Hunters Unlucky Part 14

Storm ran. The moment they were out of sight of the adults, he pushed Tollee away from him. "I'll hide for a few days," he panted. "You go back to Mylo. Keep your head down."

He could tell she wanted to argue, but he just turned and raced away, his mind spinning with the unfairness of it all. He wasn't sure where to go, but his feet carried him automatically back to the sheep trail.

Storm returned to the cave and lay down. Do they really think that killing me will make the creasia happy? Will it? And what do they gain by making the creasia happy?

Tracer's words bothered him. How can nothing like this have happened before? For the first time since his first winter, Storm wondered when the cats had started to kill ferryshaft and why. He wished he had asked Pathar about it more often. He wondered whether he would ever get the chance to ask Pathar anything again.

Towards evening, a ferryshaft came up the trail from the boulder mazes and stopped where the real path ended. Storm squinted at him from the cave entrance. The ferryshaft dropped something and started to turn away.

"Wait!"

Storm emerged from the cave, hopping and inching his way over the sheep trail to the main path. Kelsy waited for him. Storm saw that he'd brought the leg of a sheep, freshly killed. "Thank you," said Storm, "and thank you for what you did earlier."

Kelsy glanced around as though he were afraid someone might be watching, but they were completely alone. He sat down a few paces away. "I got a long lecture on misplaced grat.i.tude from elder Sinithin."

Storm c.o.c.ked his head. "Do you think killing me will help appease the creasia?"

"I don't know," said Kelsy. "I know I'm not going to help kill you."

Storm smiled. "You told me to run, didn't you? Out on the ice. You said, 'Run, Storm.'" Playing it back in his head, Storm could hear it clearly.

Kelsy grinned.

"Did you think I could get away?"

"I thought you could if anyone could." Kelsy hesitated. "How's Mylo?"

"Limping," said Storm, "but I think he'll be alright."

"My father killed his father in a fight years ago," said Kelsy. "He's never liked me...not that I've given him much reason to. I suspect that's why he invited you to join his clique-because you made a fool of me."

Storm looked at the ground. "That makes sense." It surely wasn't because he thought I'd be useful. No one ever thinks that.

"I almost invited you," said Kelsy.

Storm looked up in surprise.

"After you had us chasing in circles a few times," continued Kelsy. "I wanted to ask you to join, but I was afraid of what the others might say. That was the most foolish thing of all."

Storm smiled. "Well, at least you're bringing me food now."

The irony of this. .h.i.t them both at once, and they laughed together for a moment. "You'll be a herd elder someday," said Storm.

Kelsy snorted. "Probably. But you, Storm Ela-ferry...you will be a legend."

Chapter 3. Round One: Ariand.

Storm remained in the cave all that day and all night. He had a full belly, thanks to Kelsy, but he missed the warmth of his companions as he curled against cold stone in the darkness. By morning, he felt stiff and restless. He wondered whether it was safe to come down. Tracer said a few days. Could I really stay here for days?

He watched the herd from his vantage point, foraging on the edge of the plain. What do you think of all this, Pathar? Did you speak up for me? Or do you want me dead, too?

And then he saw something else-darker shapes drifting through the boulders. Storm reared up and craned his neck. He wasn't high enough to see everything clearly, but he saw enough-panic rippling through the herd, the animals on one corner starting to run, and then all of them running. He would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so sad. The herd wanted to kill me. And now, because they drove me away, I'm safe up here, while they're in danger.

Storm wondered if the cats really were going to punish the herd by killing a large number of ferryshaft. Whatever they might do, they had certainly returned because of him. Creasia attacks never came so close together. They're here to make up for last time.

Ariand made a quick count of the selected ferryshaft. Ten. Exactly the number that Sharmel had intended to take before his clutter got out of order. Ariand had no intention of doing a punitive cull. His mission, as he saw it, was to find out whether anything had changed. He would conduct his raid exactly as usual, demonstrating to both the cats and the ferryshaft that the events of two days ago had been an anomaly, never to be repeated.

Ariand did not look too closely at the chosen ferryshaft as his subordinates herded them together. Ferryshaft were not deer, it was true, and it didn't do to look too closely. He adhered strictly to the rules. There was nothing exceptional about those who'd been chosen. They were random selections, unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A long ululating howl brought him bolt upright, bristling in spite of himself. It had been so long since he'd heard a ferryshaft howl. Ariand whipped around, along with every cat in his clutter, and saw the foal, perched atop a boulder on the edge of the plain. He was a familiar color-like dirty snow or a troubled sky.

The foal howled again, and the clutter reacted. Ariand didn't try to stop them. The foal might not be attacking, but his behavior was clear defiance and in violation of treaty law.

Ariand began calling instructions to his clutter as the foal leapt from the rock and vanished into the boulder mazes. They bounded forward-not frantic or careless with rage, but swift and eager.

