The Catswold Portal

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  Even if she turned back, she would not be safe. Nothing would ever be safe.

  When at last after long hours she saw the green light beyond the tunnel mouth she ran. She splashed through the stream into the full green glow of morning—and came face to face with a saddled gray gelding. He shied at her and snorted, backing away within his spell-tether. She stood in the mouth of the tunnel looking for his master.

  This was not a horse she had seen in the stables or pastures of Affandar. And his saddle had not come from the palace—it was an elven saddle, square and plain. Seeing no one, she broke the spell, snatched up his reins, mounted, and headed for the palace. She didn’t care where he had come from. If Affandar was already at war there wouldn’t be a horse left anywhere.

  In sight of the pale wall she pulled up the gelding to a walk. The pasture was empty. There was no sound from the palace, and no person visible. No smoke rose from the chimneys. She could see no movement at the windows, no one in the gardens. She tethered the gelding by the wall, not wanting him trapped in the courtyard, and she slipped through the side door into the scullery.

  She found the scullery deserted, the cookstove cold. No food had been left on the counters. She searched the main floor chambers; the corridors echoed with her footsteps. Every room was empty. She went into the courtyard; and there, from a side door she saw Terlis and Briccha gathering vegetables in the garden. When Terlis looked up and saw her, the pale girl moved behind a row of bean vines and slipped away from Briccha. Soon a side gate flew open into the courtyard and Terlis was hugging Melissa. Melissa was surprised at how glad she was to see the child. She clung to Terlis almost desperately. How thin Terlis was, and how dark the shadows under her eyes.

  “It’s been so long, Melissa. I knew you would come today, the Harpy said you would. I’ve watched all day for you.”

  “Was it she who left the gray gelding?”

  “Yes, he was the last decent horse and he wouldn’t have been here, except a deserter came home. The Harpy was here last night. She terrified me—I’ve never before seen a harpy.”

  “Are we at war? Has the whole palace gone to war?”

  “Yes. It’s strange for the palace to be so empty; most everyone rode out with the army.” Terlis shivered, and Melissa saw in her eyes the same fear of war she had seen in the faces of the rebel families: a fear of the loss of home and sustenance, loss of a way of life.

  “The queen was so cruel and nervous before she rode out, worse than ever, pacing, shouting orders. She was still here when the dying prince recovered. When he ran away she had the whole palace upside down.”

  “He recovered? Tell me.”

  “He began to eat. I took his food up sometimes; he was actually hungry. His color came back almost overnight. Though he didn’t talk much. But then soon he was out of bed riding beside the queen. He was weak of course, clumsy in the saddle, but far from dying. Siddonie took him everywhere; soon all Affandar knew he’d recovered.

  “But two weeks ago he disappeared. The queen was in a rage. She called the seneschals into her chambers, questioned everyone in the palace. She sent every seneschal and half the guard to search for him.”

  “He just disappeared? What happened?”

  Terlis’ eyes widened with delight. “A cat, Melissa. I saw a cat hiding in the gardens. The queen would have caged it if she knew. A fine big cat, all golden, and I know it was more than cat, too.” Terlis grinned. “After the prince vanished I didn’t see the cat anymore.” She looked at Melissa strangely, and touched her cheek.

  “Then soon afterward the Harpy came. She’d been a long time gathering folk to join the rebels. There are none that can fly except her. Except the lizards, but they belong to the queen.”

  “The Griffon can fly.”

  “The Harpy was afraid to release him; she is afraid of him. She said he might do anything. You can hear him roaring in his cage. All the Hell Beasts are nervous and screaming.”

  “The Griffon is not a Hell Beast.”

  Terlis only looked at her. “Rumor is that the selkies have all disappeared from the rivers, that an elven man saw dozens of selkies fleeing toward the eastern mountains.”

  Melissa gripped Terlis’ shoulders. “Tell me exactly where the fighting is. Tell me everything you know.”

  “The Harpy left a long message. I helped her strip the beds, and she talked all the while. She made me repeat it to be sure I remembered.”

