Tailchaser's Song (26 page)

I suppose they’re going to kill us here,
Fritti thought.

Tailchaser felt suddenly resigned to death—almost grateful to be able to give up the struggle.

With the Clawguard chief bringing up the rear, they ducked and twisted their way through the clinging tendrils. Eyes half closed to protect them from looming thorns, Tailchaser almost tumbled headlong into the hole that appeared before him.

The hole was wide and dark, the tunnel quickly bending out of sight into the earth. Pouncequick peered around Tailchaser’s shoulder at the tunnel mouth, eyes wide with silent terror. His mouth worked for a moment, but only a weak mew emerged.

Scratchnail pushed through the last of the branches. “Well,” he said, “climb in, you surface-creepers, or I shall have to help you.” His distorted form bulked closer, eyes glowing. Fritti felt torn. Perhaps it would be better to die in the open than to be killed like. a gopher down a short hole. But as he looked at Scratchnail, some of his hatred came back, and he wanted to live a little longer. Why should the huge Clawguard have to get them into a tunnel to kill them? Maybe the things that the chief had said to Longtooth were true. There was always some hope of escape if they were kept alive.

Well,
he decided,
I suppose I have no other choice.

As he was stepping gingerly down into the dark hole, he looked back at Pouncequick. The kitten was so full of fear that he was pushing back from the tunnel entrance, preparing to bolt. Tailchaser was alarmed. Scratchnail, impatience traced across his brutish face, was about to do something. As Fritti hesitated, unsure of what to do, the chieftain shot his blood-red claws. Shocked into action, Fritti leaped forward, ducking a startled swipe from Scratchnail’s talons, and pushed the balking Pouncequick toward the hole. The terrified kitten began to whimper and splayed his legs in resistance, digging his claws into the wet ground.

“It’s all right, Pounce, you’ll be all right,” Tailchaser heard himself saying. “Trust me—I won’t let them hurt you. Come on, we’ve got to go.” He hated himself for forcing the frightened youngling into that dark, awful burrow. Butting and tugging with his teeth, he managed to pry Pouncequick’s grip loose, and they descended into darkness.

While, like a ghastly rapid river
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever
And augh-but smile no more.

—Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

 

The walls and floor of the tunnel were damp. Sickly-white roots, and bits of other things about which Fritti did not care to guess, hung down from the earthen ceiling. As they moved away from the entrance the light gradually dimmed, and it would have disappeared completely but for a faint phosphorescence of the soil that lined the burrow. They journeyed downward in faint, ghostly light, like the spirits of cats traveling in the void between stars.

Pouncequick, once underground, resumed his plodding and nearly lifeless mode. The clay beneath their paws stuck and crumbled between their pads. The silence was complete.

After some time they caught up with the other two Clawguard, Longtooth still carrying his soiled burden. So they continued: Fritti and Pouncequick, hemmed fore and hind by red claws, above and below by damp, solid earth.

 

It was impossible for Fritti to gauge the passing of time. The group, captors and captives, walked and walked, but the featureless soil never changed; the dim, nauseating glow of the tunnel earth neither waxed nor waned. On and on into the depths they passed, with no sound but their own breathing and an occasional incomprehensible exchange between the Clawguard. Tailchaser felt as if he had been in this dark hole forever. He began to slide in and out of a kind of dream. He thought of the Old Woods, the look of sunbeams slanting down to illuminate the forest floor... of running through the wonderfully fragrant, ticklish grasses with Hushpad—chasing and being chased, collapsing at last to nap in the summer warmth.

The cold, unexpected wriggling of an escaping worm beneath his paw jolted him back to darkness, and the tunnel. He could hear the harsh rasp of Scratchnail’s breath. He wondered if he would ever see sunlight again.

