Chapters 5 and 6
Sunday, January 29, 2012 at 08:36PM Abbie Chapter 5. Round 2: Treace
The field commander said to them, “Tell Hezekiah: This is what the great king of Assyria, says: On what are you basing this confidence of yours? You say you have strategy and military strength—but you speak only empty words. On whom are you depending, that you rebel against me?”
--2 Kings 18:19 and 20
When Storm opened his eyes again, it was midmorning—bright and cold and clear. He started to stand up, thought better of it, and lay back down. He didn’t think he’d actually climbed very high last night. His whole body ached, and he head was pounding. He licked up the snow around him on the ground.
Cautiously, Storm crept to the edge of the path and peered over. As he’d suspected, he was low enough for a clear view of the mazes and the cave that had been his prison. To his delight, the cats were still guarding it. His amusement when they discovered his absence could only be matched by his satisfaction when they left, going south in great haste. “Run home,” he murmured, “and tell everyone that you’ve lost again.”
When they were gone, Storm made his way quickly down the path. He caught a rat in its snowy runway among the rocks, and felt much better. He wondered what he should do next. Return to the herd? Find his clique? Try again to find his mother and Sauny?
As he was debating, he ran into the last person he expected to see—Pathar, foraging alone among the boulders. Storm stopped when he saw him. He almost ran away, but hesitated. Pathar, raised his head, saw Storm, and smiled. “So that’s why they left. I didn’t think they looked happy.”
Storm swallowed. He felt a ridiculous urge to run to Pathar and put his head against his teacher’s shoulder, as he had when he when he was small. Caution and dignity prevailed, however. “Do you want to kill me, Pathar?”
Pathar cocked his head. “Why would I want that?”
“Some of the other elders do.”
Pathar gave a shake of his head. “You’ve survived twice. You’re the creasia’s problem now. I think they’ll leave you alone.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, Storm, I don’t want to kill you.”
“But you won’t help me, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Has anyone ever escaped before, Pathar?” I need to know. I need to understand what I’ve gotten myself into.
Pathar took a deep breath. “Not in the last fourteen years.”
“And before that?”
“Before that,” said Pathar carefully, “we were not under creasia law. We were at war. We lost.”
Storm grew very still. Pathar was actually telling him something new, probably something forbidden. “How long?” he blurted. “How long were we at war? Why did we lose?”
Pathar looked up at the blue sky. He sighed, and Storm thought he looked very old. “I don’t know how long, Storm. Maybe as long as there have been ferryshaft and creasia. When I was your age, we were winning. We used to cull them. Creasia are difficult to kill as adults, but as cubs, they are vulnerable. We would go into the forest every spring and kill as many cubs as we could find. We already breed faster than they do, and we can live on almost anything, whereas they require meat. We should never have lost the advantage, but…Arcove is a clever leader. Now, he lets us survive, and that is the best we can hope for.”
Storm remembered to breathe. He felt as though a ray of light had fallen into a dark cave. For the first time, he glimpsed a past that affected him daily. “Why don’t they just kill us all?” he whispered.
Pathar waved his tail. “The treaty was negotiated so that the ferryshaft would stop fighting. We were a desperate, starving lot, holed up in caves, but still dangerous. Annihilating us at the point would have cost creasia lives that Arcove probably wanted to save. Now…well, he’s always been one for keeping his promises. Arcove has not broken the treaty yet. Although,” Pathar’s voice sourced, “it would be very easy to kill us all now.”
Storm shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me everything before?”
Pathar surprised him with a full-bellied laugh. “Oh, I’m still not telling you everything, Storm. I’ve already told you enough to get myself killed or exiled if you repeat it. If you do repeat it…say that Ariand told you.” He laughed again, more to himself, and trotted way.
He was already gone, when Storm thought, You knew Ariand’s name…
Feeling marginally safer because of Pathar’s assessment, Storm started in the direction of the herd. He was not surprised to find Tollee and Tracer at the clique’s sleeping place. Tracer laughed out loud when he saw Storm. “Callaris owes me a rabbit.”
Storm made a face. “You’re betting on my survival?”
“Well, it’s better than betting against it!”
Tollee looked almost angry. “Storm, why didn’t you stay on the cliffs? You could have stayed in the cliffs!”
“And be an outcast from the herd? What kind of a life is that?”
“A longer life,” she growled.
“How did you escape from the cave?” interrupted Tracer.
“You knew I was trapped in cave?” asked Storm.
Tracer harrumphed. “Storm, everyone knew. It’s not that far away. How did you get out?”
“I…” Storm hesitated. “I’d rather not say.”
Tracer whined in protest, but Tollee was already talking again. “Kelsy offered to let all of us join his clique.”
“Sort of,” said Tracer.
“No ‘sort of’ about it,” snapped Tollee. “He said that half of his clique members had left to be with mates last fall. He said there were only ten left—”
“Only,” interrupted Tracer, “like that’s a small number—”
“And we were welcome to hunt with them this winter,” finished Tollee.
