by Silas DeBoer
~
All Catiin have two names; that given us in secret by our Mothers and that given us publicly by our Masters. My second name is Skag, and I will never tell anyone but my mate my first, secret name. Not that I would be of use to a mate. Dragged into the bright morning light and drugged with wine, I was neutered and de-clawed that afternoon, my fingers sewn up by a Caledonian doctor. Henry Rose was my new Master, and he was kind enough to let me recover in the wagon, curled up in pain and groggy from the wine. I vowed to never again allow myself to be stupefied by alcohol.
We left the busy streets of Carlisle by Master's horse drawn wagon. Carlisle was a great Man city built on the shores of a vast lake and had served as capital to a Northern principality until the Empire conquered these lands (so Mother had said). I never saw much of the city, doubled over, but I smelled hundreds of distinct odors and heard the crowds milling around us. Mother had told me the lake fed a river that meandered across the Empire before discharging into the Southern Sea near the Capital Illyria where she was born into servitude eight annums prior. Two annums before Henry Rose became my Master, Mother was brought up that river, already pregnant with us. Imperials bred Catiin for temperament, color, and pedigree. Mother said that some Catiin escaped across the Southern Sea by boat to live in our native forests and choose our own mates apart from the principalities of Men. Other Catiin escaped on foot to the Eastern Marches, a collection of city states and nations yet to fall prey to the Empire's martial and economic hegemony.
At first I recovered slowly while Master talked to me from the seat of the wagon. He was the son of an innkeeper, recently inheriting his ailing father's business in the village of Fensmore, Sump District (I would later learn why Jacob Rose ailed in obscurity). We traveled west along the King's Highway for many days, through forest and mire along a road which eventually led to the western sea, but our destination was roughly halfway between Carlisle and Somerset. It was difficult for me to sit; my loins ached as did the fleshy lumps of my finger tips. By the third day my wounds began to fester and Master grew concerned. Perhaps he actually cared, or perhaps he only cared about his investment dying of fever. Master seemed adept at business dealings of all kinds.
Master pushed for speed and I endured many days in the wagon growing ever ill. He promised me that someone named Mother Margrette would cure me of all my ills, for Master knew of no greater healer. When we arrived at our destination on the tenth day, a village of two hundred Imperials with names unlike the Men of Carlisle, I bore a great fever. Fire raced through my veins, with my paws inside burlap bags to keep me from licking at my wounds. I was alternately cold and on fire, delirious with infection and calling out to Mother in my fever dreams. Master forced me to eat and drink, and I slept often.
I remember villagers peering in at me, shivering under a blanket in the back of Master's wagon laden with goods from Carlisle. Some walked along with the wagon and I heard their voices even in my delirium.
"The Goddess' Mercy! Is that a Cat?" one would ask.
"It is dying for sure!" exclaimed another.
I do not remember all the things said by Master's neighbors, but I was taken to Margrette's cabin on the edge of the village. She was an older Woman, practiced in the ways of healing and midwifery. Margrette dressed well if simply, a Woman with wrinkled skin, graying hair, and light colored, soulless eyes. I was transferred from the wagon to a warm bed near the fireplace and gently washed prior to a poultice of garlic and volcanic mud applied liberally to my festering digits. My feet were wrapped in damp, cold cloths to alleviate my fever. Margrette had a Woman child to aid her, of the same height as me, but who bore light colored hair. This apprentice was named Tabitha Winters, but she rarely ever spoke to me. It rained almost incessantly that first night. Margrette left the cabin only to gather more firewood from a pile lining the cabin. A succession of children from the village fetched her water from the well throughout the day, and most sought to get a glimpse of the only Catiin in Fensmore. I ate stewed vegetables and beans for three days under Margrette's roof, and eventually I recovered enough to study my new surroundings.
The cabin was large compared to the wagon or the cage. There was a river rock fireplace along one wall, a source of heat and the heart of the home for cooking and light. The walls were constructed of logs patched with dried mud, with a thatch roof. Most of the maple slatted floor was taken up with beds for Margrette's patients, but they were empty while I recuperated. Cabinets lined the walls, each with clear glass jars holding an array of ingredients from the wild; the bark of a cinchona tree from the Shining South, eucaria leaves from Ishtar, nightshade flowers from the Eastern Marches, Tears of the Goddess from Illyria, Morgana's Myr from the Heathen Hills, and dozens upon dozens of local roots, leaves, stems, and bark from the northern woods.
During my stay at Margrette's cabin, several curious villagers came by to look on me in addition to addressing their own ailments, which ranged from coughs to accidental cuts to rashes and insomnia. Many of Margrette's visitors asked her advice on all manner of topics, and I learned much simply by listening to the old Woman's responses. Margrette never seemed bothered with my presence but Tabitha did not once stray her eye from me; at night, she lashed me into bed with heavy leather thongs. Men consider Catiin to be dangerous, but I have never known the source of their fear. Perhaps it is the fierce soul reflected in torchlight from every Catiin eye.
After four days Master returned to fetch me, and I was much recovered.
