans were willing enough to accept theinfrequent, but always surprising, gifts which he hadsent from the lairs in times past.

The hunting claws, which clicked softly as Furtigshifted his weight, were one of Gammage's first giftsto his people. They were made of a shining metalwhich did not dull, break, or flake with the passing ofyears as did the shards of metal found elsewhere. Setin a band which slipped over the hand, they snappedsnugly just above the wrist, projecting well beyondthe stubby fingers with tearing, curved hooks, like theclaws one grew, but far more formidable and dangerous. And they were used just as one used one's natural defenses. A single well-placed blow could kill oneof the deer or wild cows Furtig's people hunted fortheir staple food.In war with one's kind they were forbidden. Butthey could be worn to face the Barkers, as those knewonly too well. And with the Rattons—one used alland any weapons against those evil things. While withthe Tusked Ones there were no quarrels, because of atruce.

Yes, the claws were from Gammage. And from timeto time other things came from him, all designed tolighten the task of living in the Five Caves. So thatthe clans were respected and feared. There were rumors that another tribe of the People had settled lately to the north of the lairs, but so far none of Furtig'speople had seen them.

The lairs—Furtig studied those blots on the landscape. They formed a long range of mountains.

WasGammage still there? It had been—he began to countseasons, tapping them off with a finger—it had beenas many as fingers on his one hand since any word orgift had come from Gammage. Perhaps the Ancestorwas dead.

Only that was hard to believe. Gammage had already lived far past the proper span of any ordinarywarrior. Why, it had been Furtig's great-great-grandfather who had been Gammage's youngling in the lastof the families born before the death of his mate andhis departure for the lairs. It was also true that Gammage's blood lived longer than most. Fuffor, Furtig'sfather, had died in a battle with the Barkers, and hewas then the only one of his years left at the FiveCaves. Nor had he seemed old; his mate had had another pair of younglings that very season, and she wasthe fourth mate he had won during the passing of seasons!

If it was not that so much of Gammage's blood nowran in the tribe there might be trouble. Once moreFurtig snarled silently. Tales grew, and dark tales always grow the faster and stronger. Gammage was inleague with Demons, he used evil learning to prolonghis life. Yet for all such mewling of stories in the dark,his people were eager enough to welcome one of Gammage's messengers—take what he had to offer.

Only, now that those messengers came no more,and one heard nothing from those who had gone toseek Gammage, the stories grew in force. At the lastTrials Furtig's older brother of another birth time had won. Yet he had not been chosen by any mate.And so he had joined the far scouts and taken a western trail-of-seeking from which he had never returned.Could it be any better for Furtig? Perhaps less—forhe was not the warrior-in-strength that Fughan hadbeen, being smaller and less powerful, even though hisrivals granted him speed and agility.

He supposed he should be in practice now, using allthose skills for the Trials, not wasting time staring atthe lairs. Yet he found it hard to turn away. And hismind built strange pictures of what must lie withinthose walls. Great had been the knowledge of the Demons, though they had used it ill and in a mannerwhich later brought them to defeat and death.

Furtig remembered hearing his father discuss thedim history of those days. He had been talking withone of Gammage's messengers about some discoverythe Ancestor had made. That had been when Gammage had sent his picture of a Demon; they were tobeware any creature who resembled it.

Before they had died, the Demons had gone mad,even as sometimes the Barkers did. They had fallenupon one another in rage, and were not able to mateor produce younglings. So without younglings andwith their terrible hatred for one another, they hadcome to an end, and the world was the better for theirgoing.

Gammage had learned this in the lairs, but he alsofeared that someday the Demons might return.

Fromdeath? Furtig wondered. Great learning they hadhad, but could any living creature die and then live again? Perhaps the Demons were not rightly livingcreatures such as the People, even the Rattons.

Someday—someday he would go to Gammage to learnmore.

But not today, not until he had proven himself,shown all the Five Caves that the blood of Gammagewas not to be ill-considered. And he would waste nomore time in spying on the dead lairs of Demons either!

Furtig swung out of the tree, dropping lightly. Thiswas the outpost of a small grove which angled back tobecome an arm of the forest country, the hunting territory of the Five Caves. Furtig was as at home in itsshade as he was in the caves.

He stopped to tuck his hunting claws more tightlyinto his belt so that no small jangle would betray hispassing, and then flitted on, his feet making no soundon the ground. Since he wanted to make speed hewent to all fours, moving in graceful bounds. The People stood proudly upright when it was a time of ceremony, thus proving that the Demons who alwayswalked so were no greater, but in times of need theyfell back upon ancestral ways.

He planned to approach the caves from the north,but at first his course was west. That would take himby a small lake, a favorite feeding place of plumpducks. To return with an addition to the cave foodsupplies was always the duty of a warrior.

Suddenly a whiff of rank scent brought Furtig to ahalt, crouching in the bushes. His hand whipped tohis belt, reached for the claws, and he worked hishands into them with practiced speed.

Barkers! And more than one by the smell. Theywere not lone hunters like his own people, but movedin packs, centering in upon the kill. And one of thePeople would be a kill they would enjoy.

Courage was one thing, stupidity another. AndFurtig's people were never stupid. He could remainwhere he was and do battle, for he did not doubt thatthe Barkers would speedily scent him (in fact he wondered fleetingly why they had not already done so).Or he could seek safety in the only flight left—aloft.

The hunting claws gave him a firm grip as they bitinto tree bark, and he pulled himself up with haste.He found a branch from which he could view theground below. Deep in his throat rumbled a growl hewould not give full voice to, and with flattened earsand fur lifted on his spine, he watched, eyes a slit in afighting face.

There were five of them, and they trotted four footed. They had no one such as Gammage to supplythem with any additions to the natural weapons offangs. But those were danger enough. The Barkerswere a third again as large as Furtig in size, theirstrong muscles moving smoothly under hides whichwere some as gray as his own, others blotched withblack or lightened on belly and chest with cream.

They wore belts not unlike his, and from three ofthese dangled the limp bodies of rabbits. A huntingparty. But so far they had found only small prey. Ifthey kept on along that way though (Furtig's soundless growl held a suggestion of anticipation), theywere going to cross the regular ranging ground of theTusked Ones. And if they were foolish enough to huntthem—Furtig's green eyes glistened. He would backthe Tusked Ones against any foe—perhaps evenagainst Demons. Their warriors were not only fierce fighters but very wily brained.

He hoped that the Barkers would run into BrokenNose. In his mind Furtig gave that name to the greatboar leader. The People could not echo the speech ofthe Tusked Ones, any more than they could the sharpyelps of the Barkers—though no reasonable creaturecould deem those speech. At the rare times of trucecommunication, one depended on signs, and the learning of them was the first lesson of any youngling's education.

Furtig watched the Barkers out of sight and" then worked his way around the tree, found a place wherehe could leap onto the next, and made that crossing skillfully.

He was still growling. To see Barkers invading thehunting territory of the Five Caves was a shock. Hewould waste no time duck-stalking. On the otherhand he must make sure that those he had seen werenot outscouts for a larger pack. There were timeswhen packs changed hunting territories, driven outby larger packs or by lack of game.