“Yes. But what—?”
“A monstrous storm is coming. We call it the Volontaro. We would not be safe in the caves where we usually stay during the blizzards. There is only one cave in this part of Lidian that is safe and big enough for all of us. We are going there soon.”
“Are the creasia coming too?”
“Yes, but don’t be afraid. We have a treaty agreement during the Volontaro.”
“Then…this happens often?”
“There is a chance of a Volontaro every year.”
At that moment, the ferryshaft herd surged towards the cliff. Storm understood his mother’s warning immediately. The animals ran fast and close together. A small ferryshaft might easily have been trampled.
The situation did not improve as they entered the rocks. The herd’s anxiety seemed to escalate into a near-stampede. Storm had to concentrate to stay on his feet, and he wondered again how the rest of his clique was faring.
When they reached the foot of the cliffs, the herd went straight up a trail. Storm had never used this path himself, although he had seen it. Tracer had told him that the path led to a stone bridge that spanned the Garu Vell, and the clique avoided anything to do with the Vell.
The path was broader than he had imagined, with room for at least six ferryshaft to walk abreast. Up the cliffs they galloped, rising higher and higher, and all the while moving steadily south towards the Igby. They passed over the river, where it spilled out of the cliff below. The banks seemed deserted, the surrounding plain very dark. The wind was making an appalling shriek among the rocks.
Soon, Storm noticed that the animals ahead were muttering and snapping at each other, crowding more closely together. Storm turned all his attention to the twin tasks of staying on his feet and keeping near So-fet. Even Dover was no longer with them.
Presently, Storm noticed that the animals ahead were thinning and forming a line. Finally he could breathe. Then the animal in front of Storm stepped forward, and Storm found himself on the verge of an abyss. He reared and tried to back up, but the ferryshaft behind pushed impatiently. For one awful moment, Storm thought they would send him over the edge.
Then he saw it—a narrow thread of rock, only about half a length across, spanning the entire Vell. A line of ferryshaft were laboring over it, nose to tail on the slender bridge, heads down, eyes fixed on their feet.
Storm felt another shove behind him and heard a muffled curse. “Move!”
He gulped, heart racing, and skidded down the last few lengths onto the bridge. The wind hit him full force, and Storm struggled to keep his balance. One brief glance into the yawning emptiness told him that he should not look down. “Just keep your eyes on the path, Storm,” came his mother’s voice a couple of animals behind him. “Just look at your hooves.”
For what seemed an eternity, Storm struggled over the bridge. His heart pounded in his throat, and his legs wobbled as though they were made of mud.
At last, Storm felt the force of the wind decrease, saw other animals around him, and realized that he had stepped off the bridge. The cave beyond was dim. He sensed, however, that it was vast, with a high ceiling and a great many animals jostling around him. Then a ferryshaft to his rear kicked him, and he realized that he was obstructing traffic. Disoriented, Storm stumbled forward.
In the confusion, he realized that what he had feared had happened—he could not see So-fet. Storm raised a tentative voice, calling her name through the crowd, but he was one of many doing the same thing. Still, she’d been only a few animals behind him, and he was almost certain that she’d made it off the bridge. Trying to reassure himself, Storm pushed his way deeper in the cave, away from the chaos around the entry point.
He found the back of the cavern moderately calm, with many ferryshaft lying down to sleep. He noted the distracting smell of creasia, though he could not see them. No one seemed concerned, so he tried to ignore the unnerving smell. The floor of the cave was soft with sand, probably blown in through the large mouth, which was almost as wide as the cavern itself.
Storm worked his way to a wall and lay down, damp, cold, and exhausted. Now he understood why his mother had commanded him to eat. Who knows how long it will be before we see grass again.
For the moment, however, Storm felt safe. Not far away, a clique of older foals was quietly telling stories. Storm couldn’t understand the words, but he felt comforted by their cheerful tone. Lulled by the patter of rain and the soft breathing of resting animals, Storm began to doze.
