The Prince Who Fell from the Sky

by John Claude Bemis

  “It’s not entrails, old bear,” Dumpster replied. “It’s a device.”

  “A what?”

  “A device. Like the box for its food. The Old Devils don’t drink from streams or puddles like us. Watch.”

  After a moment the child reattached the tube and slid the bag into the fold on his back. The child put his lips around the tube protruding from his shoulder and took a deep drink.

  Dumpster gave a squeaking laugh. “See! It’s for drinking.”

  The child undid a flap on his leg. Casseomae half-expected blood to spill, for raw muscle to be exposed, but the interior was the same shimmering blue as the outside. The child took out a package of food, pulled it open, and began eating the lump from the crinkling covering.

  Casseomae felt her muscles relax. The cub was strange, but not so appalling once she understood his ways.

  She followed Dumpster across the creek, but as they looked back, the child remained squatted on the rock.

  Casseomae grunted irritably. “We’ve moved at a toad’s pace all morning.”

  “Well, then pick the pup up again!” Dumpster said.

  “And contend with his racket?” She was tired of it. A mother shouldn’t have to tote her cub. A cub should obey. But she supposed he wasn’t really her cub.

  The child ate the last bite of the food and dropped the package to the ground.

  “Let’s just start walking,” Dumpster said. “He’ll follow us.”

  “I don’t know,” Casseomae said, feeling a knot of unease in her breast.

  “Trust me, he won’t want to get left behind.”

  Dumpster began climbing up the mossy embankment. With a backward glance at the cub, Casseomae ascended after him. About halfway up, she said, “He’s not coming. I’ll have to carry him.”

  Dumpster stopped and rose on his hind legs, sniffing.

  “You’ll have to be a lot taller than that if you want to scare the cub into walking,” Casseomae muttered.

  “Your nose is better than mine, bear. Don’t you smell that?”

  Before Casseomae could catch the scent, she knew instantly she should have trusted her instinct not to leave the cub. A pale gold form slipped silently from the bracken behind the child. The creature slunk forward with the kind of grace and precision that only cats have.

  But this was no mere puss. This was a cougar, and one of the biggest ones Casseomae had ever seen.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Casseomae barreled down the embankment. The child sprang up in fright at her sudden approach, slipping on the slimy boulder and toppling into the creek. Casseomae hit the water with a splash and rose up on her hind legs as the cougar struck, his teeth catching the edge of the child’s blue hide, barely missing his neck.

  Casseomae smashed her massive paw against the cougar’s head. The cat tumbled into the creek, howling and throwing up a spray of water. Sitting up, the child saw the cougar for the first time and screamed. Casseomae moved between him and the cougar and roared, angry spirals of saliva dripping from her teeth.

  The cat leaped to the side, but Casseomae bit down on his thick tail and slung him away. The cougar yowled as he came at her again, this time twisting in midair and landing on her back. He sank his teeth into her neck.

  Casseomae had fought cougars before. When it came to a carcass, she could drive the big cats away without blood being spilled. Cougars were quick to determine if they had the advantage and were not ones to take injuries over a simple meal.

  This cougar was not after something to eat. He fought too ferociously. And in that instant, she remembered Alioth’s warning and understood. This was the Ogeema’s assassin.

  Although she felt blood spilling down her neck, Casseomae wasn’t worried. Her throat was thickly armored with fat. She could withstand this assault a little longer.

  The cat clawed at her face, searching for her eyes. Roaring, Casseomae stood on her hind legs and fell back, hoping to break the cougar’s ribs. But the cougar let go before he landed and leaped away.

  Casseomae jumped to her feet. The child was running away, already out of the creek and climbing the embankment. He was fumbling for something in one of his pouches. The cat was right behind him.

  With blood in her eyes, Casseomae charged after them, knowing she would never reach the cub in time.

  As the cougar lifted a paw to strike, the child turned and held up a small object. It flashed a bright blue light in the cat’s eyes.

