Beasts of New York: A children's book for grown-ups

by Jon Evans

  "We should get out!" Alabast cried to Zelina. His pale body was streaked with blood and his muscles were rigid with strain.

  Zelina stepped towards an open door and sniffed the air delicately. Like all the cats she was bleeding from several places, but none of her wounds seemed serious. "Not yet," she said. "I remember this. This was how I travelled to the palace, when I was a kitten. I was so frightened. Not yet."

  Several stops later, when Patch was beginning to wonder how long he could stand with a badly bitten leg on the floor of this shaking, wobbling, accelerating and decelerating cage, she sniffed the air again, pricked up her ears, and, said, "Here!"

  They emerged onto another platform, passed through another line of strange metal human-things, and climbed a long series of stairs. They passed two staring humans, but Patch was so tired and drained, and his leg hurt so much, that he barely noticed and did not care. All he could think about was how much he wanted to be under the sky again.

  Finally there were no more stairs. Patch tottered wearily along behind the cats, along yet another a concrete walkway. His head hurt and he felt dizzy. He was only barely aware that above them the sky was streaked with dawn, and he nearly ran into Alabast before realizing that they had stopped at a particularly wide highway.

  "By the moon," Zelina said softly. "The Great Avenue."

  Patch looked up from his pain and exhaustion, along the endless silhouettes of mountains that loomed over the Great Avenue. It did not seem so different from any other wide highway - except it was divided, down the middle, by long strips of earth in which flowers and bushes grew. This living spine of the road was interrupted wherever a smaller highway intersected the Great Avenue, but it was still a welcome sight.

  Patch sniffed the air. He smelled cat-blood, and concrete, and mountains, and automobiles. He smelled the flowers that grew in the center of the Great Avenue. But also, faintly, in the western breeze, Patch smelled a rich melange of earth, water, trees, and living scents. It was a smell he knew immediately, a scent he knew in his bones.

  "The Center Kingdom!" Patch cried, his wounds and weariness momentarily forgotten. "I can smell it! We are near!"

  "My palace is just there, up the Great Avenue," Zelina said. "I can see it. I can see my palace, Patch. We are home. We are home!"

  They stared at each other in amazement.

  It was Alabast who broke the silence. "What would you have us do, your majesty? We have brought you here, as you commanded. Shall we escort you now to your palace?"

  Zelina looked at him and considered. "No. You have served me well and bravely. I have no further need of you now. But I would have you stay near the Great Avenue for seven days, and return to this spot each morning, in case I need command you again. Until then, go and rest and heal, all of you. I must return to my palace alone."

  One at a time, the seven cats bowed their heads and loped away.

  "Can't they help you fight the cats who exiled you?" Patch asked, perplexed.

  Zelina looked at Patch silently for what felt like a long time.

  Then she sighed and said, "It was no cat who exiled me."

  "Then who -"

  "It was my human attendant's male child," Zelina said. "One day when she was absent, he came to the palace, captured me, carried me away in an automobile, and took me to the wilderness where you found me. I don't know why. I cannot imagine why. Excepting the journey when I was a kitten, and the metal stairs outside the window, I had never been outside the palace before. I was so frightened when you found me, Patch. So frightened and in such despair. I knew there was no hope for me there. I knew I would die. I had heard many times the myth of the Queen of All Cats, and alone in that broken shell I took courage from telling myself I would die as she would die. I even told myself I was the Queen of All Cats."

  "But you are," Patch said, confused.

  "No, Patch. That was only a story I told myself, and even allowed myself to believe, to ease my dying. And then you came. And you said you would find your way back here. And I allowed myself to hope it might be possible. And by the moon, beyond all hope, here we are."

  "You're not the Queen of All Cats?" Patch asked, still confused.

  "There is no Queen of All Cats. The Queen of All Cats is a myth. A legend of a lonely cat who travels through the world, unknown and unloved, but is truly the queen of us all, and who will one day will return to lead us. She isn't real. She was never real. I was never a queen. It was just a story."

