“I’ll go,” said Ariand.
Arcove inclined his head, and the group broke up. “Well, that happened almost the way you predicted,” muttered Arcove to Roup.
Roup flicked his tail. “The foal left quite an impression on Sharmel.”
“I think he left quite an impression on me,” said Arcove.
Roup looked at him quizzically.
“I think I saw him,” continued Arcove, “in the Great Cave after the last Volontaro. As we were leaving, there was a gray foal standing among the herd elders. I remember turning for a second look.”
Roup cocked his head. “Because…he resembled someone we once knew?”
“Mmm.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
Chapter 2. Repercussions
Storm felt a consuming elation as he bounded over the sheep trail. He could hardly believe that he’d gotten away with it. At last, he reached the isolated cave where he had often left rabbits to freeze on the stone floor. He whirled in the cave’s mouth, panting, legs beginning to quiver. He half expected a creasia to charge in after him, but he heard nothing except his own labored breathing. At last, he crept to the entrance and looked back the way he’d come.
They were leaving! He could see the entire group heading back down the trail. The howl that broke from his lips surprised even Storm, but it felt right. He threw back his head and sang his triumph.
Then he collapsed on the cave floor. He started to shake all over. It occurred to him that the creasia might return to the herd and kill a different set of ferryshaft. But not the same group as before.
Storm remained in the cave all day, licking up snow to sate his thirst. He saw no creasia in the rocks below or on the trail. Still, he waited. As darkness approached, he realized that he would have to either leave the cave or spend the night, since he dared not risk a sheep trail in the dark. Hunger persuaded him, and he made his way tentatively back to the main path.
The night was fully dark by the time Storm reached the foot of the cliffs. His senses had remained taut all day in the cave, and now he felt suddenly exhausted. Storm picked his way through the rocks to the place where his clique had been sleeping. He wondered if his friends had any food they would be willing to share.
On his way to their sleeping place, he saw two other ferryshaft foals. He did not know either of them by name. Both took one look at him, stared, and then scampered off without a word. Storm wondered what they must be thinking.
He did not have to wonder long. Leep met him in the boulders before he’d reached the sleeping place. “Storm,” he breathed. “It really is you.”
“It’s me,” said Storm. “Do you have anything to eat?”
Leep didn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t believe you’re alive. What happened?”
“I ran onto a sheep trail,” said Storm. The story didn’t sound nearly as exciting as it had felt.
“A sheep trail?”
“Yes, that one with the cave where I sometimes leave game. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it.”
Leep just stared at him.
A moment later, Tracer trotted into view. “I heard—” he began, and then saw Storm. “You are some kind of crazy, Storm Ela-ferry.”
“I saved your life,” said Storm with a hint of irritation.
“You saved all of our lives. You should go talk to Tollee. She hasn’t said a word since you ran off. Not a single word to anyone. But everyone else is talking. What you did…I don’t think anything like that has happened before. Ever.”
Storm frowned. “That can’t be true. It… It really wasn’t that hard. I just ran onto a sheep trail, and the creasia couldn’t follow me. Did they come back and kill more ferryshaft?”
“Not yet,” said Leep. “No one has seen the creasia since they took off after you, but a lot of the adults seem to think they’ll punish us. You might want to keep out of sight for a while.”
Storm felt mystified. “They’re angry?”
“No, they’re afraid,” said Tracer, “but sometimes afraid looks a lot like angry.”
Storm found Tollee curled up in the lee of a rock formation where the clique usually slept. She did not raise her head until he nudged her. “Tollee?”
Her head came up slowly, and she turned to stare at him. She’d never looked so young.
Storm smiled. “Hey.”
She tried to say something, but no words came.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make use of your fighting lessons,” he continued. “Like I said, running is what I’m good at.”
“Storm,” she said at last. “How are you alive?”
“I just ran onto a sheep trail.” He had a feeling that he was going to get tired of repeating this.
