The Prince Who Fell From the Sky (13 page)

Casseomae lunged with a growl. “You said you would not harm him!”

The vultures did not flinch. “He will bring death,” one said.

“Lots of death to the Forest,” added another.

“From this death will rise new life.”

“He will make an offering to us in this way.”

Casseomae looked around. “Then tell me where I must go.”

The vultures tucked their wings and bobbed their heads and began their chorus of hissing. Three of their flock hopped forward to the buck. Their hooked beaks cut through the hide.

The child whimpered, and Casseomae grunted gently, “Hush now.”

The three pulled apart the deer’s belly, dragging out his entrails. But they did not eat them. Once the bloody viscera were scattered before their talons, the three vultures drew back to join their sisters. They whispered to one another.

“Can you tell?” Casseomae asked.

“We can tell,” they said. “We see where you must take him. He will be safe. If you can only get him there.”

“Where is it?” she asked. “Where do I take him?”

“The Island of the Sun,” they answered. “Where it rises from the Wide Waters.”

“I’ve never been to the Wide Waters.”

“He will lead you,” they hissed. “The cub’s companion will show you how to find it. We smell him nearby. He came to us before. Yes, he did, sisters. When he and his pack were being hunted like your cub. He will lead you to the island.”

“An island?” she asked. “How do we reach it? Do we have to swim?”

“No. You will walk. To reach the Island of the Sun, you must walk over the water.”

“A bridge?” Casseomae growled. Most of the bridges they’d encountered had crumbled ages ago.

“You will know where you must cross when you have reached the place at the shore that is a territory of viands.”

“A territory of viands …,” she said. “Do you mean … Is it the Havenlands?”

“We have heard it called that. Yes, we have. And we have seen this place. It is our small cousins who have named it the Havenlands. But you cannot stay there. For the cub to be safe you must pass through the Havenlands and go over the water to the Island of the Sun.

“The cub’s companion,” they hissed. “He will know how to lead you there. Tell him to ascend a great height. From there you will see the spinning trees that mark the Havenlands. When he sees, he will know where to go.”

The vultures began closing in around them. The
child murmured in fright. Casseomae backed away with the cub close to her side.

“We have told you,” they hissed. “And you must go. A good offering. A good offering you have given us. And more to come if you are successful.”

Casseomae backed farther until she was out from the ring of vultures. The vultures spat and pecked at one another as they swarmed over the buck and tore it apart.

“Come, cub,” she said. But he was already gone, racing back toward Pang.

T
he child was stumbling with tiredness, but Casseomae would not stop until they were far from the Auspectres’ tower.

“Me?” Pang said. “They said I would be able to lead you to this island?”

“They said to tell you to ascend a great height,” Casseomae said grimly, “so you could see the spinning trees that mark the Havenlands.”

“Spinning trees. Havenlands. Climbing into the sky.” Dumpster slapped his tail scornfully. “Scratchin’ mites! I knew this was a waste of time.”

Pang tucked his tail with a whine.

The rat circled around in agitation before saying, “Unless …”

“Unless what?” Casseomae grunted.

“If we could get to the top of a skyscraper—assuming there’s one left standing—we could see a far distance from up there. Pang, is there a city nearby?”

The dog lifted his head. “Yes, several days’ journey toward Sun’s Birth.”

“Then lead us there,” Casseomae said.

Pang looked at the cub. “I don’t go into cities if I can help it. And this city … I’ve only skirted its borders. I hear there are strange tribes living there. Creatures seen nowhere else in the Forest. I hardly know if they are vora or viand.”

“It won’t matter,” Casseomae said. “We’re not letting any of them catch a sniff of the cub. We’ll travel quietly.”

“Yes, old bear,” Dumpster said. “You and that cub of yours are nothing if not a stink blossom of stealth. Oh, a city!” he squeaked excitedly. “Now we’re scratchin’. I’m so sick of all these trees and endless walking and bear riding. A nice city sounds right up my alley.”

“What’s an alley?” Pang asked.

“It’s a … ah, never mind,” the rat sighed, settling happily atop Casseomae’s head.

The following day brought them into territory rich for foraging. The child discovered a black cherry tree, heavy with small fruits, and filled his mouth and pockets with the juicy cherries. But a faint smell caused Casseomae to growl at the others to be quiet.