  “She stripped the beds? In the palace? Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. She took all the bed sheets, every sheet in the palace, clean or soiled.

  “The queen has told her armies the rebels mean to enslave the Netherworld. She tells them the rebels plan to take all the land. She has made her troops afraid of being enslaved by the rebels so they will fight more fiercely. The Harpy says that at the front lines the rebel troops are caught by the queen’s spells, that they sicken with fever and are torn by thirst. Even where the streams run cold, they often cannot touch water. Her magic drives them back as if by a wall.”

  Terlis shook her head. “Canteens containing water go dry, and the Harpy says Siddonie has laid rotting-spells to tear the rebels’ clothes from them. Naked, they are the more vulnerable to every blade, and they are cold and demoralized.”

  “Has Siddonie spell-cast all our forces?”

  “She puts her spells only on the ones that draw near the front lines of battle. The Harpy thinks she hasn’t enough power to hold spells upon all the attacking troops.”

  “Is there anyone left in the villages?”

  “Only a few old men and women, and the smallest children. The villages have little to eat—Siddonie has destroyed everything.”

  “Where is the fighting?”

  “In Ferrathil now, but moving toward Cressteane. Siddonie means to cause the Catswold troops from Zzadarray to fight beside her. The Harpy said to tell you that.”

  “How did the Harpy know I would come? Of course, her mirror. But—”

  “The Harpy said to tell you this: You are Timorell’s daughter. You have found what you needed to find. Now use it.” Terlis looked at her, shivering.

  Melissa said, “You must go back to the gardens and keep Briccha occupied. The horse will still be here when I’m gone. You can put him in the pasture.”

  At Terlis’ puzzled look she turned and headed for the dungeons.

  Chapter 63

  Braden tore at the wall with his hands, smashed his shoulder against it, threw all his weight against it. It refused to move. She had opened it; her words had opened it. He had seen the wall swing inward, had seen her go through. The solid stone wall had slammed in his face, had hit him in the face, scraping his jaw and arm, bruising his hands. For an instant he had seen into the tunnel, had smelled the damp, raw earth. In the light that Melissa had made he had seen the walls of the tunnel leading down deeper into the earth. Then the wall had shut her away.

  He fought the wall, battering at it and swearing, then he grabbed the ladder and ran at it, rammed the ladder’s end against the stone with such force that he broke the heavy side bar and the first two rungs. He flung it down, knowing coldly that only by magic could the wall be moved though he did not believe in magic.

  Hadn’t believed in it.

  He shoved the ladder aside, grabbed the metal wheelbarrow and swung it, hitting the stone with all his weight and force. Chips of stone flew in his face, pale gouges bloomed in the dark stone. The wall didn’t move. She was gone, where he could no longer reach her. He found the shovel and dug into the mortar, trying to pry the stones apart. Then he dug into the earth beside the stone. He would dig into the damned tunnel that way.

  But then digging, jamming his foot hard on the shovel to ram it into the earth, he felt a draft behind him, and a beam of light hit the dirt in front of him. He swung around.

  Morian stood looking, taking in the toppled wheelbarrow, the broken ladder, the shovel in his hand, the broken earth where he had begun to dig.


  “She’s gone,” she said softly.

  “Yes, she’s gone! Through the damned wall! You knew!” He stared at her, totally enraged. “She went through the goddamn wall. She went into the goddamn hill—and you knew it. How did you know? Christ, you knew what she would do.”

  “You saw her go through the wall?” She was so damned calm he wanted to hit her.

  “Yes, I saw her. The damned wall opened. She slammed the stone wall in my face.”

  Morian laid her flashlight on the work table, leaving it burning. It cast a pool of viscous yellow onto the wall and left the rest of the room dark. She took the shovel from his hand. She pulled his hand into hers, holding it tightly. She picked up the flashlight again, its beam flashing across her silver cocktail dress. “Come on, Brade. Maybe I can help.”

  He glared at her.

  “I’ve been up in Olive’s empty house,” she said. “I left the gallery just after you did. I’ve been up there at Olive’s dining table reading her research.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “Before that, when I left the gallery, I followed you.”

