Hunters Unlucky Part 11

"No, little one," smiled Storm. "No one goes there. You wouldn't like it-just a lot of vines and trees..."

He stopped. What am I saying? I have no idea what's on Kuwee. I'm just repeating the sort of things Pathar said. Storm felt disgusted with himself. "Sauny, someday I'll take you to the island...when you're big enough to swim that far." Sauny c.o.c.ked her head at Storm's serious tone. Then a dragonfly caught her attention, and she dashed, snapping, after it.

Summer melted away, but Storm could not forget that conversation by the lake. Sauny's speech improved, and she began to play with other foals. Storm doubted that she even remembered what he had said about Kuwee Island, but his own words gnawed at him. Was he starting to think like an adult, keeping secrets that he didn't even understand?

Storm realized that he knew less about Kuwee Island than about Groth-surely a much more dangerous place. Even Pathar said the island wasn't dangerous. What did he say...that we are afraid of the past?

Storm had explored most of the plain and wood in the vicinity of Chelby Lake, and Kuwee Island became more enticing by the day. He could not have said for sure when he decided to swim over, but he knew when he woke that morning that he was going. It was early fall, and if he waited any longer, the water would be too cold. He debated on whether he should take anyone with him. Certainly he would not take Sauny, not until he knew what was over there. She wasn't a strong enough swimmer yet in any case. He thought about asking Leep or Tracer to accompany him. He wanted to ask Tollee. But he was afraid that one of them might try to stop him. In the end, he asked none of them and told no one.

Storm arrived at the edge of Chelby Lake just after sunup. A light mist hung over the water. He measured the distance with his eyes. It would be a long swim, but he had been swimming a lot lately-trying to strengthen his legs for the fight with Mylo.

Storm's fur had already started to thicken for winter, and the cold water took several moments to penetrate to his skin as he waded out. Soon he was paddling. The mist swirled around his head, making him uneasy. On land, he could see above the haze, but at eye-level with the water, the mist blocked his view of the island and all but obscured the sh.o.r.e.

Storm swam steadily on, the fog growing ever worse. He began to imagine shapes in the gray streamers-a sh.o.r.e that never materialized, phantom trees that retreated from him. He glanced back and found that he could no longer see the sh.o.r.e of the lake. Storm, you fool, couldn't you have waited until the fog burned off? You had all summer to do this! Why choose today? For a few sickening moments, Storm thought that he might have pa.s.sed the island, that he might be swimming beyond Kuwee into the vastness of Chelby Lake. He wondered if he should try to go back. He wondered if he would just swim in circles until he drowned.

The sight of trees rising out of the mist came as a great relief. Moments later, Storm struggled out of the water onto a strip of sand and rock. The beach was not wide-three lengths at the most-and beyond rose a dense forest. Storm grinned and shook himself. He was standing on forbidden ground.

After a few moments' rest, he began to investigate the forest's edge. He found little in the way of trails-none of the usual beaten tracks that ferryshaft had wound through Chelby Wood. At last, he found what he took to be a deer trail-faint and rarely used-but it gave him a starting point to penetrate the underbrush.

Dim light filtered through the canopy as he started up the trail, and the fog was as bad as it had been over the water. Storm noticed that many of the trees were blackened and gave off a strange odor. He recalled that Pathar had once pointed out a tree struck by lightning with a similar smell and appearance. Storm struggled to remember the word for what had happened to the tree. Fire. Fire is extremely hot and bright. It spreads and kills things, and often comes from lightning.

Is that why the adults don't come here? But the fire had clearly not been recent, as underbrush had grown since. Storm could not smell anything that made him think of predators.

He wandered on along the faint line of the deer track, angling slightly uphill. He was beginning to feel vaguely disappointed. What am I looking for? What did I expect to find? A creasia den? A nest of curbs? A whole cave full of strange symbols? A monster?

He began to wonder if there was anything at all on the little island. The air was stuffy beneath the trees and quiet. At last, he stumbled over something lying beneath ferns. Curious, Storm reached down and, after a little digging, pulled the object free.