Tracer and Leep had come up behind him. “You just ran onto a sheep trail,” snorted Tracer. “No, Storm, you just outmaneuvered a creasia on the ice in front of the entire herd.”
Storm had almost forgotten that part. He smiled, and his tail thumped the ground. “It’s all in the turns, Tracer.”
Mylo, Callaris, Valla, and Tarsis had arrived. Mylo dropped a rabbit at Storm’s feet without a word. He was limping a little. Storm remembered the fight with Kelsy and felt instantly guilty. “Thank you,” he said as he tore into the rabbit.
Mylo gave a ragged laugh. “You’re thanking me?”
Valla came up to him and began licking his face in a way that made him feel strangely warm and very awkward. He stepped away. “I was in that group, too. It’s not like I didn’t save my own life along with yours.”
“What can we do to help?” asked Callaris.
Storm was confused. “Help?”
“The herd is talking,” said Tarsis. “They seem to feel that the creasia will punish us severely if you’re allowed to live.”
Storm felt dizzy. He had never imagined such a repercussion.
“We can say we never saw you,” continued Tarsis. “If you’re gone by first light—”
“I’m not going anywhere!” exclaimed Storm. As though I’d live long as an outcast from the herd.
“Then hide for a while,” said Tracer, his voice reasonable. “If nothing serious happens, they’ll forget about it. They’re just shocked. Nothing like this has happened before. They don’t know what it will mean.”
Storm wanted to go find his mother and Sauny to let them know that he was alive, but word seemed to be circulating, and he was so tired. He lay down next to Tollee, who draped her head over his shoulders, and was instantly asleep.
Storm woke with someone nudging him. “Storm,” whispered Tollee. “Storm, get up.” He opened his eyes. Tollee was standing beside him. He could sense her nervousness. Three adults he didn’t recognize stood a few paces away. They were whispering among themselves.
Storm looked around for the rest of his clique, but didn’t see them. He turned towards the adults, but they backed away and departed without speaking.
“They just keep coming to stare,” muttered Tollee. “I don’t like it.”
“Where are Leep and Tracer and the rest?” asked Storm. He felt disoriented. He could tell by the slant of the light that it was midmorning.
“Foraging,” said Tollee, “but we felt that someone should stay with you.”
“I need to go find Sauny and tell her I’m alright.”
“You need to stay out of sight,” growled Tollee. “Some of those adults look hostile.”
“Then I’ll run away,” said Storm with growing annoyance. “If the creasia couldn’t catch me, I’m sure a bunch of ferryshaft can’t.”
He stood and started away before she could respond. Mother and Sauny will be with the herd at this time of day, he thought, and they’ll be on the edge of the plain. There was still a great deal of grass beneath the snow at this time of year.
As they neared the herd, they encountered more ferryshaft. Most took one look and shied away. Storm felt as though he had a disease. They whispered as he passed. He caught one word over a
nd over. “Vearil,” they whispered. “Vearil, Vearil, Vearil…”
Tollee was bristling beside him. “Storm, please.”
Then two adult males blocked their path. Storm blinked. One of them was Dover. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he hissed. “Do you think they won’t come looking for you and everyone related to you?”
Storm took a step back and bumped into Tollee. A brief glance over his shoulder told him that two more adults were standing behind. He felt like an idiot. Why did I let Tollee follow me? If he ran, she would be left alone.
“We are doing what is best for the herd,” said one of the other adults. Storm didn’t remember his name, but knew he was an elder. The circle was closing. Tollee’s lips peeled back in a snarl. Storm’s heart began to pound. He tried to remember what she had taught him about fighting.
And then there was a rush and a flash of red-gold fur, snarling everywhere and the sound of hooves connecting with bodies. Storm took a moment to recognize Kelsy in the act of knocking down Dover. Kelsy’s clique swarmed around them, striking and snapping at the adults. “Go!” one of them shouted. “Run!”
