23
CHAPTER
Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face.
The mist in my face.
—Robert Browning
Limping through one of the immense, stone-arched
chambers, the ragged group of cats shuffled slowly toward the
digging tunnels. Tailchaser searched the bobbing sea of hopeless
animals for Pawgrip. He located the small, wiry cat at the rear of
the marching party, and slowed down his already leaden pace until
Pawgrip caught up.
“Hullo, Tailchaser!” Pawgrip said, a faint echo of
his former sprightliness. “You look a little stronger. How does
that shoulder feel?”
“Better, I suppose,” said Fritti, “but I doubt it
will ever truly heal.” He raised and shook his front paw
experimentally.
“Well,” said Pawgrip in a conspiratorial tone, “I
got a message to that fellow in the upper Catacombs. He sent back
to say that he hadn’t seen your friends, but he’d keep his eyes
open.” Pawgrip gave a weak smile that was meant to be encouraging.
They were passing beneath one of the huge inner gates now, and had
to lower their voices to a whisper. The tunnel walls had become
closer, and their speech reverberated in a manner sure to attract
unwanted attention.
“Thank you for trying, Pawgrip,” said Fritti. “How
was jumptall feeling this morning?” The Meeting Wall delegate had
refused to rise for work the last two times, and as a consequence
had also not eaten.
“Badly, I’m afraid. Just lies there, and says if he
moves he’ll lose his tail name.”
They walked silently for a moment in the midst of
the emaciated, staring-eyed cats. Hulking Clawguard walked the
perimeter of the disheartened procession, occasionally moving
forward to threaten or prod.
“Jumptall is going to die soon,” said Tailchaser.
In the world above he would have been amazed to hear someone say
such a thing in so calm a voice.
“He is no longer strong enough to live,” agreed
Pawgrip. “His tail name is all he has ...”
In a cave on the rock wall above the Greater Gate,
Roofshadow looked down upon the charnel life of the mound.
Dulled by the strain of countermanding her
instincts, tired and frightened, she had groped her way steadily
down into the throbbing center of the mound.
When the tunnel had ended precipitously, on the
wall of the Greater Gate chamber, she had suddenly seen the
entirety of the wrong, the os. The misshapen guards and sick
and dying prisoners below, the weird lights and noxious heat of the
air—all this had struck her like a palpable blow as she reeled
above the cavern.
Unable to catch her breath for a moment, she
stumbled back from the lip of the cave and slumped, a shuddering
mass, to the darkened floor.
Far behind her, close to the surface, the pale,
twitching nose of one of the blind Toothguard had detected a
strange thing: an unauthorized tunnel opening to the world above;
the soil was newly disturbed.
Escape attempts were frequent, of course, but
invariably they failed. This seemed different, though. The keen
nostrils of the hairless creature who had discovered the hole
perceived a curious fact: something had been digging in, not
out....
Somewhere deep in Vastnir, a shape appeared from
one dark hole and entered a darker one. Heat and air currents led
the shape to what it sought.
“Master Hisssblood!” it called. There was a pause,
then:
“Sssskinwretch, I have long sssince ceassed to be
entertained by your annoying presssence. I think I ssshall finally
make an end of you.”
Even in darkness, the shape’s discomfort was
recognizable.
“Pleassse, Lord, don’t do anything foolissh. I
bring you important newsss!” Another long silence, and Skinwretch
could smell and feel Hissblood’s approach as clearly as the Folk
aboveground could see in the broadest daylight. He resisted the
impulse to flee.
“What could you tell me that I might possibly find
of value, you old ssslobberer?”
Hissblood’s tone suggested imminent, painful death,
but Skinwretch recognized his opening and plunged in: “Only thisss,
most wonderful Lord, only thisss: sssomething hass tunneled
in to Vassstnir! Ssssome thing from the sssun-world! I found
the place where the thing entered, above the Greater Gate!”
Hissblood approached, until the heat of his breath
raked his cowering subordinate.
“And why ssshould I care?” the leader of the
Toothguard spat—but now there was a subtly reserved edge to his
voice. “I sssuppose you have told everything that walkss, crawlsss
or digsss between here and the lower Catacombss?”
