Hunters Unlucky

by Abigail Hilton

  “I—I didn’t know,” began the adult.

  “Do you understand?!” repeated Storm.

  “Yes.”

  Everyone in earshot understood. They were all staring. Storm whirled away, conscious that a crowd was forming, and stalked towards the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cub pick itself up and fall in behind him. This part of the cave was crowded, but the ferryshaft made way for him. Storm avoided their faces. He didn’t want to recognize anyone. As he started onto the bridge in the misty rain, he heard the rumble of talking begin.

  Oh, I have given them something for this evening. What will they say about me? Vearil, the bad luck omen. Vearil, who leaves the herd for a season and only returns out of the heart of the worst Volontaro in a generation. Vearil, who attends creasia conferences and returns with a cub for an evening snack.

  Storm almost giggled. He was starting to feel shaky. There were a lot of ferryshaft at that conference. Someone will repeat what I said to Arcove. What will they think of that?

  Storm shook himself. They’ll think what they think. They’ll say what they say. What did Kelsy tell me last year? That I’d be a legend?

  He’d already crossed the bridge and gotten halfway down the trail, when he came out of his thoughts enough to remember the cub. Storm looked back. It was still following, although it had lost some ground. It already looked winded and was beginning to pant.

  Euphoria vanished. Am I going to eat it?

  The cub reached him and flopped down at his feet. Storm heard himself say, “What’s your name?”

  “Teek,” he panted. “My mother—said—it wasn’t—proper—to name—”

  I don’t want to hear about your mother. “Do you know how to hunt, Teek?”

  The cub looked at him in surprise. “I— I ate a mouse once,” he ventured. “But Mother killed it.”

  Storm was horrified. “You mean you’re not even—” Of course. Of course he isn’t. He may not live no matter what I do. It was almost a relief.

  Teek leaned against his leg. Storm pulled away. “You could still go back to the cave,” he said. “You don’t look like you can keep up with me.”

  “I can,” said Teek. “They won’t want me back in the cave. I know they won’t. And I’m afraid of the black cat.”

  Storm looked at him curiously. “The black cat… Arcove?”

  “No, not him. The other one.” Teek shivered. “He likes to hurt rogue cubs.”

  Storm was lost. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t remember.” Teek was trembling—whether from fear or exhaustion, Storm couldn’t tell.

  Send him back. Send him back while he still has the strength to reach his own kind. “I have to go now,” said Storm. “You should go find your mother’s friends. I’m sure she had some.”

  “She didn’t.”

  Storm stepped away from him and continued at an even trot down the path. He’ll never keep up. All I have to do is behave normally, and he’ll go away.

  The trail ahead looked suddenly familiar. The Volontaro had washed away the dark stains, the scratches in the crumbling stone, the grisly matted blood and meat… But Storm recognized the spot anyway, as though a ghost looked on and screamed, “Look! Look!”

  Storm moved a little faster.

  * * * *

  Much later, after an exhausting day of struggling through mud and water over slick rock, Storm settled down in a cave to sleep. Nothing stirred in the twilight outside—not even birds or small animals. Storm wondered where the lowland curbs went in such a maelstrom. He wondered whether the highland curbs were alright.

  The boulder mazes he’d traversed bore little resemblance to those he remembered. Storm had found his way by following the cliffs, by recognizing a canyon here, the outline of a rock there, but in between was chaos. He tried several times to find his way to the top of the cliffs, but on each occasion, he returned to the bottom after only a brief effort. Too many trails had washed away, and the cliff face was unstable. Now and then, he heard the distant, but still frightening, sound of a rockslide.

  Give it a few days to settle. Then I can start learning my way again. He felt certain that the boulder mazes would also be more recognizable and more passable in a few days. There’s a reason why the herd stays in the Great Cave for a bit longer. Parts of the mazes were still flooded. Sediment and lose rock had buried other sections. Time and again, he had to backtrack because slot canyons were blocked or the low places were too flooded or unstable.

  Storm had thought that one determined day’s journey would see him back to Eyal’s den, but he was forced to admit that it would take two, possibly three. In the twilight, he lay gnawing on a freshly dead fish he’d found in one of the pools, listening to the whistle of the wind.

