The Redemption of Althalus

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  It was a very dark cat, almost black, and it blended so well into the dark fur of the bison robes on the bed that his cursory glance when he’d first entered the room had missed it entirely. The cat lay on its belly with its head up, though its eyes were closed. Its front paws were stretched out on the robe in front of its short-furred chest, and they were making little kneading motions. The sound that had so baffled Althalus was the sound of purring.

  Then the cat opened its eyes. Most of the cats Althalus had seen before had looked at him with yellow eyes. This cat’s eyes, however, were a brightly glowing green.

  The cat rose to its feet and stretched, yawning and arching its sinuous back and hooking its tail up. Then the furry creature sat down, looking into the face of Althalus with its penetrating green eyes as if it had known him all its life.

  “You certainly took your own sweet time getting here,” the cat observed in a distinctly feminine voice. “Now why don’t you go shut that door you left standing wide open? It’s letting in the cold, and I just hate the cold.”

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  Althalus stared at the cat in utter disbelief. Then he sighed mournfully and sank down onto the bench in absolute dejection. His luck hadn’t been satisfied with everything else she’d done to him. Now she was twisting the knife. This was why Ghend had hired somebody else to steal the book instead of doing it himself. The House at the End of the World didn’t need guards or hidden traps to protect it. It protected itself and the book from thieves by driving anyone who entered it mad. He sighed and looked reproachfully at the cat.

  “Yes?” she said with that infuriatingly superior air all cats seem to have. “Was there something?”

  “You don’t have to do that anymore,” he told her. “You and this house have already done what you’re supposed to do. I’ve gone completely insane.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Cats can’t talk. It’s impossible. You aren’t really talking to me, and now that I think about it, you’re probably not really even there. I’m seeing you and hearing you talk because I’ve gone crazy.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, you know.”

  “Crazy people are ridiculous. I met a crazy man on my way here, and he went around talking to God. Lots of people talk to God, but that old fellow believed that God talked back to him.” Althalus sighed mournfully. “It’ll probably all be over before long. Since I’m crazy now, it shouldn’t be very long until I throw myself out of the window and fall on down through the stars forever and ever. That’s the sort of thing a crazy man would do.”

  “What do you mean by ‘fall forever’?”

  “This house is right at the end of the world, isn’t it? If I jump out that window, I’ll just fall and fall through all that nothing that’s out there.”

  “Whatever gave you the ridiculous idea that this is the end of the world?”

  “Everybody says it is. The people here in Kagwher won’t even talk about it, because they’re afraid of it. I’ve looked out over that edge, and all there is down there is clouds. Clouds are part of the sky, so that means that this edge is the place where the world ends and the sky starts, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” she replied, absently licking one of her paws and washing her face. “That’s not what it means at all. There is something down there. It’s a long way down, but it is there.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s water, Althalus, and what you saw when you looked over that edge is fog. Fog and clouds are more or less the same thing—except that fog’s closer to the ground.”

  “You know my name?” That surprised him.

  “Well, of course I know your name, you ninny. I was sent here to meet you.”

  “Oh? Who sent you?”

  “You’re having enough trouble holding on to your sanity already. Let’s not push you off any edges with things you aren’t ready to understand just yet. You might as well get used to me, Althalus. We’re going to be together for a long, long time.”

  He shook off his momentary dejection. “No,” he said. “I think I’ve had just about enough of this. It’s been just wonderful talking with you, but if you’ll excuse me now, I think I’ll just take the book and go. I’d love to stay and chat some more, but winter’s going to be snapping at my tail feathers all the way home as it is.”

  “And just how did you plan to leave?” she asked calmly as she started to wash her ears.

  He turned sharply to look around. But the door through which he had entered the room wasn’t there anymore. “How did you do that?”

  “We won’t be needing it anymore—for a while at least—and it was letting in the cold air, since you were too lazy to close it behind you when you came in.”

  A brief panic clutched at the thief’s throat. He was trapped. The book had lured him into this place, and now the cat had trapped him, and there was no way out. “I think I’ll kill myself,” he said mournfully.

  “No you won’t,” she said quite calmly, beginning to wash her tummy. “You can try, if you like, but it won’t work. You can’t leave, you can’t jump out of the window, and you can’t stab yourself with your sword or your knife or your spear. You might as well get used to it, Althalus. You’re going to stay right here with me until we’ve done what we’re supposed to do.”

  “Then I can leave?” he asked hopefully.

  “You’ll be required to leave. We have things we need to do here, and then there are other things that have to be done in other places, so you’ll have to go do them.”

  “What are we supposed to do here?”

  “I’m supposed to teach, and you’re supposed to learn.”

  “Learn what?”

  “The Book.”

  “How to read it, you mean?”

  “That’s part of it.” She began to wash her tail, hooking it up to her tongue with one curved paw. “After you learn how to read it, you have to learn how to use it.”

  “Use?”