  "But the other cats think you're a queen. I thought you were a queen. You seem like a queen. If everyone acts like it's real, then it's not just a story."

  "There's a difference," Zelina said.

  "What difference?"

  Zelina paused. At length she said, "These are subtle questions, Patch. Day is coming, and soon the highways will be busy. We should both go home."

  "I guess you're right," Patch agreed.

  Despite his gladness at being almost home, Patch felt a painful twinge of sadness at the thought that he would no longer be travelling with Zelina.

  "I owe you my life, Patch son of Silver," Zelina said.

  "I owe you mine too."

  They looked at each other.

  "But I still think jumping onto the big death machine that crossed the bridge was the worst idea any animal has ever had," Patch said, and both of them laughed.

  "You should come visit me in the Center Kingdom," Patch said. "Ask any squirrel, they'll know how to find me."

  "I will," Zelina said. "Now that I have left my palace once I think I will leave it again. The world is not all frightening. Some of it is really quite wonderful."

  "Good. Then I'll see you soon."

  "I'll see you soon," Zelina agreed, "my friend."

  They looked at each other a moment longer, breathing in one another's scent. Then, at the very same moment, they turned and went their separate ways. Patch was excited to be going home to the Center Kingdom. But he wished Zelina was coming with him.

  It wasn't far to the Center Kingdom. But by the time Patch saw it, the leg bitten by Snout was hurting terribly. He knew, as he stood with only a single highway between himself and his home, that he should feel gladdened with triumph and excitement; but his whole leg hurt very badly, and he felt dizzy and sick as well, and all he could feel was his need to rest. Although there were few automobiles on the highway he was limping so slowly that he was barely able to scamper across. Shortly afterwards he was walking once again on the grassy earth of his home.

  There was an elm tree near the edge of the Kingdom. Patch forced himself to climb its trunk. By the time he got to a flattish crook between two big branches, his head was pounding with pain, he was walking only on three legs, and he was so dizzy that the world wobbled around him with every step. And despite the rising sun he felt cold. But at least he was up a tree and safe.

  Patch turned to the wound on his leg, planning to lick it clean. He was shocked by what he saw. His whole leg was red and swollen, and an awful black mucus was oozing from the wound.

  This was no mere bite wound, Patch realized. Snout's bite had been poisonous.

  Patch didn't know what to do. He wanted to run, to seek help, but he was too weak to move. Soon he was too weak even to stand. His headache grew steadily worse, and the world steadily colder and blurrier, until finally Patch collapsed into the crook of the elm tree.

  He understood dimly that the poison was killing him; that he was home, but he was dying. The last thing he felt was the rough texture of elm-bark against his face. He had a sudden vivid memory of his mother Silver's scent.

  Then the world went dark.

  Part 2

  Chapter 1

  Journey to the North

  1. White

  Patch howled with pain. Something was tearing at his left hindleg, his poisoned leg, the leg that already burned as if with fire. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was too weak to move, too powerless to do anything but suffer.

  "I'm sorry," a gentle
voice said. "I'm so sorry. I have to open it to let the poison drain. It's your only chance."

  Then teeth ripped at his flesh again, and Patch screamed again, until his mind could withstand the pain no longer, and he passed once again into darkness.

  The next time he woke there was food in front of him, a soft, moist maple bud so close that all he had to do was reach out a paw and sweep it into his mouth. But he couldn't move. His body would not follow any commands at all; he was paralyzed, frozen in place like a statue. His left hindleg was made of agony and his breath was fast and shallow.

  "You're awake," the gentle voice said, and something hopped into the elm bark before him. Another squirrel. Patch tried to see who it was, but he could not even move or focus his eyes, all he could make out was the other squirrel's white paw as it gently nudged the maple bud into Patch's mouth. Patch couldn't even eat, but the bud slowly dissolved in his mouth, as his mind dissolved into darkness.

  The next time he woke there were teeth ripping and slashing at his left hindleg again, and it hurt even worse than before, but he could not even scream. This time the merciful darkness did not come. The pain seemed like it would never end.

