Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat

by Andre Norton

  Allitta packed two large baskets with lesser products of Ravinga’s skill, or perhaps her own, and I loaded these on a hand cart for her. I would have taken my place at the push bar of that and seen her to the market but she told me plainly that it was my place to stay under cover as I had already flaunted custom by choosing to shelter with the dollmaker. My appearance as co-vendor of wares in the marketplace would only draw such attention as I must not court.

  Thus I faced a long day with nothing to do. After the activity of the last period of travel and effort, that seemed a burden. The old man took over the shop and fussed about, moving Ravinga’s doll people here and there on shelves and muttering under his breath, now and then peering at me from under his eyebrows as if he found me a disturbing sight. So at last I was driven into the long room which was Ravinga’s workshop.

  I moved about that, as careful not to touch as a child who had been sternly forbidden to do so, eyeing her work from its beginnings to the near finished figure at hand, marveling at how no two of the small faces were alike. It was as if she looked upon her art even as did my sister and had no desire to repeat any design.

  There was one shelf before which I paused to give longer study to what stood there. Within me was a chill I could not account for as I looked upon the likeness of two women and a man, and beside them—the snarling figure of a rat! Why Ravinga would wish to use her talent to fashion such a creature I could not imagine.

  The women had the silver hair of Vapala, but their skin was a darker shade than that of those I had seen on the streets. Their garb was not ordinary robes or even court finery, but rather the scanty covering of cat dancers. Their faces were painted, and the fingers of their tiny, well-fashioned hands had the nails elongated into claws. Also they were posed as if prepared to leap forward in one of the intricate twirls of the hunt dance.

  Their companion was a much more somber figure. His head was covered by a tight-fitting hood, so drawn on his skull as to suggest that no hair sprouted under it, not even the common top lock. He had been dressed in a sleeved robe which fell open on his breast and the body portion so displayed there was patterned with a device which was etched into the skin itself or so it would seem.

  For the rest he had the full breeches of a Kahulawen and below those, boots fringed about the tops with black oryxen mane hair. There was no sword belt with ready weapon, no spear to hand. Rather his carven fingers were looped about the shaft of a staff of honor and that was topped by the likeness of a creature I had never seen nor heard described—but something which suggested great malignity.

  The rat—it was a rat—but in scale with the three figures beside it, it was overlarge—more like one of the monsters which had been recently appearing, the like of which I had myself slain among the rock isles.

  “You are interested in my people, Hynkkel?”

  I was so unaware of all save the dolls that I started. Ravinga stood by my side.

  “The cat dancers—I once saw a small company of those. But the man—and the rat—?”

  “The man you could never have seen, nor even have heard of—not in your far outlands. There are no keepers of old knowledge there—”

  “We have our Rememberers for the feasts,” I protested. This implied judgment that we were indeed barbarous pricked me more than it ever had.

  “Yes, and they are well trained—in the history of your people. But there were others before you, and of those none of your lore makes mention. He,” she pointed to the man, “was a seeker of strange knowledge who once crossed the Plain of Desolation—before the first Emperor was crowned.”

  “But no man—nor beast—can dare the inner heart of the Plain!”

  “The rats do,” she returned. “There is much lost knowledge, Hynkkel. Some of it purposefully lost. There is also a belief that to think on things of darkness in curiosity may awaken more than one wishes. Yes—that one was a master of much power which had nothing to do with spear or sword. And the rat was his symbol!”

  That any living person might use one of those loathsome creatures to stand as his House badge sickened me. Yet now I could see truly that the sign etched on what was meant to be a bare breast was the outline of a rat head, even as I wore that of the leopard on my palms.

  “How do you know of him?” Perhaps the question was an impertinence but it was one I could not forgo.

  “I am a Guardian, Hynkkel. From generation to generation, from reign to reign, certain women have carried the old knowledge. Perhaps not without taint or misunderstanding, for knowledge passed from mind to mind may sometimes be unconsciously altered by the very personality of he or she who holds it. I cannot be sure how true is that I myself now hold—but it is enough to warn me.

  “That is Ylantilyn, once of the House of Borse.” Again she indicated the figure. “His very name was a curse in its time. He reached for much, gained some, and sundered House from House, land from land, to try for more. Even the beasts, except those horrors he herded as his own, were caught up in his warring. As a result, they, too, suffered change.

  “Hynkkel,” now her attention moved from the figure to me and there was that about her which was like unto my father’s stance when he spoke about some fault of mine, “the lives of all of us move in circles. We are born, we labor to our wills, or our needs, we come again to death. The Great Essence takes us up and once more molds us and sets the pattern afresh. Only we do not carry with us the memory of what lies behind, thus often the same mistakes are ours. Just so is the life of our queendoms; we follow patterns and in times those patterns become twisted.

  “For long now have we lived in a semblance of peace. We train warriors but they have naught to raise spear against, save outlaws or the animals they hunt. We have the hardship of our lands, the sandstorms, the mountain fires, the treachery of the salt pans. Yes, all these represent danger, and many of us die of the very nature of our surroundings.