  The cougar reared back in alarm. Casseomae fell on him, biting to the bone in the cougar’s back leg before pinning him to the ground with her paws on his back.

  “Did the Ogeema send you?” she roared.

  Dazed, the cougar rolled his eyes in pain and spat, “What are you doing, wicked bear? Don’t you see what danger it brings? You would forsake the Forest for this Skinless devil?”

  Casseomae flinched at the cougar’s words. In that moment, the cougar slipped out from beneath her. He scrambled to the top of the embankment and disappeared into the Forest, his back leg dragging.

  Casseomae sniffed the child for injuries, but he was unharmed. He sat on the embankment with the little glowing object still in his hands and stared at Casseomae. His sky-colored eyes filled with moisture and sent streams down his face. He chirped something to her quietly.

  “You’re safe, cub,” she breathed. “He’s gone.” She licked his salty face to calm him. The cub didn’t flinch from her, but he did wipe his arm across the place where she’d licked.

  “Cass,” Dumpster said as he scampered up from the creek bank. “You’re still in one piece. That cat was a nasty one! I haven’t seen another like him. Are you hurt? You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

  Casseomae turned her neck side to side and licked her long tongue across her snout. The wounds would heal. Pain barely registered for her.

  “The cub is alive. That’s all that matters.”

  “No, all that matters is that we get out of here,” Dumpster squeaked, “before he comes back!”

  “He won’t come back,” Casseomae said. “The Ogeema sent him. The cougar missed his chance.”

  Dumpster looked wide-eyed at the child before scrambling after him and Casseomae. It wasn’t until the three were winding their way through the massive trunks away from the creek that Casseomae realized the child was walking by her side. A feeling of satisfaction crept into her. He was acting like a good cub now.

  By nightfall, they reached a tree marked with deep scratches down the bark.

  “What do those mean?” Dumpster asked.

  Casseomae gave a huff of relief. “We’ve reached the border of Chief Alioth’s range. And if we’re leaving my sloth’s range that means we’re also leaving the Ogeema’s territory.”

  “But whose territory are we entering?” Dumpster asked.

  Casseomae licked again at the crusted blood on her snout before lumbering forward. “I don’t know,” she said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That night they slept in the ruins of a burned-out building. Dumpster disappeared under a sheet of rusted metal, while the child lay down against a brick wall not far from Casseomae. Later, with the moonlight coming down in silver streams through the trees, Casseomae rose to forage for moths. As soon as she stood, the child sat up and whimpered.

  “I won’t go far, cub,” she said. “Keep sleeping.”

  When she ambled away, the child followed her. “Go on back now,” she snorted. But the child would not leave her. She caught some of the fluttering brown morsels before returning to the ruins so the cub would get some rest.

  After he lay back down, the child took something from one of his pouches. It was the object he had used to startle the cougar. A square of light appeared, casting a bluish glow onto the cub’s face. Casseomae snorted curiously. The cub said something to her and then fidgeted with the object.

  It looked like a piece of the sky, blue and steady and peaceful. Maybe the cub had brought a part of his home with him, she thought. Something to protect h
im from danger.

  Her eyes grew heavy with sleep. When she looked up a little later, the square of light was gone, and the cub was sleeping.

  Later in the night she was woken by a scent. The moon had set, and the Forest was dark and resounding with insect song. She stepped from the ruins. The acrid smell was from a canine. It could have been a wolf or a coyote or even a fox. She wasn’t certain. What was important was that it wasn’t the cougar. And it couldn’t have been one of the Ogeema’s wolves, not yet. The assassin wouldn’t have had time to get back to the Ogeema and report what had happened.

  But when the Ogeema found out, what would he do?

  The cougar would surely report that they were traveling away from Chief Alioth’s range. Hopefully the sloth wouldn’t be punished for her crime. And hopefully when the Ogeema learned that the Skinless One was nothing more than a cub, he would lose interest.