It was a skull. A brief examination a.s.sured him that it had not belonged to a deer. It was a ferryshaft skull. However, it was obviously many years old-brittle and decaying. Storm considered it thoughtfully. How had it come to be in this forbidden place?

As he continued, he found more bones. In fact, he soon realized that the island was covered with them. Some were ferryshaft, and some were another creature that Storm could not identify. Once he found a ma.s.sive creasia jaw bone. What killed them?

Storm left the deer track and began to struggle directly uphill. He wanted to see what was at the island's crest. He was soon above the mist and walking through streamers of sunlight as the trees thinned. He saw bones everywhere now that he was looking for them. Many were half-buried, and all seemed to be about the same age.

At last, he came out of the trees into a clearing, where sunlight shone on warm gra.s.s. Here, the island's hilltop rose sharply to a crest of bare, blackened rock. Lightning, thought Storm. This place has been struck by lightning, probably many times. It explained the clearing and the signs of fire on the trees.

More bones poked through the gra.s.s around the hill. Storm identified two more ferryshaft skulls, along with parts of many skeletons. He found more of the strange creatures' bones, too-ribs that looked impossibly large and huge vertebrae. Again, all the bones seemed to be of about the same age.

He crossed the clearing and circled the rocky outcrop at its center. He had a mind to climb to the top and see whether he could get a view of the mainland over the trees. As he searched for the best way up, he rounded the hill and found a wide-mouthed cave angling down into it. The cave was not as large as the Volontaro cave, but it was still one of the largest he'd ever seen.

Storm ventured inside hesitantly. Some irrational part of his mind kept insisting that this was a monster's lair, but he fought it down. Any predator must feed regularly, and all of the bones were old. Whatever had killed them was long gone.

The black stone of Kuwee Island looked very different from the red rock of the cliff-side caves or the white, porous rock of the Sea Cliffs. Storm found translucent blue crystals growing on the walls. He grew bolder as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He took a drink from a hollow in the rock and promptly spat it out because of the unpleasant mineral taste. Near the back of the cave, he found an enormous skull. The jaw was missing, but he still had a clear sense of the size of the beast. At first, he thought it was a creasia, but surely it was too large, even for that. This animal could have swallowed Storm without chewing.

A drop of water pattered on his shoulders, and Storm looked up. There was something wrong with the ceiling of the cave. The colors did not make sense-lines of white, a splash of pink. Storm backed in a slow circle, trying to understand. He kept feeling as though he'd almost grasped something important, only to lose the thread.

The enormous skull, the huge vertebrae, the lines on the ceiling... "It's a telshee," he breathed. He knew it an instant before he made sense of what he was looking at.

An image had been created on the ceiling. Storm could not guess how it had been done. A thick, white line delineated the long, coiling body of a telshee. The creature's face looked down on the center of the cave. It had one huge eye, made of a polished lump of blue crystal. Where the other eye should have been, Storm saw only a rounded indention in the stone, as though someone had scooped it out. The telshee's mouth was open, and Storm could see its pink tongue and long, white teeth. However, it looked more as though it were trying to say something than as though it were about to attack.

Storm stared at it for a long time. "What happened here?" he whispered. "Did ferryshaft and telshees fight? Or did something else kill both of us? What about the creasia jawbone? Who made this image? How? Why?"

Only the wind replied.

Chapter 22. The Rules.

As fall drew to a close, Storm found himself in a state of unexpected hostility with his mother and Dover over Sauny's education. She had progressed wonderfully that summer-learning to swim and fish and identify edible plants. She could play sholo as well as any yearling, and she'd acquired a group of well-placed friends, all foals with two parents and good social standing in the herd.

Sauny will never be a ru, thought Storm with pride. He had supervised many of her lessons, pus.h.i.+ng her beyond what was usually expected of a female foal who had yet to see her first winter. Indeed, Dover clearly believed that Storm was overly-aggressive with Sauny's education, pointing out that she would never need to live by her own wits alone. So-fet did not like the long runs away from the herd on which Storm sometimes took his sister, and both parents objected when Storm and Sauny brought down a young deer late in the fall. Ferryshaft did not eat much meat in summer; there was no need, and deer could be dangerous game.

