by Paul Chafe
The pride leaders gathered into the circle. The festivities were over. Now it was time to forge the future. By the time the bulk of the czrav had returned, their plan of attack, if there was to be a plan of attack, would be complete. Pouncer looked out at the circle of battle scarred faces in the chamber, experienced warriors and leaders with ears heavy on their belts. Every one had been a Pride-Patriarch or Honored Mother longer than he had been alive. And yet I am to lead them now. What would my father have done?
He stood up and caught C’mell watching him from the shadows, both kits held to her teats to nurse. My father would lead, with courage and wisdom. He would seek the best counsel, lay his plans with cunning and execute them with skill. What he didn’t know was how Meerz-Rrit would have made it happen. C’mell lowered one ear to him, their secret greeting, and slipped into the darkness, back up into the den. She had a faith in him he wished he felt in himself.
Show confidence, that above all. He had made his plans carefully, if not with cunning, and he could execute them with determination, if not skill. I have been trained by Guardmaster, the best warrior in the Patriarchy, and advised by Cherenkova-Captain, a subtle strategist even for a kz’zeerkti. Neither of them were there now to guide him. He would stand or fall on his own.
The assembly had quieted when he stood, and he took the time to look each of the Pride-Patriarchs in the eye. My father taught me that. He raised his arms, tail erect. “Honored Cousins. We are gathered here in war council—”
A tall, well muscled warrior stood up and banged his long wtzal hunting spear for attention. “You are not Great Patriarch! You are not even Pride-Patriarch.” His voice was challenging. “What claim do you have to stand at this circle and call us honored cousins?”
Pouncer turned to face the interrupter. “I am Zree-Rrit, First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, and I am Patriarch of the Patriarchy. This is my claim.” Zree-Rrit; even after all this time it still feels strange to say.
The warrior snorted. “And I am Sraa-Vroo of Vroo Pride of the czrav, and I do not accept the leadership of the Patriarchy. Nor do my honored cousins, nor do the czrav prides they lead. This is our way, and this has always been our way. You are not of the czrav, certainly not a Pride-Patriarch of the czrav. You have no right to be here.”
Pouncer felt his claws extend reflexively at the challenge, but kept himself calm. “I am of czrav blood, through M’ress of Mrrsel Pride. Some of the czrav prides have chosen to follow me. I hope you will as well when you hear what I will present today, honored Sraa-Vroo.” It was difficult to control his anger at the deliberately insulting challenge, but it was important to remain true to courtesy-between-equals. Sheathe pride and bare honor.
“Follow you?” Sraa-Vroo rippled his ears and spat in contempt. “Honor demands my attendance at the High Circle. It does not demand I listen to a spot-furred kitten.”
Rage jolted Pouncer like a physical thing and his teeth bared of their own accord. He could feel his body making ready to leap. Rage is death. He breathed deep. If I am to achieve what I need to here I must not leap. He found himself incapable of answering, but V’rli-Ztrak waved her tail. “He speaks in my place, and my pride stands with him.”
Sraa-Vroo turned to her. “If he speaks in your place, why are you here then? Doesn’t the Honored Mother care to lead her own pride?”
V’rli snarled, fangs suddenly bared, and she crouched to leap. Pouncer held his arms up again to interrupt, suddenly calm, as though his own anger had transferred itself to her. “This is unnecessary. I will take less of your time than a challenge duel will, and impose less of a cost. Hear me and decide for yourself what you will do.”
“I will listen.” Sraa-Vroo sat down, reluctantly, not taking his eyes from V’rli and with his lips still raised to show his fangs. V’rli sat down as well and Pouncer breathed out. I have passed the first test. There was no time to rest on his small victory.
“Honored Cousins, I am First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, rightful Patriarch. The Tzaatz have stolen what was mine, and for that reason I am sworn to blood vengeance against them.” He paused, again meeting every gaze in the chamber. “None of this need concern you. The czrav have lived since the time before time beneath the notice of the Patriarchy, and beneath the notice of the Black Cult. You may choose to continue that life, so long as the Tzaatz allow it. Those who follow me…” He nodded to V’rli and Czor-Dziit and V’reow who led the remnants of Mrrsel Pride. “…are committed to a different path.”