“Saying it that way didn’t make it sound like joining, though,” said Tracer. “It wasn’t like he was trying to take the clique from Mylo, just…collaborate. You should have seen the look on Mylo’s face, Storm. He had no idea what to say.”
“I hope he said yes,” said Storm.
“He’s still thinking about it,” said Tollee. “He’s always disliked Kelsy, but…what you did the other day…saving us all. It changed something. None of us should be alive. We look at each other and see—”
“You see another ferryshaft and not an enemy,” finished Storm.
“Yes,” said Tracer, “I guess that’s it.”
“Storm, the creasia will be back,” said Tollee. “You’ve started something.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath. “And before you say it, no, I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I trapped myself in that cave. I’ll plan better next time. I’ll be prepared.”
“I hope so,” she said, “because I’m sure they will.”
* * * *
Storm did plan. He spent the next couple of days reviewing every cave and cliff trail in the area and especially the few sheep trails that he’d mastered. He left a rabbit in each of the two isolated cliff caves that he knew how to reach, and he made sure that snow was piled in the back for drinking.
As Pathar had predicted, no one bothered him. Most of the ferryshaft gave him a wide birth. They treated him as though creasia disfavor might be catching, but no one accosted him or attempted to harm him. Storm did not test their attitude by walking into the center of the herd during the day, but on the second night, he did creep over to the place where he thought Sauny and So-fet were sleeping. So-fet was lying beside Dover, and Storm was afraid of waking his stepfather. Sauny, however, woke at his approach. She jumped up and might have squealed if Storm hadn’t shushed her.
They moved away from the others a little, and Sauny whispered. “Storm, you’re amazing! Everyone is talking about you!”
“They are?” he asked uneasily.
“Yes, two of the females in my clique want to be your mates,” she announced.
Storm had to stifle his laughter. Sauny’s clique was composed of yearlings.
“Maybe they should wait and see whether I’m around in four years.” He tried to say it jokingly, but Sauny’s eyes grew instantly worried.
“Please be careful, brother.”
“I will. I just wanted you and mother to know that I’m alright.”
“We know,” said Sauny. “It’s what everyone talks about.”
“They don’t talk to me,” said Storm. No one talks to me except the ones I’ve saved.
“They’re just scared,” said Sauny. “They’ll see. When the creasia can’t kill you, they’ll see. You’re the smartest, fastest, bravest ferryshaft there ever was, Storm.”
Storm had to swallow before he could speak. He laid his head briefly across her shoulders. “Go on back now, little sister. I’ll come again. Tell mother I was here, but don’t tell Dover.”
* * * *
The cats arrived three days later. They came around noon, but their behavior was unprecedented. They trotted around the edges of the herd, pushing the entire mass of animals together on the edge of the plain. They did not cut out a single group, nor did they charge. They circled, eyes scanning every ferryshaft.
The frightened, confused animals pressed together, those on the edges struggling to reach the center. It was rare for all ferryshaft to be present at a raid. Usually, at least a few groups were far enough from the main body of the herd to miss the grisly spectacle. However, the cats liked to attack in places that maximized exposure. As usual, they had struck at a time and place that put well over half the herd together.
Storm was not among them, as he’d been staying away from the herd. However, he did not wish to miss the creasia’s next appearance, and so he was close enough to hear the screams, the pounding of running hooves, and the confused shouting when the raid began.
Storm approached cautiously, peered from behind a rock on the edges of the mazes, and waited. The creasia were behaving oddly. He wondered what it meant, and at the same time, he began to plan the chase that must follow. His heartbeat quickened, and he took slow, measured breaths. Any moment, he would leap out and draw them. Any moment…
A pale brown cat sprang lightly onto a rock, the others still pacing around the edges of the herd. “Where is he?” demanded the cat. Storm could tell that he was deliberately altering his speak so that ferryshaft could more easily understand. The cat spoke again, this time in a roar, “Where is he?!”
The herd had gone still. No one moved. No one said a word. The lead creasia leapt from the boulder and stalked into the clustered ferryshaft. They parted before him like water around a rock in a swift stream. Storm found himself thinking how easily they could have killed him if they had stampeded at that moment.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I'm talking about!” shouted the glaring cat. “If you bring the law-breaker to me, I will kill him, and you can all leave this place unharmed. If you do not bring him to me, thirty of your yearling foals will die!”
“The terms of the treaty prohibit hunting and killing of selected individuals, Treace.”
Everyone looked in the direction of the speaker. Charter stood alone. He’d walked away from the rest of the herd, ignoring the pacing cats.
Storm was shocked and fascinated. This was not at all how he’d imagined the next raid.
For a moment, the cat, Treace, seemed startled, but his answer came readily enough. “The individual we speak of has violated the treaty and is therefore no longer under its protection. If you fail to produce him, neither are you.”
Charder sniffed. “Such a thing has never been part of treaty law. The violation itself is questionable. The animal we speak of has run from you—hardly a violation.”
“He howled!” snarled Treace.
“A minor offense,” said Charder coolly. “He does not seem to be howling now.”