  Storm had not seen the creasia cub since morning, and he tried not to think about him. He got discouraged and went back to the Great Cave. As he should. Encouraging him would have been cruel.

  You’re a fine one to talk of cruelty, said another voice in his head, but Storm ignored it. He should have fallen asleep easily after such a long day, but he didn’t. The moon rose. Every time Storm began to drift off, the wind seemed to morph into voices, muttering just beyond his comprehension. At last, exhausted, he slept.

  Storm dreamed of wind and blood and desperate eyes illuminated by lightning. The wind whispered, “You killed me when I’d done you no harm, and you left my cub to die alone. You killed a friendless mother…and her little one…and we will be here each time you close your eyes…Vearil.”

  Storm twitched awake. He was panting. He saw silhouettes outside and realized that it was almost dawn. Storm struggled to his feet. “Teek!”

  He bounded out of the cave, shaking sleep from his head. You’re mad, he told himself, but he shouted again, “Teek!”

  He followed you. You know he did. He was never going to stop. In spite of his own thoughts, Storm was astonished when he heard a high, frantic mew.

  “Teek!”

  The sound came again—hoarse and fragile. Storm followed it, retracing his steps from the day before. He hadn’t gone far when he reached a fin of rock, bounded by steeper slopes. Storm had cleared it in a single jump on his first journey. Teek lay at the bottom on the far side.

  Storm jumped down beside him. The cub tried to stand, but failed. His paws were bleeding, and he seemed exceedingly weak.

  “You came all that way?” muttered Storm.

  Teek didn’t answer. He was breathing hard. Storm realized that Teek had not been sleeping at the base of the rock. He’d been following all night, and he was still trying—bloody and too weak to stand. Storm thought of all he’d been through the previous day—the pools he’d swum, the slopes he’d climbed, the knee-deep mud and shale. The cub had both remarkable tracking skills and remarkable tenacity. But he was at the end of his strength now. Storm saw blood-flecked foam at the corners of his mouth.

  Gently, he picked Teek up by the scruff, as he’d seen oories and foxes carry their babies. Teek went completely limp, and Storm’s heart dropped into his stomach. He put the cub down again, expecting to find a corpse, but Teek roused himself and raised his head to lick Storm’s muzzle. Storm picked him up again, and again the cub went limp. A natural response? It certainly made him easier to carry.

  Storm gave a great bound and cleared the fin of rock once more. He trotted back through the mud and pools to the cave where he’d spent the night. You almost made it, he thought. It was just that last hurdle you couldn’t clear.

  He put Teek down. The cub lay on his side, eyes closed, breathing ragged. Storm went out and hunted around the pools until he found another fish. He returned and laid it beside Teek. It was almost as big as the cub. Teek raised his head and sniffed. He licked at the fish.

  Storm thought of something. “Did you drink the water in the pools?”

  Teek raised filmy eyes. “Yes…” he croaked.

  Storm shook his head. “It’s brackish from the Volontaro. We passed one cl
ean stream, but everything else is half sea water.”

  Teek’s eyes slid shut. “I know. Just…so thirsty.”

  Storm tore a chunk out of the fish. Blood pooled in the fish’s body. “Drink,” he commanded.

  Teek hesitated, then lapped at the blood. After a moment, he pushed himself up on his forepaws and took a bite of the rubbery flesh. It seemed to take him forever to chew it. Storm wondered whether he had all of his teeth.

  “I don’t have any milk for you,” said Storm miserably.

  Teek said nothing. He swallowed the mouthful of fish. Then he tottered up and took a couple of steps to lean against Storm’s flank. Storm didn’t know what to do, so he lay down. Teek curled into the crook of his body—bedraggled, but warm. Storm lay there while the sun came up and Teek slept with his small head on Storm’s foreleg. After a while, Storm dropped his own head. He dozed, and his dreams were peaceful.

  Chapter 11. Cubs and Pups

  “You want us to do…what?”