  "I'm sorry," the gentle voice said. "I'm so sorry."

  The next time he woke he was shaking uncontrollably, and the other squirrel had to work patiently for some time before it was able to nudge the maple bud into Patch's mouth. But his leg hurt a little less.

  The next time he woke he was able to reach out feebly for the maple bud and flower petals before him and eat them himself as the gentle voice said, "Good, good."

  The next time he woke he ate a whole acorn, which had been left beside him, and was able to rouse himself enough to look down at his wounded leg. It was still grossly swollen and painful, but it was no longer bleeding black ooze. The other squirrel was nowhere in sight, but he could smell her, his senses were returning too.

  The next time he woke he smelled her nearby, and he was ravenously hungry, he had to devour both the acorns beside him before he was able to think of anything else. After eating he thought that if he had to, he might be able to stand, although the effort would surely be ruinously painful.

  "You're better," said the gentle voice from above him. "You're going to live."

  And a small female squirrel with pure white fur, pink eyes and a half-severed tail climbed down a branch and stood next to him into the wide crook of the elm tree in which Patch had lain for days.

  "Who are you?" Patch asked, amazed.

  "I am White daughter of Streak, of the Runner clan. Who are you that asks?"

  "I am Patch son of Silver, of the Seeker clan, of the Treetops tribe," Patch said. "What is your tribe?"

  After an uncomfortable moment White said, "I have none."

  "Oh," Patch said. "Of course. I'm sorry."

  In his fever he had asked a profoundly thoughtless question. Albino squirrels were believed tainted, cursed by the moon; they were cast out from their families and tribes as soon as they reached adulthood, and shunned for the rest of their lives. They were very rare. Patch had only seen one before in all his life, an older female, when exploring the territory of the Northern tribe, at the very edge of the Center Kingdom.

  "What happened to your tail?" Patch asked, figuring he might as well get all of the awkward questions out of the way.

  "I lost it in the war."

  "The war? What war?"

  White looked at him as if he was crazy. "I don't think you're well yet," she said. "You should rest. Sometimes the blackblood disease ruins your memories."

  "My memory is fine," Patch objected.

  "Do you remember being bitten?"

  "Of course. By Lord Snout. In the underworld beneath the mountains. Then the cats saved me and we escaped in the human cages."

  White winced. "You poor thing. You're delirious. You need to sleep."

  "I am not delirious! But I should have remembered the war. The turtle, the Old One, told me there was war. He said Redeye is lord of the Meadow, and calls himself king. Is that true?"

  "That is true," White admitted.

  "And the war is not over?"

  She hesitated. "I don't know. I haven't heard of any fighting since the Battle of the Meadow. King Thorn has retreated to the Ramble, and Redeye has stayed in the Meadow. They say both armies are readying for another battle, and both kings look to see what the Northern tribe will do."

  "The Battle of the Meadow? What happened there? How were you in it?"

  White sighed. "Both answers are sad and stupid … I heard that King Thorn was calling all squirrels to him. Even outcasts like me. I thought this was my one chance to be accepted. I joined his army. The other squirrels pushed me and bit me, and called me awful things, but I stayed. I thought if I proved myself in battle they would be my friends. It's so strange, when I think of it now. The more they tormented me, the more I wanted their friendship. When we went to the Meadow and found ourselves fighting an army of rats as well as squirrels, many of Thorn's army fled. But I stayed and fought. I killed three rats and a Meadow squirrel, and I escaped to the Ramble with my life. Many didn't. Some who did had the blackblood disease, like you. I learned how to help them. But the squirrels in my war-clan, especially the ones who had been cowards, they said I was the coward who had run away. They said it was my fault that half the war-clan died. They said I was a traitor and a spy for Redeye. They attacked me, I lost my tail, I barely escaped with my life. I wanted to go back to the North, but the journey is too dangerous. I came here, where neither the Meadow nor the Ramble tribe come. And when I found you dying, Patch son of Silver, I considered a long time before deciding to try to save you, because no other squirrel has ever done anything for me."

