Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat

by Andre Norton

  Well fed and with the warmth of acceptance of those who, if they were not kin, were yet of my own land, I settled in to sleep. There was yet the long trek into Vapala before us, though the excitement which gripped the caravan at the thought of the coming assembly at the capital had begun to flower in me also. Vapala had been for so many years a storied place that the chance to see this proudest and wealthiest of the queendoms was something to look forward to.

  Yet it was not Vapala, or even the trail ahead of us, which twisted my dreaming that night. Once more I stood in a strange room, one different from any I had ever seen. The walls rose into a darkness so far overhead that I could not distinguish any ceiling in that gloom. They also stood far from the surface on which I stood. Around me were great boxes and coffers, some taller than I and many nearly as large as my small dwelling at home.

  I was not alone. Murri stood by me, as still as if he listened for some faint sound which would release him eager for a hunt. What I saw above me were great twin orbs of a silver brightness, and these were set in a vast expanse—

  A face! So great a face that for me the features could not easily be fitted together. It was as if some craftsman had turned the whole of an islet into a single giant head—not that of a boundary cat but of a human. The eyes moved, blinked.

  That I was the object of their survey was very obvious. I strove to move. There was that in that regard which I found vaguely threatening. Yet I was as frozen in place as if I, too, were a fashioned thing and not of flesh, blood, and bone.

  Then I strove to speak to Murri. But that power had been taken from me also. I was a mind, an awareness, locked into an image.

  “You will come—” I had expected any voice from that vast overhang of face would roar like thunder—but this was no true voice. It was an order which flashed into my mind. “You will come—” There was a repeat of the same words and then an addition. “Ravinga waits—”

  The face vanished, the walls, the very surface on which I stood was now gone; rather it was as if my own eyes had been detached from my imprisoned body and looked down from the sky on what could only be the sprawl of city buildings—but such a city as if my well-known Meloa had been enlarged a hundred or more times over.

  It spread farther and farther, the details became ever cleared as I dropped nearer to it. Now I could see that, unlike Meloa, it had a wall about it and there was a wide gate. Warriors moved there. Their battle wigs were the clear white of mar-stones—their skins also paler. Those who came into the city (they were but shadows shown me in no detail) must stop by these warriors as if to assure the keepers of the gate that they had a rightful business there.

  Starting from the gate, that which was the part of me was sent upon a strange journey swinging over a street, pausing above a building which had about it a very large space, in which sheltered many oryxen, and I thought that it might be an inn. My sight of that lasted for only a second and then was pushed on, down a short side way, keeping to more of such passages, away from the main thoroughfares where there was a constant passing of the shadow people, until I came so unto a dead-end court and halted (or my sight did) before a building which showed marks of age—in fact at one time it might have had another story, for the top was ragged-looking.

  The court was a narrow one, its room shared only by two other buildings, one of which was definitely a ruin, its roof long gone and only part of the outer shell still standing.

  Here was no stir of the shadow people. Only it was made clear to me that I should remember well this place and seek it out.

  Once more I was drawn back along the same way I had come and I found that I could easily remember every turn or change of small side way and alley which had brought me here.

  I had returned to the inn when there was a loud sound, one which shook the whole of the scene I looked upon, as if that was a curtain stirred by a breeze which rent it.

  There was no longer any city. Only darkness—

  “Rise!” That I had certainly truly heard. I opened my eyes.

  One of those I remembered from the night before—one of the caravan guards—stood beside me. The sun was near down and the whole of the encampment had come alive.

  Yaksen were being harnessed between the shafts of wagons or stood patiently waiting for their packs to be adjusted.

  “We move out,” she who had awakened me from that very strange dream said impatiently. “There is food at the kettle fire but that will soon be gone.”

  Remembering my bondage in that dream, I half feared that I could not move now, or was this true reality? I rolled that extra sleep cover I had been loaned and stuffed it into my package, making very sure that the Kifongg, Kynrr’s gift, was well shielded from any chance breakage.

  I was not the last to fill my bowl at the fire—the others being sentries of the last watch. Murri had kept close beside me and accepted from my hands a second bowl. I had feared that being among the yaksen and the two or three oryxen which were the mounts of the caravan leaders, he might cause trouble with the animals who would very quickly pick up the scent of an old enemy.

  However, it would seem that there was some sort of a truce among them. He did not venture too near, and, though they turned heads and moved nervously as he passed, they did not stampede. For which I was devoutly thankful. If I had had to choose between Murri and this company as to which might be my only salvation, I feared I could not have faced that choice with any fortitude.

  As it was we took up our position at the tail of the caravan. The sun was gone and the twilight welcomed travelers to the road. Somewhere along the strung-out line of riders, beasts of burden, carts, a voice started a song and the rhythm of that singing carried us at a steady pace as one after another picked up the refrain.

  We halted at intervals to rest the beasts. Dried fruit chunks were passed from the forage cart. These were a treat which only the best of the caravans could afford, for fruit was a great delicacy. My own people never tasted it except at ceremonial feastings, and I found the gummy sweetness could be chewed for a long time, well satisfying any thirst or need for other food. Even Murri, meat-eating predator that he was, appeared to relish it.