  “Just let him stay here for a little while,” said Storm, trying to ignore Eyal’s horrified stare. They were standing in the rocks near the entrance to the long tunnel that led, after many branches, down to the curbs’ den. Teek lay at Storm’s feet with his head on his paws, apparently unconcerned.

  “Just…until he’s old enough to fend for himself,” said Storm.

  Eyal’s mouth hung open.

  “You’re the one who wanted me to socialize,” Storm muttered.

  “I sent you to find out what happened to your friends in the herd!” exploded Eyal. “And you come back with a creasia cub?”

  “You should be happy I came back at all,” snapped Storm. “You left me right before the worst Volontaro in—”

  “I know, I know,” muttered Eyal. “We thought we’d killed you. We would have howled for you if we hadn’t been so busy trying not to drown. The tide rose in the caves… It was bad. We lost Fael. And on top of everything else—”

  “Eyal?” One of the other curbs had come to the den entrance. He seemed to forget whatever he’d been going to say—staring at Teek.

  “Not now,” growled Eyal.

  “Teek wasn’t quite weaned, and now his mother is gone,” persisted Storm. “He drank a little of the brackish water in the mazes two days ago. He was vomiting yesterday, but he seems a little better today. I found fresh water for him, and I gave him some fish, but I don’t know if that’s right. What should I feed him?”

  Eyal rolled his eyes. “Better ask what you should feed him to.”

  “If you’re not going to help—”

  Eyal looked down at the cub. “Open your mouth, cat.”

  Teek looked at him, round-eyed. “Go on,” said Storm.

  Teek obeyed.

  Eyal bent to look into Teek’s mouth. “Milk teeth,” he pronounced. “You can see the permanent ones are coming in, though. Did you say he’s ‘not quite weaned’? More like ‘not at all weaned.’ This one is hardly a season old, Storm.”

  Storm said nothing.

  Teek cut his eyes at him, tiny jaws still agape. “You can close your mouth,” said Storm.

  Eyal nosed the cub around roughly. “Underfed. Sickly. He was either born very late in the season, or he’s a runt; he shouldn’t be so small this late in the year.” Eyal looked at Storm. “Creasia cubs have a high death rate. They’re very competitive. This one probably wasn’t going to survive.”

  Teek looked at the ground.

  “That sounds a lot like what the herd told my mother.” Storm’s eyes locked with Eyal’s over Teek’s head.

  Eyal sighed and turned away. “Curbs have no particular quarrel with creasia. I won’t kill it, and I can make sure my pack doesn’t kill it, but I can’t vouch for your telshee friends. And as for anyone else taking care of it—”

  “That’s fine,” interrupted Storm. He probably won’t survive anyway. Even Eyal thinks so.

  They started towards the mouth of the cave, Teek close on his heels. “I heard a story about a creasia who lived with ferryshaft once,” said Eyal over his shoulder. “I don’t think it turned out very well.”

  Roup. Storm wished suddenly that he hadn’t been so rude at the conference. Maybe I could have asked him what to do.

  Could you? mocked a voice in his head. Could Vearil Ela-ferry, doom of cats, have asked that?

  No, thought Storm, probably not.

  “We had extra excitement during the storm,” continued Eyal, “because Kiera birthed her pups.”

  Storm was astonished. “I didn’t even realize she was pregnant!”

  He could hear the smile in Eyal’s voice as they proceeded down the dark, twisting passage. “Curbs don’t stay pregnant for long, and we don’t give birth in quite the same way as ferryshaft. You’ll see. We were afraid she’d lose the pups with all the scrambling and swimming, and she may have lost a few, but three of them are secure.”

  Storm was baffled. How could you not know how many she lost? “So you were all carrying them as you—?”

  Eyal laughed aloud this time. “Wait and see.”

  Teek crowded close against Storm’s legs in the darkness. When they got to the steep part, Storm picked the cub up by the scruff and carried him. When the path finally evened out, and they began to glimpse weak acriss light, Storm stopped and set Teek on his feet again. Eyal watched and shook his head. “You are placing yourself in the path of so much trouble, my friend.”

  “And nothing else I’ve done has caused me trouble,” quipped Storm.

  “Maybe it is your nature. Maybe you cannot help yourself.”