  “We’ll get to that in time. You’re having enough trouble here already.”

  “I’ll tell you something right here and now,” he said hotly. “I am not going to take any orders from a cat.”

  “Yes, actually, you will. It may take you a while to come around, but that’s all right, because we’ve got all the time in the world.” She stretched and yawned. Then she looked herself over. “All nice and neat,” she said approvingly. Then she yawned again. “Did you have any other silly announcements you’d like to make? I’ve finished everything that I have to say.”

  The light in the dome overhead began to grow dim.

  “What’s happening?” he demanded sharply.

  “Now that I’ve got my fur all nice and neat, I think I’ll take a little nap.”

  “You just woke up.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Since you’re obviously not ready to do what you’re supposed to do, I might as well sleep for a while. When you change your mind, wake me up and we’ll get started.” And then she settled back down on the thick-furred bison robe and closed her eyes again.

  Althalus spluttered to himself for a bit, but the sleeping cat didn’t so much as twitch an ear. Finally he gave up and rolled himself up in his cloak near the wall where the door had been, and he too went to sleep.

  Althalus held out for several days, but his profession had made him a high-strung sort of man, and the forced inactivity in this sealed room was beginning to fray his nerves. He walked around the room several times and looked out the windows. He discovered that he could put his hand—or his head—through them quite easily, but when he tried to lean out, something that he couldn’t see was in his way. Whatever that something was kept out the much colder air outside. There were so many things about this room that couldn’t be explained, and the thief’s curiosity finally got the best of him. “All right,” he said to the cat one morning as daylight began to stain the sky, “I give up. You win.”

  “Of course I won,” she replied, openi
ng her bright green eyes. “I always do.” She yawned and stretched sinuously. “Now why don’t you come over here so that we can talk?”

  “I can talk from right here.” He was a little wary about getting too close to her. It was clear that she could do things he couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want her to start doing them to him.

  Her ears flicked slightly, and she lay back down. “Let me know when you change your mind,” she told him. And then she closed her eyes again.

  He muttered some choice swearwords, and then he gave up, rose from the bench beside the table, and went to the fur-robed bed. He sat down, reached out rather tentatively, and touched her furry back with his hand to make sure that she was really there.

  “That was quick,” she noted, opening her eyes again and starting to purr.

  “There’s not much point in being stubborn about it. You’re obviously the one who’s in control of things here. You wanted to talk?”

  She nuzzled at his hand. “I’m glad you understand,” she said, still purring. “I wasn’t ordering you around just to watch you jump, Althalus. I’m a cat for now, and cats need touching. I need to have you near me when we talk.”

  “Then you haven’t always been a cat?”

  “How many cats have you come across who know how to talk?”

  “You know,” he bantered, “I can’t for the life of me remember the last time.”

  She actually laughed, and that gave him a little glow of satisfaction. If he could make her laugh, she wasn’t entirely in control of the situation here.

  “I’m not really all that hard to get along with, Althalus,” she told him. “Pet me now and then and scratch my ears once in a while, and we’ll get along just fine. Is there anything you need?”

  “I’ll have to go outside to hunt food for us before long,” he said, trying to sound casual about it.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Well, not right now. I’m sure I will be later, though.”

  “When you’re hungry, I’ll see to it that you have something to eat.” She gave him a sidelong took. “You didn’t really think you could get away that easily, did you?”

  He grinned. “It was worth a try.” He picked her up and held her.

  “You aren’t going anywhere without me, Althalus. Get used to the idea that I’m going to be with you for the rest of your life—and you’re going to live for a very, very long time. You’ve been chosen to do some things, and I’ve been chosen to make sure you do them right. Your life’s going to be much easier once you accept that.”

  “How did we get chosen—and who did the choosing?”

  She reached up and patted his cheek with one soft paw. “We’ll get to that later,” she assured him. “You might have a little trouble accepting it right at first. Now then, why don’t we get started?” She hopped down from the bed, crossed to the table, and without any seeming effort leaped up and sat on the polished surface. “Time to go to work, pet,” she said. “Come over here and sit down while I teach you how to read.”

  The “reading” involved the translation of stylized pictures, much as it had in Ghend’s book. The pictures represented words. That came rather easily with concrete words such as “tree,” or “rock,” or “pig.” The pictures that represented concepts such as “truth,” “beauty,” or “honesty,” were more difficult.

  Althalus was adaptable—a thief almost has to be—but the situation here took some getting used to. Food simply appeared on the table whenever he grew hungry. It startled him the first few times it happened, but after a while, he didn’t even pay attention to it anymore. Even miracles become commonplace if they happen often enough.

  Winter arrived at the Edge of the World, and as it settled in, the sun went away and perpetual night arrived. The cat patiently explained it, but Althalus only dimly understood her explanation. He could accept it intellectually, but it still seemed to him that the sun moved around the Earth instead of the other way around. With the coming of that endless night, he lost all track of days. When you get right down to it, he reasoned, there simply weren’t any days anymore. He stopped looking out the windows altogether. It was almost always snowing anyway, and snow depressed him.