"Every night his paws must be washed and another poultice of garlic prepared, the same for his savaged loins. Why did you allow this to happen Henry? It's abominable!" Margrette shook a spindly finger in Master Henry's face, who colored visibly under her stare. I have never seen that emotion on a Man's face before. I knew fear, hatred, and contempt, but Man's heart is alien to a Catiin, for Man has no tail to lash about, no ears to display emotion and all have soulless eyes. In the darkness the eyes of Catiin flash with brilliance at the slightest light, baring our soul. Not once did I see another Catiin in Fensmore, nor would I ever; my race is rare in the North.
"I had no choice Mother Margrette, the Governor issued the new regulations on indentured Catiin in response to overpopulation fears from the public of Carlisle. Silly, I know, with only one Breeder in operation, but I was lucky to find a Caledonian doctor willing to perform the surgeries. The Breeder recommended a punch to the head and a meat cleaver." Master shrugged, his hands still on my furry shoulders as I looked up at them both. I stood only to their waists and they had dressed me in baggy pants held up by a rope belt. My tail stuck out of a hole cut by a dagger and stitched again by Margrette's sure hand. It was strange to wear real clothes at all but stranger still was to no longer wear a collar. The first thing Margrette had done after attending to my immediate needs was to remove the Breeder's collar and burn it in the fireplace.
Margrette sighed heavily. "Just you mind the damage you caused this sweet boy. How would you like it if I removed your finger tips?"
"Not at all Mother Margrette." Master Henry bared his teeth half heartedly, his face drooping.
"Well, mind those bandages, and bring him back if the fever returns."
"I will, do not fear. Come by the Rooster if you please and we will settle accounts."
Margrette said nothing as we left but stood in her doorway a long time watching us walk away, Master Henry's hand on my furred shoulder. I marveled at the tall trees sheltering Margrette's cabin; oak, maple and fir as I would later learn. Rose bushes surrounded her cabin like a curtain wall, their thorny vines and silken flowers a marked contrast to each other. Master allowed me to sit up front in the wagon with him as the horse trotted into the heart of Fensmore and I finally got to see my new home. Built north of the King's Highway and connected by a dirt track, the village was arrayed in a meandering series of cross streets with houses of brick and timber in the center and primitive huts on the edges. As roughly the midpoint of the King's Highway between Carlisle and Som
erset, Fensmore also joined with a less traveled road into Caledonia through one of the few mountain passes into that cold and northern land of lunatics and liars, which is also the northern periphery of the Empire.
I said nothing on the way back to Master's inn, but he was talkative, pointing out specific houses and telling me I was to be his errand runner if I proved trustworthy. I listened and watched, intent on serving well. Mother had said that some Catiin served so well they earned their own freedom, and that I was to only try escape if my master was brutal and beat me repeatedly. At times on the wagon ride, Henry Rose would pet my head and pat my shoulder, which felt good. Mother said some Men did not know how to interact with Catiin, and sometimes treated us like household felines instead of sentient bipeds though I cannot deny that head scratching feels good, and I did nothing to dissuade Master from showing me affection. There was kindness in Master, even if he was shrewd in business dealings.
When we arrived at the Grand Rooster, I saw the largest building in Fensmore, a great three story house larger than five other nearby houses combined, with a river rock foundation, a massive chimney, a full basement and brightly painted jade siding with even darker emerald shutters. A maple deck encircled the raised first floor of the structure, with several hanging porch swings crafted of pine and bolted to the ceiling with lengths of chain. The roof of the Grand Rooster was slate with tin gutters and massive glass windows. There was not a single house like the Rooster in all of Fensmore.
"Ain't she a beaut?" Master asked while slapping me on the back lightly.
I nodded in assent. All my life I had lived in a cold dark cellar under the Butcher's shop, and now on a Spring morning I was gazing at the largest house I had ever seen... and I would live here.
"You don't talk much do you?"
I shook my head.
"Can you speak?" Henry Rose got down on one knee and looked me in the good eye. "Do you... un-der-stand... what I am... say-ing?"
After a moment of looking into his face, trying to discern this new emotion, I spoke in a hoarse, scratchy voice "Yes."
Henry Rose bared his teeth again and I shied away as he stood. "Why is your voice so hoarse?"
I looked at him again and shrugged. "Skag cried often, and Mother's Master cut Skag's vocal chords with a fillet knife. Skag almost lost his tongue."
Master staggered back half a pace, and I shirked at the sudden fury written on his face. "Please Master, do not beat Skag!" I crouched close to the ground, shaking visibly in my fright, waiting for the first blows to land.
Several villagers stopped to peer at us, but instead of a fist or a boot, I felt Master's hands on my head, petting me as he made soothing sounds. He drew me up again and wiped away tears from both my eyes. "I will never hurt you Skag for telling me the truth. Always tell me the truth and you have nothing to fear."
"Then... why is Master angry with Skag?" I truly did not know.
"You did nothing wrong. Come, let me show you the rest of the Rooster, and if you work hard, I promise that I will free you once you earn your bond."
I stared up at Master in wonder.