  “Maybe.”

  The curb who’d tried to speak to them at the den’s mouth was waiting by the stream that ran through the cave. The normally gently-flowing water gushed at a furious rate, and it was twice as wide as Storm remembered. “The telshee Shaw came to us this morning,” he said to Storm. “She was distraught to learn that you were not here. I returned to reassure her, and she’s waiting for you now at our nest.”

  “Well, I’m alive,” said Storm, “no thanks to any of you.” And hardly thanks to myself.

  Eyal made no comment as they followed the stream to the little cluster of rocks where Kiera was apparently keeping her babies. The pack was resting in and around the rocks. They looked exhausted. Storm caught sight of Shaw hovering on the edge of the pack. The telshee grew completely still when she saw them. Her eyes locked on Teek. Here we go.

  “What—is—that?”

  Storm stepped in front of her. Teek had wisely chosen to stand directly underneath him, peering out between his front legs. “Why, yes, I survived the Volontaro. Alone. Would you like to know how I did it? Of course you would—”

  “I said, what is—”

  “No? Well, if you don’t want to hear the story, I am anxious to see these new curb puppies. Please get out of my way.”

  Shaw just stared as Storm moved around her and into the rocks. He nearly tripped on Teek, but he pretended not to notice.

  Kiera lay in a scant nest of tan and brindle fur. “You must think us very poor parents,” she said when she saw Storm. “But our magnificent nest of seal fur and bird down washed away, and we must make do with our own fur.”

  Storm laughed. “Ferryshaft don’t nest at all. I’m certain that I was born on the hard ground.” He hesitated, not wanting to be rude. Everyone looked so proud. “Where are the puppies?”

  Kiera smiled. “You are a special ferryshaft, Storm, for us to show you such things—”

  She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Teek, peeking from between Storm’s legs.

  “It’s alright,” said Eyal. “The creasia cub is with Storm. It’s very young. Just ignore it.”

  Kiera’s gaze shifted to Eyal’s face. “Our pack is becoming very strange.”

  “Indeed,” said Eyal dryly. “But we will soon have a bigger pack. Let Storm see. We owe him our home and safety.”

  Kiera rolled onto her back, and Maoli, who’d been sitting quietly beside her, nosed at the f
ur on her lower belly. “Look,” she said softly.

  Storm bent, puzzled and fascinated. What he’d taken for the swollen teats of a nursing mother were actually tiny nubs no bigger than the tip of Teek’s nose, yet recognizably distinct creatures. They had stubby, ill-formed limbs and blobby heads with just the suggestion of a darkness where the eyes should be. They squirmed now and then in a disturbing display of independence, yet their tiny mouths were each locked around a teat in a way that seemed irreversible.

  Storm stared, open-mouthed. “What—? How—?”

  “I told you curbs are very odd,” said Shaw from high overhead. She seemed to have found her voice, and Storm was relieved to hear amusement. She’s not too angry about Teek to say, “I told you so.”

  Kiera rolled back over. “Our babies are born after only a brief period inside us,” she explained. “We often do not even realize that we are pregnant, and sometimes we don’t realize when they are born, although an experienced mother will know. They must crawl through our fur and attach themselves to a teat. There are usually more pups than teats, and the weak or the slow do not survive. I have four teats, so I am sorry that a fourth pup did not manage to latch on. They were born during the storm, so I was climbing and swimming. I’m a little surprised that any managed to latch on at all.

  “We try to avoid too much activity when the pups are bound to us,” said Maoli. “The most dangerous time comes when they are a little bigger and heavier. They still need to be latched on to survive, but they’re heavy enough to fall off. At that point, a mother needs a pack to feed her. It doesn’t last long. After a short while, they drop off, and then they nurse the same as any ferryshaft foal until they are weaned.”

  “Lowland curbs are born much as ours are,” said Eyal, “but they have a pouch—a flap of skin that keeps the pups from falling off. Their females can run and hunt during all stages of the process, so they do not need a den to bear their young. They only have one or two pups at a time, but they are not as vulnerable as we are. It is probably the reason that they are driving us to extinction.”