  He was making some progress with his reading. After he’d come across one of the pictures often enough, he automatically recognized it. Words became the center of his attention.

  “You weren’t always a cat, were you?” he asked his companion once when the two of them were lying on the fur-covered bed after they’d eaten.

  “I thought I’d already told you that,” she said.

  “What were you before?”

  She gave him a long, steady look with her glowing green eyes. “You aren’t quite ready for that information yet, Althalus. You’re fairly well settled down now. I don’t want you to start bouncing off the walls the way you did when you first arrived.”

  “Did you have a name—before you became a cat, I mean?”

  “Yes. You probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce it, though. Why do you ask?”

  “It just doesn’t seem right for me to keep calling you ‘cat.’ That’s like saying ‘donkey’ or ‘chicken.’ Would it upset you if I gave you a name?”

  “Not if it’s a nice name. I’ve heard some of the words you use when you think I’m asleep. I wouldn’t like one of those.”

  “I sort of like ‘Emerald,’ because of your eyes.”

  “I could live with that, yes. I had a very nice emerald once—before I came here. I used to hold it up in the sunlight to watch it glow.”

  “Then you had arms before you became a cat, and hands as well,” he said shrewdly.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Now would you like to make some guesses about how many and where they were attached to me?” She gave him an arch look. “Stop fishing, Althalus. Someday you’ll find out who I really am, and it might surprise you. But you don’t need to know that right now.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” he said slyly, “but every now and then, you make a slip, and I keep track of those slips. It won’t be too long before I know pretty much what you used to be.”

  “Not until I’m ready for you to know, you won’t,” she told him. “You need to concentrate right now, Althalus, and if I used my real form here in the House, you wouldn’t be able to do that.”

  “That bad?”

  She snuggled up against him and started to purr. “You’ll see, pet,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  Despite her rather superior attitude—which Althalus strongly suspected had been a part of her original nature—Emerald was an affectionate creature who always wanted to be in close physical contact with him. He slept on the thickly furred bison robes on the stone bed, and she always snuggled up to him, purring contentedly. Right at first he didn’t care for that, so he made a practice of covering himself with his wool cloak and holding it tightly around his neck. Emerald would sit quite calmly at the foot of the bed watching him. Then, as he started to drift off to sleep and his grip relaxed, she would silently creep up the bed until she was just behind his head. Then she would skillfully touch her cold, wet nose to the back of his neck, and Althalus would automatically flinch away from that surprising touch. That was all she needed to burrow down under the cloak, and she would settle down against his back and purr. Her purring was really very soothing, so he didn’t mind having her there. She seemed to get a great deal of entertainment out of the game, though, so Althalus continued to clench his cloak up around his neck so that she could surprise him in the same way each time they slept. It didn’t really cost him anything, and as long as it amused her . . .

  She had one habit, though, that he really wished she’d get over. Every so often, Emerald seemed to develop an overpowering urge to bathe his face—usually when he was sound asleep. His eyes would suddenly pop open, and he’d realize that she had her paws firmly wrapped halfway around his head to hold him in place while she licked him from chin to forehead with her rough, wet tongue. He tried to jerk away from he
r the first few times, but as soon as he started to move, she’d flex her paws slightly, and her claws would come out. He got the point almost immediately. He didn’t really care for those impromptu baths, but he learned to endure them. There are always adjustments to be made when two creatures set up housekeeping together, and aside from a few bad habits, Emerald wasn’t really all that hard to get along with.

  Although the permanent night that blanketed the far north had taken away anything he could really call “day,” Althalus was fairly sure that the routine they followed probably coincided rather closely with the rising and setting of the sun farther to the south. He had no real reason for that belief and no way to verify it, but it seemed to him that it made more sense to think of it that way.

  His “days” were spent at the table with the Book open before him and with Emerald seated beside the Book, watching. Their conversations were largely limited to his pointing at an unfamiliar symbol and asking, “What’s this one mean?” She would tell him, and he’d stumble along until he came to another unintelligible picture. The parchment sheets were loose inside the white leather box, and Emerald became very upset if he got them back in the wrong order. “It doesn’t make any sense if you mix them up like that,” she’d scold him.

  “A lot of it doesn’t make sense anyway.”

  “Put them back the way you found them.”

  “All right, all right. Don’t tie your tail in a knot.” That remark always seemed to trigger one of their little mock tussles. Emerald would lay her ears back, crouch low over her front paws with her bottom raised up and swinging back and forth ominously while her tail swished. Then she’d leap on his hand and mouth it. She’d never extend her claws, and though she growled terribly, she never actually bit him.

  His best response to that was to take his other hand and thoroughly stir up her fur. She seemed to hate that, since it took her quite a while to comb everything back in place with her tongue.