The Prince Who Fell From the Sky (19 page)

Casseomae could still hear the terrible battle being waged. They had to hurry. The fight wouldn’t last forever, and then either the wolves or Mother Death would be hunting them.

She wedged herself up through the window and tumbled down. Her fall was not so well aimed, and her back hip hit the metal edge painfully. Gulping air, she hooked her claws around the dumpster’s top. With a tug that sent a jolt of pain through her injured shoulder, she climbed up and over the side of the dumpster.

The cub ran up to hug her, but she nudged him away.

“I’m fine,” she growled. “Pang, can you lead us from here?”

He barked and ran down the alley toward the far end. Back out in the open street, the noise of Mother Death’s battle with the wolves echoed off the skyscrapers.

Pang gauged the direction of the sun through the maze of buildings around them. “This way,” he said. “We just have to get to the other side of the city.”

“And hope we don’t encounter any more Mother Deaths,” Dumpster said from the cub’s shoulder.

The four ran for some time. The sun was falling
behind them when they at last left the towering skyscrapers and reached the river once more.

“We’ll follow the river, out to where it flows to the Wide Waters,” Pang said. “That seems the quickest way to those spinning towers.”

“The Havenlands.” Casseomae nudged the cub, and he smiled his doglike smile up at her. “Just a little farther,” she said. “And then you’ll be safe, my cub.”

A
lthough they were all exhausted, even the cub managed to walk until sunset. The Forest again surrounded them, the last ruins of the city’s outskirts far behind. Whenever possible, they walked in the shallows to mask their scent. But much of the river’s edge was clogged with rusting debris, and the water was often too deep and swift for them to safely follow.

The pain in Casseomae’s hip had subsided, but her shoulder ached where Mother Death had bitten her. That night the pain repeatedly woke her. She tried to lick the wound, but it was in a spot she could not reach.

“You all right?” Pang asked her in the morning.

Casseomae took a few steps to break open an ant mound for a meal but almost immediately slumped back to the ground. “It’s that cat’s bite,” she said.

The dog trotted over to investigate. “It looks bad.”

“It’s infected,” Dumpster said, climbing up to take a closer look.

“It’s what?” Casseomae said.

“Those cats have nasty teeth,” the rat replied. “You need it cleaned, or it’ll get worse.”

Pang volunteered to lick at the wound. Casseomae endured it as long as she could before rising. “We’ve got to go.”

Dumpster allowed the child to carry him. As they were walking, Casseomae said, “Those cats acted like they had seen your mischief.”

“I know,” the rat replied. “Sounded like they did more than just see them.”

“I suppose it did,” Casseomae said. “But I also got the feeling that at least some of them got away.”

“Maybe,” Dumpster said, resting glumly in the cub’s cupped palm.

By the afternoon, the ache in Casseomae’s shoulder had grown terribly. Each step on her front paw brought with it a stab of pain.

“You’re limping,” Pang said. “Let me clean it some more.”

Casseomae grunted. She lay in a patch of cool shade while the dog licked away the dried blood and oozing pus.

“I think it’s getting worse,” he finally said.

“I’ve been bitten deeper,” Casseomae said, though
in fact she had not. She lumbered over to the river to lie down in the water, letting it seep into the stinging wound.

The cub gathered hard plums from a tree and waded into the river to offer them to her.

“No, cub,” Casseomae snorted. “You feed yourself. I can still forage just fine.”

When the cub continued holding them out, Casseomae sighed and took a bite.

“Look!” Pang called. He had trotted down the bank a short way and stood atop a log.

Casseomae came out of the river and followed Dumpster and the cub over. Ahead, the river widened and rounded in a bend. Over the tops of the trees, Casseomae spotted the tips of metal fins rising and falling lazily.

“How far away are they?” Dumpster asked.

“Can’t tell,” Pang replied. “Let’s keep going.”

They journeyed into the late afternoon, following the ever-widening river. When they stopped to drink, they found the water strangely salty.

“That’s the Wide Waters you’re tasting,” Pang said excitedly. “I’ve always heard they taste of blood. They say that unless you’re a fish, you can’t drink from them.”

“Is it poisoned?” Dumpster asked, drawing back from the bank.