  But Casseomae realized that she herself was troubled by the cub. The cougar had said the cub brought danger to the Forest. Could he? Cubs were helpless, but cubs grew into powerful warriors, just as Alioth had. What if this cub grew up to be a monster, like the Skinless Ones from the stories?

  She gave an angry snort. No matter what he became when he was grown, there would only ever be just him. One Skinless couldn’t harm the Forest. And she would raise him to honor and love their home.

  The idea surprised her. Saving the cub from Rend and Alioth was one thing, but raising the cub as her own was another. She had seen many winters. She had lost all her own cubs. This might be her last chance. If she could only bring him somewhere safe. But where?

  As she turned to go back inside, Dumpster emerged. “How do you expect a rat to sleep with all your stomping around?” He sat back on his haunches. “What’s troubling you, Cass?”

  Casseomae snorted. “We’ve left the Ogeema’s territory, but we’ll be in another pack’s territory before long. They might even pay tribute to the Ogeema. If the Ogeema sends word to look for the cub, how can I ever hope to get the cub somewhere safe? Unless …”

  Dumpster twitched his whiskers. “Unless what?”

  Casseomae peered down at him. “Those Havenlands.”

  The rat’s black eyes bulged. “Have you been eating toads?”

  “You said yourself that your mischief is looking for them.”

  Dumpster flattened his whiskers. “Well, my da always said, ‘When you’re out of choices, better to run for the shadows than to wait for a hole to appear.’ ”

  Casseomae sat in silence a moment. “You said that the Havenlands are rumored to be by the Wide Waters. Which way is that?”

  “The same way we’re going,” the rat said. “The same way I followed my mischief out from the city. Toward Sun’s Birth.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll go,” Casseomae said.

  Dumpster twitched his whiskers, but he didn’t argue.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The following afternoon they were passing through an area with a surprising number of relics when Dumpster gave an excited squeak and hurried ahead.

  “What do you smell?” Casseomae called, but the rat had already disappeared through the underbrush.

  As she and the child followed, Casseomae found that the vegetation gave way to smooth slabs of stone she’d seen before. Dig down in her meadow, and there was this sort of Skinless’s rock. It made the ancient paths that crisscrossed the Forest, trails that were now half-buried under dirt and leaves and vegetation.

  When she reached Dumpster, she saw they were standing on one of those paths, but one much bigger than any she’d seen before. Toward the setting sun, side-by-side trails of broken rock disappeared into the Forest, each path as wide as a river. Surveying the other direction, Casseomae was amazed to see that the twin paths rose above the treetops.

  The rat scampered around the decaying relics, sniffing furiously as he climbed up the slope. Casseomae hesitated, having never been above the trees. When she caught up with the rat, he was at a place where the Skinless’s path had collapsed. The path resumed a short distance away across a gap. The child lay on his belly to peer down over the broken edge at the debris and giant slabs lying in the Forest below.

  “What is this thing?” Casseomae said.

  “This, my mossy-brained bear, is a highway,” Dumpster said.

  Casseomae snorted. “The name fits. It certainly is high.”

  The child cried out, his voice echoing across the landscape.

  Dumpster said, “This is the way to go. Stormdrain would want to follow a highway. A little piece of the city out here in the Forest, you see.”

  “Well, we can’t go over the edge,” Casseomae said.

  “Course not, mushroom brain. Get the pup.” He scampered back the way they’d come.

  At the bottom of the hill, they turned and traveled beside it until they’d passed the hole in the highway above. After a time, the path descended until it rejoined the Forest floor. In places it was consumed by vegetation and earth.

  All along the way there were rusted and vine-strangled relics. The child touched their frames curiously as he passed them. “What did the Skinless Ones use these relics for?” Casseomae asked.

  Dumpster twitched his whiskers importantly. “For moving around. Sort of like that passering starship the cub came down in, except these cars only went on the ground. That’s why they made highways.”

  Casseomae considered this. “Why? Couldn’t they walk?”

  The rat gave an amused squeak. “Well, of course they could walk. Look at that pup there. He walks. But he’s only got two feet. How do you expect him to move fast on two feet?”

