Twisted Fayrie Tales

by Sally Odgers

  * * * *

  With the birth of the next generation each kitten possessed some modicum of Kasin's being. When these kittens grew, they found their minds brimming with wit, innovation, and ambitions worthy of a deity.

  The cats gained a modest foothold in northern Africa and slowly began expanding their power and culture. Their warring eventually brought them to a position of utter dominance.

  Skysk snarled as he watched the events unfold from on high. “I misjudged you, cat. You are indeed clever. Yet, one of us is still ageless. I have ample time to plot against your people."

  The cats found that their vocal cords could be used for more than growls of rage and coos of pleasure. Their advanced new thoughts and feelings warranted words. They soon developed a complex and expressive language that the cats used to describe philosophies, sciences, and magics undreamt of since. They devised an alphabet to save their literature and analytical treatises for posterity. Yet such tremendous cultural advancements did not come by kindness alone.

  The cats believed that their culture could only thrive with leisure available. Some creatures, like the dogs and hawks, were used to gather food. Other animals were used as builders and scribes, like the nimble fingered primates with their opposable thumbs. This time, when feline supremacy over the animals of the ground and the firmament was unquestioned, was one of rapid progress.

  The gods were enraged by the mistreatment of their followers. Their jealousy and wrath birthed the desire to destroy the feline species with their own hooves, paws, and talons. But the old pact of noninterference was still in force. They knew they could not act directly, and their mortal acolytes were still too early in their evolution to be of sufficient use.

  While their immortal enemies seethed, the cats took precautions.

  With a force of workers thousands strong, and the best architectural and scientific minds on the planet, the cats built a massive city-ship large enough to hold an entire race.

  One shining day, the cats set their floating utopia asail in the Mediterranean. They left the continent behind them, as well as their enemies and freshly freed slaves. They washed the blood from their paws in the salt of the sea and had great hopes for the future.

  But the gods did not forget the old wars, the old slights. Gods have long memories—especially rat gods.

  Time passed, and the cats adjusted to their self-sufficiency and peace. When machinery fell into disrepair or when the structures were battered by sea-swells and storms, the cats sullied their own paws and worked to fix them. Yet, no one complained. They had agreed that slavery was a wicked practice, ill-suited to a highly developed society. The city held up well, even in the face of the most inclement weather, and there was ample time for dreaming and thinking.

  * * * *

  "I cannot imagine how our ancestors eked out their barbaric existence,” mused Kyrhepsi, her well-groomed white coat shimmering under the gaze of the rising sun. In times past, her bleached fur would have marked her for a quick death at the claws and fangs of the cats’ enemies, providing but poor camouflage. However, on the island, it did not hinder her chances of survival in the slightest.

  "Neither can I. It boggles the mind,” replied Xerkhsus, who walked beside her wearing a jet black coat that would have damned him in their ancestors’ day as well. “There is no time for true living when life itself is merely one long battle. But we must be grateful for the lives of our forbears. It is because of their sacrifices that we have such tranquility. And they live on in us no less than beneficent Kasin."

  They were a perfect match, representing the beauty unavailable in the past, and the bright future of all cat-kind. They met every morning to watch the sun rise. They strolled along the beach bordered by the sturdy sea-wall, paw in paw. It was difficult to manage walking with only three legs, but as a demonstration of their undying affection, the effort was worthwhile. And besides, they thought, time was on their side.

  They were both young and had chosen each other as mates at first sight. Xerkhsus was an apprentice meme-smith, on the verge of graduating to master. He was a prodigy whose memory was astounding. Every generation, a number of kittens were marked as meme-smiths, those who would take on the task of absorbing all the cats’ knowledge. The meme-smiths presence assured that if some catastrophe befell key thinkers or a fire ravaged the great library, the entirety of their culture would not be lost. Though a passive occupation, no one disputed its importance.

  Those who knew him suggested that the piece of Kasin that resided in Xerkhsus was omniscience. The young cat humbly shrugged off the grand compliments.

