The Catswold Portal

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  The area was relatively safe from idle discovery. It was protected by miles of fenced grassland owned by the Lillith Ranch, and the fences were spell-cast to discourage intruders. Small boys with twenty-two’s would turn away from it white with fear, not knowing what they were afraid of. And of course the gates were spell-locked.

  Within the compound Vrech and Havermeyer had for some days watched the cats and studied them, but it was Vrech who would do the training. Havermeyer had proven totally inept, and the night before last he had returned to the city offices of Lillith Corporation. Vrech knew he had been sent up to the ranch simply to oversee him. He preferred working alone, now that he had selected the female to be trained as the false Catswold queen.

  She was darkly mottled, her coat a brindled, muddy mix of black and rust unrelieved by white. She was so mean she ran off males and females alike, and had lacerated the hands of two keepers who tried to pet her.

  He caught her with raw meat, wearing heavy gloves. He put her into a cage, and carried her into a locked room with barred windows. When he said the spell, when she found herself turned into a woman, she leaped at Vrech, clawing at him. He grabbed her and turned her toward the full-length mirror he had provided. She stopped clawing him, and stood looking. A curiously childlike wonder transformed her face.

  She was naked, of course, and she stared at her bare skin, at her breasts and her long legs and long slim arms, clasping and unclasping her hands as if her fingers had retractable claws.

  Then she looked at her hands, examined them, and began to use them. She turned the doorknob, but couldn’t open the door. She flipped the window latches and reached through to try to remove the bars. She pinched Vrech and stroked him, then tried to undo the buttons of his shirt.

  She was thin, hard, angular, and well muscled. She had amber eyes, street-wise under her dark lashes, and dark, arching brows. Her black hair was red-streaked and lank, hanging to her shoulders. She watched Vrech with a shrewdness that kept him alert.

  “Helsa,” Vrech said. “Your name is Helsa, after a lesser entity of the Hell Pit.”

  “Helsa,” she said, touching her breasts and cupping them.

  Vrech smiled.

  Here in this room she was prisoner. She would remain so until she was sufficiently trained and trustworthy. He would be selective about the spells he taught her. She might be appealing and lusty, but he had no illusion that he could trust her. When he took her into the riding ring he would keep her spell-cast.

  He clothed her in jeans and plain shirts. He spent three days teaching her horsemanship, then began to train her to the sword. He did not trust her sufficiently yet to take her to bed. In between riding lessons he taught her about the Catswold nation. When she understood its stubborn, defiant history and understood what Siddonie wanted of her, she saw at once the possibilities. Soon she lusted to lead the Catswold people, to hold absolute rule over them. She respected power and wanted power. She quickly understood that she would sell the Catswold nation for her own complete and absolute power. She understood that soon the queen herself would come to be with her and train her in further skills.

  She could soon wield a spell to make the other cats storm the fence, make them leap and tear at the wire roof or fight one another. She could make the compound cats stop eating for days, or force them to gorge themselves. It was some weeks after Vrech began training her that Siddonie arrived at the ranch.

  She was in the blue Rolls; Havermeyer had driven her up from the city. She had come up to San Francisco to sign business papers and check on him; he was good with the details but she didn’t like to give him total freedom. The corporate takeover was so complicated that Havermeyer could too easily cross her.

  She had used the tunnel that opened out of Xendenton. She kept a car in the parking garage into which the tunnel opened, deducting the monthly parking fee from her taxes. It was ludicrous to her that she must pay upperworld income taxes. She had brought only a dozen staff with her—they had gone directly to the hotel where she kept a suite.

  She exited from the pale blue interior of the Rolls dressed in a black riding suit with diamond cuff links closing the sleeves of her white silk shirt, diamond earrings, and diamonds at her throat. Her black hair was piled into a complicated arrangement caught with diamond pins. Sleek and impeccably groomed, she ordered Vrech to bring Helsa to her in the compound office.