I will succeed where Sharmel failed, thought Ariand. He's getting old. Perhaps I should challenge him. At any rate, we will solve this problem before sunset.

Storm knew his opponents would be more organized this time. They would expect him to head for the sheep trail, and he wasn't sure he could outrun them if they knew where he was going. So, instead, he struck out north through the boulder mazes.

He could hear the cats calling to each other in wailing, wordless voices. Their calls confirmed his suspicions. Several had gone straight towards the cliff, making no effort to adhere to his trail. However, the rest were right behind him, and they were signaling to the others to close in from his left flank.

Storm felt a stab of fear. In the past, hunters had followed him either by sight or by scent. He had always felt confident that a pursuer must do one or the other. However, the cats to his left were simply listening to their companions. They were outrunning him. Soon, they would be in front. Those behind would close the gap and surround him.

Storm moved in the only direction available-east, away from the cliffs and towards the plain. He realized his mistake an instant later as he caught a glimpse of the plain between the boulders. The snow out there was new and powdery, untrampled by the herd. It might be only knee deep to an adult, but it would be belly-deep for Storm, and there was no frozen crust on which to run. The creasia closed their trap from three sides, and he was pushed relentlessly towards the snow that would leave him helpless.

Storm could feel himself spiraling towards panic. The instinct to simply run flat-out became all but overpowering. Storm fought it down. What's around here? He'd had hiding places everywhere when he'd been running from Kelsy's clique.

Storm heard the cats behind him call again. They were very close, running by sight now, probably only lengths away. They're waiting for the others, he realized, waiting for those who are flanking me to get completely around in front. He had mere heartbeats to do something before that happened.

Storm stopped. He stopped so suddenly, that he actually spun on the dusting of snow and half-iced rock. He caught a glimpse of a surprised creasia's face as it tried to pounce at the last moment, misjudged the distance, and went sailing over his head. Storm came out of his dizzy spin, running in the opposite direction, all his energy unleashed in a sprint that would either save him or be his last. For an instant, scrambling cats were all around him, slapping and missing, off balance. And then he was past them, running south with the entire hunting party behind him.

Storm knew that he didn't have enough of a lead to reach the cliffs. He could think of only one hiding place nearby. It was not ideal, but it would serve. A moment later, he reached a crevice in the rocks-a tiny cave with a slit of a mouth so small that even Storm had to squirm to get in. He doubted he would be able to use this hiding place by next year, and he was certain that no creasia could follow.

The interior seemed even smaller than Storm remembered, and he crouched against the far wall, panting and feeling vulnerable. In a moment, cats swarmed around the entrance. One stuck a paw into the cave and slapped at Storm. Storm stared wide-eyed at the curved claws as they lashed less than a quarter length from his face. However, the cat could not reach him, and it finally withdrew with a snarl.

At last, a creasia face appeared at the entrance-a tan and black animal with pale yellow eyes that stared moodily at Storm. "What do they call you, foal?" It spoke with the strange creasia accent that Storm remembered from the cub in the cave, but Storm managed to pa.r.s.e the words.

"Vearil." He did not know why he said it. The word just slipped out.

Something about the cat's face grew still. Before he could speak again, Storm continued, "I'm your ill-omen."

The cat blinked. "Well, I'm Ariand."

"Why should I care?" snapped Storm.

"I just thought you might like to know the name of the animal who's going to kill you."

Chapter 4. Trapped.

Storm had a suspicion that hiding in a cave from creasia would not be as effective as hiding in a cave from ferryshaft. He was right. The creasia were more patient.

As the day wore on, and they did not leave, Storm became exceedingly sorry that he had not better planned his escape. What was I thinking?

He had been thinking, of course, that he would save more ferryshaft, who would then be grateful and less inclined to kill him. He was already an outcast with little to lose...or so he'd thought. Now, watching the creasia pace while his thirst mounted, he began to appreciate the advantages of being merely an outcast. The little cave on the sheep trail began to seem luxurious.

His current accommodation was no more than four lengths from front to back, with an uneven floor and walls. The ceiling was so low that Storm could not fully stand. Hardly any snow had blown into the narrow mouth, and no ice had formed on the walls, so there was nothing to drink. Storm did notice that the back wall was marked with one of the odd symbols that he had seen in the Great Cave and throughout the boulder mazes. He wished he knew what it meant.

Ariand came to the entrance near noon, his muzzle dripping with snow melt. "Thirsty yet, foal?"

Storm shut his eyes. After the morning's frantic run, his mouth felt as dry as sand. He was hungry as well, though he knew he could go several days without food if necessary. Surely they will eventually get hungry, too, and leave. Storm had never heard of creasia hanging around ferryshaft territory for longer than it took to raid. With an effort, he mastered his misery and escaped into sleep.