“And in following you they have brought destruction upon us all,” Sraa-Vroo snarled. “Entire prides have been wiped out. We are czrav, we carry the Long Secret. We have no business making war on the Patriarchy, whoever happens to rule it.”
Pouncer’s lips came away from his fangs. “I am the Long Secret. I am of czrav blood and the Patriarchal line, the genetic welding of Kcha and Vda.”
“So you claim.”
“So he is,” V’rli said. “We have done the gene scans.”
Sraa-Vroo waved a dismissive paw. “And still we have no business making war on the Patriarchy. You have sworn blood vengeance against the Tzaatz. I grant you are true to your honor, but we have no need to join your skalazaal. But I am sure this Kchula-Tzaatz will accept a treaty-gifted daughter of the czrav. We can weld the Patriarchal line with ours through him, without bloodshed and without risk to our dens and kits.”
“Kchula-Tzaatz is not of the Patriarchal line!” Pouncer snarled the words.
“But his line will rule the Patriarchy.”
“No!” V’rli stood. “Meerz-Rrit exemplified all we want to preserve of the Kcha line. Kchula-Tzaatz is all we want to breed out! His brother carries the mind-blank gene set. Could we choose a worse genome to mate?”
“We have welded other lines. Half the Lesser Prides carry our blood.”
“And the Black Priests cull their kits! If we want to win the Longest War we must win it at the top. There is nothing so important to our victory as the Patriarchal line!”
“So we shall wait a few generations, and give the black-fur gene time to be diluted in Kchula’s descendants. Since when has the Longest War been a matter of haste?”
“Since the Tzaatz deposed the Rrit! You said it yourself! How many of our prides has the Black Priest destroyed now? Where do you think he will stop?”
“So we give him what he seeks and he will stop. Send him Zree-Rrit and save us our blood.”
“You tread on my honor,” V’rli spat.
“You tread on our traditions, our ways, our secrets and our very lives. How many czrav will die so you can protect this Rrit?”
Pouncer stood before V’rli could answer. “You think the Black Priest hunts me? Yes, he does. But do you think he will stop when he finds me? No, he will not.”
Sraa-Vroo snorted. “I do not know what Ftzaal-Tzaatz will do, and neither do you. Call Ferlitz-Telepath and have him know the Black Priest’s mind and we will find out.”
V’rli snarled. “You know he cannot know a mind that carries the mind-blank gene.”
“Give him the sthondat extract then, and that obstacle can be overcome.”
V’rli slashed the air with her claws. “If you want to see a telepath take sthondat, ask one of your own. I will not ask it of mine.”
“And yet you ask me to risk my pride in an Honor-War that is not mine.”
“You are free to decline, Sraa-Vroo, and free to leave this circle if you wish, as is everyone here.” Pouncer looked around the assembly. “I will make my proposal to those who stay.”
“Oh, I will stay, for amusement if nothing else,” Sraa-Vroo riposted.
“Hrrr.” He is staying, and he is silenced, for now. Pouncer raised his arms for attention again and continued where he had left off. “Honored Cousins, there are those of you who follow me now, and those who do not. For myself, I did not choose this path, it was chosen for me and I have no alternative but to take it to its end. I will lead those who will follow me to reclaim my birthright, and yours. For us, victory
will mean victory in the Longest War, and defeat will mean extermination. Make no mistake, the cost will be high in czrav blood, and victory is not assured. I can offer nothing for your fealty except my own blood debt. With the support of Ztrak Pride and Dziit Pride and Mrrsel Pride I have shown what can be done, but that is not enough for final victory. Our strength depends on our unity, nothing else will give us success. For that reason I have decided…” He paused again, assessing his audience, making them wait on his words. “I have decided that if I do not have the support of every one of you here I will not press this campaign. Together we can win, together I believe we will win. Separate, it is better that we do not try. I will not see the czrav bloodline destroyed piecemeal. If I do not have your unanimous support, I will fight my own war, alone.” He paused again. “The decision is yours, Honored Cousins. I will leave you to make it.”
He turned and walked out into the darkened den passage, as snarls exploded behind him.