The cat advanced, stiff-legged and bristling towards Charder, but the herd leader held his ground. Storm was impressed. He’d always imaged Charder to be a beaten coward where cats were concerned.
“You have no right to demand anything of us until agreed upon in formal conference,” continued Charder as though Treace didn’t look ready to kill him, “nor do you have the right to violate the treaty until formal exception is made. If you intend to cull, please do so. You are confusing my herd.”
Storm held his breath as he watched the strange stand-off. Then Treace turned away. Storm thought that Charter had won until he saw the murderous expression on the cat’s face. “Oh, we’ll cull,” he growled.
Treace leapt forward, caught a surprised adult by the back of the head, and crunched into its skull. Ferryshaft screamed and fled in all directions. The cats ran among them, maiming and killing. They made no attempt to encircle a group, but attacked every animal they could reach.
Storm gaped. This is my fault. He took a running leap and topped the boulder behind which he had hidden. “Here I am! Come and get me, you cowards!” He thought about howling, but saved his breath. He was shaken by what he’d just seen and wanted as much distance between himself and Treace as he could manage.
Unlike the chase with Ariand, Storm had no sense of what the cats might be doing behind him. They called to each other but rarely. For his part, Storm lay a twisted trail that he’d planned in advance—along a frozen stream that confused his scent, through narrow places in the rocks, and into one tunnel where the cats could not follow and would be forced to search for the exit without the aid of his scent to guide them.
Storm did all this, even though he already knew where he was going. He wanted to lead the creasia away from the ferryshaft herd first. He couldn’t prevent them from returning to kill, but he could at least make it less convenient.
At no point in the chase did he feel truly pressured. My practice has made a difference, he thought, but a mental image of the leader’s furious eyes made him feel suddenly cold.
Storm decided that he was done leading them about. He reached the cliffs and started up a trail he’d selected days ago. It wound steeply up and over jagged red rock, and he was soon panting hard. He was tempted to look back, but mastered the urge. As long as their claws aren’t in my spine, I’m winning. In fact, he felt confident that he had quite a lead on the cats. Soon, he would reach the point where the sheep train left the main path, and then he would leave them behind completely.
Storm struggled up a particularly steep section, urging himself on in spite of flagging muscles. Almost there. He topped the raise, a cry of triumph building in this throat…and skidded to a stop. Twenty lengths ahead, the familiar thread of the sheep trail wound enticingly away to freedom and safety. Between Storm and the sheep trail, however, lay Treace.
Chapter 6. A Lecture
Abuse is in order, but it is best if it is supported by argument.
--Robin Day as chairman of Election Call, BBC Radio
Storm’s heart did a sickening flop. He wheeled to start back the way he had come.
“Storm!” The use of his name brought him up short. He glanced over his shoulder.
Treace had not moved. He stretched and rose slowly. “You’re a remarkable foal, Storm. I’d like to talk to you—no tricks, just talk.”
Storm hesitated. This was something new.
Treace took a step toward him. Storm took a step back. The foal was just beyond pouncing distance. Treace smiled. “This is a parley, not an execution. Sit.”
Storm lowered his back end a little, but not enough to touch the stone.
Treace laughed. “That looks uncomfortable. Can you talk or do you only howl?” His voice was patient and friendly. Storm wondered if this could really be the same creature who had threatened Charder and mauled a ferryshaft so recently.
“What do you want to say?” asked Storm. He wondered if he could catch Treace enough off his guard to rush under his pounce. He’d done something like that with Ariand. At the same time, he wondered if the cat really wanted to talk and what he could possibly say that would matter.
“You’ve impressed us,” said Treace. “Charder has grown old and foolish. We’re looking for a new ferryshaft to put in charge of the herd. That’s why Charder was arguing with me earlier. He’s afraid that if we find you, we’ll replace him. That’s how we pick the new leaders, you know—the brave ones who challenge us.”
Storm stared at Treace. “I don’t believe you.”
The cat flicked his tail. “We wouldn’t expect you to—not immediately. But think about it, Storm. You could renegotiate the treaty—perhaps bargain for us to kill fewer ferryshaft. If you keep running away, we’ll just kill you, but if you come with me…we’ll tell you all kinds of things. I’m sure you’ve wondered about the war, about the treaty, how and why we conduct our raids…”
Storm knew the cat was lying, but he couldn’t help but listen. Even the lies told him things he hadn’t known. They have rules about how they raid? Those rules are negotiated?
Storm realized suddenly that Treace had edged forward, muscles tensing. Storm backed away quickly. “You think I’d believe that after watching what you did to those ferryshaft this morning?”
Treace gave a soft, nasty chuckle. “Wait until you see what I’m going to do to you.”
Storm whirled and started to gallop back down the path, but he stopped after only a short distance. From this point, he could see much of the twisted trail below, including the rest of the creasia, well over half way up and closing.
“Too late,” said Treace softly.
Storm turned to the cat again, fearful of taking his eyes off him for too long. Treace stood with head low, eyes narrow, edging forward.