"All it would take is one kick!" thundered Dover, after Sauny had gone off with her friends. "One broken rib, Storm, and she'd start her first winter crippled! Is that what you want?"

"And how much easier will it be when she's faint with hunger and chasing a sheep through the boulder mazes?" snapped Storm. "At least now she knows how to bring down large game."

"It will be a year or more before that's expected!" snarled Dover. "I am her father, and I will provide her with a.s.sistance, as will her mother and her clique." Storm noted that the need for his own a.s.sistance was distinctly absent.

"Please let us raise her, Storm," said So-fet.

Storm could tell that she was tired of arguing, but Dover's sullen expression drew his ire. "What if you're killed in the first creasia raid," he shot. "What will she do then?"

Storm thought that his stepfather might strike him. Dover's ears settled flat back, and he raised a front hoof. "You will not speak that way to me, runt."

So-fet's head shot up. "Dover!"

"You haven't told her, have you?" said Storm, giving no ground. "You haven't told her about the creasia?" He was looking at his mother now.

"We will not speak of such things-!" began Dover, but So-fet cut in.

"How would that help, Storm?"

"It would prepare her!" exclaimed Storm. "She wouldn't be so shocked, and she'd know what to do."

"What she'll do is run," said Dover tightly, "just like everyone else. There's no technique, nothing to learn. Now, you will not speak of such things again in the presence of my mate or my foal. If I find that you have done so, you and I will have a serious altercation. Do you understand?"

"Dover, please," murmured So-fet.

Dover's blazing eyes never left Storm's face. "I understand," grated Storm. He walked away, but Dover surprised him by catching up a few paces distant. He trotted around Storm, and stopped in front of him, legs stiff, tail bristling. "Vearil," he spat in a voice too low to carry to So-fet.

Storm flinched without meaning to. It was what the adults had called him when he was no older than Sauny-unlucky, an ill omen, unfit to live.

"You're not of my blood," hissed Dover. "I have let my mate's compa.s.sion affect my opinion of you, but no more. You are the ill-favored child of a hapless, short-lived father-weak stock. You try to claim my foal because you will never make one of your own. If Sauny and So-fet did not dote on you, I would send you from here bleeding. Do not presume to challenge my authority over my family again, Storm Ela-ferry."

Out of the corners of his eyes, Storm saw other ferryshaft watching. He's putting on a show, thought Storm. Why? Because others have been talking?

Storm had been feeling very grown-up that summer. Now, he suddenly felt very young again, acutely aware that he was a small foal, only two years old, facing a full-grown, angry adult. He thought, This is what the fight with Mylo will be like...except I'll have done something to really make him angry, and I haven't done anything to Dover.

Storm turned and walked away. He half expected Dover to pursue or even to strike at him, but his stepfather seemed satisfied. You've re-established your place in the herd, he thought bitterly. By making sure that everyone knows the runt isn't telling you what to do.

Later, as Storm jogged beside the river with Sauny on the herd's annual migration, he wrestled with the problem of whether to defy her parents and tell her about the cats. "Sauny, there are certain problems in winter."

She smiled at him. "I know. Mother told me that last year there was a big wind, but this year, there won't be...because the herd elders said so."

Storm took a deep breath. "Last year, there was a Volontaro. They don't happen very often. But...many ferryshaft still die in winter-"

"Oh, I know we'll be hungry. Mother told me, but you taught me to hunt!" She gave a little skip-somewhat muted, because the long walk was wearing on her.

Storm didn't know what to say. Dover and So-fet were walking a few lengths away. They probably couldn't hear everything he said, because of the trampling of thousands of ferryshaft feet and their chatter as they walked. Still, he caught Dover glancing at him from time to time. Storm had half-expected another altercation, but Dover seemed confident in his authority.

Why shouldn't he be? thought Storm. Sauny is not my foal, only my half-sister. And maybe he's right. Maybe she doesn't need to know about the creasia yet.