“…final victory…”
“…what of the risk?”
“…the Tzaatz…”
“…just a kitten…”
“…natural leader…”
The last voice was Czor-Dziit’s, and though his opinion was not news it made Pouncer feel proud to realize that he had won the respect of that seasoned warrior. I have done my best. Now the Fanged God will guide my course. The voices faded behind him as he climbed up to the chambers of the outer den. The air was cooler there, the scents less intense. He went to the quarters he shared with C’mell. They were austere by any standard, but he felt at home there with her, comfortable in a way the Citadel had never been with its relentless crush of history. And yet I will be returning there, or dying in the attempt. It was a thought he did not want to think, and he turned his attention to C’mell. She was there, reclined on the frrch-skin prrstet, the kits piled up against her asleep, bellies plump, tails curled around their noses. He knelt and nuzzled them. Male and female, Whitepaws and W’neee, they were heavily spotted as czrav kits were, but already he could see the pattern in their fur that would become the distinctive Rrit striping when they came of age. They stirred but did not wake, and he lay down to nuzzle C’mell as well, taking strength from the contact of her firm flank. She swished her tail lazily and rubbed her whiskers on his chin.
“What did they say?”
“They are deciding now.”
“What will they say?”
“I don’t know.”
“The full brother of Patriarch’s Telepath doesn’t know?” She rippled her ears. “What do you think they will say?”
“Sraa-Vroo is opposed. He is respected, others may side with him.”
She turned a paw over, considering. “It may not be a bad thing if he does. The Tzaatz are powerful. We risk a great deal by attacking them.”
“It is the path I must follow.”
“And I must follow you, but stealth is the czrav way.” There was worry in her eyes.
“If we win we will never have to hide again.”
“And the same if we lose.” She nuzzled him and they lay together in silence.
One of his lieutenants came to the entrance, Swift-Claw who had been Quicktail. “Pardon me, sire.”
Reluctantly Pouncer looked up from his mate. “What is it?”
“Our mazourk have returned from the jungle with the mothers and kits. They have brought an outsider.”
“An outsider?” Pouncer’s ears fanned up. “Is there a reason he hasn’t been killed?”
“Sire, he carries your father’s sigil! And he brings kz’zeerkti with him.”
“Cherenkova-Captain? She is leading the raids to the south.”
“No, sire! There are two kz’zeerkti, strange ones. I thought it best…”
“You were right.” Pouncer jumped up, trading one last glance with C’mell. “Take me there.” As he went out Whitepaws stirred in his sleep, and C’mell ran a rough tongue over the kitten to settle him.
The afternoon sun was sending its rays slanting through the treetops, and Pouncer blinked as he emerged from the den. Twice-eight tuskvor milled beneath the den mouth, grunting as mazourk supervised the unloading of the laden tsvasztet. M’mewr was ushering the mothers and kits up the rocky trail to the den. The pride was whole again, and that was a good thing. Those who had stayed over the change of the seasons to fight were spilling out of the den. Snarling and purring rose as long-separated mates were reunited and old friends traded greetings. Soon the mating season would begin once more, continuing the cycle of generations. A tuskvor bellowed and another answered. Swift-Claw led him down the mounting ledge, where a lone kzin waited, apart from the turmoil of the returning migration. His muzzle bore four narrow stripes of white fur, the scar sign of a blood oath, and more white on his chest, sign of battle injury. It took Pouncer a moment to recognize him.
“I know you…Far Hunter! How did you come here? Welcome! How is your father?” The questions spilled out.
The other claw-raked. “My father is dead, sire. Killed by the Tzaatz as we helped the kz’zeerkti to escape.” He stepped aside to show two smaller figures. “I have brought you these.”
This time recognition was instantaneous. “Tskombe-kz’zeerkti! Welcome! I should have expected it would be you. And which one is this?”
Tskombe smiled, carefully not showing teeth. “This is Trina, First-Son.”
“I am Zree-Rrit now, much has changed. Why have you come back?”
“To bring Captain Cherenkova home again.”
“Your loyalty is impressive.”
“Is she here?” Even Pouncer could hear the eagerness in Tskombe’s voice.