Storm’s stomach churned, and he felt light-headed. He couldn’t breathe. I can’t go in either direction. I can’t get past him. I can’t… All he could think about was the crunch of a ferryshaft’s skull, the scream as the animal expired.
I won’t die that way. I won’t.
Storm glanced up: a sheer, gravelly wall with no footholds. He looked down. The cliff dropped away in a descent that was steep, but not sheer. I might make it…if I don’t stumble. To stumble will mean death.
He jumped.
* * * *
If Storm had looked back, he would have seen Treace thudding to the ground almost on his tail. Treace peered over the precipice, growling. He had hoped to break the foal’s legs and carry him back to Leeshwood alive. It might not impress Arcove, but the sight would certainly impress half the cats in every clutter—the ferryshaft that Sharmel and Ariand had been unable to catch, easily captured by Treace, and dying slowly on display.
It was a regrettable loss. However, Treace felt certain that he had succeeded in a broader sense. The foal couldn’t possibly survive such a descent.
Treace watched as Storm dug in his heels, legs stiff, knee-deep in sliding rocks. The gray tail lashed wildly. Once he tripped, and Treace thought it was over, but then Storm righted himself. Treace’s clutter arrived, but no one said anything. They could see well enough.
Finally, Storm reached the truly dangerous part. Fewer loose rocks interfered with his movements, but the descent was far steeper. Treace saw him jump amid a sea of slithering stones, and then he was lost to sight over the sheer drop.
All the cats ran back and forth, craning their necks to see, but it was no use. We’ll have to go to the bottom to find his body, thought Treace. Then, impossibly, a streak of dust shot away from the cliff and, with it, a flash of silver-gray.
* * * *
“You threatened them? All of them?” Arcove’s stare was icy.
Treace looked angry, too. “They have broken faith and must be punished. If we can’t catch the foal, perhaps his own race—”
“Treace,” growled Arcove, “by your actions, you have admitted to the entire herd that we feel threatened by this foal. Before you spoke to them, they weren’t sure. Now, they’re sure.”
Treace sputtered. “I hardly think that our cull will leave them feeling triumphant—”
“Secondly,” continued Arcove, “a threat of that nature produces one of two results: either they turn on him, or they rally around him. I am not prepared to risk of the second possibility at this point, as improbable as it may seem.”
“They’ll never—!”
“And thirdly, Treace, Charter is right. We cannot violate treaty stipulations at whim. Your breach was more severe than anything this foal has done.”
“What are you afraid of?” spat Treace. “The ferryshaft? That race of talking sheep? Just because they gave you a bloody nose a generation ago doesn’t mean they…”
Arcove rose, and Treace’s voice faded. All around the counsel circle, officers were staring at him. Arcove took a step closer, legs stiff, hackles faintly bristling. “Who is in charge here, Treace?”
For an instant, Treace’s eyes locked with Arcove’s. Then his gaze dropped. “You are.”
“For a moment I wasn’t sure.”
Treace said nothing and kept his eyes down. After a pause, Arcove continued. “I understand your reasoning, councilor. I know what you were trying to do, but you lack the experience to effectively execute it. Ferryshaft are not talking sheep. In the future, you will break treaty code only at my direct orders. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
An awkward pause. Finally, Sharmel spoke. “Arcove, can I try again?”
Arcove looked surprised. “You’ve already chased him once, Sharmel.”
“I know, but I didn’t understand the situation, and my clutter completely ignored my orders.”
Arcove smiled. He thought he understood. Ariand was the lowest ranking officer. Treace was next. They were taking turns at this problem by order of rank, and Sharmel wanted his correct position. “Go ahead. But don’t threaten the herd.”
Roup spoke. “I recommend not making a cull at all until you catch Storm.”
Halvary rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”
Roup flicked his tail. “No, this is just social logic.” He looked at Sharmel. “If you begin to make a cull and the foal appears, you must chase him. The ferryshaft he saves will feel gratitude. Even if you return and make a new cull, the ferryshaft from the first cull will survive, and their loyalties will shift. In addition, those in the new cull may be inspired to follow Storm’s example. After all, it seems to be keeping him alive, and they’ll have nothing to lose.” He hesitated. “Besides, it sounds to me as though Treace has performed a cull that will be sufficient for some time.”
Even Halvery had to admit that this made sense.
“No cull, then,” said Sharmel. “And I think I’ll wait a bit, if that’s acceptable.” He glanced at Arcove. “We’ve been coming every few days. The foal is on edge. I’m sure he’s planning his next escape even as we speak. I’d like to give him some time to get complacent.”
“That’s reasonable,” said Arcove. “It’ll give me time to sort out the mess Treace has created with Charter.”
____________________________________________
Abbie's Comments
Chapter 5. Round 2: Treace
The field commander said to them, “Tell Hezekiah: This is what the great king of Assyria, says: On what are you basing this confidence of yours? You say you have strategy and military strength—but you speak only empty words. On whom are you depending, that you rebel against me?”