  There was much talk of the future, speculation as to the choice of Emperor. There would be one trial for each queendom, and only when those of that section of the land accepted the candidate as a success in his endeavor, could he pass on to try the next.

  The dead Emperor had had such a long reign. In fact so long that those of my father’s generation had been children or quite young when he had taken the trials in triumph. He had displayed successful power of character from the first. It had been he who had put down the custom of duel wars between the Houses, and had not been greatly beloved among his own Vapalan country people for that slighting of what was their cherished belief in “honor.”

  However, though they might not still fight openly, there were still personal grudges and struggles in the dark between House and House, yet all would close ranks against outsiders. The oft-stated opinion of those I now traveled with was that it was time for the rulership to pass from Vapala, that a winner from one of the other nations would bring welcomed changes at court to be the benefit of the others. The Vapalans, with their noted arrogance regarding all other peoples, needed a taste of a few new changes.

  Since this was a Kahulawen caravan, there was talk that it might be one of our nation who might achieve this. But no one name seemed to come to more than one or two at a time.

  “It will be Vapalan once again,” Lara Musa, one of the guard who shared paces with me, stated, “if Shank-ji has his way. They say he is a man of power. We may see changes which will not be good if he wins. It has never been our way that the reign should descend from father to son. So would one House, one land, easily gain power over all. Such a change of custom might be welcome in Vapala but I think that we of the outer lands would not greet it. It has always been that the tests, which are of the essence of each land, make sure that he who commands the Leopard Thr
one be above all House allegiances, free from such ties, that he may treat all equally.”

  “How long before these trials?” I asked. There would be many coming in from each of the queendoms to celebrate something which only happened once in a lifetime. I was sure that my own kin might well choose to be among those.

  “The Emperor must be sealed,” she answered, “and the Grand Chancellor and the Voices of the Essence make a deal of that. They must wait until the Queens are gathered before they may proceed. But even before the sealing there may be marshaling of those who will be committed to the testing.” She nodded to the carts ahead.

  “We have a good cargo and there will be a profit when we market it in a city full of visitors. Prices will go up.” She nodded with satisfaction.

  “Also,” she added a moment later, “we shall be early in and our mistress can have a chance to arrange for a very favorable market site.”

  With this indrawing from all the queendoms, I thought, surely I would be able to find some employment, which, if only temporary, would keep me for a while. I shrugged my pack to relieve shoulder strain. There was the Kifongg. I was no trained bard, but then I would not be seeking employment at any lordly House. I might find myself singing in some inn or even in the marketplace and garner in enough to keep me and Murri while I waited for an opportunity to do better.

  18

  We made good time, keeping a steady pace between the necessary halts, and on the second day there loomed up, from what I thought earlier might be a bank of clouds, the bulk of the great tableland, well above the sands, which was the Diamond Queendom. I had often heard it described but that telling gave no good impression of the vast cliffs which supported Vapala.

  Our slickrock islands varied in degree of shape and size, but this was something far removed from what now would seem a handful of rocks tossed idly to lie hither and thither on the Kahulawen sand waves.

  As we drew closer (we now marched by day) that cliffside was daunting indeed. We began to hear those crystal-noted chimes of the mobiles which kept ever in song on the surface of the mesa well above.

  Also, for the first time in my life, I saw patches of vivid green. For Vapala was not dependent upon algae beds. There grew plants, even the fabled trees. It was a land rich in many things that we of the outer lands did not know.

  There was a guard outpost below, flanking the beginning of that road which climbed slantwise up the cliff wall. Looking at that pathway, the mere fact of its being was overwhelming. How long had it taken the determined people from above to carve that way out of rock? Surely whole lifetimes had gone into its construction.

  Yet the fact that it was the only entrance into Vapala made the Diamond Queendom a well-guarded fortress instead of just a country. Warriors would find defense of that roadway an easy thing. Only a few bowmen, stationed well above, could sweep the path of any invaders and keep it clear.

  Before we came to the border station the caravan mistress appeared on her mount from the fore of our outstrung line of travelers and spoke to me:

  “That one,” she pointed with her whip to Murri, “will not be welcome here. You had best free him—”

  “Free him?” I interrupted her. “Murri is as free as I—he is a companion, not a serving beast. Do you speak of freeing kottis? There are a number of those with the train, are there not? Do you haul them along so by collar and lead rope?”

  She considered Murri, who eyed her straightly back.

  “To those of Vapala he is the prey they prize. Those of the Houses count hunting his kind as a sport, while others who have beasts look upon Sand Cats as a menace to their herds. There will be arrows in him as soon as he is sighted from the post.”

  She was right. Yet also I knew that there was that which linked the two of us, Murri and I, which would not be denied. I spoke to him now in the language of the Furred Folk and he nodded his head.

  “True,” he growled. “Yet not true. There is no sleekskin who can command one of the Free Folk. Tell her what she wishes to hear and—you will see what can be done.”