  Kyrhepsi could have been anything she wanted. Her body was lithe, her mind was quick, and her teeth were strong. She was a perfect representative of all things feline, and therefore, she had chosen to be a mother.

  "I know our babies will be proud and worthy additions to this roving island,” she said to Xerkhsus that fateful morn.

  "I look forward to seeing pieces of you in each one,” he replied, pausing to stroke her cheek. “But it's hard to see the future. Here, on this beach, with your sweet smell in my nose and the melody of your voice in my ears, nothing else really matters."

  "Yes,” said the white cat, “your voice is to my ears as honey is to my throat. I'd rather be blind or unable to smell, than lose my ability to hear your words, your musings, your every trivial thought.” Kyrhepsi smiled. Cats were better able to smile then.

  The harmonious symphony of the lovers’ voices was shattered by shrieks of terror and cries for help. Each released the forepaw of the other and, after one last embrace and a look that spoke volumes, ran off in separate directions. Both Kyrhepsi and Xerkhsus had aging parents and dozens of litter-mates to check upon.

  The cats had sailed on their city-ship for longer than their scribes had recorded, and all the while Skysk had been slowly implementing his plan. He had worked his own followers, generation after generation, nearly to death in his pursuit.

  On the day the cats set their city adrift in the sea, the rat god ordered his people to board the vessel surreptitiously. They set up hundreds of warrens within the belly of the structure, in the sewer system the cats had designed, and the primates had built. It was so cleverly devised that it had required no service. Not one cat had ever entered the underworld where the rats worked.

  It had taken nigh on forever, but the rats had finished their tunnels. They had dug shafts straight down, beneath the city, below the sewers, and into the sea. And early that morning, as the two lovers strolled before the high wall that kept the sea from the city, while the other cats lay asleep and dreaming wondrous dreams, the water poured up from the sewers.

  Skysk grinned mightily as the glorious cat-city sank.

  By the time the lovers heard the screams and started sprinting home, almost everyone was already dead. Countless cats drowned within the confines of their own homes. Those who escaped found themselves trapped in the city by the very sea-wall that had provided their erstwhile protection. Before the water reached the top of the wall, they had all succumbed to the sea.

  After the city was gone—buried in the water all within a sunrise—Xerkhsus awoke alone in life. He watched with tear-blurred vision as an army of rats swam away.

  The black cat had made his way back to that sad beach. He had treaded water alongside thousands of his kith and kin. Eventually, he had passed into unconsciousness. Yet, his life had been spared by the sheer number of corpses that littered the water's surface. The cadavers had formed a grim raft that kept him afloat during his ragged slumber.

  He decided to chance the dangers of the churning water, rather than ride the morbid vehicle, and dove into the sea.

  After fistfuls of water and countless nights and days had come and gone, he reached the shores of the northern African lands the cats had abandoned so long ago. “The water is a vicious thing,” he whispered with his salt-scarred voice as he dragged himself ashore. “It has taken everything I love, and I shall never enter it again."

/>   The black cat walked the Egyptian beaches and the banks of the Nile for many moons, searching for his lost love, Kyrhepsi.

  Skysk saw that the cat still lived and ordered his rats to finish their task. Yet, when the little beasts came at Xerkhsus, wave after wave, he slew them. The swim had strengthened his muscles and the sand-walking had sharpened his claws. The rats, on the other hand, had spent ages underground, and their evolution had suffered for it. Their growth had been stunted, and their minds dulled. They could no longer walk upright as they once had.

  * * * *

  Xerkhsus, his search appearing futile and his days nothing but carnage, decided to end his life. He climbed a tall lonely tree surrounded by rocks. Mourning his many losses, he hurled himself from the top.

  Yet, he did not find death at the bottom. Phaethin, god of birds, came to him and lent him the lightness of his followers.

  "I will not thank you, bird. I want only release."

  "I seek not your thanks. Before setting off, your people were the scourge of mine. I have come to grant you nine lives, one for each of my radiant tail feathers. May your remaining lives bring you only more sorrow."