Distant howls echoed through the Forest.

“Can you tell if they’re after us?” she asked Pang.

“The wolves in this territory don’t pay tribute to the Ogeema,” the dog said. “Those are hunting cries. They’re chasing something. A deer most likely. Which means they’re not onto us. They wouldn’t be so loud if they were.”

“Maybe,” Dumpster said. “Do you know these under lickers?”

“It’s Maul’s pack, I think. A vicious ruler,” Pang said, looking back toward the fading sounds of the hunt. “I wish we’d never let the cub leave that weapon behind.”

They passed over many stands of fine foraging for the sake of covering ground. The child ate the last of his cherries as the sun was dipping low through the trees.

They had come upon a wide river with more of the Skinless Ones’ dens lining its banks when the child knelt to the ground with a hand to his stomach. He let out a moan and then a sharp cry as he doubled over.

Pang ran up to lick his face. “What’s wrong, pup?”

Casseomae sniffed, trying to tell if something had bitten him.

All at once, the child vomited and toppled to one side. He continued to retch as he lay shaking on the ground.

Pang barked, “Get up! Get up! What’s the matter?”

Casseomae pushed her snout under the cub to roll
him over. He was caked in the sick and was limp, his eyes flickering.

“If he spit up, he ought to feel better,” she growled fearfully. “What’s happened to him?”

“He was eating Forest food,” Pang said. “I told you he shouldn’t eat Forest food! Maybe he ate a mushroom when we weren’t watching. Some of those are poisonous. Or a toad? I’ve seen pack mates go dizzy for hours after eating a bad toad.”

Casseomae sniffed the contents of the vomit on the ground. It was no different than anything she’d eaten.

Dumpster was scampering around, trying to stay clear of the dog’s and bear’s anxious paws. “I think I know,” he said. “It’s part of the Memory.”

“What?” Casseomae said. “What’s happened?”

“The pup … it’s like what happened to all the other Old Devils,” Dumpster said. “Back before the Turning. The pup, I think he’s got the sickness. I … I think he’s dying.”

“What?” Casseomae growled. She sniffed at the cub anxiously. He was no longer vomiting, but his eyes were shut and his breath sounded raspy.

“I’m trying to remember,” he said. “There’re so many stories. But have you heard why the Old Devils are no longer here?”

“A cowardly trick,” Pang said. “The Ogeema’s ancestor Taka-Dirge disguised himself as a dog and snuck
into the den of the great Companion chiefs. He let the armies of wolves in and they killed the Companion chiefs in their sleep—”

“Cur nonsense,” Dumpster said, sitting back on his haunches. “Nobody really knows for sure how the Old Devils vanished. You ask the birds and they’ll tell you they were burned up in the sun because they flew too high in their passerings. I’ve heard the pusses say their old masters ran out of food and all starved or killed one another fighting over scraps. But that isn’t what my da told me. That’s not what the Memory holds. No, the Memory for our mischief tells that the Old Devils got sick. Suddenly. All of them at once.”

“Couldn’t they just eat mallow or grass or something?” Pang asked. “That’s what helps when we get sick.”

“The Old Devils had food like that,” Dumpster replied. “They called them medicines. But this sickness killed them all before they could figure out which medicines to eat.”

“But if that’s what happened, then what about the pup and the others of his kind who came down from the sky?” Casseomae asked.

“I don’t know.” Dumpster flattened his whiskers. “I’m just telling you the Memory.”

“Maybe some of the Companions flew off in a passering before they got sick,” Pang suggested. “They could have done that.”

“And what?” Dumpster scoffed. “They’ve been living up in that passering for all this time? What would they eat?”

The child groaned and Casseomae nudged him soothingly with her nose. “Is there nothing we can do? I can’t just let him die.”

“Maybe the rat’s wrong,” Pang said, trying to reassure her.

Dumpster clicked his teeth. “Not scratchin’ likely!”

Pang snarled. “Shut up, you idiot. Can’t you see she’s upset?” He eyed the growing purple and pink twilight sky. “It will be dark soon.”

“The pup can’t stay out here,” Dumpster said. “That spew smell on him will draw night voras. We need to get him underground … or at least somewhere you can defend him better.”