“I don’t know,” Pang said. “Maybe it’s best we drink from the Forest’s puddles from now on.”

They caught more glimpses of the towers as they went, and soon even the red glowing eyes in the towers’ centers.

“They’re like flowers,” Pang said.

“I’ve never seen flowers like that,” Dumpster said. “Flower petals don’t spin around.”

“They still look like flowers,” the dog said, trotting around a rusting vehicle. “To me, anyway.”

“What’s strange are the lights,” Dumpster said. “Lights need electricity to glow. That’s one of those things that disappeared with the Old Devils.”

“Then how are they doing that?” Casseomae asked.

“Scratch me bald if I know,” Dumpster said.

Casseomae puzzled on it, feeling slow-headed with the pain spilling from her shoulder.

When the sun had set and the Forest darkened, Pang asked, “Should we rest for the night?”

Casseomae glanced behind them. “I’d feel better sleeping in the Havenlands,” she said.

“Me too,” Dumpster said. “My whiskers are tingling.”

Pang looked back the way they had come, flicking his ear and sniffing. When he turned back, he said, “A little farther, then.”

They left the riverside, tramping through the dark Forest with the glowing eyes guiding them. The cub slogged along next to Casseomae, his hand resting on
her side. He murmured something melodic and birdlike that Casseomae found soothing. With each step, the lights grew closer. Just as Casseomae felt her throbbing legs could carry her no farther, she heard Pang yelp.

“What is it?” Dumpster squeaked, clawing his way onto the child’s shoulder.

The dog was sniffing at a strange-looking metal branch sticking straight up from the ground. It was tall, as tall as Casseomae when she stood on her hind legs.

“I’m not sure,” Pang said. “Something stung me.” He took a cautious step past the metal branch, then yelped again. Tucking his tail, he circled around behind Casseomae.

“Stay back, cub,” she growled. As she approached the metal branch, she could see that it was one of many running in a straight line through the Forest in both directions. Each branch was about five paces from the next, but there was nothing between them—no wires, no rusty strings of barbs, nothing.

A strange odor hovered over the place, unlike anything she’d smelled before, and a dull hum tickled her eardrums.

Casseomae touched her nose to the closest metal branch. When nothing happened, she stretched her snout into the space between the branches. Immediately a jolt of pain rushed through her body. She stumbled back and shook her head. “What was that?”

Dumpster snapped his tail. “I can’t believe it. I can’t scratchin’ believe it.”

“What is it?” Pang said.

“The lights, and now this.” Dumpster flicked his whiskers. “Electricity. It’s got to be electricity!”

“How do we get past it?” Casseomae asked.

“Well, as my old da used to say,” Dumpster said,
“ ‘Every fence has a gate.’ ”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means we need to follow these and hope there’s a passage through them.”

They followed the metal branches through the Forest. Soon the trees on the other side thinned out. Casseomae saw a wide expanse of land speckled with shadowy clusters. It could have been her meadow except that it was much bigger, and the grass was too short to even whisper in the night’s winds.

Dumpster was staring at the shadowy shapes spread throughout the field. “What
are
those?” he asked.

“Bushes?” Casseomae guessed. “Relics?”

Then one of the shadows moved.

Pang whined and backed up a step. Casseomae lifted her nose and sampled the air. She could smell them; they were viands of some sort.

They came upon one that was near the edge of the barrier. It stood on four legs and was big, bigger even than a bear. It was eating, tearing chunks of grass from
the ground. As they approached, the creature made a low sound and lumbered away. Its white eyes glowed faintly in the starlight as it looked back at them.

“A deer?” Pang guessed. “But what a fat deer!”

“That’s no deer,” Dumpster said. “That’s a beef. But I thought they were all wiped out by the wolves after the Old Devils vanished.”

“It seems that some survived here in the Havenlands,” Casseomae said. She gazed at the fat-bellied beast. There was no way it could have survived in the Forest. She doubted it could run. And it had no horns, no means to protect itself from a hunting pack.

She felt a welling of optimism that momentarily pushed aside the pain in her shoulder. If these ancient creatures had survived here, then the Havenlands really were safe from voras.

“We’ve got to get across,” she snorted.

“You can’t,” squeaked a small voice from the dark.

Dumpster spun around, sniffing furiously. “Stormdrain … Is that you?”