  "And in payment,” Xerkhsus snarled, “I will use those lives to kill as many birds as I can."

  The nomadic cat found no use for his voice in his solitary life. He growled and hissed often, and he howled every night for the missing piece of his heart.

  "What use are words when there is no one to hear them,” the ebon-cat cried. “My voice only reminds me of my lost loved ones. I need no more remorse or reminders of remorse. I swear that my kind will never speak again."

  Ekinai, goddess of vows, was inexorably drawn by Xerkhsus’ words. Smiling sadly, she scribbled his oath in her book, making it permanent and unbreakable. The goddess’ omniscience brought her knowledge that Xerkhsus lacked. She knew the oath would torment the cat-kin for all time. And Ekinai knew that Kasin, though his being had become but a mist in the cats’ souls, would feel a fraction of their pain, mirroring the sting of her own solitude.

  Skysk watched the events unfold, bristling with satisfaction. “Finally, cat, my vengeance is sated. Yet, the battle between us will likely go on forever."

  One day, Xerkhsus spied a familiar white-furred cat inside a dwelling clearly constructed by primate hands. Immediately, he knew his days of wandering were at an end. While enslaved by the cats, the primates had taught themselves many things. They had found Kyrhepsi and nursed her back to health with medical knowledge she had not thought them capable of possessing.

  Though neither cat could speak any longer, the look in their eyes, echoing that last look on the beach, spoke well enough.

  As they embraced, each lover emitted a noise, not quite a growl, not quite a coo of pleasure, but the only sound they had left with which to express their monumental delight at being reunited.

  From the black cat and the white, a new rainbow-hued race began. They allowed the humans to look after them, and Xerkhsus tried to share with them the advanced knowledge of the ancients still firmly fixed in his skull. He scratched out letters in the sand for them and purred when they seemed to catch on.

  The two raised their young kittens, their god's children, and knew that even though the old wars would continue, at least there was a future for cat-kind. They could no longer express themselves with their old voices, but they were ever proud and wise beyond words.

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  It Can't Be Mine

  By

  Jane Toombs

  Jolene Conklin glanced at the mirror by the front door one last time before leaving her cottage. Okay, so she didn't have a bod to die for and her face was marred by that damn scar above her lip. A small consolation that the scar didn't give away the fact she had no sense of smell—the one flaw she could hide.

  Hurrying down the alley to the outlet street, she focused on her destination: Deadly, the new pseudo-vamp club on Heartwood Street in Wabush. Her sometime friend Mags always said they lived under the thumb of Michigan's Lower Peninsula.

  The June night, lit by a waning moon, wafted a cool breeze that lifted strands of her dark hair. The breeze probably carried the scent of roses, she thought, since she'd passed a fence loaded with blossoms she couldn't smell. Would she find him tonight, the darkly handsome, dangerous lover she dreamed of? Jolene grimaced. Even if she did, she wouldn't be his first choice. Or even a second or third choice. For anyone.

  When she neared the club, she assessed the funky black skull shimmering on the Deadly sign over the door. Not bad. Still, she'd made up her mind not to expect too much of the place. The dark interior made it difficult to identify any of the crowd she sometimes hung with.

  As she hesitated by the bar, Derr materialized beside her. “Figured you chickened out,” he said. “Good thing you didn't. Got someone you oughta meet."

  Jolene stiffened. Always pushing losers her way. “I don't think so."

  "Mags says you're looking for the real thing, but if you're not interested..."

  Was it possible? A while back, under the influence of one glass of wine too many, she'd described her dream man to Mags, something she'd regretted ever since.

  "So, you up for it or not?"

  "Yeah, I guess.” She followed Derr toward a table in the back of the room, trying not to expect much, if anything.

  Then she saw him—tall, dark and handsome, the man fortune tellers always predict women are about to meet. He turned toward her and smiled, revealing very white teeth. Was there something odd about his incisors? Her heart rate speeded.