“No, great Massster!” whined Skinwretch, pleased
that he had guessed correctly. “I came ssstraight to you!”
“Fetch me Nuzzledark. You are sssure it wass
an entrance tunnel? If you have misssled me ...!”
“Oh, no,” hastened Skinwretch, choking with fright.
“I’m posssitive, Lord. Absolutely sssure.”
“Then I shall call on Basssst-Imret,” said
Hissblood in a cold, satisfied voice.
“You will involve the Boneguard?” quailed
Skinwretch. Hissblood’s teeth snapped, drawing blood from the
furless skin.
“Imbecccile! How dare you even draw
breath in my presssence? Get out of my ssmell, you
lick-ssslobberer. Get Nuzzledark, then go and crawl under a ssstone
sssomewhere until I have forgotten that you exissst!”
Gasping, Skinwretch fled back into the lesser
darkness. Hissblood licked his naked chops.
Trudging back from the excavations in the company
of the other tunnel slaves, a bone-weary Tailchaser looked up to
see the dark figure of Scratchnail pacing beside him, cruel smirk
thinning his black lips.
“Mre‘fa-o, star-face,” said the Clawguard
mockingly. “How are you getting along in your new home?” Tailchaser
did not answer, but continued walking. Scratchnail did not seem
offended.
“Still have your pride, do you? Well, that, too,
will be attended to—I haven’t forgotten you. Not at all.”
Scratchnail stopped for a moment to stretch, his mottled belly
touching briefly on the cavern floor. Finished, he caught up to
Fritti again in an easy lope.
“We’ll have plenty of time for a chat later,” he
grated. “I just thought I would come by to make sure you were still
getting your daily constitutional. Wouldn’t want you to get fat and
complacent, would we, my little slug?” Scratchnail stared hard at
Tailchaser’s stoic posture, then continued, in a lower tone:
“Something is going on just now. All of Hissblood’s little blind
salamanders are dashing about as if their nasty little tails were
on fire. I just wanted you to know that I’m going to keep an eye on
you, no matter what’s happening. I have a feeling this may
involve you—I don’t know why. Don’t bother to look innocent, just
remember this: I’m going to find out about you. I’m going to
figure out your secret.” Scratchnail turned. “Good dancing,
sunworm.” The Clawguard trotted off.
Fritti stared at the ground as he heard
Scratchnail’s heavy feet padding away. He could only wonder what he
was going to be made to suffer for next.
In his cave, only the motionless, unconscious form
of Eatbug for company, Pouncequick was in the throes of a waking
dream. Although his eyes were closed, he felt as though he were
seeing as clearly as ever he had in the world above.
He felt himself standing once more upon the
Slenderleap Ford, the Caterwaul roaring and thrashing beneath him.
From his vantage point on the rock span he could see the mound in
all its squat oppressiveness. A hole appeared in its side, and a
line of dark shapes emerged. They moved in a strange dance, stiff
with malice and alien purpose.
Pouncequick heard a loud, trumpeting sound, as if
the sun had found a voice. The dark figures broke apart; they
scurried in disarray, then fell to the ground and passed into the
earth. The rushing of the Caterwaul became louder now, and from out
of the waters stepped a great white form whose outlines were
shifting and unclear. It walked across the valley. Where the black
dancers had fallen and been swallowed up, trees and flowers burst
full-grown from the earth. The white figure moved to the mound, and
at its touch the vast cairn opened up, revealing itself as a great
black rose, petals shot through with the colors of sunset. In this
glowing light the white figure dwindled—no, did not dwindle, but
was transformed into a mist, and rose upward.
Suffused with a sense of peace, feeling himself
lifted with the dream-mist, Pouncequick did not realize for some
time that he was being shaken. He unwillingly opened his eyes and
saw the bony, sullen face of Longtooth, mouth asnarl.
“Oh, no, not you too. Bad enough the other one,”
the Claw rasped, indicating Eatbugs. “Get up—let me have a look at
you.” He gave Pouncequick a cursory nose-to-tail inspection.
Longtooth looked over his shoulder, then turned to the youngling
with a sour face.