Somewhere nearby, a mother ferryshaft sang softly to her foal:
Chase me if you must
Catch me if you can
But never, never think that you can kill me
I have a thousand faces.
It was an old lullaby that Storm had heard times beyond counting. The tune was so familiar that he hardly thought about the words. They ran round and round in his head as he drifted off to sleep.
“A thousand faces…a thousand faces…we have a thousand faces.”
Chapter 19. A Line in Stone
In his dream, he saw her running—that foal who had not yet seen the end of her first winter…and never would. The creasia pursued her, muscles bunching and stretching beneath sleek, dark fur. As Storm watched, the foal spun on the ice to confront her pursuer. Storm saw her face—Tollee’s face.
“No!” he shouted. “Run! Don’t fight! You can’t win! Run!”
But she jumped at the cat, snarling, and there was a slash of claws and a scream and entrails steaming on the ice. The cat turned to Storm and roared. The noise was horrible, so loud that it didn’t even sound like an animal. Storm ran, but he knew he couldn’t escape. The roaring grew louder.
Then someone kicked him.
Storm opened his eyes and looked up at a glaring adult ferryshaft. “Stop kicking,” she hissed.
Storm realized that he’d been running in his sleep. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “It’s the smell…the cats.”
She huffed and lay back down. Storm had to raise his voice to be heard, and he realized that the roaring in his dream was real. The wind was screaming among the rocks outside, but apart from that came a howling, rumbling noise that grew louder by the moment.
The Volontaro.
It came out of the west and raced screaming up the Vell from the sea. Then it was outside, obscuring the mouth of the cave in a blinding sheet of rain. Storm heard boulders crashing down the cliffs. That’s why the other caves are unsafe, he thought.
After a while, Storm’s fear diminished, although the wind and rain continued to batter the cliff. He no longer felt at all sleepy, and he was seized by a desire for a closer look at this greatest-of-all storms. So he rose, picking his way carefully between resting ferryshaft, and approached the mouth of the cave. He passed the last of the ferryshaft long before reaching the edge.
Storm crept cautiously over the wet rock. Wind-driven rain tore at his fur, but he pressed on until he could peer down into the tempest. It took him a moment to understand what he heard, what he could glimpse through the rain. The Garu Vell was underwater! The surf, which normally lapped on the beach, was pounding in the rock mazes. Boulders, he guessed, must be shifting like pebbles underfoot. Even from this height, Storm could hear a distant grinding and see the flash of whitewater.
He jumped as something grabbed him from behind. Storm tried to turn, but was swept off his feet as the intruder gripped him behind the head and dragged him back into the cave. Storm pulled free and spun around to find his mother glaring at him. He was relieved to see her, although he gathered from her expression that she disapproved of forays to the lip of the cliff. The noise of the storm made conversation impossible, so he merely turned and followed her back into the cave.
* * * *
Storm woke to weak morning sunlight. He felt warm and comfortable, lying against his mother among other sleeping ferryshaft. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. The wind was still blowing outside, but with less violence, and the rain had stop
ped.
Storm wondered what the rest of the cave looked like. His impressions from last night had been muddled by the dark and by crowds of pushing, half-panicked animals. Curious, Storm rose and looked around. He appeared to be toward the western end of a vast, wide-mouthed cavern. Rock formations partially obscured his view. Resting ferryshaft covered the floor for as far as he could see, which was, admittedly, not very far. Storm thought he heard water near the pile of rocks towards the center of the cave.
Stepping carefully to avoid waking anyone, Storm made his way east. When he reached a rock formation, he clamored up and finally got a decent view of the cave. The creasia were at the eastern end. He could see the brindled brown and black and gold of their coats covering the cave floor in that direction. Very near the center of the cave mouth, he could see the bridge. Towards the ferryshaft side of the bridge, a shallow stream crossed the cave floor. He must have splashed through it last night, but probably hadn’t noticed, as wet as he’d already been.