--2 Kings 18:19 and 20
When Storm opened his eyes again, it was midmorning—bright and cold and clear. He started to stand up, thought better of it, and lay back down. He didn’t think he’d actually climbed very high last night. His whole body ached, and he head was pounding. He licked up the snow around him on the ground.
Cautiously, Storm crept to the edge of the path and peered over. As he’d suspected, he was low enough for a clear view of the mazes and the cave that had been his prison. To his delight, the cats were still guarding it. His amusement when they discovered his absence could only be matched by his satisfaction when they left, going south in great haste. “Run home,” he murmured, “and tell everyone that you’ve lost again.”
When they were gone, Storm made his way quickly down the path. He caught a rat in its snowy runway among the rocks, and felt much better. He wondered what he should do next. Return to the herd? Find his clique? Try again to find his mother and Sauny?
As he was debating, he ran into the last person he expected to see—Pathar, foraging alone among the boulders. Storm stopped when he saw him. He almost ran away, but hesitated. Pathar, raised his head, saw Storm, and smiled. “So that’s why they left. I didn’t think they looked happy.”
Storm swallowed. He felt a ridiculous urge to run to Pathar and put his head against his teacher’s shoulder, as he had when he when he was small. Caution and dignity prevailed, however. “Do you want to kill me, Pathar?”
Pathar cocked his head. “Why would I want that?”
“Some of the other elders do.”
Pathar gave a shake of his head. “You’ve survived twice. You’re the creasia’s problem now. I think they’ll leave you alone.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, Storm, I don’t want to kill you.”
“But you won’t help me, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Has anyone ever escaped before, Pathar?” I need to know. I need to understand what I’ve gotten myself into.
Pathar took a deep breath. “Not in the last fourteen years.”
“And before that?”
“Before that,” said Pathar carefully, “we were not under creasia law. We were at war. We lost.”
Storm grew very still. Pathar was actually telling him something new, probably something forbidden. “How long?” he blurted. “How long were we at war? Why did we lose?”
Pathar looked up at the blue sky. He sighed, and Storm thought he looked very old. “I don’t know how long, Storm. Maybe as long as there have been ferryshaft and creasia. When I was your age, we were winning. We used to cull them. Creasia are difficult to kill as adults, but as cubs, they are vulnerable. We would go into the forest every spring and kill as many cubs as we could find. We already breed faster than they do, and we can live on almost anything, whereas they require meat. We should never have lost the advantage, but…Arcove is a clever leader. Now, he lets us survive, and that is the best we can hope for.”
Storm remembered to breathe. He felt as though a ray of light had fallen into a dark cave. For the first time, he glimpsed a past that affected him daily. “Why don’t they just kill us all?” he whispered.
Pathar waved his tail. “The treaty was negotiated so that the ferryshaft would stop fighting. We were a desperate, starving lot, holed up in caves, but still dangerous. Annihilating us at the point would have cost creasia lives that Arcove probably wanted to save. Now…well, he’s always been one for keeping his promises. Arcove has not broken the treaty yet. Although,” Pathar’s voice sourced, “it would be very easy to kill us all now.”
Storm shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me everything before?”
Pathar surprised him with a full-bellied laugh. “Oh, I’m still not telling you everything, Storm. I’ve already told you enough to get myself killed or exiled if you repeat it. If you do repeat it…say that Ariand told you.” He laughed again, more to himself, and trotted way.
He was already gone, when Storm thought, You knew Ariand’s name…
Feeling marginally safer because of Pathar’s assessment, Storm started in the direction of the herd. He was not surprised to find Tollee and Tracer at the clique’s sleeping place. Tracer laughed out loud when he saw Storm. “Callaris owes me a rabbit.”
Storm made a face. “You’re betting on my survival?”
“Well, it’s better than betting against it!”
Tollee looked almost angry. “Storm, why didn’t you stay on the cliffs? You could have stayed in the cliffs!”
“And be an outcast from the herd? What kind of a life is that?”
“A longer life,” she growled.
“How did you escape from the cave?” interrupted Tracer.
“You knew I was trapped in cave?” asked Storm.
Tracer harrumphed. “Storm, everyone knew. It’s not that far away. How did you get out?”
“I…” Storm hesitated. “I’d rather not say.”
Tracer whined in protest, but Tollee was already talking again. “Kelsy offered to let all of us join his clique.”
“Sort of,” said Tracer.
“No ‘sort of’ about it,” snapped Tollee. “He said that half of his clique members had left to be with mates last fall. He said there were only ten left—”
“Only,” interrupted Tracer, “like that’s a small number—”
“And we were welcome to hunt with them this winter,” finished Tollee.
“Saying it that way didn’t make it sound like joining, though,” said Tracer. “It wasn’t like he was trying to take the clique from Mylo, just…collaborate. You should have seen the look on Mylo’s face, Storm. He had no idea what to say.”
“I hope he said yes,” said Storm.
“He’s still thinking about it,” said Tollee. “He’s always disliked Kelsy, but…what you did the other day…saving us all. It changed something. None of us should be alive. We look at each other and see—”
“You see another ferryshaft and not an enemy,” finished Storm.