  He felt himself shiver.

  “I saw Melissa, I saw her on the street. I saw the flash of her eyes in the headlights. I saw a crowd of people around her—around you both.

  “And after you got in the car I saw people change into cats and run away into the darkness.”

  She led him out of the tool room and up the dark garden. The only sound was their footsteps and the faint brushing of his pant legs against the tangled flowers. She said, “After you and Melissa drove away, and the cats ran away, I came home and let myself into Olive’s. I dug into her notebook.” She led him up the steps to Olive’s front door. Lights were on in the living room, the draperies closed. Inside, the room was cold and damp from being unoccupied. Morian sat him down at the dining table as if she were herding a small child, and she opened the notebook.

  He didn’t want to read it; he pushed the book away. “I don’t need this, Mor. I know all this. She told me.”

  She sat down at the table across from him.

  “She went down there, Mor. Hell, it doesn’t help to know where she went. She shut me out. She shut me out of her life. I saw her go through a damn solid stone wall into another world, another life.”

  He stared at Morian. “I have known Terrel Black for years. We have taught each other’s classes. Got drunk together, won awards in the same shows. Tonight I saw Terrel Black change into a black cat with one white foot.

  “And I saw Melissa go through a solid stone wall into a world that can’t exist. And you knew about this. All the time, you knew.” He slammed the notebook shut.

  “Not all the time, Brade. It took me a while to work it out. It took me a very long while to believe it.”

  “She promised to wait for me in the tool room, but she didn’t wait. Christ, Mor, she’s going down there into the middle of a war. She told me that. She can’t—she can’t go back there alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “She went into the Cat Museum. She insisted I stay in the car. She came out wearing an emerald pendant. She said it had powers, I could—I could feel the powers.”

  “She loves you, Brade.”

  He stared past her toward the drapery-shrouded windows, realizing that for some time lights had been flashing and shifting against the pale cloth.

  Morian turned to look, then rose and opened the draperies. “Sam’s is crowded, the lane is jammed with cars.”

  He got up woodenly and went into the kitchen and began opening cupboards looking for a bottle. “Doesn’t Olive have a damned thing to drink in here?”

  “The tool shed door is open, Brade. I know I closed it behind us. It—Brade…come here.”

  He couldn’t find a bottle. Where Olive usually kept a fifth of brandy there was only a half pint of seltzer. He went back into the living room and stood beside Morian, who was looking out at the arcing lights swinging across the window as more cars pulled into the lane. He saw that the tool room door stood open. Beyond the door in the lane where cars were parked double, triple, the people getting out were not heading for Sam’s; they were heading for the portal. That was what it was called: the Catswold Portal. The damned door that had lured Alice.

  There were cats in the lane, too; cats leaping out of open car doors and cats suddenly appearing in the lane as people vanished. Soon there were more cats than people; in the flash of headlights dozens of pairs of eyes flashed. Cats and humans moved together toward the Catswold Portal. Braden saw Terrel Black in human form. He watched Terrel push in through the portal and watched the dark, quick shapes of cats slip in past his ankles, cats only half-seen in the fragmented light.

  “How the hell did Terrel know? Melissa didn’t tell him. How did he know to come here?”

  “Terrel came back to the gallery. He wanted to know where Melissa lived; he wanted to know if she lived here with you. He remembered the door from the times he’s been to the studio. He talked about the cats carved on the door.”

  More car lights were going dark like huge pairs of eyes winking closed. Soon most of the parked cars were dark. A few last figures hurried after the others up the garden and through the portal, pushing into the tool room which was, like the airlock in a submarine, the anteroom to another world.

  Morian said, “Can they open the wall?”

  “I don’t know. Back there on Farrel Street, she didn’t tell them how. Christ, I don’t know if they can open it.”

  “What did she tell them, Brade? Exactly what?”

  “She told them—how to change into cats. It was a rhyme. A spell. Christ, this isn’t happening—it can’t be happening.”