  “This is a well-guarded place ahead—safe only for such as I,” I answered him. “It can well be that you would be attacked on sight.”

  He blinked his eyes. “On sight—maybe. If there is sight. Let me handle this, brother-by-the-tooth.”

  There was nothing I could do for the moment but answer:

  “It shall be as you point out, but be of great care.”

  Then to Elwene I added, “We shall take your warning.”

  She nodded and rode on to her place at the head of our line, ready to answer the challenge of the guards. Murri watched her well away and then approached the last of the carts, one which carried our food supplies and was now riding light since those supplies were near exhausted. Two of the kottis rode in the back, peering out of the opening of the covers with the usual curiosity of their kind.

  They centered their gaze on Murri and then drew apart, leaving a space between them. The Sand Cat, so many times their size, leaped up into the cart and disappeared, while the kottis drew together again. Their eyes swept coolly over me and it was as if Murri had never been.

  Surely the guard would investigate the caravan wagons, all of them. I had traveled so long with Murri that I was hardly aware any longer of the slightly musky odor of his fur. Would the presence of the kottis be enough to conceal their larger kinsman? Luckily Murri was still far from his full growth, or there certainly would not have been any way of concealing him.

  I chose to tramp beside that slow-moving vehicle. I had no idea what I might do if his presence was discovered. I only hoped that I could somehow distract any guard long enough for the fast-moving Sand Cat to get back into the dune waves.

  The caravan came to a halt. Some of those ahead took the opportunity to sit as if they expected a wait of some time. Apparently there were formalities to be observed. From the heights above, the chimes of the wind-blown mobile makers of music sent their clear notes down. These mobiles were the pride of the Diamond people, but the greatest one of all—that was a symbol of the very land. It was only unhooked and freed to ring upon some great time of emergency—Though it was pent again now, it had chimed upon the death of Haban-ji.

  Music it made, yes, but also it was death—a deadly and slashing death. Any who had committed certain crimes past all redemption were forced into the circle of the unevenly hung chimes, which were set with diamonds along their separate plaques so that they slashed cruelly as the chains which held the whole Great Mobile were kept whirling by guards well trained to the job.

  Also—it was the last test for him who would set himself up to be Emperor. He must pass through the freed chimes successfully and without hurt to reach the crown set at their core. I wondered at the skill and courage of those who had tried it in the past—they must have possessed the agility of a master swordsman or of a great dancer in order to tread that path. One moment of faltering, one mistake in judging the swing of one plaque or another, and they would die painfully, as if they had been set up for targets for the practice of inept swordsmen.

  There was a drum note from the head of our line—we were to be on the move again. What was the penalty, I wondered dourly, for one who tried to smuggle a Sand Cat into Vapala? Would he face the dance of the chimes? Yet I followed the cart at the steady pace set by those ahead.

  To proceed was a test, almost as great as that endeavor wherein I had brought Murri out of the sand trap, as the tail end of the caravan passed between the rows of guards to start up that precipitous way to the land above.

  I looked from right to left, taking the measure of these warriors. They were brightly accoutered, their armlets, breastplates, belts bejeweled with more elaboration than even that worn by the Head of a House among my people.

  Their hair was hidden under the massive wigs, those silver-white wigs which were surely sprinkled with diamond dust, so did they glitter in the sunlight. Each was armed with a spear but also carried a bow unstrung at his back, and the
ir prowess with both weapons was very well known across all the queendoms.

  They stood in two squads, one on either side of the entrance of the upper road, and their officer, holding a tally in one hand, was a little to my right. It was apparent he was counting and checking both carts and people as we went. As I drew near he looked straight at me, snapping his fingers, the gesture one used to summon a none too reliable servant. I bit my lip. Was it coming now? My staff and my knives were my only weapons and surely those were nothing against the metal a trained warrior could bring into service.

  “You—what name?” He spoke with a strange clip to his words and certainly not as he would address an equal.

  “Klaverel-va-Hynkkel, Sword Lord.”

  “She of the caravan has said you were solo lost.”

  “That is true.”

  “Your plans here, outlander?”

  “To see Vapala of which we have heard so much in the outlands,” I returned. His voice and attitude were such as I had faced before—from the companions of my brother and the elders who visited with my father. How could he have faced some of the ventures which lay behind me now, for all his diamond dust, his war art, his place as keeper of the door to Vapala? For the first time I felt not the usual half-apologetic reaction I had done in the past. I did not wear a sword, but I had survived and in that much I was his equal. I rubbed the healed tooth mark wound on my wrist. No, I was even more!

  This one might hunt Sand Cats, but I had seen their councils, shared in part their starlight dancing, was blood kin to them now. There was none in Vapala who could match that!

  It was growing near twilight before the whole of the caravan finally reached the top of the mesa. That was a chancy path, one which was usually only taken by day. Late-comers camped by the guard post would have to await the next dawn. To my relief the guards had made no inspection of the last wagon. The kottis continued to sit together, lazy-eyed, covering the space they had made for Murri’s entrance. I began to wonder what communication might exist between them and their much greater distant cousins.