“Scratchnail wants me to keep a close eye on you.
The whole mound’s in an uproar because someone got in who wasn’t
supposed to. I feel sorry for the stupid me‘mre when they get their
claws on him.”
With a look of ignorant pleasure over the probable
fate of the intruder, Longtooth settled down on the cavern floor.
Pouncequick, although he closed his eyes again, had lost his
inspiring dream. Dimly, he heard many creatures passing in the
tunnels outside his prison.
Tailchaser looked uncomprehendingly at
Pawgrip.
“What?” he asked groggily.
“One of the new Folk wants to talk to you. Don’t
ask me,” said Pawgrip, shaking his head. “Over by the
entrance shaft.”
Pawgrip wandered back to his sleeping spot. Fritti,
stretching, felt the ache in his shoulder and the thin pain of
hunger in his belly. Stepping as carefully as his tired legs would
permit, he made his way through the clutter of sleeping, groaning
bodies. Near the front of the large prison-cavern, squeezed against
a wall near the tunnel entrance, a small, gray cat was huddled into
itself. As Fritti approached he could hear commotion drifting down
from the upper levels. The small cat seemed to be shivering.
“Mre‘fa-o,” he said to the newcomer, with weak
amiability. “I’m Tailchaser. I heard you ...” He broke off in
midphrase, whiskers twitching. This new cat looked very familiar,
even in the near-darkness.
“Roofshadow!” he gasped. His mind whirled. Had she
been here all along, working in the mound? Was it really her?
“Quiet!” hissed the fela.
Still marveling, he leaned forward and scented her
nose, her flanks. Roofshadow! As he dreamily sniffed, she flicked
him on the nose with her paw. Like an embarrassed kitten he
straightened up, looking wildly from side to side. None of the
other prisoners were paying the slightest attention. Nevertheless,
he hunkered down so close that his whiskers tangled with
Roofshadow‘s, and began ardently grooming her. Quietly, and with a
tongue full of fur, he asked :. “How did you get here?”
“I dug into one of the tunnels,” she said. Though
she spoke with composure, her sides heaved.
It must have been terrible for her he
thought—lost in this place; searching for one cat in the midst
of countless others.
“How in the name of Meerclar did you find me?” he
asked, still grooming.
“How did I what? Find you? I don’t really know,
Tailchaser, I just knew that I had to. I can’t explain right now
... I can’t even think ... Would you stop that?” She bristled, and
he ceased cleaning her coat. “We don’t have time!” she continued.
“We have to get out of here—I think they’re looking for me.” She
stood, and her legs trembled a little. Tailchaser did not comment,
but rose also.
“We can’t leave without Pouncequick,” he
said.
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he thought of
Hushpad—the object of his quest, for whom he had left the Meeting
Wall so long ago. Could she be here somewhere, also? Was she still
alive? He thought of Hearteater’s grisly throne, and felt suddenly
small and helpless.
“Do you know where he’s being kept?” asked
Roofshadow. He turned to look at her. She was exhausted, and
he was no better off.
“Pounce?” he said. “No, I haven’t seen him since
they separated us.” He looked apprehensively up the shaft.
“I’m afraid we don’t have the time to look for him,
then,” the gray fela said calmly. “We’ll be lucky to get out
ourselves.” She started toward the shaft.
Tailchaser was shocked. “But we can’t just desert
him! I brought him here! He’s just a kitten!”
Roofshadow looked back over her shoulder and
snarled: “Tailchaser! Don’t be stupid! It might take us days to
find him. We have to get out and warn the Folk at
Firsthome—otherwise it will be too late for all of us! We’ll do him
more good if we bring back help than if we’re caught and killed
ourselves. We have to tell Fencewalker and the others. Come on
now!”
Fritti tried to object, but he knew he could never
explain the truth to her: about Hearteater, or the Toothguard, or
the leagues and leagues of tunnels crawling with hideous
earthspawn.
Roofshadow was not waiting to hear, anyway. She was
slinking up the inclined tunnel, toward the flickering, sickly
light and the sound of harsh voices. Fritti followed her.