Storm glanced sidelong at Sauny-her coat a glossy red-gold, her legs already longer than his had been at the same age. Sauny had never been mocked by the other foals as far as he could tell. She had two parents and a brother watching over her. He did not feel jealous, but he did feel a little distant. Her life will be so different from mine... Maybe I have nothing to teach that's worth learning. Maybe I should just follow the rules.

The next morning, at the foot of the cliffs, Storm felt the tension in the herd which told him that the "conference" was in session. The weather remained clear, however, and soon the ferryshaft were behaving normally again.

The winter snows came. Storm spent more time with his clique and less time around Sauny. However, he sought her out on the day that the Igby froze hard enough for skating. As he'd expected, she was excited.

"Oh, Storm, it looks like so much fun! But I don't want to break a leg! Storm, show me how to do it!"

Storm was laughing. "Alright, but you have to hold still. Come down to the ice...carefully! That's right. Now, lock your legs like this. I'll push you, and you can see what it feels like."

He'd seen siblings and even parents teach foals to skate this way. No one had done it for him, and he was curious to see how well Sauny would manage. Quite well, as it turned out. She squealed when he got them going fast, but as soon as she slowed down, she begged him to do it again. Sauny had begun to make tentative steps and pus.h.i.+ng motions of her own, when Storm noticed a disturbance among the foals in his clique. They'd been playing older games out towards the middle of the river. Now, Callaris seemed to be having a standoff with another foal that Storm didn't recognize.

"Sauny," he said, "why don't you see if you can skate back to the bank? Carefully now! See where those foals are sliding down? It's a fun game, and they look about your age."

When she'd gone, Storm moved rapidly towards the center of the river, occasionally rearing up for a better look. The group of foals around his clique seemed vaguely familiar. He caught sight of Valla, standing uncertainly behind Callaris, and he understood. Someone has challenged Callaris for his ru. Again. Valla was much too pretty for her own good. She had a particularly pleasant scent, and a season's growth had only added to her appeal.

There's going to be a fight. While clique members were all-but-required to a.s.sist their leader in a fight for his ru, no such imperative drove them to a.s.sist lesser males. Friends often did help each other, and Mylo had helped Callaris drive off several other suitors. However, the rest of the clique had not gotten involved in previous fights over Valla. She did not hunt as effectively as Tollee, and it was the generally-though quietly-held opinion that her loss would be an improvement.

So why are they all excited now? Storm could see Leep's dark shape beyond Callaris, bristling hugely. Tracer was snarling, and even Tollee looked ruffled. Then he caught sight of the foal opposite Mylo, and at last the pieces fell into place.

Kelsy. Someone in Kelsy's clique had challenged Callaris. Not Kelsy himself, by the look of it, but one of his high-ranking subordinates. And the whole clique may fight, he thought, because we've got a score to settle.

Storm knew that Mylo had been itching to have a go at Kelsy ever since the incident with Ally. It wasn't so much that Mylo cared about Ally. The runt had been strange and simple-minded, but he didn't eat much, and he had a good nose. His brother, Ishy, had been the best tracker in the clique and one of Mylo's friends. Storm knew that Mylo credited Kelsy with Ishy's decline and death because of what had happened to Ally. Mylo will fight, and he'll make it personal.

Storm's heart was beginning to pound as he skidded to a stop among the onlookers. Callaris and Kelsy's subordinate had begun to make feints at each other, but Mylo and Kelsy were the real attraction. Storm didn't know what had been said before his arrival, but their blood was clearly up as they circled each other with hackles raised to their ears. They were both the same age-four years old, almost adults. Mylo had filled out in the last year and looked formidable with his torn ears and scarred muzzle. Kelsy was just as tall, but less ma.s.sive and, Storm suspected, quicker.

A strange, half-formed idea twisted unpleasantly in the back of Storm's mind. Can Mylo beat Kelsy? Mylo looked fiercer, but n.o.body achieved Kelsy's status without being able to fight. He demonstrated the fact an instant later by making a feint, catching Mylo off balance, and sending him heavily to the ice with a cracking hoof blow. Mylo was up again in an instant and managed a shove that almost knocked Kelsy off balance and tore out a mouthful of fur. But it was only fur and no blood.