Storm ran. The moment they were out of sight of the adults, he pushed Tollee away from him. “I’ll hide for a few days,” he panted. “You go back to Mylo. Keep your head down.”
He could tell she wanted to argue, but he just turned and raced away, his mind spinning with the unfairness of it all. He wasn’t sure where to go, but his feet carried him automatically back to the sheep trail.
Storm returned to the cave and lay down. Do they really think that killing me will make the creasia happy? Will it? And what do they gain by making the creasia happy?
Tracer’s words bothered him. How can nothing like this have happened before? For the first time since his first winter, Storm wondered when the cats had started to kill ferryshaft and why. He wished he had asked Pathar about it more often. He wondered whether he would ever get the chance to ask Pathar anything again.
Towards evening, a ferryshaft came up the trail from the boulder mazes and stopped where the real path ended. Storm squinted at him from the cave entrance. The ferryshaft dropped something and started to turn away.
“Wait!”
Storm emerged from the cave, hopping and inching his way over the sheep trail to the main path. Kelsy waited for him. Storm saw that he’d brought the leg of a sheep, freshly killed. “Thank you,” said Storm, “and thank you for what you did earlier.”
Kelsy glanced around as though he were afraid someone might be watching, but they were completely alone. He sat down a few paces away. “I got a long lecture on misplaced gratitude from elder Sinithin.”
Storm cocked his head. “Do you think killing me will help appease the creasia?”
“I don’t know,” said Kelsy. “I know I’m not going to help kill you.”
Storm smiled. “You told me to run, didn’t you? Out on the ice. You said, ‘Run, Storm.’” Playing it back in his head, Storm could hear it clearly.
Kelsy grinned.
“Did you think I could get away?”
“I thought you could if anyone could.” Kelsy hesitated. “How’s Mylo?”
“Limping,” said Storm, “but I think he’ll be alright.”
“My father killed his father in a fight years ago,” said Kelsy. “He’s never liked me…not that I’ve given him much reason to. I suspect that’s why he invited you to join his clique—because you made a fool of me.”
Storm looked at the ground. “That makes sense.” It surely wasn’t because he thought I’d be useful. No one ever thinks that.
“I almost invited you,” said Kelsy.
Storm looked up in surprise.
“After you had us chasing in circles a few times,” continued Kelsy. “I wanted to ask you to join, but I was afraid of what the others might say. That was the most foolish thing of all.”
Storm smiled. “Well, at least you’re bringing me food now.”
The irony of this hit them both at once, and they laughed together for a moment. “You’ll be a herd elder someday,” said Storm.
Kelsy snorted. “Probably. But you, Storm Ela-ferry…you will be a legend.”
Chapter 3. Round One: Ariand
Storm remained in the cave all that day and all night. He had a full belly, thanks to Kelsy, but he missed the warmth of his companions as he curled against cold stone in the darkness. By morning, he felt stiff and restless. He wondered whether it was safe to come down. Tracer said a few days. Could I really stay here for days?
He watched the herd from his vantage point, foraging on the edge of the plain. What do you think of all this, Pathar? Did you speak up for me? Or do you want me dead, too?
And then he saw something else—darker shapes drifting through the boulders. Storm reared up and craned his neck. He wasn’t high enough to see everything clearly, but he saw enough—panic rippling through the herd, the animals on one corner starting to run, and then all of them running. He would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so sad. The herd wanted to kill me. And now, because they drove me away, I’m safe up here, while they’re in danger.
Storm wondered if the cats really were going to punish the herd by killing a large number of ferryshaft. Whatever they might do, they had certainly returned because of him. Creasia attacks never came so close together. They’re here to make up for last time.
* * * *
Ariand made a quick count of the selected ferryshaft. Ten. Exactly the number that Sharmel had intended to take before his clutter got out of order. Ariand had no intention of doing a punitive cull. His mission, as he saw it, was to find out whether anything had changed. He would conduct his raid exactly as usual, demonstrating to both the cats and the ferryshaft that the events of two days ago had been an anomaly, never to be repeated.