  The office featured an orange-and-cream Khirman rug, and cream leather chairs against a wall covered entirely by a spell-cast antique mirror that did not reflect. Siddonie stood before the patterned gold mirror watching the Catswold girl enter, watching her eyes. Seeing Helsa’s immediate envy.

  Within an hour Siddonie, with skillful spells and with promises, had made Helsa her slave. The girl not only envied Siddonie’s beauty and was determined to copy it, she lusted after the power Siddonie offered her. When she rode out with Siddonie in late afternoon, Helsa was totally committed to her.

  Siddonie watched Helsa send her loose horse away and bring him back, watched her change shape in the saddle from woman to cat, balancing lightly; and when after an hour’s ride they returned, she watched Helsa ride into the cat compound and lift her hand, drawing hundreds of cats running to her. She watched her make them swarm up the stunted trees, make them fight, stop fighting, watched her make them change to human then return at her command to cat. Siddonie meant, as soon as the girl was sufficiently trained, to bring all the upperworld Catswold and human troops down through the mining tunnel that led into Zzadarray, directly into the Catswold nation.

  There the false queen would gather the Zzadarray Catswold, join them with her own armies, and move west until she joined Siddonie at the front lines. The Catswold would help defeat the rebels, and when the war was won Siddonie’s loyal soldiers would slaughter the Catswold soldiers, both those from the upperworld and those from Zzadarray.

  And, when she had no more use for Helsa, she would kill the false Catswold queen herself.

  Already in the south she had brought Shenndeth and Pearilleth into line without bloodshed, peacefully confiscating most of the horses and all the food stores. And in the first skirmishes in the outlying lands, rebel soldiers had been driven mad with spells and had turned on their brothers and killed them. In Cressteane, spells of sickness had cut down dozens of rebels with illness of the bowels and stomach. And when the rebels’ own healing spells failed, many among them had taken wine and, starving, quickly become too drunk to resist capture.

  When Helsa turned and smiled at her, Siddonie smiled back with a cold, predatory satisfaction. This girl would pay, as would all the Catswold, for the fall of Xendenton.

  Chapter 47

  It was the evening the calico scratched Morian that Melissa saw the spirit of the cat hidden within Braden’s paintings.

  Morian had come down for a drink. Melissa watched her from the couch. The dark woman was beautiful in creamy satin and gold jewelry. Coming in, she kissed Braden on the cheek and Melissa felt a growl deep in her throat and felt her claws stiffen. And when Braden had gone to the kitchen and Morian came to the couch and reached to stroke her, she growled again.

  Morian looked surprised and moved away. “All right, my dear. I know when I’m not wanted.” She grinned. “Maybe a little jealous? You needn’t be, you know.”

  Melissa turned her face away, but in a moment she looked back to watch Morian where she stood at the easel looking at the wet painting.

  “You have a class?” Braden said from the kitchen.

  “Mmm. I hate night classes—there’s always some hobby painter who shouldn’t be there and can’t keep his mind on his drawing. I like this, Brade.”

  “New model. Starting a new series.”

  Morian looked at the three new paintings he had hung on the wall, then at the new sketches on the work table, handling them with care. When Braden returned with the drinks, she hugged him casually. “Nice. Very nice. This is going to be an exciting series. These—are these the Craydor house?”
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  He nodded. “We spent a morning there.”

  “Marvelous. Reflections…all reflections. Just right for you, Brade. And your model is perfect for it.”

  Melissa got into her basket and curled down, pretending to sleep, listening to the dry sounds of paper as Morian looked again through the sketches.

  Morian said, “It’s going to be the best series you’ve done. Even better than the Coloma series, and I didn’t think any work could be better than that. Rye will go out of his mind. Has he seen them?”

  “He’s dropping by this evening on his way out to dinner.”