  “I’ve seen him run pretty fast,” Casseomae said.

  “Cars helped them go even faster,” Dumpster said.

  “Why were they in such a hurry?” Casseomae asked.

  Dumpster scampered ahead. “Scratch if I know, old bear.”

  They followed the highway as long shadows stretched down their path. Once the sun had set, Dumpster skittered to Casseomae’s side. “Hey, Cass, I smell something.”

  “I smell it too,” she said. “Something follows us, but don’t—”

  Dumpster spun around. The damage done, Casseomae looked back as well. She saw a shadow shift as a creature disappeared behind a rusted-out relic far down the highway.

  “You see it?” Dumpster asked.

  “Yeah,” Casseomae grunted as she started walking again. “I saw it.”

  “Is it the cougar?”

  “No, it’s not the cougar.”

  Dumpster skittered in erratic leaps and scampers. “So what is it? Coyote?”

  “Too big,” Casseomae said. “Probably a wolf.”

  The child walked along, glancing curiously at a large sheet of metal that hung above the highway. Casseomae looked back over her shoulder, but the highway behind them was empty.

  “Could be a scout,” she grunted. “We must have entered a pack’s territory.”

  Casseomae slept uneasily that night. Every bird woke her. She paced around the sleeping child, catching the occasional waft of the canine scent. The creature had not moved on around them in the night as she had hoped but lurked out there in the darkness.

  She settled near the child, who was splayed in the leaves in the most vulnerable of sleeping positions, on his back with his belly exposed. With her snout, she nudged him onto his side. He didn’t wake, but as he curled up next to her he reached out to settle a hand on her forepaw. Casseomae licked at his fingers to soothe herself as much as the murmuring cub.

  Strange. They were more similar than she would have thought. His fingers were in many ways like her claws. Not so powerful or deadly, but he could do agile things with those narrow fingers, just as she could pry open a mussel shell or tear off bark. And she and the cub both stood on their hind legs and could walk that way too. Wasn’t it odd that bears could do that when wolves and deer could not?

  The Skinless Ones were ancient enemies of the Forest, but this little cub was so weak.
He had none of the natural weapons given to the creatures of the Forest, no fangs or claws or antlers. He hadn’t even been able to smell the cougar and only realized it was there when it was already on him. She supposed it was their devices that had allowed the Skinless Ones to dominate the Forest. But the cub’s little device did nothing more than flash a surprising display of light. That would do little to protect him from the voras who would want him dead.

  Casseomae’s concern for the cub made her restless. It made her want to keep moving, to flee, which was a strange and unfamiliar sensation for a bear. But the impulse to get the cub away from harm, to keep him safe, was some deep-down tug she couldn’t contain.

  In the morning, Casseomae and Dumpster foraged as they traveled, and the child—never close enough to touch Casseomae but never more than a quick dash away—ate one of his lumps of food.

  Casseomae found herself having to listen to Dumpster’s endless lectures on the artifacts and relics they passed: poles strung with wires that carried electricity to feed the Skinless Ones’ devices, billboards that had established territories along the highway like scent markings, gas stations for their vehicles to drink foul-smelling chemicals, and on and on.

  She understood only the vaguest notions of what the rat was talking about, but she endured it all silently and kept a close eye on the cub as she smelled the creature following them.

  By midday, they reached a creek, where the highway rose up again. Once, the highway had spanned the creek in what Dumpster called a bridge, but the bridge had long ago collapsed. As the child filled up his drinking device and Casseomae lapped at the cool water, the rat said, “We’re still being followed, aren’t we?”

  A rumble of aggravation sounded from Casseomae’s throat. “What I want to do is hide the cub and go fight this scout once and for all. Get it off our tails.”

  “The pup would never do that. He might keep his distance, but he’s been stuck to you like a briar since that cougar.”

  “I know,” she growled. “And if I went back after this wolf, it would simply run away.”

  “Only to bring back its pack,” Dumpster added. “But why hasn’t it done that already?”