  "I'm sorry," Patch said.

  "So am I."

  "What of my tribe? What of the Treetops?"

  White looked at him sadly. "I came too late, didn't I? Your memories and mind have been ravaged."

  "My memories and mind are fine," Patch said. "I've just been away from the Center Kingdom for some time now."

  "Away from the Center Kingdom? No one goes away from the Center Kingdom. Where were you?"

  "Everywhere," Patch said with feeling.

  "How did you get there?"

  "I was carried away by -" Patch stopped, realizing that the story of Karmerruk the hawk might not be a particularly good one with which to convince White of his sound mind and sanity. "It doesn't matter. When I left, it was still winter, and there was no war. What has happened to the Treetops?"

  After a moment White said, in a voice scarcely more than a whisper, "If what you say is true, Patch son of Silver, if you truly did not know, then I am sorry to be the one who tells you. The Treetops are no more. So many were sworn to the Meadow in the winter, and so many who did not swear were killed, that only a handful of survivors remain, too few to be called a tribe."

  Patch stared at her. "No more? That's crazy. That can't be right. Where did you hear this? Some chipmunk told you? No. I don't believe it."

  "I'm sorry," White said.

  "My tribe can't be gone," Patch said. He suddenly felt gravely tired, and very heavy, like he was made of stone. "You must be wrong."

  "Sleep," White said. "Things will seem better when you're stronger."

  But they both knew that wasn't true.

  2. Visitors Descend

  When Patch woke he could stand and walk on three legs. He could not yet put weight on his left hindleg without provoking a wave of pain, but the leg's swelling was much reduced. Patch felt ravenous. White had left him a small heap of moist flower bulbs and gingko nuts, and he devoured them greedily, but they barely took the edge off his hunger.

  As he was finishing, there was a flutter of wings behind him, and an amazed, familiar voice said in Bird: "Patch? Is that you?"

  Patch turned to see his bluejay friend Toro.

  "Patch!" Toro exclaimed. "It's been so long, I thought you were dead!"

  "I nearly was," Patch said. "Many times. Tor
o, you don't know how good it is to see you."

  "I'm glad to see you too. What happened to you?"

  "Do you know a hawk named Karmerruk?" Patch asked.

  Toro shivered. "Yes. He's what bluejays talk about when we want to scare one another."

  "He caught me, but he didn't kill me, because … well, it's complicated. The point is, he took me far away, and it's taken me since then to come back. And now, my people are at war, my tribe is gone, I don't know what's happened to everyone."

  "I have noticed squirrels behaving strangely," Toro said thoughtfully. "I've seen squirrels fighting, mostly in little groups, but there was a huge battle some days ago in the Great Meadow. There must have been hundreds and hundreds of squirrels fighting each other. It looked like the ground had fur. And there were rats fighting too, in the middle of the day! Nobody's ever seen anything like it. And now half the Kingdom is empty of squirrels."

  "I suppose it's good for you."

  "It was. There was so much food out there, some bluejays were getting so fat they were having trouble taking off. But not any more. There are crows all over the Kingdom now, masses of them, invading our trees and eating our food. Nobody's ever heard of that happening before either."

  "Did they come from the east?" Patch asked, thinking of the trees crowded full of crows that he had witnessed in the Hidden Kingdom.

  "They did. And they -"

  "Get away from him!" a no-longer-gentle voice screeched in clumsy Bird, and a furry white blur launched itself up the elm tree and at Toro. The bluejay took to the air just in time to avoid White's charge.

  "No, don't!" Patch cried out. "He's a friend!"

  "A friend? He - Patch, you're not well. He's a bluejay! He was going to eat your food!"

  "No, he wasn't. He really is a friend." Patch looked up to Toro, perched on a high branch, and switched to Bird. "It's okay, Toro, you can come back down."

  After a moment Toro fluttered down and landed on a nearer branch, keeping his distance from White, who for her part remained equally suspicious of the bluejay.