Behind them, Storm could see Callaris and his challenger snapping at each other-awkward because of the ice. The rest of the two cliques were bristling and growling, but not attacking, not yet. It looked to Storm as though Kelsy's clique had shrunk over the last year. Probably because a lot of four and five year olds have found mates and gone off on their own. Still, he hoped they didn't all fight. It might go ill for his friends if they did.

Storm saw a speckling of blood on the ice. Kelsy had caught one of Mylo's ragged ears and made it even more ragged. "Maybe you should have run away," Kelsy spat.

Storm felt a jolt. Was Mylo taunting him about me earlier?

The terrible thought squirmed again. What if Kelsy kills him? Or wounds him badly enough that...that he can't defend a ru? It was an unworthy thought, but Storm's mind raced on. I can't beat Mylo. I know I can't. I've known all summer. But what if Kelsy does it for me?

Stop! Storm ordered himself. Mylo let me join his clique when no one else would have me-even though I'm small and a strange color. I can't wish this on him. He doesn't deserve it.

You're not doing anything to him, answered the horrible, reasonable part of his mind. You're just watching.

"You're a bully and a thief," panted Mylo, "and so is your father." He managed to land a solid kick to Kelsy's shoulder, but Kelsy spun away as though he didn't feel it.

"At least he's alive," said Kelsy cheerfully. Storm could tell that Kelsy was winning, and he intended to win hard. Maybe he wouldn't kill Mylo, but he was going to hurt him.

In Storm's mind, possibilities blossomed-Tollee, easily won from a crippled rogan, her rare smiles growing more frequent, days and nights together, a foal in spring to play with Leep and Tracer's foals. He would bring up his own foal the way he wanted to bring up Sauny-with no secrets, and all the answers and all the skills he could provide. As Mylo staggered and Kelsy's teeth drew more blood, Storm's daydreams took wing. He hated himself, but he couldn't help it. He was watching the birth of his own freedom. He was watching...alone.

Storm felt a moment of vertigo. He'd been standing with a crowd of other foals. Now, he was inexplicably alone. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw running ferryshaft-not playing tag, but running hard for the bank. He realized that the screams ringing in his ears were not insults shouted between the two cliques, but cries of fear.

Then Storm was running, too, because ferryshaft only ran like that for one reason. And then the reason was in front of him. Storm veered to keep from sliding into a cat, but another was looming over him, and then he was backing away into a frantic companion. The knot of ferryshaft around him were shoving and struggling, and everywhere he looked, he saw another cat.

It's happened, he thought, numbly. Just like it happened the first time I skated three winters ago...only this time, it's happening to me.

He looked over his shoulder and had to stifle a hysterical laugh. The creasia had scooped up nearly every foal from Mylo and Kelsy's cliques. We were the ones not paying attention-the ones who ran too late.

Kelsy looked truly frightened for the first time that Storm had ever seen. In a great stroke of irony, Mylo was leaning against him, gasping and bleeding, his eyes screwed shut. Leep had ended up on one side of Storm, Tollee on the other, and Tracer was behind him. They looked at each other wordlessly, breathless from flight and terror.

Then Tollee's eyes seemed to glaze. She turned her full attention to the creasia and bared her teeth. She wants to die fighting, thought Storm, die with some dignity.

But there would be no dignity. There never was in the brutal moments after the creasia selected their victims. Those who fought hardest usually died worst. No one ever escapes. That's the rule.

Storm looked at the creasia pacing around them. The animals had never seemed so huge or so terrifying. So this is how it ends. No mates, no foals for any of them, no more playful springs or lazy summers. All the pain and struggle of winters past... It all came down to this-an ugly, meaningless death with his little sister watching. No one ever escapes. That's the rule.

One of so many rules.

Storm felt as though the world had gone silent. He glanced at his friends again. He wanted a last look at them. As he did so, Storm's eyes met Kelsy's, and he thought Kelsy said something, although he couldn't be certain. Then Storm looked at the creasia. Their pacing had slowed, as it always did just before they attacked.

How important are the rules to you? Very important...I hope.