“Yes,” said Tracer, “I guess that’s it.”
“Storm, the creasia will be back,” said Tollee. “You’ve started something.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath. “And before you say it, no, I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I trapped myself in that cave. I’ll plan better next time. I’ll be prepared.”
“I hope so,” she said, “because I’m sure they will.”
* * * *
Storm did plan. He spent the next couple of days reviewing every cave and cliff trail in the area and especially the few sheep trails that he’d mastered. He left a rabbit in each of the two isolated cliff caves that he knew how to reach, and he made sure that snow was piled in the back for drinking.
As Pathar had predicted, no one bothered him. Most of the ferryshaft gave him a wide birth. They treated him as though creasia disfavor might be catching, but no one accosted him or attempted to harm him. Storm did not test their attitude by walking into the center of the herd during the day, but on the second night, he did creep over to the place where he thought Sauny and So-fet were sleeping. So-fet was lying beside Dover, and Storm was afraid of waking his stepfather. Sauny, however, woke at his approach. She jumped up and might have squealed if Storm hadn’t shushed her.
They moved away from the others a little, and Sauny whispered. “Storm, you’re amazing! Everyone is talking about you!”
“They are?” he asked uneasily.
“Yes, two of the females in my clique want to be your mates,” she announced.
Storm had to stifle his laughter. Sauny’s clique was composed of yearlings.
“Maybe they should wait and see whether I’m around in four years.” He tried to say it jokingly, but Sauny’s eyes grew instantly worried.
“Please be careful, brother.”
“I will. I just wanted you and mother to know that I’m alright.”
“We know,” said Sauny. “It’s what everyone talks about.”
“They don’t talk to me,” said Storm. No one talks to me except the ones I’ve saved.
“They’re just scared,” said Sauny. “They’ll see. When the creasia can’t kill you, they’ll see. You’re the smartest, fastest, bravest ferryshaft there ever was, Storm.”
Storm had to swallow before he could speak. He laid his head briefly across her shoulders. “Go on back now, little sister. I’ll come again. Tell mother I was here, but don’t tell Dover.”
* * * *
The cats arrived three days later. They came around noon, but their behavior was unprecedented. They trotted around the edges of the herd, pushing the entire mass of animals together on the edge of the plain. They did not cut out a single group, nor did they charge. They circled, eyes scanning every ferryshaft.
The frightened, confused animals pressed together, those on the edges struggling to reach the center. It was rare for all ferryshaft to be present at a raid. Usually, at least a few groups were far enough from the main body of the herd to miss the grisly spectacle. However, the cats liked to attack in places that maximized exposure. As usual, they had struck at a time and place that put well over half the herd together.
Storm was not among them, as he’d been staying away from the herd. However, he did not wish to miss the creasia’s next appearance, and so he was close enough to hear the screams, the pounding of running hooves, and the confused shouting when the raid began.
Storm approached cautiously, peered from behind a rock on the edges of the mazes, and waited. The creasia were behaving oddly. He wondered what it meant, and at the same time, he began to plan the chase that must follow. His heartbeat quickened, and he took slow, measured breaths. Any moment, he would leap out and draw them. Any moment…
A pale brown cat sprang lightly onto a rock, the others still pacing around the edges of the herd. “Where is he?” demanded the cat. Storm could tell that he was deliberately altering his speak so that ferryshaft could more easily understand. The cat spoke again, this time in a roar, “Where is he?!”
The herd had gone still. No one moved. No one said a word. The lead creasia leapt from the boulder and stalked into the clustered ferryshaft. They parted before him like water around a rock in a swift stream. Storm found himself thinking how easily they could have killed him if they had stampeded at that moment.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I'm talking about!” shouted the glaring cat. “If you bring the law-breaker to me, I will kill him, and you can all leave this place unharmed. If you do not bring him to me, thirty of your yearling foals will die!”
“The terms of the treaty prohibit hunting and killing of selected individuals, Treace.”
Everyone looked in the direction of the speaker. Charter stood alone. He’d walked away from the rest of the herd, ignoring the pacing cats.
Storm was shocked and fascinated. This was not at all how he’d imagined the next raid.
For a moment, the cat, Treace, seemed startled, but his answer came readily enough. “The individual we speak of has violated the treaty and is therefore no longer under its protection. If you fail to produce him, neither are you.”
Charder sniffed. “Such a thing has never been part of treaty law. The violation itself is questionable. The animal we speak of has run from you—hardly a violation.”
“He howled!” snarled Treace.
“A minor offense,” said Charder coolly. “He does not seem to be howling now.”
The cat advanced, stiff-legged and bristling towards Charder, but the herd leader held his ground. Storm was impressed. He’d always imaged Charder to be a beaten coward where cats were concerned.
“You have no right to demand anything of us until agreed upon in formal conference,” continued Charder as though Treace didn’t look ready to kill him, “nor do you have the right to violate the treaty until formal exception is made. If you intend to cull, please do so. You are confusing my herd.”