The mound was alive with activity. Clawguard
bunched in groups, conferring in dull snarls, then broke apart to
range down tunnels and storm into prison caves. As Tailchaser and
Roofshadow reached the main corridor outside the shaft, the Claws
had moved in force into the holding cavern adjoining the one they
had so recently quit. Growls of rage and weak cries of pain could
be heard echoing up into the tunnel in which they stood. They broke
into a run, staying in the deeper shadows close to the corridor
wall. Passing several other prison caves, they found an apparently
disused tunnel, dark and musty-smelling, and darted in. The din
behind them faded a little, and they stopped for a few moments
while Roofshadow tried to orient herself. Eyes closed, she let
herself be commanded by instinct, reaching into her sense-memory
for the way to her entrance hole. After a moment’s deliberation,
she led them down the tunnel.
They stayed away from the main thoroughfares,
taking advantage of spur tunnels and niches and unfinished shafts.
Out and up they went, spiraling toward the surface, toward the
place of escape.
Several times they were almost caught. Once, on
hearing the pad of approaching footsteps, they had to force
themselves into a shallow, unfinished tunnel, and then stand frozen
in terror, holding their breath, while two Clawguard debated
whether their hiding place was worth searching. When the beasts
finally decided against it and loped off Fritti found he had
trouble catching his breath again.
Finally, they began a last, steep ascent toward
Roofshadow’s entrance. Peering around a corner, they found the last
tunnel completely dark. As they moved quietly forward they caught a
glimpse of starlight—the way out, at the far end of the corridor.
Fritti had not seen the sky in so long that he felt silly with
excitement. Despite the oppressive wet heat of the mound, a chill
arched down his backbone and curled his tail. He bounced forward
joyfully; for a moment he felt there was grass beneath his feet
again, and cool wind in his fur. He heard Roofshadow call his name,
softly but urgently. He paid no heed.
Then, the starlight disappeared.
At once something struck him, catching him
completely unaware. Roofshadow’s admonitory call became a yowl of
fear. Something was on top of him—some snapping, biting
thing.
“Nuzzledark! Don’t allow the other one to
essscape!” slashed a voice in the dark, and he heard Roofshadow cry
out again. The thing atop him drove for his throat with spiny
teeth, and as he twisted desperately he felt furless skin squirm
beneath his claws. Toothguard! He struggled to pull loose from the
grasping creature, and managed to sink his own teeth into flesh for
a heartbeat. He was rewarded with a hissing squeal of pain from his
attacker. He drove his back legs up and heard the gasp of lost air.
In the moment’s respite he pulled free, and then dashed back toward
where he had last heard Roofshadow’s voice. His eyes were finally
adjusting to the profound darkness, and he saw another form rear up
just in time to avoid the worst of the blow, which still sent him
spinning. He came to rest against the cringing mass of
Roofshadow.
“Ssssslitbelly! Help Nuzzledark with the
prisssoners.” Fritti could now make out the owner of the voice, its
elongated, hairless body crouched beneath what was to have been
their escape hole. Its eyeless head nodded approvingly.
“Sssso,” it said. “Asss expected, you return to
your point of entrance. How niccce. Ssssince you are ssso
interested in traveling, now we shall take you to sssee our domain,
yesss?”
The other two dark shapes now flanked Roofshadow
and Tailchaser, and one of them said: “Why do we not end their
livesss here, Massster Hisssblood?”
The Toothguard lord let a long second of silence
hang in the dark, damp air.
“You should know better than to quesssstion me,
Sssslitbelly—esspecially since you yoursself have proved ssso
inefficient. These creaturesss have causssed uss all great
problemsss, and we shall have to work hard with them to repay the
bargain. They will live awhile longer becaussse I wisssh to learn
certain thingsss. However, I can learn nothing from
you. Do you sssee my meaning?”
Slitbelly was gagging on his answer when a dark
shape hurtled out of the tunnel from behind Tailchaser and
Roofshadow, knocking the two Toothguard sprawling like sticks. Not
waiting to discover the identity of their mysterious benefactor,
Fritti and the fela sprang to their paws and raced back up the
corridor. Behind them they could hear snarls and cries, and the
sounds of vicious combat. Above it all, the mad voice of Hissblood
was screeching: “Sssstop them! Sssstop them!!”