At length Fritti’s hunger overcame his reverie completely, and he began to pay more attention to the worms that squirmed through the moist earth of the burrow. After several attempts he caught one, and, with some difficulty managed to down it as he walked. It felt dreadful not to be able to stop pacing while he ate, but he feared the consequences of slowing down. Although it was a tricky business, he felt a little better for having had the morsel, and he caught another as soon as he could and ate that, too. He tried to pass the next one to Pounce, but the kitten paid no attention. After several fruitless attempts to force the wiggling mouthful on him, Fritti gave up and ate it himself.

The tunnel began to slope upward. After a short while the procession came to a small underground cavern, no more than a couple of jumps across, but high-roofed. Inside this cavern the air flowed a bit more freely, and when Scratchnail brought them to a halt Fritti was more than happy just to sit and breathe for a moment, and to rest his sore legs and paws. Wearily, he began to groom the worst of the mud and stones from between his pads, then turned his tongue to the wound on his shoulder. The blood had dried and the fur was matted stiff. It hurt when he cleaned it. Pouncequick sat motionlessly beside him, as if paralyzed; when Fritti turned and began to groom him, he submitted without a sound.

Scratchnail and the other two had been conversing in low tones at the far end of the cavern. Longtooth approached the two companions and dropped the unconscious form of Eatbugs beside them. Then, at a nod from Scratchnail, he turned and slipped away up the tunnel at the far entrance to the cave. Bitefast and the chief stretched their long, corded bodies on the floor of the earthen chamber and stared at their prisoners. Fritti—deciding that the best procedure was to ignore them as much as possible—continued to clean the dirt from Pouncequick’s fur and tend to the young cat’s many cuts and abrasions. Eatbugs groaned once and stirred, but did not awaken.

Finally, a muffled yowl came from the direction in which Longtooth had disappeared. At the urging of Scratchnail—in the form of a low snarl and a jerk of the head—Bitefast vanished up the tunnel, almost before the echoes had stopped echoing from the limestone walls. There was a commotion up the corridor. Fritti could hear the voices of Longtooth and Bitefast arguing. After a time they emerged into the cave dragging a limp, bulky burden. Scratchnail rose and ambled over on splayed paws to examine what they had brought.

“Found him where the branch tunnel opens up-ground into the valley wall, chief,” said Longtooth with a tongue-lolling grin. “Just like you smelled. Caught ‘im looking other way, then had to drag ’im down quick, before I got burned by the Fire-eye. By the Master, he’s a big one, isn’t he?” After all this speech Longtooth turned and self-consciously cleaned a wound on his flank.

Interested despite himself, Tailchaser leaned forward, staring in the dim cavern light. The bundle that the two Clawguard had dragged in was some kind of animal. A low sound of pain issued from the crumpled figure.

Scratchnail looked over at Fritti. “Come have a gape, little mud-Squeaker,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. This one won’t hurt you!” The chiefs laugh scraped through the rock chamber. Tailchaser moved hesitantly forward.

Lying on the wet stone floor was a large Growler, bleeding from several wounds on his stomach and face. As Tailchaser peered past Scratchnail, the dog’s eyes opened and stared blearily. He was as large as the Clawguard themselves; Fritti was impressed and frightened to know that one of the monster cats could take a fik‘az this size by himself. The Growler blinked—vainly trying to keep the blood out of his eyes—and wheezed painfully. Something inside was broken and the animal was dying. Saddened and disturbed, Fritti turned back toward his corner.

Longtooth looked up from his wound-licking and said to Scratchnail: “We don’t have to give any to
these”
—indicating Fritti and Pouncequick—“do we?”

Scratchnail looked at the pair—Fritti, wary and nervous; Pouncequick, paralyzed and silent.

“We just have to get them to Vastnir alive. We don’t have to share our little treats with them.” So saying, Scratchnail shot his scarlet claws and made a swift disemboweling stroke across the belly of the fik‘az. Then, although the horrible agonized cries had not stopped, the Clawguard began to feed. Fritti curled up around Pouncequick and tried to ignore the sounds.