Storm held his breath as he watched the strange stand-off. Then Treace turned away. Storm thought that Charter had won until he saw the murderous expression on the cat’s face. “Oh, we’ll cull,” he growled.
Treace leapt forward, caught a surprised adult by the back of the head, and crunched into its skull. Ferryshaft screamed and fled in all directions. The cats ran among them, maiming and killing. They made no attempt to encircle a group, but attacked every animal they could reach.
Storm gaped. This is my fault. He took a running leap and topped the boulder behind which he had hidden. “Here I am! Come and get me, you cowards!” He thought about howling, but saved his breath. He was shaken by what he’d just seen and wanted as much distance between himself and Treace as he could manage.
Unlike the chase with Ariand, Storm had no sense of what the cats might be doing behind him. They called to each other but rarely. For his part, Storm lay a twisted trail that he’d planned in advance—along a frozen stream that confused his scent, through narrow places in the rocks, and into one tunnel where the cats could not follow and would be forced to search for the exit without the aid of his scent to guide them.
Storm did all this, even though he already knew where he was going. He wanted to lead the creasia away from the ferryshaft herd first. He couldn’t prevent them from returning to kill, but he could at least make it less convenient.
At no point in the chase did he feel truly pressured. My practice has made a difference, he thought, but a mental image of the leader’s furious eyes made him feel suddenly cold.
Storm decided that he was done leading them about. He reached the cliffs and started up a trail he’d selected days ago. It wound steeply up and over jagged red rock, and he was soon panting hard. He was tempted to look back, but mastered the urge. As long as their claws aren’t in my spine, I’m winning. In fact, he felt confident that he had quite a lead on the cats. Soon, he would reach the point where the sheep train left the main path, and then he would leave them behind completely.
Storm struggled up a particularly steep section, urging himself on in spite of flagging muscles. Almost there. He topped the raise, a cry of triumph building in this throat…and skidded to a stop. Twenty lengths ahead, the familiar thread of the sheep trail wound enticingly away to freedom and safety. Between Storm and the sheep trail, however, lay Treace.
Chapter 6. A Lecture
Abuse is in order, but it is best if it is supported by argument.
--Robin Day as chairman of Election Call, BBC Radio
Storm’s heart did a sickening flop. He wheeled to start back the way he had come.
“Storm!” The use of his name brought him up short. He glanced over his shoulder.
Treace had not moved. He stretched and rose slowly. “You’re a remarkable foal, Storm. I’d like to talk to you—no tricks, just talk.”
Storm hesitated. This was something new.
Treace took a step toward him. Storm took a step back. The foal was just beyond pouncing distance. Treace smiled. “This is a parley, not an execution. Sit.”
Storm lowered his back end a little, but not enough to touch the stone.
Treace laughed. “That looks uncomfortable. Can you talk or do you only howl?” His voice was patient and friendly. Storm wondered if this could really be the same creature who had threatened Charder and mauled a ferryshaft so recently.
“What do you want to say?” asked Storm. He wondered if he could catch Treace enough off his guard to rush under his pounce. He’d done something like that with Ariand. At the same time, he wondered if the cat really wanted to talk and what he could possibly say that would matter.
“You’ve impressed us,” said Treace. “Charder has grown old and foolish. We’re looking for a new ferryshaft to put in charge of the herd. That’s why Charder was arguing with me earlier. He’s afraid that if we find you, we’ll replace him. That’s how we pick the new leaders, you know—the brave ones who challenge us.”
Storm stared at Treace. “I don’t believe you.”
The cat flicked his tail. “We wouldn’t expect you to—not immediately. But think about it, Storm. You could renegotiate the treaty—perhaps bargain for us to kill fewer ferryshaft. If you keep running away, we’ll just kill you, but if you come with me…we’ll tell you all kinds of things. I’m sure you’ve wondered about the war, about the treaty, how and why we conduct our raids…”
Storm knew the cat was lying, but he couldn’t help but listen. Even the lies told him things he hadn’t known. They have rules about how they raid? Those rules are negotiated?
Storm realized suddenly that Treace had edged forward, muscles tensing. Storm backed away quickly. “You think I’d believe that after watching what you did to those ferryshaft this morning?”
Treace gave a soft, nasty chuckle. “Wait until you see what I’m going to do to you.”
Storm whirled and started to gallop back down the path, but he stopped after only a short distance. From this point, he could see much of the twisted trail below, including the rest of the creasia, well over half way up and closing.
“Too late,” said Treace softly.
Storm turned to the cat again, fearful of taking his eyes off him for too long. Treace stood with head low, eyes narrow, edging forward.
Storm’s stomach churned, and he felt light-headed. He couldn’t breathe. I can’t go in either direction. I can’t get past him. I can’t… All he could think about was the crunch of a ferryshaft’s skull, the scream as the animal expired.
I won’t die that way. I won’t.
Storm glanced up: a sheer, gravelly wall with no footholds. He looked down. The cliff dropped away in a descent that was steep, but not sheer. I might make it…if I don’t stumble. To stumble will mean death.
He jumped.