Time expanded into one dark and everlasting moment
as Fritti and Roofshadow fled through the lightless outer halls.
Away from the Toothguard, away from Roofshadow’s tunnel, away,
away—they could think of nothing else. Tailchaser was bleeding from
new wounds, and his shoulder throbbed and flamed with each
stride.
They raced through nearly complete darkness,
relying on their whiskers and keen hearing: these shafts were
almost devoid of the luminous earth that lit most of Vastnir. They
stumbled against stones and over roots in the floor; several times
in their panicked flight they ran into earthen walls, rose, and ran
on.
Eventually they had to slow down. They were
completely lost, and had passed an uncountable number of branch
tunnels in the darkness.
“I think we will be trapped here forever!” gasped
Roofshadow as they loped along.
“If we keep our left sides to the wall, and keep
turning outward, eventually we must come to one of the exit
tunnels—at least I hope so,” wheezed Tailchaser. “Anyway, it’s the
only thing I can think of.”
Faint sounds whispered up from holes and cross
tunnels. Some were the distant noises of Vastnir rising from the
main chambers. Some, though, were unidentifiable—moans and
whispers, and once the sound of something large splashing in a deep
pit. They walked carefully around the pit, and by unvoiced
agreement did not speak of the noise that had wafted up from its
depths. They kept turning outward, and the noises of the mound
became fainter and fainter with each bend.
The air seemed to be getting chill; when Fritti
commented on it, Roofshadow pointed out that they were approaching
the surface, leaving the unnatural heat of Vastnir. It did not feel
like the cold of winter to Fritti, though. It was a deep cold, but
damp and moist. It felt as though they were running through a thick
fog. The air near the opening of Roofshadow’s tunnel had not felt
this way. He saw no sense in arguing, however, and restrained his
objections.
Moving down what seemed to their ears and whiskers
to be a broad, high-ceilinged corridor, Tailchaser heard a
different sound: something that—though faint—sounded like the
padding of soft footfalls. He mentioned it quietly to Roofshadow,
and they slowed to an almost silent walk, straining their ears. If
they were footfalls, they must be quite far back to be so nearly
inaudible. The twosome increased their pace slightly.
The hallway, such as it was, narrowed suddenly.
They found themselves in a low tunnel so suddenly that Tailchaser
cracked his forehead against the roof. This tunnel wound and
dipped, then rose again, as if it had been dug among large rocks or
other massive obstacles. Fritti and Roofshadow crouched low to the
ground and reduced their pace to a near-crawl. Finally, the burrow
opened out into another wide, well-planed chamber.
They had progressed several steps when Tailchaser
noticed a difference.
“Roofshadow!” he hissed excitedly. “There’s
light!”
There was, although it was noticeable only in
contrast to the dense blackness through which they had passed. The
glow came from around a corner at the far end of the massive
hallway, faint and indirect. It did not seem to have the same
quality as the luminous earth.
“I think we’re near the way out!” said Roofshadow,
and for a moment Fritti thought he could see the gleam in her eye.
They broke into a fast walk, then a run—able now to see the
obstacles, massive tree roots and stones, which loomed black
against the faint gleam at the end of the great hall. The air was
still chilly, but drier; dust was everywhere, so much dust.
He had bounded ahead of Roofshadow, who reared
suddenly, crying: “Tailchaser! Something is foul here!” Then one of
the black shapes between them rose up, and with the movement the
air was suddenly full of a sickly, spicy odor. Roofshadow
squeaked—a strange, throttled noise—and Fritti stumbled to a
halt.
Both cats stood as though paralyzed. A dry voice,
like the sound of branches rubbing together, issued from the dark
shape.
“You shall not pass,” it said. The words
were faint, as if spoken from a great distance away. “You are
the Boneguard’s now.”
“No!” boomed a new voice. Unbelieving, frozen with
an odd, exalted terror, Tailchaser saw the sunken eyes and
malformed face of Scratchnail suddenly appear out of the darkness
behind Roofshadow. The gray fela, overwhelmed, sagged in place and
lowered her head.