“She was here. Now she leads our advance base in raids against the Tzaatz.”
“Raids against…” Tskombe’s puzzlement showed. “She leads kzinti raids, you mean?”
“You kz’zeerkti are skilled and subtle planners. She has proven her worth as a warrior.”
Tskombe opened his mouth, closed it again. “When can I see her?”
“Now that the tuskvor are back we will be sending her supplies and reinforcements, this coming Hunter’s Moon, or the next. You can go with them.”
The human breathed deep. It was not the answer he was hoping for, but he accepted it. More waiting. Pouncer noticed his reaction. “She has a telepath with her, Mind-Seer. We can let her know you are here.”
“I would like that very much.” Tskombe smiled. I am getting closer to her, and I know she’s alive. “It’s good to see you again, First…” He caught himself. “Zree-Rrit.”
“To you, I am always Pouncer.” He gestured for the newcomers to follow him. “Far Hunter, you have sworn a blood oath.”
“To avenge my father.” The rangy kzin gestured to the ears on his belt. “I have killed many Tzaatz, in Hero’s Square and other places.”
“You do justice to his memory.”
Far Hunter riffled a paw through the ears. “I hope to have strakh enough here to claim a name at your circle…” He hesitated, then went on. “And your sister, if she is still unmated.”
“Hrrr.” Pouncer looked away. “You can have any name you choose. But my sister…” He paused. “My sister is dead too, killed by the Tzaatz.”
Far Hunter was silent, but his lips twitched over his fangs. The moment stretched uncomfortably long, and Trina reflexively edged herself closer to Tskombe.
“They will pay in blood.” Far Hunter snarled the words under his breath.
“They will pay higher than you imagine. Right now the czrav High Circle are meeting to discuss the future. If they agree, I will lead an army against Kchula-Tzaatz.”
“And if they do not?”
“Then you and I will fight our own war.” Pouncer looked to the horizon, then back to Far Hunter. “But vengeance will wait for a full belly tonight. You must be hungry from the journey.” Pouncer gestured to one of the youngsters who was unloading a tuskvor. “Sharp Ears! Get a fresh kill for our new arrivals.”
“At once, sire!” T
he youngster left on the bound.
Pouncer led the three up to the top of the sandstone dome to talk and admire the view. The experience seemed not-right somehow, the peaceful scene at odds with the gravity of the events unfolding around it. Above me the Tzaatz search me out from the orbital fortresses, below me the Pride Leaders are debating my future and my fate, and here in the middle I am feasting old companions as if nothing else mattered. He looked to Far Hunter “Tell me how you came to join the migration.”
“Hrrr.” The kzintzag warrior turned a paw over. “This kz’zeerkti appeared at my stall and led me on an impossible quest. This other one”—he indicated Trina—“is a tracker of outlandish ability. We found the old jungle den of Ztrak Pride, and then found Ztrak border markers, where we waited with a border gift until M’mewr arrived and accepted it.”
Pouncer raised his ears, confused. “But that den is abandoned.”
“Abandoned, but the border we chose was the one with Mrrsel Pride. M’mewr led a hunting party there, and found us. They would have killed us on the spot, but Tskombe-kz’zeerkti still carries your father’s sigil. She recognized it as the same as the one Cherenkova-Captain wears.”
Pouncer rippled his ears. “You three have performed a feat of tracking the Tzaatz have been unable to duplicate.”
“Hrrr. The Tzaatz lack patience. They still overfly the jungle with gravcars, but they fear to walk in it. We camped on the jungle verge and went to the border marker to wait every day for the entire wet season, and into the dry again.”
Sharp Ears arrived then, with another youngster, carrying a dressed and gutted zianya not devoured at the Bloodfeast gorging. Although he was still replete Pouncer shared a haunch with Far Hunter, and was surprised when the humans ate their portions raw. Everything is in flux. Eventually the protocols of greeting and feasting had been satisfied and they sat as the sun went down, trading stories of recent events. Beneath them the hustle and bustle of the migration faded as the Pride went down into the den. Soon it was tale-telling-time, and Pouncer took them down to be introduced to the pride.