“What about that Companion den up there?” Pang said. “It’s not so ruined.”

Casseomae eyed the wooden building. It was covered in creeper and a fallen oak lay on a portion of the roof, but for the most part it was intact. “It’ll do.”

She picked the cub up at the shoulder, as she’d done the day she’d first rescued him. With a gentle grip of her teeth, she carried him toward the building. Pang ran ahead, sniffing for signs of danger as they went inside.

“Not there in the glass,” Dumpster squeaked. “Over here.” He directed her toward a back corner.

After she put the child down, Casseomae surveyed the den. Unlike her den back in the meadow, the floor was the smooth flat sort of wood that the Skinless fashioned. On the far end of the den where the oak had landed, the building was in ruins with weeds and saplings rising through the rotten floor. But on this side, it was dry and mostly well-preserved.

“It’s even got furniture,” Dumpster said, sniffing around with interest.

“What’s fern-of-chirp?” Pang asked.

“Furniture, you idiot. That stuff over there. It’s nesting the Old Devils used to keep their pups off the ground. They believed the earth was cursed and to touch it would defile you. That’s why they built their skyscraper dens so high.”

“How’s the pup?” Pang said, circling back to Casseomae.

She was trying to lick the sick from his clothing hide, but it had soaked into the material. “He seems to be sleeping,” she replied. She got the worst of it off, but he still smelled strongly.

As evening fell, they heard scurrying in the rafters above. An opossum poked its head curiously through a hole in the ceiling and Dumpster said, “What are you looking at?” He disappeared, but Casseomae knew the den must house any number of viand families like squirrels and birds and even some smaller voras like raccoons.

“You might not want to wander much, rat,” she cautioned.

“Eh,” Dumpster said dismissively, but he settled onto the arm of a couch close by.

Pang nervously watched the woods from the doorway. Casseomae was glad to have him standing guard. She continued to soothe the cub, slicking back the tuft of hair on his head with her long tongue.

A painful memory dredged itself up. Not many moons before, she had been licking a pair of tiny cubs she had given birth to over the winter. They had arrived breathless, like all the other cubs she’d borne. Sick with anger and desperation, she had licked the cubs all through the frosty night, hoping that somehow she could bring them to life.

“Don’t leave me, cub,” she whispered to the child as she drew her tongue over his thick ears. His skin was salty and hot. “You’re strong. You’re not like other cubs. And you’re stronger than the others of your kind. You survived when they haven’t. Please, just get better.”

His eyes didn’t open. But the child murmured and brushed a hand to her snout, weakly trying to push her away. “Good,” she said, feeling a stirring in her chest. “Sleep. Just sleep.”

Later an eruption of distant barks broke the quiet of the night. Pang leaped up from the doorway. “Do you hear that?” he barked. “Those are wolves.”

“How far away?” Dumpster asked.

“Not far enough,” Pang said.

Casseomae rose and stepped out into the night air. The barks grew rapid and ferocious. “What are they doing?” she called back to Pang.

“Those aren’t howls to mark territory.” He listened as the faint cries continued. “I think those are wolves fighting other wolves.”

“That’s a lot of wolves,” Dumpster said.

Casseomae went out to stand on her hind legs. She couldn’t smell them, which was good. They were still a fair distance away. But if those wolves came near, they would certainly be caught. She hurried back inside to find Pang tugging at the child. “What are you doing?”

Pang had torn a portion of the cub’s blue clothing away from his chest and was chewing at the portions around his waist. The child whimpered and curled up but didn’t open his eyes.

“He’s getting that reeking coat off of him!” Dumpster said.

“Stop,” Casseomae growled, butting the dog in the ribs.

Pang looked up with urgent eyes. “The smell. We’ll never get it cleaned off that strange hide. It’s not like fur and if we don’t get it out of here, they’ll smell the pup.”

“The cur’s right,” Dumpster said. “We’ve got to get rid of that.”

Casseomae lumbered to the child’s face and licked him soothingly while Pang continued to gnaw and tear away the rest of the clothing hide. Underneath the cub wore another smaller white covering around his midsection. Pang left it along with the thick coverings on the child’s feet since neither had gotten any vomit on them. Once the remains of the child’s clothing hide lay on the floor, Pang gathered it up in his teeth and carried it out the doorway.