He did not see any ferryshaft beyond the stream now. However, he also saw no sign of violence, nor did he smell any blood. As he watched, a ferryshaft approached the stream and drank before moving away. It must be safe.
Still moving cautiously, Storm climbed to the ground and picked his way through the ferryshaft herd until he reached the stream. The cave floor was uneven, and he couldn’t actually see any of the resting creasia from the spot where he chose to drink. He found that he was quite thirsty after the previous day’s exertions. The stream was little more than a shallow sheet of water running over stone, and Storm had to lap at it for some moments to get an adequate drink.
When he raised his head, he was surprised to see movement about twenty paces away on the far side of the stream. A small animal seemed to be staggering around on the ground. Storm reared up on his hind legs to get a better view. It looked like a rock rat—possibly sick or injured.
Storm’s stomach rumbled, and he had to swallow his saliva. He hadn’t expected to find any food in the cave. He put a foot in the stream.
“Don’t go over there.” Storm turned to see an adult ferryshaft—a stranger to him—bending to drink. “They’re just trying to trick you,” said the stranger without looking at him. “This is our side. Stay here.”
Storm sat down in surprise.
After a moment, a small creasia slunk out of the rocks. Storm was even more surprised. It was a cub, standing no higher than Storm’s own shoulder. Still, it could easily have killed him. The cub scooped up its prey and sat watching the two ferryshaft, the injured rat still squirming in its jaws.
“See,” said the adult. “They play this game with new foals or young adults who’ve never been through a Volontaro before.”
Storm stared at the adult. “That cub would have killed me if I’d gone for the rat?”
The adult just looked at him as though he were an infant.
“But why won’t they come after us over here?” persisted Storm.
“That’s the treaty,” said the adult simply. “This is our side. That is the agreement.” He turned and walked back toward the herd. Storm remained by the stream a little longer, but the cub was leering at him in a way that made his skin prickle. To his consternation, the cub started down towards the stream as if to drink. Storm backed off and made to leave.
However, just as he was turning away, something caught his attention. On the lip of the rise behind the stream, just on the edge of his line of sight, he saw a tall stone with a relatively flat face. On this surface, someone had scratched an enormous stick shape. Storm blinked hard. It was exactly the sort of shape that he’d been finding in the caves by the spring feeding grounds. He’d never seen such a large one in such an open place.
Storm glanced at the cub. He was almost certain now that she was female. She’d set the rat on the ground, still half-alive, and was lapping water as though Storm were not present. Feeling suddenly bold, he said, “Do you know what that marking is on the rock in the center of the cave?”
She glanced up with a look of surprise. There was a long pause. Finally, her mouth twitched. “Come over here, and I’ll tell you.” Her speech was slow and heavily accented, but Storm could understand. It was the first time he’d ever understood something a creasia had said.
Storm bristled. “You already have enough to eat.”
The cat yawned, showing all her teeth. “Does one ever really have enough?”
“You don’t kill us because you need to eat.”
The cub watched him. “Maybe not. Not always.”
“Why, then?”
She licked her lips and looked away. “You’d better stay on your side of the stream, little ferryshaft. My father is hungry, and a rat won’t satisfy him.” She turned and stalked off.
Storm went looking for Pathar. He wanted to know about the large marking. Instead, he found Tracer and Leep, looking exhausted and hungry where they huddled with a number of other low-ranking ferryshaft. Storm felt guilty. He sometimes forgot that his mother, though not prominent, still gave him resources and a degree of protection unavailable to his friends.
“We can’t find Ishy,” Tracer said at once. “We’ve been all through the herd. Mylo thinks he fell or got trampled.”
Storm felt a sudden heaviness. He’d not known Ishy well. The foal had been withdrawn and quiet since the death of his brother. Still, Storm had assumed that he would recover with time.
“We may be replacing him,” said Leep dully, “with a female Callaris found. Her father died last winter before she was born, and she hasn’t found her mother since the initial rush to the cave. She asked Callaris to be her rogan. He’s already fought off two other males and is about to engage a third. Mylo is helping him.” Leep made a vague gesture towards the distant cave wall. “What have you been up to?”
