Tailchaser's Song (14 page)

Scuffledig looked over in alarm. “Perhaps we
should
save the hedgehog story for another time,” he conceded.

Quiverclaw smiled. “Why not a song or a poem?” he asked. “Mind you that it’s proper for our young friends.”

Hangbelly sneezed a laugh and rolled over onto his stomach, which spread impressively beneath him. “I have just the thing,” he chortled, “as long as
some
folks as I could name remember their manners and pay attention, like.” This brought Pouncequick—who had been sneaking up on Scuffledig—sheepishly back to lie next to Fritti. Hangbelly sat up, almost bumping his stripy head on a low-hanging branch, and sniffed importantly.

“This,” he said, “is a small verse as is called ‘Snagrat and the Spirit-Mouse.’ ” He hummed for a moment, then sang.

The end of Hangbelly’s song was followed by much laughing and cheering. Tailchaser noticed that even Eyeshimmer had a look of honest amusement on his ascetic face.

Wind is in the cane. Come along.
Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk
Scratching choruses above the guinea’s squawk
Wind is in the cane. Come along.

—Jean Toomer

 

 

 

 

Sunrise brought a temporary end to the rains. After a morning meal, the party made its way to the edge of the forest and paused for a while to sift the breeze. The downs stretched out into the distance, shrouded in mist. Tailchaser wondered how far away home was.

As Quiverclaw and Hangbelly argued over routes, Pouncequick hopped and danced on the dewy grass. The catling’s pleasure at being out from under the brooding weight of the forest was understandable; Fritti wished that his heart, too, could be so light.

The Thane of the First-walkers approached him, the rest of his party gathered behind in a semicircle.

“I take it you still mean to head for the Court,” Quiverclaw rasped. Again it seemed that disdain was in his voice, but Fritti’s mind was too full to give it much thought.

“Yes, Thane, I think it best.”

“Well,” said Quiverclaw, “we must turn east here, along the rim of the Old Woods. I think that some directions would help you, would they not?”

“Certainly,” said Fritti. “We’ve come this far on some very slight information given to us by Stretchslow, but he said we would need help once we were through the forest.”

The black cat leaned forward with an inquiring look. “Did you say
Stretchslow?”

“Yes. He is a friend of ours from Meeting Wall. He gave me my hunt-singing!” Fritti added proudly. The Thane wrinkled his nose and smiled.

“Is he a big, tawny fellow?” Quiverclaw asked. “Always acting as though he’d just wakened up?” Fritti nodded.

“Stretchslow!” came the eruptive bellow from Hangbelly. The stripy old tom wiggled his head in delight. “Old Stretchslow! Why didn’t you tell us, you sly little lizard?”

Fritti was amused.“I didn’t expect you’d know him.”

“Know him?” Hangbelly gurgled. “Every sniff, every scent! We hunted together in the Southern Rootwood for seasons and seasons and seasons. An excellent cat! Ha! What a whiskerbender!”

Quiverclaw gave an affectionate look to his old friend, who was bobbing like a nestling. “Hangbelly speaks the truth,” said the Thane. “You’ll earn no enmity from us with Stretchslow’s name as a hunt-mark. Well, if you have the sponsorship of such a cat, I feel better on many accounts. Stretchslow would not make a hunt-brother of someone for a game.”

Fritti was again a little bemused. Everyone seemed to find more importance in him than he did himself! “Well, as I said, Stretchslow didn’t sing a very clear song for us about where to go beyond the forest,” he offered.

“Ah,” grated Quiverclaw with mock sorrow. “To be reminded of my duty by a mere nestling. I think our old comrade sent you from afar to chasten me. I did say I would give you directions, did I not? Very well. Listen closely, for I will give you more than just the path to the Queen’s Court.”

The Thane turned and faced out across the rolling landscape. “Now then: before you stretch the Gentlerun Downs. Follow your nose as it now points—keep the sunset on your left near flank and you won’t go wrong. When you cross the Tailwend River you’ll be onto the plains, and about halfway to journey’s end.

“Keep your nose pointed U‘ea-ward, and eventually you’ll find the plains rising a bit. When you reach the Purrwhisper, cross to the far bank and follow upstream into the outskirts of Rootwood. You’ll know when you’ve reached it. Can you remember all that?”

Fritti said that he could.

“I’ll help him, sir,” said Pouncequick. Everyone agreed that he assuredly would, and the First-walkers gathered around to bid farewell. Even Bobweave came forward and touched noses with Fritti and Pouncequick.

As his companion had a farewell wrestle with Scuffledig, Tailchaser found Eyeshimmer beside him.

“I would like to do a
seeing
for you,” said the white cat. “I feel possibilities blowing. Do not be afraid.”

Fritti was not sure that he wanted whatever it was that Eyeshimmer was offering, but it was too late to object. The Farsenser had already sniffed his nose, and was scenting down the length of his spine to his tail-tip. Then the white cat sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes.

When he opened them Tailchaser was startled to see that their milky, azure color had changed to a deep blue-black. Eyeshimmer’s mouth gaped, and a breathy voice whispered out.

The Far-senser shook his head, as if bothered by a loud noise; then the whispering voice continued:
“... everyone flees from the bear, but ... sometimes the bear himself... has bad dreams...”
There was a brief
pause, then: “ ... when caught in dark places, choose your friends well... or choose
your
enemies...”