  Morian nodded and sat down on the couch near Melissa’s basket, looking at the calico questioningly to see if she would growl again. “Nice basket—she just fits.” She looked up at him, laughing. “For someone who didn’t want a cat, you’re doing right well by her.” She reached to let the calico sniff her fingers, trying to make friends. But jealousy won, rage impelled the calico. She came up out of her basket striking fast, slashing across Morian’s hand. Morian jerked away, her eyes wide. Blood beaded across her skin. Braden shouted and reached to grab the calico, but Morian caught his arm.

  “Don’t, Brade. Let her be. This is her house—she just doesn’t want me so familiar.” She moved away from the basket, pressing her fingers against the oozing blood, holding her hand away from her silk dress. “It’s only a scratch.” She stared into Melissa’s eyes, not angry but curious, searching. Melissa hissed and spat.

  Braden handed Morian a clean paint rag to stop the blood. “I’ll get some iodine.”

  The medicine he brought smelled so strong it made Melissa’s nose wrinkle. His look at her was cold, enraged.

  Morian said, “She’s only protecting her rights. She—Brade, look at her eyes.”

  “What about them?” He was furious. His voice made Melissa cringe. Why had she done that? Why had she embarrassed herself in front of him like that?

  Morian said, “You’ve given the girl in the painting the cat’s eyes. How droll—the same green eyes, black fringed. Lovely.”

  Braden looked puzzled. “No, they’re Melissa’s eyes. Melissa’s eyes are green, she has dark lashes.” He looked into the calico’s eyes, frowning, staring so hard Melissa shivered. He said, softly, “They are alike.” He was silent a moment, then he rose and took the empty glasses into the kitchen. Behind him Morian said softly, “It’s about time.” She reached a tentative hand to the calico to see what she would do. “You needn’t be jealous of me, my dear. It’s that gorgeous model you need to worry about.”

  Melissa relaxed, and pressed her head against Morian’s fingers. Morian grinned at her. “That’s better.” She rubbed Melissa’s ears, knowing just the right places. Braden returned and stood watching them. “That was a quick turnaround. Private conversation?”

  “Just girl talk,” Morian said as she glanced up through the windows. “Get a glass for Rye; here he comes. I’m on my way.”

  On the terrace Rye Chapman hugged Morian, then she headed for her car. He came into the studio and stood silently looking at the paintings. He spent a long time looking. He didn’t say anything. He backed off, studying each painting, so obviously pleased that Melissa kneaded her claws with pleasure and purred extravagantly. It was much later, after Rye had gone, that she saw the shadow images.

  Braden had started a new painting from the drawing with the stained glass window. Already the intricate pattern of reflections was rich and exciting, shifting across her figure, absorbing her, making her a part of the tangled colors.

  As she sat in the hall behind him pretending to wash her paws, admiring the painting, she let a mewing sigh of pleasure escape her. Braden turned to look, and she froze. Then she rubbed innocently against his ankle.

  He began painting again.

  It was the next minute, watching the painting, that she grew disturbed. She padded farther down the hall to see it from a greater distance.

  She moved again, looking.

  She saw the phantom shape clearly: the faint shadow of a cat woven through her figure, a form so subtle she had to stand in just the right place to see it. Hardly more than a smoky stain, it was nearly as large as her figure: a cat lying up across her body within the folds of the orange and pink silk, its cheek forming her cheek, its muzzle barely discernible within her own face, its paws meshing into the folds of her shirt. A phantom cat, faint as a breath.

  She sat behind him feeling sick. Why had he done this? Had he known about her all along? When they argued over the movie about cat people, was he making fun of her? Why else would he do this but to goad and tease her? She moved across the room to study the other paintings, and found a cat’s shadow in each, woven through her figure.

  Why would Braden do this?

  Or did he not know he had done it?

  Did he not know those faint, elusive spirits were there? Could it be that only his inner self knew? That something deep within him knew more than his conscious mind did? Upset and afraid, she felt her stomach churn. She was so upset that within a moment she had thrown up her supper in a little pile on the hardwood floor behind Braden.

  He turned and stared at her, annoyed to be interrupted. Muttering, he got a rag and wiped up the mess.