When Storm woke, he raised his head and listened. Not a sound. The fading evening light barely illuminated his cave. Storm sniffed the air. He could detect no scent of cats. His thirst returned, biting.

Storm came cautiously to the entrance of the cave and looked out. Silence. Evening shadows. Delightful drifts of snow mere lengths away. Storm repressed the urge to scramble out and start gulping up mouthfuls. He thrust his head out and one leg, then hesitated.

Silence. Not a bird trilled. Not a rat scampered among the rocks. He could not catch even a distant murmur of ferryshaft voices. Storm began to recoil.

He caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye, jabbed his hind legs into the lip of rock, and shot backwards just in time. The cat jabbed its paw into the cave and swatted, but Storm was safe for the moment.

In front of the cave, the creasia were congregating again. They seemed relaxed and confident. One cat caught a rabbit and ate it where Storm could see. "Hungry, foal?"

Storm watched with growing despair. His head had begun to pound. With no other options, he relieved himself in the corner of the cave. The strong odor of his own concentrated urine made him feel ill. Finally, Storm escaped into sleep once more.

This time when he awoke the thirst was instant, acute. He struggled to his feet and felt a wave of dizziness. Not even moonlight broke the darkness outside. The moon must have already set. Storm could not hear any noises, but he knew the cats had not left.

This is hopeless. All they have to do is watch the hole until I starve or go mad with thirst. Did I really think I could outwit them? I only escaped the first time because I was lucky.

That thought made him laugh. I have never been lucky.

Storm buried his aching head between his hooves. I should just make a run for it. I'm only getting weaker. Maybe I can outmaneuver them and get to the cliffs.

This seemed unlikely. He couldn't even escape the cave's mouth without wriggling. They'll rip me in half before I'm even out of the hole.

Storm heard a grinding sound, and then he felt the wall behind him move. He leapt forward with a stifled yelp. Then, because he had nowhere to flee, he turned around. A section of the cave wall had vanished, leaving a dark, ragged hole. Storm held his breath, half expecting something terrible to emerge. After a few moments of perfect silence, Storm took a cautious step forward.

He saw no hint of movement in the blackness. A current of cool air wafted gently from the opening, showing that it connected somewhere to the outside. Storm ventured closer and tried to peer in, but he could see nothing.

He sniffed the incoming breeze. The air in the new chamber was fresh and damp, unlike the fetid stench of the cave. He could see now that it was a natural extension of his current cave-a tunnel. However, a large rock had created a false back wall. He noticed that the odd symbol was located on the rock. Could I have leaned against it? Is that why it moved?

Storm had to stifle a hysterical laugh. Did I have a way out all the time?

His ears p.r.i.c.ked. Somewhere in the tunnel, he heard water. He took a step forward, but stopped. A strange scent drifted to him on the breeze. He did not remember having smelled it before, yet his fur stood on end.

Storm glanced at the large rock again. Could I really have moved that by accident? And if I didn't move it, what did?

His head throbbed. It was difficult to think. What choice do I have? A moment ago, I was considering running from the cave, knowing full well the cats would kill me. This is a better gamble...isn't it?

Storm hesitated between the two openings. I have to decide soon. Outside, he could see the boulder mazes a little more clearly. Dawn was coming. If he escaped from another exit or tried a run from the entrance, he would need the darkness for cover.

Ariand uncurled from a hollow in the lee of a boulder. He groomed himself, took a few mouthfuls of snow, and then trotted to the place where a sentry waited behind a rock. "Has he done anything?"

"No, sir. He hasn't stirred."

Ariand waved his tail. "He'll stir soon or I'm much mistaken." If he was smarter, he'd have made a break before now. We would still have killed him, but he might have put up a fight. At this rate, he'll be too weak to even scramble out of the cave.

If the foal actually died in the cave, Ariand would be disappointed, and his temporary escape was bothering Ariand more than he wanted to admit. Vearil. That can't be his real name.

Ariand started away and then changed his mind. "Perhaps I'll have a peek before I hunt." I wonder if I can get him talking this morning. I should have tried harder yesterday. Ariand approached the cave slowly. The foal's extreme silence bothered him. He slunk to the entrance and raised his head over the lip.

Ariand's mouth dropped open. He tried to push his head all the way inside, although he could already see every corner of the tiny cave. The foal was gone.

"He vanished. I have no idea how."

Roup noticed that Ariand did not quite meet anyone's eyes in the council. His posture was defensive. No one spoke for a moment after he'd finished his story.

"Are you sure you watched the cave all night?" asked Halvery. "The clutter had been awake all day. Perhaps a sentry dozed."

"I took sentry duty myself the first half of the night," said Ariand, "and then left a rotation of four creasia. They had such short s.h.i.+fts, I don't believe anyone could have fallen asleep."