Ariand did not look too closely at the chosen ferryshaft as his subordinates herded them together. Ferryshaft were not deer, it was true, and it didn’t do to look too closely. He adhered strictly to the rules. There was nothing exceptional about those who’d been chosen. They were random selections, unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
A long ululating howl brought him bolt upright, bristling in spite of himself. It had been so long since he’d heard a ferryshaft howl. Ariand whipped around, along with every cat in his clutter, and saw the foal, perched atop a boulder on the edge of the plain. He was a familiar color—like dirty snow or a troubled sky.
The foal howled again, and the clutter reacted. Ariand didn’t try to stop them. The foal might not be attacking, but his behavior was clear defiance and in violation of treaty law.
Ariand began calling instructions to his clutter as the foal leapt from the rock and vanished into the boulder mazes. They bounded forward—not frantic or careless with rage, but swift and eager.
I will succeed where Sharmel failed, thought Ariand. He’s getting old. Perhaps I should challenge him. At any rate, we will solve this problem before sunset.
* * * *
Storm knew his opponents would be more organized this time. They would expect him to head for the sheep trail, and he wasn’t sure he could outrun them if they knew where he was going. So, instead, he struck out north through the boulder mazes.
He could hear the cats calling to each other in wailing, wordless voices. Their calls confirmed his suspicions. Several had gone straight towards the cliff, making no effort to adhere to his trail. However, the rest were right behind him, and they were signaling to the others to close in from his left flank.
Storm felt a stab of fear. In the past, hunters had followed him either by sight or by scent. He had always felt confident that a pursuer must do one or the other. However, the cats to his left were simply listening to their companions. They were outrunning him. Soon, they would be in front. Those behind would close the gap and surround him.
Storm moved in the only direction available—east, away from the cliffs and towards the plain. He realized his mistake an instan
t later as he caught a glimpse of the plain between the boulders. The snow out there was new and powdery, untrampled by the herd. It might be only knee deep to an adult, but it would be belly-deep for Storm, and there was no frozen crust on which to run. The creasia closed their trap from three sides, and he was pushed relentlessly towards the snow that would leave him helpless.
Storm could feel himself spiraling towards panic. The instinct to simply run flat-out became all but overpowering. Storm fought it down. What’s around here? He’d had hiding places everywhere when he’d been running from Kelsy’s clique.
Storm heard the cats behind him call again. They were very close, running by sight now, probably only lengths away. They’re waiting for the others, he realized, waiting for those who are flanking me to get completely around in front. He had mere heartbeats to do something before that happened.
Storm stopped. He stopped so suddenly, that he actually spun on the dusting of snow and half-iced rock. He caught a glimpse of a surprised creasia’s face as it tried to pounce at the last moment, misjudged the distance, and went sailing over his head. Storm came out of his dizzy spin, running in the opposite direction, all his energy unleashed in a sprint that would either save him or be his last. For an instant, scrambling cats were all around him, slapping and missing, off balance. And then he was past them, running south with the entire hunting party behind him.
Storm knew that he didn’t have enough of a lead to reach the cliffs. He could think of only one hiding place nearby. It was not ideal, but it would serve. A moment later, he reached a crevice in the rocks—a tiny cave with a slit of a mouth so small that even Storm had to squirm to get in. He doubted he would be able to use this hiding place by next year, and he was certain that no creasia could follow.
The interior seemed even smaller than Storm remembered, and he crouched against the far wall, panting and feeling vulnerable. In a moment, cats swarmed around the entrance. One stuck a paw into the cave and slapped at Storm. Storm stared wide-eyed at the curved claws as they lashed less than a quarter length from his face. However, the cat could not reach him, and it finally withdrew with a snarl.
Hunters Unlucky Page 13