  She moved away from him and picked up her keys from the dining table. She took his hand and led him out and down the steps and across the dim garden toward Anne’s darkened house. He watched the lane, the portal, trying to figure out what to do. He felt numb, incapable of thought.

  Morian unlocked Anne’s front door and pulled him inside and across the dark living room toward Tom’s room. The room smelled closed and musty. She leaned over the bed and shook the boy awake. He came up fighting and crying out, and she clapped her hand over his mouth. “Shut up. You don’t want to wake Anne.” She pulled him out of the bed, holding his hands so he couldn’t fight her. “Get dressed. Hurry up.”

  “Go to hell. Why should I get dressed? Leave me alone.”

  She twisted his arm behind him. “If you don’t get dressed at once I’ll wake Anne. I’ll tell her the truth—all of it.”

  The boy subsided and stooped to rummage on the floor for the pants and shirt he had dropped when he went to bed. He pulled them in angry jerks, glaring at them. When he was dressed and had tied his shoes, Morian propelled him out of the dark bedroom and out through the unlit house, down the steps and down through the garden. They entered the tool room and pushed through the crowd toward the stone wall, through the flickering light of an oil lamp. The boy stared at the crowd of people and cats as if he walked among snakes. Morian faced him toward the wall. “Open it.”

  He stared at her white-faced. “What are you talking about?”

  She twisted his arm until the boy dropped to his knees. “Open the wall.” When he didn’t move or speak she pulled him upright, shoved him against the wall, and slapped him. The crowd of Catswold folk watched her silently, intent and predatory. After seven slaps the boy began to whimper, soon he choked back a cry. Braden was growing alarmed for him when finally he whined, “I’ll open it. Stop hitting me and I’ll open it.”

  Morian smiled. She seemed to have no pity for the child, as if the fact of his youth did nothing to deceive her perception of his true nature. “Hurry up and open the wall. What is your name?”

  Braden said, “He is Wylles, prince of Affandar. Melissa told me that.”

  Wylles’ eyes raked Braden. But he whispered the words, his voice furtive and nearly inaudible. The wall swung away, revealing the black tunnel beneath the hill.

  Cats leaped pa
st them. A man pushed through, then two women. The smell of damp earth breathed out cold from the hollow blackness. Terrel hurried through swinging a lantern, glancing shyly at Braden. Someone behind Braden in the tool room said, “There are more lamps,” and soon five lanterns had been lit. Braden found he was gripping Wylles’ arm hard. He grabbed the canvas bag he had dropped earlier, when Melissa had slammed the wall in his face, and dragged the boy into the tunnel behind Terrel and the cats. Already the crowd of Catswold had disappeared into the dropping blackness. Digging his fingers into Wylles’ shoulder, Braden paused to look back into the tool room, at Morian.

  She stood beside the table, her dark eyes reflecting wonder and fear. She looked at him deeply for a long moment, then she turned away.

  “Close the wall,” Braden said hoarsely.

  Wylles’ spell swung the door closed with a hush of compressed air. They were in darkness. The faint light of the lanterns was fast disappearing ahead.

  Chapter 64

  The swinging light of the lanterns jabbed and shifted along the tunnel walls. The shadows of humans and cats tangled together hurrying down into earth. Voices interlaced in whispers, as if to speak too loudly might call forth from the earth things one would not want to summon. As the tunnel dropped, the glancing light picked out falling chasms, picked out stone slabs tilting over them. Spaces yawned, then suddenly the tunnel closed in, the walls soon pressed against Braden’s shoulders. Fear traveled with them, fear of being trapped beneath the earth. But his companions seemed unafraid. A powerful longing drew the Catswold on, a need Braden could only guess at as the Catswold hurried deeper down into the core of the earth. He felt above him the weight of tons of stone, and he began to sweat. He had never suffered from claustrophobia, but now a nearly uncontrollable fear gripped him; he fought the panic, fought a screaming need for space and air. If not for Melissa somewhere down there in that cavernous world he would have gone racing back to pound uselessly on the stone wall that separated him from the world of light and air, would have dug with his hands at the tunnel walls, trying to break through.