Storm told them about the boundary stream and the cub’s deadly trick with the rat. He did not try to explain the strange marking and how it reminded him of others he’d seen last spring.
Tracer’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s good to know. I was about to get a drink.” He shuddered. “Maybe I’ll just wait. I heard an elder saying that we may leave soon—if they decide that the storm is really over.”
* * * *
The creasia left the cave that evening, filing out in a long line into the fading light. Most of the ferryshaft had moved to the back of the cave to be well out of the way. Storm, however, felt that this was likely his only chance to get a close look at a creasia without danger, and so he edged to the front of the crowd. He soon found himself surrounded by elders and prominent adults—the only other ferryshaft who seemed to have no fear of cats. They cast sidelong glances and frowns in Storm’s direction, and one (Storm was pretty sure it was Kelsy’s father) aimed a kick at him, which he dodged.
Storm watched the creasia file past with their cubs. He suspected that they birthed in the spring, like ferryshaft. The males were considerably larger than the females, and their coats were an array of brown and tan and gold. They completely ignored the ferryshaft, but occasionally scuffled among themselves. Storm thought he saw little groups within the larger group, and he wondered if creasia also had cliques. What happens to their orphans? Are female cubs forced to choose a mate in order to survive?
Gradually the stream of cats diminished. Storm felt the animal beside him grow tense. Looking toward the end of the line, he saw a cat, larger than all the rest and as black as starless night. He came last, his pace unhurried, watching the ferryshaft and the progress of the other creasia. Storm noticed that the adult ferryshaft around him—the wisest and strongest in the herd—all lowered their heads and averted their eyes.
When the black creasia reached the mouth of the cave, he turned and looked back—casually, as though to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Storm fancied that the green eyes focused on him, and he thought—although he was never quite sure—that the cat hesitated. Then something jerked Storm’s tail so hard that he sat down. The legs and bodies of taller
ferryshaft obscured his view of the creasia. The adult who’d already tried to kick him once landed a successful blow to his shoulder that sent him sprawling. Clearly, he was not welcome among the elite.
Storm turned to scramble away and caught sight of Pathar. To Storm’s surprise, he looked quite angry. “Were you the one who jerked my tail?” asked Storm.
Pathar didn’t answer. Instead, he bent his head and hissed in Storm’s ear. “Do not make me sorry for spending so much time on you, Storm! What were you thinking, drawing attention to yourself like that? By all the ghosts of all our ancestors, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t ask about you!”
Storm was bewildered and humiliated. Nearby ferryshaft were giving them a wide berth. Storm knew that they thought he was being berated for inserting himself among the herd leaders. But that wasn’t what Pathar was saying.
“That black creasia…?”
“His name is Arcove. He’s their king. You do not want him taking an interest in you.”
“But why would he…?”
“Because of your color.” Still talking softly, but with a furious expression, Pathar said, “Now, we are going to pretend that this fight ended our friendship. Ferryshaft know that I taught you. They link us, and that is unhealthy. We will not be seen together in public on friendly terms again. However, you may come to me at night or alone, and I will try to help. I am doing this to protect you, Storm.”
Storm did not have to pretend to be hurt. Pathar snarled loudly, probably for the benefit of those watching, and turned away. Storm resisted the urge to call after him, to denounce him as a hypocrite and a coward. You probably go to those “conferences” every year. Where else would Arcove ask about me? What do you talk to him about, Pathar? Do you decide how many of us will get slaughtered?
But he kept quiet. He wanted to believe that his old teacher cared about him and really was trying to protect him.
To get his mind off it, Storm went to get a better look at the stone with the strange marking, now that the eastern end of the cave was free of creasia. He soon realized that the creasia side was substantially larger. It also included an area where bats nested, and a colony of rock rats that appeared to live on the insects attracted by the bats’ dung. These things constituted a food source, which was absent from the ferryshaft side of the cave.
Hunters Unlucky Page 9