  “But in the past were greater wars, and our lives were shaped by those. Such will come again, and if we are not prepared we shall be as yaksen at the coming of Murri’s clan—near helpless.”

  That she fully believed this I could see. But from where would this danger come? Would the jealousy of the Great Houses warp and tear apart a long-held peace? Or would some danger, such as she hinted of, come from outside? And what had I, who was no warrior, to do with war?

  Allitta returned home at the noon closing of the market. Her baskets of wares were depleted to be sure, but what she had brought was news and I realized that that had been her main reason in the market.

  “Those of the House of Trelek have ridden out.” She cupped her bowl of stew with one hand but made no attempt as yet to taste it. “Word has come that Shank-ji has completed those trials set him.”

  “Others?” inquired Ravinga as Allitta raised a spoon.

  The girl shook her head. “No others—nor are they now expected. A courier has come to say that and the market hums with his news.”

  I was suddenly uninterested in my portion of the meal. No others? Two of us only for the final trial?

  “They were trying to place wagers at Hawiff’s booth. There were no takers—all believe that Shank-ji need only reach forth his hand to take up the Emperor’s staff and it is his.” Now she looked straight at me and there was plainly a challenge in her tone. “The warriors have been gathering these five days—four more House troops rode in this morning, as well as some from the outer lands. Among such is Klaverel-va-Kalikku.” She repeated that name with deliberation as if to make very sure that I heard and understood.

  That my brother had returned did not surprise me—this was an event which would draw many from every one of the five queendoms. All the Queens had made the journey to Vapala, ready to swear homage to the new Emperor, and in their trains there would be many of those from the principal Houses of their queendoms.

  “There is talk—” Allitta paused to take up another spoonful of stew and swallow.

  “Talk,” Ravinga said. “Of what kind
and by whom?”

  “Of interference with the Customs—”

  “Shank-ji must answer that then?”

  Allitta shook her head. “No, the interference is said to be his.” She nodded at me. “They say that his own brother has already sworn that he was not able to win so far without aid, that he consorts with beasts more than with his own kind, that he is already outcast from his House—”

  I deliberately spooned up what was before me. Could I have expected less? But what aid were they able to claim was mine? I had been escorted by the troops. In each case my coming and going had been under their surveillance. That I consorted with beasts—yes. That I was outcast—perhaps so—I had not returned to my father’s dwelling after my solo, but then the manner of my setting forth for that was enough to warn me off. Could such talk keep me from the final trial, leave Shank-ji a very clear field? Though he must still face bringing out the crown from among those ever-turning, knife-edged plaques.

  “And this talk,” Ravinga pursued the subject, “how is it slanted?”

  Allitta let her spoon splash down into the bowl and held up her fingers to count off points on those one by one.

  “Firstly, there are the merchants. They want uninterrupted trade most of all—and a strong hand with the Houses. Haban-ji was of Vapala and so could muster enough good will of the Houses. The barbarians do not count for much, for the greater merchants do not trade directly with them. And they believe that an Emperor from the outer lands cannot hold a steady rein on the Houses, any more than a child upon an untrained oryxen.

  “Then,” she turned down a second finger, “there are the Houses themselves. They will give homage, if grudgingly, to an outlander—and intrigue behind his back. One of their own kind they believe might be influenced outwardly and quickly to understand them and their ways. They might even foresee a bending of a custom in which only the senior son of a House would be thought of for selection of Emperor trials. Shank-ji has a big following among the younger members of many Houses—he is open-handed to his friends while Haban-ji humored him and gave him much.

  “Thirdly,” another finger went down, “there are the people as a whole. As the merchants, they want peace and that means a strong Emperor. They do not take kindly to an outsider, especially one suspected of strange powers. That you,” now she addressed me directly, “have your tie with the Sand Cats is a strong theme of gossip and certainly not in your favor.

  “Fourth, the people of the other queendoms—there is other gossip concerning you, Hynkkel, and from those whom all would expect to wish you well rather than ill. Your brother has attached himself to Shank-ji’s following. He has spoken hard and long against you and none of your own clan has answered in your defense. We have heard that only your sister Kura has kept silent and seems to have some feeling for you. However, she is but one against many and is thought to have too soft a heart.”

  I winced. What else could I expect from my father? If I had gone back from my solo—no, I was sure he would never have welcomed me as a full son of his.

  “They talk much,” Ravinga commented. “Which is only to be expected. There are always rumors upon rumors in the marketplace. When does Shank-ji arrive?”

  “Perhaps two days from now.” Allitta took up her spoon again and set to work on the stew.

  I pushed aside my own bowl. Though I had somehow won through the other tests, I could now only hold in my mind the picture of the slash-edged mobile swinging in answer to the full arm pull of the guard, the crown resting at its very heart. Still there was nothing left for me but to face it.

  “Is there a way I can see the likeness of the mobile without going into the palace square?” I asked then.

  “Certainly.” Ravinga raised her voice to carry into the shop. “Mancol, bring hither one of the crown mobiles. We make them in miniature,” she informed me. “They are selling very well during this time. Outlanders buy them as they come here for witnessing the last test. There will be many for that, each of the Queens will bring her guards, and many of her household, while others will travel for themselves. It is perhaps only once in a generation that this happens.”