  "Aaron Knowles.” His voice was smooth and sexy. “You must be Jolene. I've been waiting to meet you."

  Though he was dressed the same as more than half the men in the place—all in black, with, naturally, a cape—the clothes looked completely right on him. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Her knees quivered.

  Jolene well knew she was far from the most attractive woman at the table, but Aaron's attention remained focused on her. He sat down after she did and murmured, “You're just as I imagined you'd be."

  Square-built and chunky, with a facial scar? Her hand flew up to cover her lip.

  Aaron caught it in mid-flight. “A slight, charming flaw makes a woman even more sexy."

  He leaned toward her, his lips so close to hers she couldn't catch her breath. No man had ever told her she was sexy, much less acted like she was. Could she believe him? Still, he'd chosen her, and it looked very much as though he was going to kiss her right here at the table in front of them all. She could hardly wait.

  Derr's derisive voice broke the spell. “Hey, get a room."

  Jolene glanced at the others. When she caught the tail-end of a smirk on Mags’ face, she realized Aaron was an exact duplicate of the dream lover she'd told her friend about. This was fantasy, not reality.

  "I can hardly wait to taste you,” Aaron purred. “Should we?"

  Should they what? Get a room? Jolene leaned away from him, shattered by her disillusion. Remnants of pride forced her to try to cover up. “If you were the real thing, I might be interested. But you're obviously not. A sham vampire in a pseudo-vamp club.” She started to get up.

  Aaron caught her arm. “Look, honey, you're no prize. I hear you live not far from that old graveyard, so if you want the real thing, your best bet is to hang out there. If one of the true undead is hungry enough not to be picky you might catch him straight from the coffin."

  Jolene jerked away from him and stalked off, the hoots of laughter behind her fusing anger with her hurt. How dare they!

  Furious, she headed for home, not noticing what route she was taking until the moon's silver rays shone on the Woodland Weir sign at the gates of the old, no-longer-used cemetery. She stopped and glared at the sign. Why had she detoured two blocks out of her way? Certainly not because of that bastard Aaron's suggestion.

  About to retrace her steps, from the corner of her eye she caught movement inside the cemetery fence and paused to take
a better look. What was that dark figure between those two tombstones? It wore a cape. Anger burned away the initial sliver of fear. Once wasn't enough for them, hoping to fool her the second time, they'd planted another fake in Woodland Weir.

  Damn every last one of them. Well, she'd show ‘em. Stomping over to the gate, she tried it. Locked, as she'd figured. To get in she'd have to climb over the iron spokes of the tall fence. No way could she do that.

  Unwilling to give up, Jolene eyed a large maple next to the fence with a branch extending over it. She'd climbed trees as a kid, and this one looked easy. Luckily she'd worn pants instead of a skirt tonight. A quick survey of the area showed no pedestrians in sight. After waiting until a lone car passed, she jumped and caught the branch hanging over the fence and swung herself up onto it.

  Moments later, she let herself down into the cemetery. The fake vampire had moved on, but she soon spotted him among the grave markers. “Gotcha,” she muttered.

  The closer she got to him, the odder the cape looked to her. Finally she realized it wasn't cloth at all, but hair. Incredibly long hair—no doubt a wig. Though he appeared to be naked, he looked lumpy, as though globs of play dough were stuck all over him. Green play dough. Weird.

  "They're sure going to a lot of trouble to try to suck me in again,” she snapped. “You ought to be ashamed."

  "Ashamed?” His voice sounded rusty, as though he wasn't used to speaking.

  "Oh, stop acting. You're no more a vampire than I am."

  "You're not afraid of me?"

  "Why should I be?"

  "Most humans fear ghouls."

  "So that's what you're supposed to be?"

  "I am what I am."

  "You sound like Popeye."

  "Who?” Tremorg was completely perplexed. What did this human female want with him? He well knew his odor was so offensive to humans they stayed as far away as possible from the smell, never so much as catching even a glimpse of him. But she seemed oblivious.