  But then after he had cleaned the spot on the floor he picked her up and held her, stroking her. “What’s wrong with you? Why did you get sick? Is it the cat food?” He felt her nose; his hand smelled of paint. “How do I tell if you have a fever? Are you sick? Or did you eat a mole in the garden?” he asked hopefully. “Olive says moles make cats sick.”

  She snuggled down in his arms, basking in his gentle caring. How could she be angry that he had painted the shadow images, when he was so kind and loving? She couldn’t believe he had done it deliberately. Maybe he didn’t know the images were there. Maybe they came from some hidden inner perception.

  Had Braden, in making images of her, touched some power centered around her? Centered around the Catswold?

  The next morning she was certain that some power of the Catswold had been touched, for she had dreamed of Timorell. She saw her mother, tall and golden haired, wandering the darkened galleries of the Cat Museum. And Timorell wore the Amulet of Bast. In the dream Melissa looked into the emerald’s green depths and saw the war in the Netherworld, and she heard someone call her name. She woke riveted with the thought that she must find the Amulet, that the outcome of the Netherworld wars could be changed if she could find the Amulet of Bast.

  Chapter 48

  Efil watched the compound from a nearby hill where he sat beneath a twisted oak behind an outcropping of granite, drinking a Budweiser.

  He had not gone down the Catswold Portal when he left Melissa. He had waited until he felt certain she was gone, then come out again. He had gone into the city, then two days later had taken a Greyhound north. In San Andreas, he bought a used Cadillac and drove out to the compound. There he left the car on a side road and climbed under the fence, ignoring the fear that the spell-cast fence engendered. He had crossed the grassy fields staying near boulders and within the shadows of the oaks. He wanted to see what progress Vrech was making with the false queen, but he did not want to be gone too long from Affandar and the changeling boy.

  He had been able to teach the boy a few tactics to protect him against Siddonie. The boy had no magic, of course, but there were ways of the mind that would help him, and Tom had a surprising ability to resist her. He had performed cleverly, letting Siddonie think she controlled him.

  Efil had no intention of freeing the boy. He meant, at the right moment, to bring Wylles down to the Netherworld, to show the two together to Siddonie’s armies and to the peasants, to prove there was a changeling.

  Efil drained the Budweiser can, then popped open another beer and settled back. He watched the compound most of the day, watched the upperworld horse soldiers at drill and sword practice, and watched the false Catswold queen fighting beside them in mock battle. The Affandar officers had done well with San Francisco
’s drunks. They had dried them out, and taught them to ride and to use a sword with modest skill. He watched Helsa with far more interest, soon with lust. She would be randy all right. And if he offered her more power than Siddonie promised, he had no doubt she would throw in with him. Once he convinced her that Siddonie planned to destroy her along with the rest of the Catswold, she would be his.

  In mid-afternoon an unsuspecting rattlesnake slid near Efil. He killed it with a spell, then unwrapped the cheese sandwich he had bought in San Andreas, and opened another beer. He watched Helsa gather a dozen of the brawniest cats in the enclosure and change them to human, watched her lead them to the riding ring and drill them on horseback and then, finished, turn them back into cats. He assumed that she had not taught them the spell for changing. When he had seen all he needed, he walked back over the hills to the dirt lane, got in the Cadillac, drove into San Andreas and from there to San Francisco. He meant to be back in Affandar by the next night.

  Chapter 49

  The Greyhound bus smelled of cigarettes and stale food. A large woman took up most of the seat, pressing Melissa against the window. The bus was filled with morning commuters, with men in suits and ties, and women in tweed suits flaunting bare, silky legs and high heels.

  She had been half afraid to take the bus by herself, but she had awoken excited by her dream. Curled up purring close to Braden, her mind had been filled with Timorell and the Amulet.

  As the bus moved through Sausalito, she watched the fishing boats rocking on the choppy water of the huge bay. Then soon, approaching the Golden Gate Bridge, she thought about Alice dying there and was blinded by sudden, sharp pain.