  The old man brought in the flashing, twisting set of plates. Ravinga stood to hook it on one of those cords, meant to hold dried fruit and meat, which hung from the ceiling. I leaned back in my seat to watch it as she set it going well with a touch of finger. At the trial time there would be steady twirling by the control ropes.

  There was even a tiny crown within the blades and I regarded that without any wish to lay hands upon it. Did not death most always result from entering the mobile? I knew that it was that which was reserved for criminals whose crimes were considered the blackest. However, those unfortunates were forced in and from the start believed themselves that they had no chance.

  There was a dancing light flickering on the plates as they turned. And the musical tinkle was loud in the room, though not as loud as the sound of the thing it so fully represented.

  Dancing—I watched the in-and-out weave of the blades. Those real ones were knife sharp, diamond-edged, enough to slit an unfortunate into ribbons. Yet men had survived. For countless generations there had been Emperors and each of them had won his crown by passing among those blades. So it had been done.

  Dancing—I closed my eyes against the flicker of the light and again was aware of another time and place, of dancers who were furred of hide and not slick-skinned. Behind me there was a rumble of sound—Murri had come in to lie at length at my back.

  “That house in which Murri sheltered on our first visits, it is a ruin, but does not it have a great hall?”

  Ravinga nodded. Allitta had returned to her dinner as if she had played her full part in the matter. She did not even seem to be listening.

  “Have I your leave to go there?” I continued. “There is a need for thinking—”

  “It is yours. None shall disturb you there,” the dollmaker returned. Nor did she show any curiosity about what I wished. Perhaps she believed that I was about to seek out the Essence in silent meditation. Which also I was minded to do—but later.

  With Murri I made my way into the ruin. It was more promising on the inside than the out. Perhaps it had once been the headquarters of a minor House. I kicked the refuse from the center floor and hung on a panel I half pulled from the wall—where I could watch it—the mobile.

  I began to hum deep in my throat and a moment later heard the purring response from my companion. Though my singing in cat speech was a sorry thing, I could well recall some of the rhythm to which that tribe had danced on the isle.

  Murri began the dance. He had his people’s ability to gulp in air, fluff out his fur, and take to glides as long and as high as those of the sand ships of Twahihic. That advantage I lacked but I was able to leap and twist, and I found that with practice that ability grew. We wove patterns—he as graceful as all his people, I awkwardly and far behind. Yet I persisted, and as I did I continued to sing, for it seemed somehow that the sounds I made possessed a beat which inspired my feet for each leap and turn.

  When I tired I dropped cross-legged on the floor and strove to empty my mind, think only of the cats as I had seen them at their festival, and I strove to somehow tap the essence of that memory and make it mine.

  I spent a second day so in the hall, striving with all my energy to master as much as I could of the dance. Whether this effort would benefit me or not I had no idea but it was all which I might summon in support.

  That night there was a clatter of the door mobile and Allitta let in an officer of the Chancellor’s own guard. He looked at me stolidly as he said:

  “Two signals before mid-day tomorrow—those who are chosen will face the task.”

  There was certainly nothing encouraging about that bald statement. I fancied even that he resented having to deliver it to me. However, that was the summoning and there was no drawing back.

  Once he had gone I spoke first to Murri. It was only the fact that I was a candidate which p
rotected him here—a very fragile truce which would be broken in an instant at my failure.

  “You go safe, brother. Now—I cannot spread claw for you soon.”

  I looked to Ravinga. “Is there anything I can do to make sure that Murri does not suffer?”

  Her eyes when she turned an answering gaze on me seemed cold. “Do you then doubt yourself so much, Hynkkel? Such are not the thoughts you should hold now.”

  “Chance really favors no man,” I answered. “If chance fails me, I would have Murri safe.”

  She pursed her lips. “There are ties which can be called upon, yes.”

  I drew a deep breath. My hand went out and my fingers were buried deep in the fur on Murri’s head.

  “So be it. That much I ask of you.”

  29

  As there had been at the selecting of the candidates, the square before the palace was crowded—though the guard kept back the throng for a space about the mobile. On the steps behind it was the throne of the Emperor while the Grand Chancellor stood a step below that holding the staff of office, and at her feet lounged the Blue Leopard.

  The mobile had been lowered closer to the ground and already those who were to keep it in motion had set those pendants clanging back and forth, the sun striking vivid colors from the plates’ ever-moving surfaces. While, at the core, the crown of diamonds with its cat heads set with ruby, topaz, emerald, sapphire, those stones signifying the Outer Regions, formed a blaze of fire.

  The crown hung on a chain. He who won that far must also be able to free it, then issue forth again unharmed. To pass those ever-swinging plates, the clangor of which alone was enough to deafen one, would require such agility of body that even to think of such action was daunting.

  Yet we stood there ready to attempt that feat, one on either side of the mobile. Shank-ji had drawn the lot which would send him first into the whirling, cutting swing.