* * * *
If Storm had looked back, he would have seen Treace thudding to the ground almost on his tail. Treace peered over the precipice, growling. He had hoped to break the foal’s legs and carry him back to Leeshwood alive. It might not impress Arcove, but the sight would certainly impress half the cats in every clutter—the ferryshaft that Sharmel and Ariand had been unable to catch, easily captured by Treace, and dying slowly on display.
It was a regrettable loss. However, Treace felt certain that he had succeeded in a broader sense. The foal couldn’t possibly survive such a descent.
Treace watched as Storm dug in his heels, legs stiff, knee-deep in sliding rocks. The gray tail lashed wildly. Once he tripped, and Treace thought it was over, but then Storm righted himself. Treace’s clutter arrived, but no one said anything. They could see well enough.
Finally, Storm reached the truly dangerous part. Fewer loose rocks interfered with his movements, but the descent was far steeper. Treace saw him jump amid a sea of slithering stones, and then he was lost to sight over the sheer drop.
All the cats ran back and forth, craning their necks to see, but it was no use. We’ll have to go to the bottom to find his body, thought Treace. Then, impossibly, a streak of dust shot away from the cliff and, with it, a flash of silver-gray.
* * * *
“You threatened them? All of them?” Arcove’s stare was icy.
Treace looked angry, too. “They have broken faith and must be punished. If we can’t catch the foal, perhaps his own race—”
“Treace,” growled Arcove, “by your actions, you have admitted to the entire herd that we feel threatened by this foal. Before you spoke to them, they weren’t sure. Now, they’re sure.”
Treace sputtered. “I hardly think that our cull will leave them feeling triumphant—”
“Secondly,” continued Arcove, “a threat of that nature produces one of two results: either they turn on him, or they rally around him. I am not prepared to risk of the second possibility at this point, as improbable as it may seem.”
“They’ll never—!”
“And thirdly, Treace, Charter is right. We cannot violate treaty stipulations at whim. Your breach was more severe than anything this foal has done.”
“What are you afraid of?” spat Treace. “The ferryshaft? That race of talking sheep? Just because they gave you a bloody nose a generation ago doesn’t mean they…”
Arcove rose, and Treace’s voice faded. All around the counsel circle, officers were staring at him. Arcove took a step closer, legs stiff, hackles faintly bristling. “Who is in charge here, Treace?”
For an instant, Treace’s eyes locked with Arcove’s. Then his gaze dropped. “You are.”
“For a moment I wasn’t sure.”
Treace said nothing and kept his eyes down. After a pause, Arcove continued. “I understand your reasoning, councilor. I know what you were trying to do, but you lack the experience to effectively execute it. Ferryshaft are not talking sheep. In the future, you will break treaty code only at my direct orders. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
An awkward pause. Finally, Sharmel spoke. “Arcove, can I try again?”
Arcove looked surprised. “You’ve already chased him once, Sharmel.”
“I know, but I didn’t understand the situation, and my clutter completely ignored my orders.”
Arcove smiled. He thought he understood. Ariand was the lowest ranking officer. Treace was next. They were taking turns at this problem by order of rank, and Sharmel wanted his correct position. “Go ahead. But don’t threaten the herd.”
Roup spoke. “I recommend not making a cull at all until you catch Storm.”
Halvary rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”
Roup flicked his tail. “No, this is just social logic.” He looked at Sharmel. “If you begin to make a cull and the foal appears, you must chase him. The ferryshaft he saves will feel gratitude. Even if you return and make a new cull, the ferryshaft from the first cull will survive, and their loyalties will shift. In addition, those in the new cull may be inspired to follow Storm’s example. After all, it seems to be keeping him alive, and they’ll have nothing to lose.” He hesitated. “Besides, it sounds to me as though Treace has performed a cull that will be sufficient for some time.”
Even Halvery had to admit that this made sense.
“No cull, then,” said Sharmel. “And I think I’ll wait a bit, if that’s acceptable.” He glanced at Arcove. “We’ve been coming every few days. The foal is on edge. I’m sure he’s planning his next escape even as we speak. I’d like to give him some time to get complacent.”
“That’s reasonable,” said Arcove. “It’ll give me time to sort out the mess Treace has created with Charter.”
_______________________________________________
Abbie's Comments
The section with Pathar in chapter 5 is entirely new. It conveys a good deal more information than Storm originally had at this point in the story. Hopefully, that doesn’t come back to bite me by weakening later reveals. It made more sense to me to spread the revelations out this time instead of having quite so much history dumped on Storm all at once later.
Storm’s interactions with his clique and family have been rewritten to better-suit the tone of the current version. Treace’s chase, on the other hand, follows the original closely, including his public debate with Charder at the beginning.
One thing I’m finding about Part 3 – I’m not able to cut as much as in Part 2. There’s just not as much fluff here. When I do cut things, I end up adding just as much. This is still going to be a long book. It’s a good thing that long books seem to be back in style with the Kindle.
Reader Comments (2)
Wow this is great!
I noticed some errors:
he head was pounding
Pathar, raised his head