 

 

When the Claws had finished their meal, covering the cavern floor with grisly debris, they slept. At Scratchnail’s canny direction, Bitefast and Longtooth had dragged their bloated bodies over to the entrances. When they rolled over onto their backs to sleep, legs in the air, they effectively blocked off any route of escape. Tailchaser could only lie next to Pounce and Eatbugs helplessly while the beasts digested their prey.

Fritti had no idea how long he lay beside his two silent companions, listening to the gurgling slumbers of their captors. He drifted into fitful sleep, and was awakened by a strange sound. At first, in his groggy state, he imagined he was dying, and that the carrion birds had come down from the sky to strip his bones. He thought he heard them all around him, bargaining solemnly over the choicest bits. Their voices were harsh, low and cold....

Coming fully awake, he listened to the eerie sounds filling the cavern. These were no great old carrion birds.

Still stretched on their backs, sprawled against cavern walls of moist stone, the Clawguard were singing.

On and on it went, the hideous chanting voices groaning out the song of darkness and hatred and revenge—night creeping over the world, blood on the stones and earth, and the Folk of the mound rising up, holding sway over all.

Next to Fritti, Eatbugs’ eyes snapped open. He began to rise, then lay back and listened, unmoving and unspeaking, as the song droned on. Tailchaser saw him shake his soiled head, wearily, painfully, and then close his eyes again. The chant of the Clawguard seemed to have no end. After some time, Tailchaser fell back into oppressive, stone-heavy sleep.

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city, lying alone
Far down among the dim West ...

—Edgar
Allan
Poe

 

 

 

 

Beyond the cavern the tunnels seemed to grow warmer. Fritti knew that aboveground it was winter; snow and freezing rain were falling. Here, deep in the earth—
how
deep Tailchaser had no way of knowing—the air was becoming thick with heat and moisture.

Eatbugs was up and moving now. He mumbled quietly to himself as he walked, but otherwise showed no signs of resistance to their captors. Longtooth, his muzzle not yet completely healed from the swipe that Eatbugs had given him, was taking great delight in harassing the old cat, who gamely resisted all attempts by the Guard to enrage him.

Tailchaser, trudging on leaden paws, once again began to feel the throb of the mound. Here, beneath the ground, the sensation was different, the vibration digging deeper into his bones and nerves. The pulse of the mound seemed lower and more basic—all-pervading, but, strangely, more natural. Tailchaser knew that they were approaching their destination.

“You can feel it, can you?”

The harsh croak made Fritti jump. Scratchnail was following close behind, watching him, the unpleasant yellow eyes observing his every movement.

“I see that you’ve started to hear the song of Vastnir. You’re a sharp-sensing little bug, aren’t you, star-face?” The chief moved up to Tailchaser’s side. The massive, thick-muscled form looming over him intimidated Fritti, and made it difficult to speak.

“I ... I feel
something,”
he stammered. “I felt it before... above ground.”

“Well,” Scratchnail leered, “aren’t you the clever-quick one?! Don’t you worry... there’ll be some Folk who’ll pay plenty of attention to a smart young tom like you where we’re going—more attention than you’ll like, perhaps.” With a cold, bleak grin that exposed few teeth, the Clawguard chief dropped back to pace behind Fritti once more. The skin around the young cat’s whiskers itched and crawled. He didn’t want anyone or anything more interested in him than was already the case. He hurried forward to catch up with Eatbugs and Pouncequick. The earth throbbed.

 

 

Soon the tunnel began to broaden. Every hundred or so jumps now, the company passed branching tunnels or caves—it was difficult to tell which, since they were just dark holes in the wall of the main shaft. The air continued to warm, a damp heat that made Fritti and his companions feel sluggish. Eatbugs twitched his head from side to side as if to throw off something binding.

“Here now, back to the holes—never do, never do ...” The mad old tom looked imploringly, first at the unresponsive Pouncequick, then at Fritti, who could only shake his head. “All this bim-bam bashing and gnashing... can’t... can’t... ?” Eatbugs rolled his eyes and subsided into muttering. Tailchaser pushed at Pouncequick gently with his head.