“I took them from Hissblood and his Toothguard.
These two are mine!” Scratchnail growled, but moved no
closer.
“You have no claim,” whispered the odd,
sighing voice. “No one may interfere with Bast-Imret. I do the
bidding of the Lord of All.” The Boneguard moved, swaying
slightly with a leathery, folding noise, and the Clawguard
chieftain quailed, reeling as if he had been struck.
“Take the fela, if you wish,” continued
Bast-Imret. “Our business is with the other. Go now. You tread
in deep places.”
Scratchnail, whimpering with some unseen injury,
leaped forward and grabbed the unresisting Roofshadow by the nape
of the neck, then turned and disappeared down the dark, cluttered
tunnel. Fritti tried to call out after Roofshadow, but could not.
His joints tingled with the effort as he tried to pull away and
run.
The dark form of Bast-Imret turned—cat-shaped, but
sunken in clinging darkness, even while facing the glow at
Tailchaser’s back. Fritti could not look at its face, at the dark
spots that should have been eyes. Head averted, he struggled—and
for a moment succeeded. His legs felt like water, but he managed to
turn around and crawl agonizingly away from the Boneguard.
“There is no escape,” whispered the
wind.
No, thought Fritti, it isn’t the wind. Run, you
fool!
“No escape,” breathed the wind, and he could feel
himself weakening.
Not the wind, must escape, must escape
...
“Come with me now”—it was not the wind, he
knew that. He continued crawling. “I will take you to the House
of the Boneguard,” droned the unfeeling tones of Bast-Imret in
the darkness behind him. “The pipes play always, in the
darkness, and the faceless, nameless ones sing in the deep places.
There is no escape. My brothers await us. Come.”
Fritti could hardly breathe. The smell of dust,
spices, and earth dizzied him ... permeated him ...
“We dance in darkness,” chanted Bast-Imret,
and Fritti felt his muscles stiffening. “We dance in darkness,
and we listen to the music of silence. Our house is deep and quiet.
The earth is our bed ...”
The light seemed brighter. Tailchaser had nearly
managed to reach the bend in the tunnel. He blinked his eyes,
dazed. Without warning, the dark figure of Bast-Imret was before
him, blocking the end of the hallway. A dry, poisonous air seemed
to blow out from the Boneguard. Choking, Tailchaser sagged to the
floor, unable even to crawl. The creature stood over him, faraway
voice crooning unfamiliar speech.
Terror surged through him, hot panic, and somewhere
he found the strength to lunge forward. As he struck, he felt the
dusty fur give against his momentum. Bast-Imret crumpled with a
sound like snapping twigs, clutching at Fritti as he tried, with
what seemed his last dying strength, to push past. Beyond the
tunnel’s edge lay a pool of light. He strained toward it, and the
freedom it represented.
But the Boneguard clung, and in the darkness the
choking dust and sweet smell enwrapped the two of them like another
shadow. Fritti felt the paws of the Boneguard—brittle, but strong
as tree roots splitting rock—curl about his neck. The flaking, dry
snout quested for his throat. With a final squeal of revulsion,
Tailchaser lashed out.
There was a hideous tearing sound as he pulled away
from the creature. Great, flayed rags of crumbling fur and skin
came off in his claws and teeth—and as he tumbled toward the light
he could see the dull wink of old, brown bones, and the grinning
skull of Bast-Imret.
As he scrambled up the short shaft he felt a
searing pain. The space between his eyes throbbed and burned. When
he reached the hovering, gray-blue. disk of sky, he turned for a
moment—and saw the terrible thing behind him. It was standing in
the shadows of the tunnel’s base, its skeletal mouth slowly opening
and shutting.
“I will remember you until the stars die
...” cursed the distant, toneless voice. The fire in Fritti’s
head flared again, then was gone.
Tailchaser forced himself over the edge of the
hole. The light was so bright that spots floated before his eyes.
Hobbling, almost falling forward, he struggled away from the
hole—away from Vastnir.
The world was white. Everything was white.
Then, everything was black.