T
he dry leaves behind them rustled, and a rat crept out from underneath them. He stood on his hind legs and sniffed the air. “Dumpster!” he said. “Lord Murk, bless my eyes. How did you ever find us?”

Dumpster ran to greet the rat, lowering to his belly to allow Stormdrain to nip at his ears and comb his fur with his teeth. “Are the others with you?” Dumpster asked.

“They are hiding in a log nearby,” Stormdrain said, flicking his whiskers toward the dark. “What few of us are left.”

Dumpster sat up. “The cats? Is it true they attacked you?”

Stormdrain wrinkled his whiskers. “Yes. We were
fool enough to think that the city was the Havenlands because of the beasts in the river. Those monsters should have feasted on us, but they didn’t. They were frightened of us. Beasts of that size frightened of us! What were they, Dumpster?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen much that the Memory can’t explain.”

“If only you’d been with us. You surely would have warned us of what lay in that city.” Stormdrain’s whiskers drooped. “We crossed the river and searched for a spot for our new colony. The shadows had hardly lengthened before we were set upon by such a number of cats as I have never seen.”

“We saw,” Dumpster said. “We came through the city.”

“You were fortunate to have protection,” he said, eyeing Casseomae. “We ran for the river. Many were caught by the pusses or simply lost in the panic. All that are left could sleep in a single burrow. And here at last we have found the Havenlands, Murk bless us, but alas there is no way to enter. Curb, our fearless scout, died trying to cross. Something burned him alive with no fire or heat.”

“It’s electricity,” Dumpster said.

“I thought as much, trying to conjure what you’ve taught me.” The old rat licked at a wound on his forepaw. “I’m sorry we left you. After the skyscraper fell … well, we feared you were lost with the others.”

“I don’t blame you,” Dumpster said. “You had the mischief to think of. I’m just glad to find you again.”

“Me too, wise buck.” The rat eyed Casseomae, Pang, and the child. “Who are your companions? And how have you charmed them into serving you?”

“Serve him!” Pang yapped. “He—”

“—has helped us enormously,” Casseomae said, lowering her nose to Stormdrain.

Pang’s remaining ear cocked, but he didn’t argue.

Dumpster lifted his nose toward the cub. “Do you see that creature there?” Dumpster asked the old rat. “That is an Old Devil!”

Stormdrain slunk back a few steps. “What! How can this be?”

Casseomae explained how the child had fallen from the sky. “He’s alone, and just a cub. He won’t harm you.”

“What foolishness is this!” Stormdrain squeaked. “Why would you do such a thing? You know what his kind did.”

“You aren’t wrong to think that,” Dumpster said. “I scratchin’ thought it myself. But if you had seen all that this bear has done to protect the cub, you would feel about him as I do. Besides, he’s more bear and dog now than Old Devil.”

Stormdrain watched Casseomae with unblinking eyes.

“We are searching for a way across this fence,”
Dumpster said. “We have to get the cub to the Havenlands and beyond. There’s a safe place for him there, a place the bear can raise him without threat from the wolves. Gather the mischief. We will make our colony there.”

Stormdrain sighed. “The mischief will not come. You know as well as I that as long as these voras are nearby, they will not come out, not even to greet you. It’s impossible.”

“Scratchin’ mites, I had given up hope of ever finding you again,” Dumpster said. “I can’t leave you now!”

“You must,” the old rat said firmly. “See if you can find this den of safety. When you do, let us know and I will try to convince the others to join you.”

Dumpster flapped his tail against the ground. “Very well,” he said. “Stay hidden. Keep the mischief safe. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, brave buck,” Stormdrain said. The old rat rose on his hind legs to bump noses with Dumpster and then scurried into the underbrush.

As the four of them started walking again, Casseomae glanced back and saw eyes glinting in the dark. She was amazed that the rats had come so far, but then she could hardly believe she had traveled so far from her own meadow.

The wound in her shoulder was oozing again. She could feel it thickening in her fur. Just a little farther, she thought. Just a little farther and the cub would be safe.

T
hey had walked past scores of the metal branches when Dumpster finally said, “I might have been wrong. My memory is not as scratchin’ perfect as Stormdrain believes. It could be that this fence has no gate.”