After another moment’s silence, Eyeshimmer closed his eyes again, and when he lifted his lids his gaze was once more the cerulean shade of a summer sky.

He bobbed his head once to the shaken Tailchaser. “May you find luck, dancing, young hunter,” he said, and turned away. Fritti sat puzzling over the weird song that Eyeshimmer had sung for him as Quiverclaw approached, Hangbelly stumping along at his side.

“Before we bid you good-journey, friend Tailchaser, I will offer you a word or so of advice,” said the Thane. “The Court may not be all that you expect. I hope you understand.

“We First-walkers believe it is unnatural, and against the will of our Lord Tangaloor Firefoot, for the Folk to live always in such close proximity to one another. Also, in recent times the place has begun to stink of M‘an.”

“You mean that there are Big Ones living near?” asked Fritti, surprised.

“No, of course not, only that the taint of our once-servants has spread even to the Seat of Harar. But I suppose it is not fair to prejudice you. We First-walkers
are
a solitary lot, and many at the Queen’s Seat find us extreme. You will have to be a hunter, and make your own course.” The black chieftain looked down at the dirt.

Hangbelly spoke up. “The young Prince Fencewalker is not a bad sort, though. If you have need of a friend, he’s a good ‘un to have. A bit boisterous, but an honest enough cat.”

Quiverclaw looked up and grinned, sharp teeth atwinkle. “Come, we have burdened you with enough words to keep a scatter of gray-muzzles pondering for seasons. We must finish our leave-taking.”

The three walked over to join the others. Pouncequick squirmed out from beneath Scuffledig and trotted over to Fritti’s side. Quiverclaw waved his paw in benediction.

“Tailchaser and Pouncequick, brave young hunters and friends of our old comrade Stretchslow, we wish you good journeying. Know that you are among the very few outsiders ever permitted to walk with the First-walkers.” Fritti and Pouncequick lowered their heads.

“I will tell you a prayer we speak. If you are in danger, and speak it, any of the First-walkers who may hear will aid you. If there are none about, well, it is no bad idea to call on the name of our Lord the Adventurer—whatever the situation. These are the words:

“Can you remember that? Good!” There was a moment’s uncomfortable pause. “Good dancing to you both,” Quiverclaw added.

Fritti bowed his head. “Farewell, Thane, and First-walkers. Your kindness is all the more valuable, being unlooked-for. May you also have good journeying and good dancing.”

Tailchaser turned, and without looking back started away toward the downs. After a moment Pouncequick followed.

Long after the First-walkers were out of sight, they still traveled in silence.

 

 

The first few days on the downs passed calmly enough. The passage of every Hour or so brought them to the top of a rounded hill, with visibility in all directions. Marking their position from the sun, they had no trouble keeping to their route.

The matted grasses cushioned the tired pads of the two cats, and the green, hilly slopes of Gentlerun were populated in abundance by all manner of edible things and creatures. The downs pulsed to a quieter, more reflective measure than the forest, and even the hunted seemed to accept their status with quiet fatalism. It was not unpleasant, passing across that gently curving country.

Days were becoming colder, though. Autumn was rounding the bend—with winter waiting patiently ahead—and Fritti and Pouncequick could feel the change in the weather as a quiet urging. When they caught themselves lagging, or felt lured by a new sight or smell, the chill down deep in their bones would reach out and give a small, icy squeeze, and send them hurrying back to their path.

Fritti was sad to see Pouncequick’s good spirits dampened by the hard traveling. Tailchaser, too, was melancholy, but his responsibility to the brave little cat gave some purpose to the bleaker Hours of the journey.

 

One gray afternoon the cats were hunting for their midday meal across the broad, green side of a hill. A small scrub growth of forest crowned the hummock, and from below it had seemed a likely place to search for game.

Nosing around the fringes of the copse, the two cats flushed a young rabbit from the undergrowth. As it bolted across the curving sward they leaped in pursuit, splitting off to either side of the fleeing Praere to box its escape.

The rabbit froze in place so suddenly that the surprised hunters also halted, and at that moment a shadow passed over their heads. The Praere, immobile but for twitching nose, panic in its staring eyes, disappeared in a rush of brown feathers that dropped from above.

The hawk barely touched ground as it stooped to the rabbit, grasping it with horny talons, breaking its back. Beating its wings heavily for a moment, the Meskra rose, dangling the limp body. Then, catching the wind, it vaulted upward, leaving the two cats gaping after. Neither bird nor prey had made a sound. The hill was suddenly bare and empty in the weak sunlight.

After a moment Pouncequick turned to Fritti. His teeth were bared in fright. “Oh, Tailchaser,” he whimpered, “I want to go home.”

Fritti could think of no response, and led Pouncequick down the hill in silence.

Later that afternoon, when Pouncequick finally fell asleep, Fritti sat and watched the clouds creeping across the low sky.

 

Eight days had passed on the downs since the pair had left the eaves of the Old Woods; Meerclar’s Eye had waxed full and begun its closing. From the tops of the higher hills they could now see a dull shine in the distance, snaking a tarnished course through the hummocks of the far country.

Fritti was pleased to see it. He was fairly sure that it was the Tailwend River, and Quiverclaw had said that it would mark the halfway point of their journey to the Court.